Darling obstacles (19 page)

"I'll never feel kindly toward bank robbers either," she said wryly. And added quickly, "I didn't mean to sound flippant, Greg. I was just—"

"I know, honey." His voice was kind. "I know."

She felt that he really did understand and was touched by the moment of shared compassion and mutual understanding. "Greg, how long after Alicia's death did you begin to date?" She was very curious; she'd often wondered about it.

"I assume we're both using the word 'dating' as a euphemism for taking a woman to bed?" Greg gave a slight laugh. "I had sex for the first time four months after Alicia was killed. It didn't mean anything, no emotions or feelings were involved at all. I think I just wanted to know if I was still alive. An existential pinch on the arm, so to speak. And it's continued along that vein."

Maggie said nothing, but her heart was sinking fast. She wished she hadn't asked. To her, Greg's lovemaking had been passionate and deeply fulfilling, an affirmation of life and love. But to him it had been merely an existential pinch on the arm? She felt sick.

"Maggie, during the past six years, didn't you ever want, wonder . . .?" His voice trailed off.

She shrugged. "Working all night, taking care of kids and the house during the day, and trying to grab some sleep whenever I had a spare moment was my existential pinch on the arm, I guess."

She ate her toast and they finished their coffee in silence. Maggie wondered what Greg was thinking. He was studying her with an intensity that she found unnerving. Was he remembering Alicia and comparing her to his beautiful and beloved wife? Was he regretting his impulsive proposal, wondering how to withdraw it? She had no idea and she was afraid to ask. Afraid to hear his answer, she realized with uncomfortable insight.

At last Greg glanced at his watch. "Do you think the kids are asleep yet?"

"Probably. M She carried the empty mugs and her plate to the sink. "They were worn out. Kari took her new doll to bed with her and—"

"Good. Glad to hear it. M He was on his feet and his hand snaked out to seize her wrist. He was staring at her with a fixed intensity. Maggie realized the reason for his seemingly innocuous question a little too late.

Greg confirmed her supposition. "Let's go to bed, Maggie."

Just like that, she thought. Let's go to bed, Maggie. Had he decided that although she was no match for Alicia, at least she was available? Her temper flared. Dammit, she was no one's existential pinch on the arm. "No, Greg."

"Yes, Maggie," he said, mimicking her tone. "We both need it, honey. We've been alternately aching, burning, and frustrated all day long."

"Not me!" she said with such vehemence that Greg laughed. They both knew she was lying.

"Sweetheart, I'm not going to stand here and argue with you." Greg swept her up into his arms and walked briskly out of the kitchen.

"Put me down!" she said, gasping. She was aware that her body was clamoring for him to ignore her indignant demand. And ignore it he did, murmuring something outrageously and blatantly sexual in her ear as he carried her up the stairs.

In a matter of seconds they were in her bedroom and the door was locked. Greg set her on her feet but

kept her in his arms. His gaze fastened on her mouth, and her lips parted and tingled, as if he had physically touched her. When his gaze lowered to her breasts, her nipples grew hard and tight, responding to his sensual scrutiny with a will of their own. "Maggie, my darling, my love," he said thickly. "I want you so badly. M

The undisguised hunger in his voice touched a cord deep within her. She wanted him with the same intense urgency.

His hands closed possessively over her breasts and they swelled beneath his fingers, fingers that kneaded and stroked and made her moan with pleasure. He claimed her lips, thrusting his tongue into her mouth at the same moment that he inserted his thigh between hers. The double mastery was shattering. The hot, dull ache in her abdomen erupted like a blazing volcano, sending spurts of hot lava coursing through her veins.

Maggie felt a deep and primitive need to surrender to Greg, yet at the same time she was filled with the desire to possess him, to drive him out of himself and into her loving power. Existential pinch on the arm? Tonight she would make Greg Wilder forget everyone and everything but the passion burning between them. She wanted him out of control with need of her. Tonight he would be acutely aware that both of them were very much alive.

"Are you aching for me now, Greg? Are you burning for me?" she demanded huskily. She undressed quickly and he watched her with glazed, hungry eyes. Standing naked, she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him, moving her body sinuously against his.

Greg tugged off his shirt and fumbled clumsily with his belt buckle. Maggie felt a thrilling sense of feminine power at the sight of his unsteady hands. "Let me," she whispered, and brushed her knuckles lightly over his thrusting masculinity before lowering the zipper with erotically slow precision. His

uncontrollable response to her was enthralling. A pulsing excitement rippled through her when he moaned her name.

