Marriage by Mistake (27 page)

Oh, he was all man, but holding himself back,
making her master. And, indeed, she felt a rush of triumph, of
power, as he stood still beneath her hands. She saw his nostrils
flare, felt the need crouched tightly inside him. He let her rise
up on her toes and press her lips, ever so cautiously, against
his.

Air rushed out through his nose, but he held
still. He let her experiment with the pressure of her mouth on his.
A small noise came out of his throat and he closed his eyes tight,
but he held still.

It was pure delight to have him at her
disposal, to be able to run her hands through his hair   
it was just as silky as she'd always imagined. It was even okay
when he began to respond to her light kisses. In fact, she liked
that even better. She would nip, and he would nip back. She would
press a little harder. He would press a little harder back. His
hands went into her hair, spiking through the strands to hold her
to him.

Felicia started to feel a heady sense of
power. This hard, strong male body was hers to control. Troy was
like a dancer, following her lead, going wherever she wanted.

And she seemed to want more. Exhilaration was
like bubbles in her blood, curving her body against his, moving her
lips in ever hungrier patterns. Yes, need, she was feeling that,
the need to get closer, more intimate. Her hands swept down from
his hair, exploring the strength of his chest.

Troy groaned and moved his jaw in a way that
opened Felicia's mouth. It was the first initiative he'd taken, but
she found that it was okay. It was even okay when his tongue swept
into her mouth, touching and then wrapping around her own tongue.
It was not the first time a man had kissed her in this way, but it
was the first time such a kiss had given her a sweet shock of
pleasure. And it was the first time it made Felicia reach for
more.

Troy's breathing grew deeper and faster. His
hands smoothed up and down Felicia's back. But it was okay, she
didn't mind that he was starting to take control, because she knew
she'd been the one to set everything off. Meanwhile Troy's hands,
strong and assured, circled her buttocks, then skimmed up her
sides. His tongue was deep in her mouth when he curved his thumbs
over the surface of her breasts. The sensation was so sharply
exquisite Felicia flinched.

Fortunately, that didn't stop Troy. He moved
his entire hands over her breasts, massaging, testing, squeezing.
It was heavenly. Felicia had to wrench her mouth from his and throw
her head back.

Thank God he didn't stop. She could hear him
breathing heavily as his head lowered to her breastbone. She felt
his lips there, hot and wanting. His fingers squeezed her
nipples.

Felicia groaned deeply. This was beyond
anything. Who knew? Surely nobody could have convinced her before
tonight that such activity could be so
marvelous
.

"Oh! I say!" A deep male voice suddenly
intruded on the delightful scene. Felicia felt as if she were being
jerked awake from a deep sleep. Both she and Troy froze. "Do excuse
us," said the voice, but sounding annoyed, as if the opposite were
the case. One of the older club members, apparently, and not
amused.

Felicia could hear feet moving, clothes
rustling. The intruder had stalking off. Meanwhile, Troy pressed
his forehead against her collarbone. His hands stilled on her
breasts. "Okay," she heard him murmur. "Okay, okay."

Fighting a physical pain that was almost
equal to the pleasure that had come before, Felicia drew her hands
from his hair.

Slowly, he lifted his head. Slowly, he let go
of her breasts. He let go of all of her, and straightened.

"Ho, boy," he breathed, and looked down at
her.

Felicia self-consciously straightened her
silk bodice. Her gaze flitted up at him, then down.

"That
really
didn't work," Troy
muttered.

Felicia simply nodded. There was no point
belaboring the obvious. Why, she'd nearly let the man have his way
with her    on the public terrace! She, Felicia, who'd
always thought she was frigid.

It appeared she was nothing of the sort.

At least...not with Troy.

Felicia frowned. There it was again, the
grand contradiction, that this should be happening with Troy, the
most irresponsible, least safe man she knew. Her whole life had
been spent trying to avoid involvement with a man like her father,
the kind of man who'd desert his wife and family in everything but
name    and here she was throwing herself straight into
the arms of just such an individual.

Meanwhile Troy was looking as grim as Felicia
felt and shaking his head. "We
really
have to avoid doing
that again."

