A Loving Man (10 page)

Everyone in the room had studied her critically, the woman who had Stefan Donatien’s attention. “One or two,” she’d answered, because she’d been in charge of the children’s greased pig contest at the town fair.

He’d run a fingertip across her cheeks and the bridge of her nose, and smiled softly at the other businesspeople in the room. “She has freckles. I think they are kisses from faeries. Isn’t Rose beautiful?” he’d noted softly, in the slight accent that said his emotions were touched. Then he had stroked her hair once and turned back to business as if it were never interrupted…as if she weren’t blushing and everyone in the room smiling knowingly at her. They had been good, warm, honest smiles, as if they were pleased that Stefan was pleased.

She frowned now, listening to Stefan’s low, rumbling voice. “I will apologize. I will apologize. I will be sweet.”

“I do appreciate you trying,” she said, smiling at him and realizing how difficult the apology would be for him. It seemed very natural to sit up and tug his head closer to kiss his cheek. “I forgive you for not answering my telephone call, and you’ll take the wages, of course. I know they are only a pittance compared to what you earn, but my pride is important to me.”

Stefan nodded, and watched her in that dark, smoldering way. “I have not entertained another woman in this apartment,” he stated quietly. “In many ways, you are the first for me.”

“I think—” Rose inhaled and closed her eyes, because Stefan’s soft, tempting kiss had stopped all her thoughts. She jerked back the hand she had just slid inside his shirt to smooth that wonderful chest.

He turned slightly, kissed the side of her mouth and then the other. He pressed her hand over his heart. “Did you miss me?”

“Yes,” she whispered against his lips, mentally scolding herself for dropping into the danger zone with him. The taste of him filled her, throbbed low in her body, rocketed through her like a heat-seeking missile. She realized dimly that she was bending over him, and Stefan was really only responding to
her
kisses—she was seeking him, her arms around him. His head lay back on the cushion, and she was definitely making all the moves.

Rose, the adventuress, wanted him. Rose, the woman who had been hurt, feared coming too close—and then Stefan’s hands began to smooth her body and with a sigh, she gave herself to the pleasure. She feared the tenderness she felt for Stefan, more than a physical need.

She feared trusting him, and yet she sensed that Stefan
wouldn’t hurt her, that he would be very protective and safe.

She feared “safe.”

“I’m not too certain about this,” she said in an attempt to be logical. Despite her will, her body was coming to life, pounding with the need to make up for all those lonely, restless nights.

“Well, then,” he murmured against her throat. “I am. Continue, please…if you wish, that is.”

The formal phrase pleased her because Stefan was very affected by her. Men normally weren’t; excitement brewed within her. Was it possible that she could seduce Stefan? Heat shimmered through him, she could feel his heart racing against her hand. The hard texture of a male nipple etched her palm. And yet, Stefan held very still, a vein in his temple throbbing. She kissed his temple, wanting to soothe him. In the taste of Stefan’s skin, in the beat of his heart, she found pleasure she had never experienced. When she’d made love with Mike, it was an experiment with a novelty—to test herself and see if she were still “womanly,” and it was over very quickly. She sensed that Stefan would linger and savor and pleasure and be very thorough.

“I regret—” Stefan tensed as she kissed his throat. “I regret that I am sometimes grim and formal. It is not because I do not feel, it is because—”

“I know,” she whispered softly, allowing her tongue to flick that dark, wonderful texture of his jaw. She shook when she saw his hand enclose her breast and cuddle it gently. He eased the fabric aside and studied the creamy mound, and his body vibrated with the tension racking hers. His eyes closed momentarily as if he were taking the sight into him to hoard. The sight of him so pleasured, so engrossed in her body, enchanted Rose.

Rose-who-feared knew she should be listening to rea
son—that Stefan wasn’t meant to live in small rural towns like Waterville, and she couldn’t think of living anywhere else. She should be thinking about how she’d feel when he left. But she wasn’t—because right now, he looked too delicious to resist. Like a great big package that just needed unwrapping to discover the good stuff inside.

“Be careful,” he whispered as she moved to sit on his lap and stroke his hair. She’d wanted to do that since that night he held her when she cried. She wanted those strong, safe arms around her. “You think you will have me and fly away home, don’t you?” he asked unevenly and eased away from her.