Emboldened, she pulled him over to the bed and pushed him down to sit on the edge. She climbed onto his lap, feeling the hardness of his hair-roughened thighs under her. Her hands moved over the satisfying solidness of his chest, over the whipcord muscles of his arms to the smooth length of his back. It was intoxicating to touch him like this, to feel his fierce masculine response to her.

"Maggie, Maggie, I need you so," he said urgently.

"Not yet," she teased, delicately sinking her teeth into an earlobe. "I'm not ready yet."

"Then I'm going to have to make you ready, sweetheart, because I can't wait any longer."

His hand closed over her bare breast and began a slow, sensuous massage while his fingers played with her nipple, arousing it to aching sensitivity. His mouth closed over it and he began to suck with a firm erotic rhythm. Maggie felt the effects deep within her womb and whimpered with pleasure.

"Now, darling?" His fingers slipped between her thighs to probe the moist warmth there. "YouYe hot and flowing and ready for me. Let me have you now, love."

Maggie trembled as his fingers teased and stroked with sensual expertise. "Kiss me, Greg," she breathed, and his mouth clamped over hers with greedy possession. Their tongues met and dueled hotly. Greg lay back on the bed, carrying her with him, their mouths still fused together. But when he would have rolled her on her back and moved on top of her, she slipped away from him.

"Still not yet, Greg," she said in a husky tone. "First I want to feel and taste every inch of you." Her tongue traced the outline of his hard nipples, then dipped into the hollow of his navel.

"Maggie," he groaned in protest. "Sweetheart, I don't think I can wait any longer."

She gazed languidly into his eyes. "Every inch, Greg darling." Her lips teased his pulsating strength. His control started to slip and she heard him call out her name, but she wouldn't relinquish her power. Then she felt his control completely lapse, felt the life force flow from him, and knew that in this moment at least, Greg was all hers and passionately alive with feeling.

"Why did you do it?" he asked huskily some moments later, pulling her up to him. His blue-green eyes were ablaze. "You deliberately teased me and wouldn't stop until— M

"I thought you needed a lesson," she replied succinctly, grinning her triumph. "And I decided to give it to you."

"So you want to play sexual games?" Her glee subsided somewhat as she stared into the dark intensity of his eyes. "It's you who needs a lesson, Mary Magdalene, and I'm going to be the one to teach it to you."

For the next few hours, Maggie learned lessons in passion and arousal, in power and control and helpless ecstasy. Greg was a skilled and thorough teacher, combining sexual expertise with calculated control to arouse her again and again to the peak of throbbing, frustrated desire. Just as she felt herself beginning to slip over some invisible edge, just as every nerve tightened and focused on the hot inner pulsing, Greg would withdraw and make her plead for completion. Time after time, made helpless and vulnerable by his passionate onslaught, she would beg him to stop, only to reverse herself and plead with him to go on. And each time she spun wildly and vividly out of control, he would reward her by taking her to the heights of rapture.

She couldn't get enough of him. She felt as if she had crossed some great divide. Greg had exposed a facet of herself that she had never dreamed existed, had exposed herself to her. Beneath the controlled asexual madonna that she'd thought she was, slum-

bered a passionate woman who craved, demanded, her man's passion in return. She wanted to give and give to Greg, but she wanted to take too. It was an illuminating lesson.

She felt sensual and unfettered and free, released from all pressure, all control. In bed with Greg she could always let go, she realized with newfound insight. She loved and trusted him. He allowed her to be both a woman and a mother. He had fused her separate halves and made her whole.

A long, long time later Maggie lay in Greg's arms, a blissful lethargy creeping through her, her body warm and damp and pliant beneath his hands. "Greg," she whispered lovingly. Tears filled her eyes and emotion surged through her as she gazed into his beautiful eyes. She hoped their baby would have his eyes.

She was so in love with him, she thought. She would marry him and raise his children along with hers, and give him a baby, their own child. And if he didn't love her yet, she was certain that eventually he would. He was a family man, he liked being married. It was inevitable that he would fall in love with the woman who was his wife. Maggie wondered why she'd been too dense to realize that earlier. There was a lot she had learned tonight.

She rolled onto her stomach, deliciously drowsy. The clock read three a.m., making it already Monday morning. In just a few hours she would have to get the kids up for school. The thought made her groan.