Felicia cleared her throat. "Agreed."

"So, at the risk of acting responsible for
once in my life, I have a suggestion." Troy pulled down his shirt.
"We don't have anything to do with each other. No conversation
beyond 'hello' and 'goodbye.' And we absolutely never, ever, be
alone together."

Felicia drew in a deep breath. "Agreed." Of
course she agreed!

"Because," Troy went on, getting puritanical,
"there is no way we could have any kind of a thing going between
us."

"A    a relationship?" Felicia's
eyes widened. "Definitely not."

"Right." Troy's gaze flicked away and he
pulled down on his shirt again. "It would never work."

"We're far too different."

"You
are
a goody-good."

"And you're unreliable."

Troy's gaze shot toward her, then flew away
again. "Right. So. Ahem. I'm going to go inside now. And you...you
just take your time out here, giving
me
enough time to, uh,
clear out. Okay?"

"Okay."

He turned to go then, but not before shooting
her one last look, a look that belied everything he'd just said, a
look that told Felicia he'd be ever so glad to kiss her again, and
more, if she were so unwise as to let him.

And she, crazy woman, came very close to
doing just that as if    as if she had no sense of
self-preservation. As if she hadn't just found out, both tonight
and on the sidewalk outside the restaurant in Boston, that she had
the capacity to play the fool for this man.

She could easily make the same mistake with
him that her mother had made with her father.

So Felicia managed to stand her ground as
Troy walked away. She didn't move as he went through the lounge
doors. She stood outside for a good long while, making extra sure
that Troy would, indeed, have time to clear completely from the
Club's grounds before she dared go back inside the lounge,
herself.

Her heart pounded painfully all the while.
Close. That had been so awfully close.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

The morning following their moonlit walk,
Kelly stood and watched from her bedroom window as Dean drove off.
He'd left early, before anyone could conceivably have come down to
breakfast, before Kelly could conceivably have gone down to use the
gym. And it was a Sunday, no less.

In the dawn light, Kelly leaned against the
window frame and rubbed her thumb against her lips as, through the
paned glass of her bedroom window, she watched his Lexus disappear
down the drive. But was he
running
? Oh, it was too hard to
believe that after last night and their nice walk, he would start
playing that game again.

Kelly shrugged and stepped away from the
window. She decided to hang cool, wait and see.

Mid-morning, Maggie came into the gym with a
telephone. "For you," she told Kelly.

Kelly stepped off the treadmill. It could be
her chorus line friend, Valerie, on the phone, with the latest
gossip, or her boss, Rudy, with yet another complaint about her
replacement. So Kelly calmed the leap in her heart as she reached
for the telephone. "Yes?" she asked, casual.

Dean's voice on the other end sounded husky.
"Would you like to have lunch?" He paused. "A real lunch, that
is."

Kelly's heart took another leap, but she
forced her voice to remain casual. "Why, I'd love to."

"Jackson will drive you into town." Dean made
this clear. "He'll deliver you to the restaurant, say, around
noon?"

Kelly cleared her throat. "Noon will be
fine."

"I'll see you then."

Kelly hung up the phone and handed it to
Maggie. She waited for the housekeeper to leave and close the door
behind her before throwing her arms into the air and dancing a jig.
Those good vibrations hadn't steered her wrong.

Dean had just asked her out.

###

They had lunch. Kelly was delivered by
Jackson to a posh little café on Beacon Hill, a small place with
heavy-duty prices. Dean was waiting for her. He pulled out Kelly's
seat for her. She got the first glass of wine. Their eyes met, fell
away, met again. After clearing her throat, Kelly asked how his day
was going. After clearing his throat, Dean wanted to know if she'd
had much traffic coming into town. They both made some kind of an
answer and afterwards simply sat at their chic little table and
looked at each other.

Kelly was delighted. The nerves meant they
each cared about the impression they were making. This was like the
start of a real relationship. Dean didn't seem too sure about the
situation, true, but things were definitely moving in the right
direction.