He stood, ran a trembling hand through his hair, and walked to a small cabinet. He opened it and poured a small amount of wine into an elegant glass. He swirled the drink and shook his head. “I have feelings for you. They are deeper than a momentary feeding of needs. I think if I took you quickly, you might excuse that passion as an impulse, some indulgence between flights. I want you to be very certain about me, that it is not only a seduction I wish, but also a relationship. I do not wish to be considered a ‘bud.’ Therefore, I think it best to adjourn.”

Rose’s heart flip-flopped and fell into anger. She stood and straightened her clothing, her hands shaking. “You could at least drop the business language at a moment like this.”

“It is how I speak when deeply affected. I apologize. How little would it mean, if we were to hurriedly make love. I would feel used, a sexual object, rather than a companion of the heart. You would be able to justify your actions as a weakness you indulged and regretted. You would have to comfort me, because you have a soft heart and do not wish to wound anyone, and then I might misinterpret that kindness and make love to you again, and
then our roles would become a habit. Each of us might be uncertain of the whys and hows of the true relationship. I wish no regrets on either of our parts. If you wish to rest in my bed, I will not bother you. But I would like to lie beside you. In bed. With my clothes on. Without touching you.” Stefan’s deep voice was uneven, his body tense as he spoke. “I would wish to touch you, of course, to hold you close and naked against me—but it is not time yet.”

“You’re not in control of this situation, you know,” she said unevenly, images of Stefan’s tall muscled body tangled with hers stunning her. He’d be all rumpled and cuddly and magnificent. “It’s a share-and-share-alike deal. And we’re not on a specified schedule.”

He nodded grimly. “I must make certain that you know my intentions are not frivolous. Base rules are always a necessity. I would not like to immediately hit a home run and then lose the game. It would be like taking a soufflé too soon from the oven.”

Rose threw up her hands. For the first time in her life, she’d wanted to fly from her safe anchors and Stefan had just rejected her attempt at seduction. “Well, you have me there!”

Because tears were burning her lids, she hurried into the bathroom. She tried for composure and failed. Finally, emotionally drained, she opened the door to find Stefan leaning against the wall. His expression was grim, lines of fatigue showing in his face. “Rose?”

With as much dignity as she could manage, Rose walked to the bed and lay down stiffly. After a moment, she curled on her side, tears flowing down her cheeks. She was exhausted from nights of wondering about Stefan, if he’d had a lover since they’d kissed, if he’d missed her, if she could trust her heart again. Some hidden place inside her had wanted him to make love to her quickly, to ease that
empty, aching void, if only momentarily.
She’d offered herself to him, and he’d refused.
So much for her appeal to men, even ones proclaiming to need her in their bed. Nothing was safe anymore, not with Stefan. She’d rest and then she’d face reality. “I’m just tired. I’ll rest a moment and then I’ll be on my way.”

The large bed sagged slightly and she heard Stefan’s deep, ragged sigh behind her. “You’re tired, too. It’s okay. Lie down. I won’t jump you,” she murmured.

His big, warm body curled around hers, spoon-fashion. He nuzzled her hair and smoothed it away from her nape. “You’re too tired. You could stay. You could fly back later,” he whispered against her throat.

“Is that an invitation?” she asked, already beginning to slide into sleep. Stefan pulled her back against him, his hand cupping her breast. The gesture seemed so natural that Rose placed her hand over his. “Yes, I missed you,” she whispered sleepily, drained by travel and emotion.

“Mmm,” Stefan murmured as if deeply pleased. He gathered her closer and gently pulled her hips back against him, his hand sweeping over her stomach and lower on her thighs, then returning upward over her hip to recapture her breast. “That is a good sign. Are you staying?”

“No. I’m going back to Waterville where it’s safe and I know the rules. Make certain I don’t miss my flight at nine. I’ve got to open the store in the morning. Dad has taken up a morning exercise routine and it’s really good for him.” Then Rose gave herself to the gentle caress of his hands. Later, she would remember turning to Stefan. She would remember his indrawn breath when she flung her arms around him, her leg wrapping around his long ones and his body trembling as he drew her against him. She’d hovered there for a heartbeat, thinking of how sweetly he held her when he could have taken her so eas
ily. The rocking of his body was not that of desire, but rather of a companion giving comfort. She would remember feeling safe with Stefan.