"Oh, God, Maggie," Greg said with dismay. "What have I done to you?"

He'd seen her tear-moist eyes, and when he'd heard the small sound of discomfit and seen her roll away from him, he'd gone rigid. What had he done? For the past few hours he had been in a passionate frenzy, governed by some inexplicable masculine need to prove to Maggie that she belonged to him and always would. Never had he engaged in such primitive and uncontrolled passion, never had he made

such demands. And she had been with him all the way, taking everything he had to give and demanding more, giving herself to him in unbridled surrender. Because he had forced her?

With his raging passion assuaged, Greg faced the question with rational and unnerving logic. Maggie was a fiercely proud and independent woman and he had made her admit her need for him in the most elemental way. Could she forgive him for that? She had ceded all control to him and lost herself in the heat of passion. Was she hating him for it? Was she fearful that the primitive male dominance he had asserted in bed would spill over into their life together and that he would tyrannize and repress her? The thought appalled him. He wasn't a physical type who used his strength to dominate. Like most neurosurgeons, he considered himself rather cerebral, using his intellect and skill over actual physical strength to win his victories. Never in his wildest fantasies—which had always been rather tame, he realized now—could he have envisioned a night like tonight, with himself in the swashbuckling, passionate hero's role. He'd felt as triumphant as one of his Cro-Magnon ancestors who'd won the woman of his choice by dragging her into his cave. He'd felt exultant, rejuvenated, and deeply in love. And then he had seen the tears in Maggie's eyes.

She was lying on her stomach, her face on the pillow, her eyes closed. Her breathing, at first shallow and erratic, was gradually becoming deep and even. He laid his hand on the silky warmth of her back and couldn't resist tracing the beautiful, straight line of her spine with his finger. A potent combination of pride and love and possession filled him. She was his.

"Maggie?" he whispered.

She didn't open her eyes. "You teach one helluva lesson, Dr. Wilder," she said in a thick, sleepy voice. When there was no responding chuckle, she opened

DARLING OBSTACLES • 167

one eye with great effort. Greg was staring down at her, his face shadowed with worry and concern.

Maggie felt she knew him so well now, she could read his mind. "Greg, go home to the children." She knew he didn't want to leave her tonight, but his parental obligation to his children would be weighing heavily on his mind. Hopefully, he didn't fear she would throw a tantrum like those unreasonable women he'd been dating. No, he wouldn't expect such behavior from her, she assured herself. He knew her as well as she knew him. And he must know that although she wanted him to stay all night, she recognized his paternal concern. And respected him for it, loved him for it. "Go home, Greg."

She was kicking him out! Greg thought, aghast. He had overwhelmed her, had hurt and scared her. And now she was telling him to leave! "Maggie, we have to talk." His voice shook. He would soothe and explain and apologize, whatever it took.

Maggie smiled to herself, an inward smile, for she was too exhausted, too marvelously replete to expend the energy to move the necessary facial muscles. "I couldn't talk now if my life depended on it, Greg." It was supposed to be the man who rolled over and fell into dead slumber afterward, she thought with drowsy amusement as sleep rolled over her in waves. She and Greg could have a good laugh about it tomorrow. But now . . . Her thoughts drifted off. She couldn't stay awake another second.

She wouldn't even talk to him! Greg was distraught. "Maggie?" She didn't answer him. She was pretending to be asleep. He knew only too well how adept she was at shutting him out. He felt himself begin to panic. "Darling, I love you," he tried on an anguished note. But there was still no response from her. "Sweetheart, please! Don't do this to us. We can talk it out. I—"

She rolled over on her side, her eyes still closed. Her breathing was even and deep and she was doing a masterful job of feigning sleep. Because she hated

him and wanted him to go away, Greg reminded himself bitterly.

He dressed quickly and left the bedroom with a last despairing glance at her still form. She still hadn't agreed to marry him, he remembered on the lonely, cold drive back to his house. She didn't love him and didn't believe he loved her. And after experiencing his savagely possessive performance tonight, she probably never would.

Common sense told him that it had been too soon to propose marriage. Maggie was only now beginning to emerge from the protective shell she'd withdrawn into after the shock and pain of her husband's traumatic death. Her passionate nature was starting to reawaken after the long period of dormancy. The very thought of her entering the world of singles dating made Greg break out in a cold sweat. He hadn't really viewed the hapless Rich Cassidy as a threat, but the idea of her dating other men, of being subjected to their charms and wiles and sexual demands, had driven him to stake a possessive claim upon her. And after he had taken her to bed, he'd wanted to insure his claim, to bind her to him legally and morally and any other way there was.