She sat back and sipped her wine, enjoying
herself immensely. Dean, on the other hand, was not nearly so
serene. He kept frowning and looking down, as if afraid of holding
Kelly's gaze for too long. But that was okay, Kelly thought. It was
part of the whole beginning-of-things package.

In time, their lunches came, were suitably
gourmet, and were consumed. Dean paid, then rose to pull out
Kelly's chair.

As she stood, she looked over her shoulder at
him. "Do you have to go right back to work?"

He went very still. "No."

"Good." Kelly smiled. "I know just what I
want to do with you."

###

She made him ride a swan boat. In all the
years Dean had spent in the Boston area, growing up, going to
college, and building his business, he'd never ridden one of the
swan boats in the public garden.

Kelly said it was a scandal. She made him
purchase two tickets and they had to stand in line with the
families on vacation and the European tourists. Dean felt silly.
He'd imagined she was going to take him to the Parker House.

Not that he should be making love to the
woman. On the contrary, he'd asked her to lunch in order to call
the whole farce to an end. He'd intended to explain to her, calmly,
logically, over a bowl of lobster bisque, that the idea of any kind
of real relationship between them was ridiculous. Especially if
Kelly was imagining hearts and flowers. Dean didn't do hearts and
flowers.

But watching her over the peach linen
tablecloth, Dean had been unable to find the right words. She'd
looked so happy, so contented, sitting there in her off-the-rack
sundress, drinking the expensive wine that he'd ordered out of
guilt.

And now, well, he should have been putting
Kelly into a cab for a handkerchief-sopped ride home. Instead Dean
was picking his way over the rickety floorboards of a flatboat
along with a dozen other chumps, about to get transported around
the pond by yet another chump, who pedaled from a seat that looked
like a swan. Dean's grumbles faded, however, when he saw Kelly
settle onto her portion of the bench seat with an amazingly happy
smile on her face. He sank down next to her and closed his eyes
with a sigh.

He cared about making her happy. Lord, he
shouldn't. It was a damned trap. He'd never be able to. Nor would
she be able to make him happy, in the long run. They simply had
nothing solid to build on. He'd witnessed the way these things
played out through his father. Over and over he'd seen passions
flare, burn bright, and then crumble into charcoal. It was
inevitable, a law of nature.

Oh, it was a mess. He had to explain things
to her, make her see. This wasn't
real
.

The water of the pond gurgled against the
sides of the boat as it slipped between the lily pads. A breeze
brought the scent of newly mown grass. Dean knew he shouldn't delay
his talk any longer. He drew in a breath.

"Oh, look at the ducklings!" Kelly pointed
toward a line of the scruffy things, paddling madly to keep up with
their mother. "Aren't they adorable?"

Dean glared at her. Couldn't she be
unlikable, for at least half a minute?

Unmindful of his problem, Kelly was beaming
at the ducks while her hands blindly opened her purse. "I think I
have some saltines in here. Oh, look for me, will you?" She thrust
the sequined purple purse at Dean. "Hello, sweeties. Oh, don't swim
away!"

Dean automatically clutched the purse.
Because he didn't know what else to do, he peered in. He fingered
aside a metal tube of lipstick and an extra-thin gold pen. His
search halted on a Winnie-the-Pooh key chain. He swallowed. "No
saltines," he told Kelly.

"Oh, darn. Probably for the best." She sighed
and accepted her purse back, all the while peering after the
ducklings. "I suppose crackers aren't a part of their natural
diet."

"No, I wouldn't think so." Dean watched Kelly
watching the ducklings. The woman had a Winnie-the-Pooh key chain
in her purse. How on earth was he supposed to explain the hard
facts of life to a person like this? Not to mention the way his
heart was twisting at the mere sight of her, going ga-ga over some
ducklings.

Of course it was this moment Kelly chose to
turn and look at him. Her eyes were bright, her smile wide. Dean
felt as if two hands reached inside his chest and wrung his already
twisting heart.

He wasn't going to do it. Something inside
him, some relic, long-repressed, rose in rebellion and prevented
speech. The normal part of him knew what he had to do, knew what
was proper and responsible. But this older, wilder part of him
didn't care.