Hours later, Stefan watched Rose board her plane, the night wind whipping at her hair, the floodlights outlining her willowy, tall body. In their goodbye, she’d held him close and tight, her body shaking. She held him as if he were an anchor in a changing, dangerous sea. Rose’s fatigue had opened an insight to why she feared a relationship. She hadn’t wanted marriage, not deep down inside, where the scars still bled. Rose smiled and laughed and warmed hearts, but she feared loving too deeply. He wondered if she knew how she had cried out in her sleep, “Mommy, you said you loved me. Why did you leave?”

The second week of July, Stefan clamped his lips closed against comments about Estelle’s driving. She had picked him up at the airport in Kansas City, and had driven him straight to the rolling green hills surrounding Waterville. The long drive helped him adjust to the change from city to country, to the slower pace of small, rural towns. Slower loving, slower kisses with Rose, Stefan thought.

“I’ve signed up for the fall semester at the local college,” Estelle was saying. “If you and Grandmother move back to Chicago, I can stay in a dorm or rent an apartment. And Rose said if that is the case, I can always come home and stay with her when I can. Do you know that as loving as she is, she doesn’t have one pet? Not one. She’s got a houseful of plants and talks to them like they were alive, but she doesn’t want a pet. How do you figure that?”

“I imagine she feels she’s too busy at the store,” Stefan said, studying the tall oaks that would turn fiery in the autumn. He sensed that Rose didn’t want the attachment
for fear of losing something…someone that she loved. Her nightmare had been revealing; Rose basically didn’t trust life—or Stefan.

He’d worked long hours getting the new restaurant incorporated into Donatien’s chain. It was uniquely decorated, while its dishes retained the fine quality of his other restaurants. He had spent a whole day with the disgruntled chef, smoothing his ruffled pride. Rose with her ability to make people comfortable could have done it in ten minutes. Stefan was exhausted, but now he was coming home to his fields and barn and life away from chef-stealing businesses. His daughter was blooming, her tales of country life running from one into another. “I will cook dinner for your friends,” he offered. “You can watch movies at our home. I think your grandmother and I will probably stay on the farm. I may have to return to the city, now and then, for business, but from her calls, she is quite happy.”

Estelle looked at Stefan, her hair flying away from her face as she gripped the steering wheel of her small red compact truck. “Daddy, you don’t need to cook for my friends. Please…I mean, there is no reason to go to so much work. After all, you’ve got Rose to think of now. You need to cook for her.”

Stefan reeled from Estelle’s statement. He had called Rose, but the telephone lines between them were frustrating and he regretted sounding so curt. He sensed that if she were in his arms, he could be more relaxed. “What do you mean, I have ‘Rose to think of now?’ Has she said something?”

Estelle lifted an eyebrow. “She misses you and you know it.”

Stefan’s exhausted senses awakened, surging to life. He barely noticed Mrs. Wilkins’s smiling face and waving
hand. He returned the wave automatically. “Glad you’re back, sonny!” she called. “Come over to my house anytime. Never seen Rose in such a stew.”

But Stefan was too wrapped in Estelle’s “Rose-comment” to be stunned by the older woman’s sudden enthusiasm for him.
“She said that?”

“A woman can tell, Daddy. It’s how she looked after her visit with you, as if she wasn’t quite certain. Rose is always certain of everything. And the way she talks about you like this—‘arrogant, macho, beast, hard-to-get, low-down, hunk, righteous, uptight, crappie-stealing, gorgeous.’ When I asked if she’d heard from you, she glared at me. So I know that something is cooking between you two. You know, you could call and talk a little, you know, sexy—if you know how—to her. I hope you didn’t talk in that stiff way—that business way that you use when you’re deeply touched.”

Estelle reached to tug his tie. “I love you, Daddy, but please don’t try to cook for my friends.”

The third week of July, Waterville buzzed about the watermelon-eating and the seed-spitting contests, and about Rose making mistakes at the paint store. She wasn’t in a good mood, the gossips said, and Stefan Donatien was the reason. For his part, Stefan was picking carefully through his decision to wait for Rose’s heart. Business at night and day farmwork helped relieve his body’s tension, but his mind ran on to sweeter things—like how she lay beside him, all fragrant and soft and cuddly. Like how, in her sleep, she’d turned to him, thrown her arms around him, snuggled her face against his throat and had latched one long leg over his as if preventing him from escaping. The incredible tenderness he’d felt for her at that moment had stunned him. He’d lain very still for a moment, her
easy breath sweeping across his throat and then it was only natural for him to give her comfort, to rock her. The pleasure was in giving to Rose when she needed him.