Marriage had been the only logical solution. But he should have waited, Greg chastised himself glumly. She'd been incredulous at the idea, totally unable to believe that he loved her. Because, he knew, she didn't love him. Once they were safely married, he was sure he could make her fall in love with him, but he needed the exclusivity and opportunity marriage would provide to woo her properly. Conducting a courtship with seven omnipresent children was a virtual ticket to the madhouse. He needed the legally sanctioned privacy of marriage to win Maggie's love and trust.

When she'd said no, he hadn't wanted to believe it. He knew he was wrong to tell the kids, but he was beyond fighting fair. And now. . . Greg walked slowly into the big house that seemed empty and lifeless to

him. He hadn't thought of it as home in two years. When he and Maggie married, they would buy a new house, one they had chosen together. When they married . . . Greg lay down on his bed, still fully dressed. If they married . . .

believe it. "We cant keep a sick child here and risk exposing the other children. If you don't take Max, 111 have to call Woodland Family Services and refer the problem to them."

"Max is not a problem," Maggie replied coolly. "I'll be right over to pick him up."

The principal wasn't too thrilled when Maggie told him she was leaving and would be gone for the rest of the day. But it was certainly simpler to call the district office and get a replacement for her than to rout Greg from surgery. Maggie faced the situation realistically and without resentment. Max needed her. And Greg needed her to be with his child. She assumed the role with loving acceptance.

Poor Max was hot and listless, and he curled against her in the front seat of the car without saying a word. Maggie drove him directly to the Woodland Clinic, an outpatient facility used by Woodland residents and others who subscribed to the Woodland Medical Plan. Maggie wasn't sure if the Wilders did or not, but the receptionist in the pediatric clinic, whom she knew well, promised to slip Max in as a "drop-in."

They left ninety minutes later with a diagnosis of an ear infection and a prescription for a decongestant and an antibiotic, which Maggie had filled at the nearby Woodland Pharmacy. Once Max was settled in the cot in Kevin's room after a dose of the medicine and a glass of juice, Maggie tried to reach Greg.

He wasn't available and his receptionist wasn't exactly helpful about letting her know his whereabouts. She finally told Maggie that Dr. Wilder wasn't in his office or in surgery, but was somewhere in the hospital. She suggested Maggie have him paged there. As Maggie was placing the call it occurred to her that life as a doctor's wife wasn't going to be all that different from life as a policeman's wife. Both jobs involved unpredictable hours and emergencies; both called for her to make most of the decisions and take most of the responsibility for the children on her

own. The prospect didn't frighten or disturb her, though. She was confident she could cope.

After checking on Max, who was asleep, Maggie made herself a cup of hot tea which she drank sitting in the kitchen waiting for Greg to return her call. Kevin, Josh, Wendy, and Karl burst into the duplex after school, clamoring for food. Maggie gave them apple slices smeared with peanut butter, and chocolate milk. Kristin arrived with two of the Jennifers. Still no call from Greg.

At a quarter past five the telephone rang at last and Maggie answered it eagerly, breathlessly. "Maggie, this is Paula," came a shaky, tear-filled voice. "I'm at the Community Hospital in southeast Washington and—"

"The hospital!" Maggie gasped. "Paula, what happened. Are you all right?"

"I'm okay, Maggie. I just have some cuts and bruises. There—there was a car accident and the police brought us here."

"Oh, my God!" Maggie sank into a chair.

"I couldn't reach my father so I called you." Paula's voice quavered. "Could you come and get me, Maggie?"

"Of course. But are you sure you're all right, Paula? You still haven't told me what happened."

"I'll tell you about it when you get here. I'm using the phone at the nurses' desk in the emergency room and I can't stay on long. Please come soon, Maggie."

"I'm leaving right now, Paula." Maggie asked Mrs. Jenkins to stay with the children; she didn't think Max was well enough to be left in Kristin's care. It was still raining and traffic was maddeningly snarled, but Maggie managed to reach the hospital in just an hour. A nurse led her into the partitioned cubicle where Paula was sitting on the edge of the examining table. She was wearing her cheerleader's uniform: green and white pleated skirt, white crew-neck sweater emblazoned with a large green W, white socks, and sneakers. Her hair was

pulled into two long pigtails and tied with green yarn. There was an angry lump above her left eyebrow and some scratches on her cheeks. She looked very young and very scared.

"Maggie!" Paula burst into tears at the sight of her. "Oh, Maggie, everything is awful! Todd has a concussion and a broken arm and the car is a wreck and his parents are furious!"

"What happened, Paula?" Maggie asked calmly. "Start from the beginning."

"Todd Terosky is my boyfriend," Paula said in a halting voice. "And he came to school to pick me up after the junior varsity football game. There wasn't anybody at home and so we decided to go for a ride."

In the pouring rain, Maggie thought. On the water-slick streets. Already she was questioning the young driver's judgment.

"We were riding around, just having fun and listening to the radio and this stupid fly was buzzing all around the car, driving us crazy." Paula paused and gulped. "We were trying to swat it and—and Todd sort of forgot to stop at a red light."

Maggie groaned. "Oh, Paula!"

"Don't be mad, Maggie." Paula began crying again. "Mr. Terosky went berserk when I told him. He started yelling at me and yelling at Todd and then Mrs. Terosky started."

"I can imagine." Maggie visualized the scene and grimaced. "I take it Todd's car was hit when he ran the red light?"

"By two cars, one on either side." Paula started to cry harder. "It was terrible, Maggie. I was so scared. And it happened so fast! I thought about my mother and I knew—I felt—" She buried her face in her hands and sobbed uncontrollably.

Maggie's heart went out to her. She put her arms around the weeping youngster and held her close, stroking her hair and whispering softly. Eventually Paula's tears subsided and Maggie talked with the harassed young intern on duty, signed the necessary

release papers, and guided Paula out to her old Chevy in the hospital parking lot.

"Daddy is going to be furious," Paula said. Her voice was tremulous as she fastened her seat belt. "He didn't like the idea of me dating Todd in the first place."

"I know." Maggie steered the car onto the slick streets. "And I don't approve either, Paula. A fourteen-year-old has no business dating a high school boy with his own car. Honey, I don't want to upset you further, but today marks the end of your relationship with Todd Terosky."

Paula sniffled. "I sort of figured you'd say that."

Maggie was surprised by her tame reaction. Paula had obviously had a searing scare. She decided to press the advantage. "And there will be no more dates with older boys with cars, no more dates, period. Not until you're sixteen. Group parties and dances are fine for a girl your age. I think you should stick with your own age group, Paula."

"You sound like my girlfriends' mothers," Paula said with a trace of defiance. "Daddy lets me do anything I want."

"And it's scary to have all that freedom, isn't it, Paula?" Maggie asked gently. "I don't think you're as grown-up as your daddy thinks, are you, honey?" Paula began to cry again and cried the whole way home.

"Dr. Wilder called, Maggie," Mrs. Jenkins said when Maggie and Paula entered the duplex. "But I was busy with Max, so Kari answered the phone and took the message."

"Oh, dear. " Maggie sighed. Kari's telephone messages tended to be somewhat garbled.

"Our new daddy got detoured at the hospital, Mommy," Kari said importantly.

Maggie smiled. "Detoured? Do you mean detained?"

Kari shrugged. "I don't know, but he's going to be late."

Mrs. Jenkins had fixed the children a soup-and-sandwich dinner and offered to do the same for Paula. Maggie was grateful for the offer of assistance. Max was feeling a little better, but was cranky and demanding. He wanted Maggie's exclusive attention and she decided to keep him with her for the night. And even if his fever broke before morning, he'd have to stay inside for at least twenty-four hours. She would have to report off work tomorrow and stay with him.

When Greg hadn't arrived by nine, Maggie sent Josh and Kevin to bed and put Wendy and Kari in the double bed in her room, figuring they might as well stay too. At ten she sent Kristin to bed and offered Paula the use of a nightgown and the sofa. Exhausted from her ordeal, Paula accepted the offer and was asleep within ten minutes.

"There isn't anywhere for you to sleep, Maggie," Mrs. Jenkins said. "And you missed your dinner too."

"The armchair in the living room is fairly comfortable. If I'm tired enough, 111 sleep," Maggie reassured her. "And 111 make myself a bologna and cheese sandwich." She thanked her neighbor, bid her good night, made the sandwich and ate it, and settled down to wait for Greg.

A car pulled to a stop in front of the duplex a few minutes before eleven. Maggie raced to the window and peered out. It wasn't the burgundy Cadillac or the tan station wagon. It was a sporty black Maserati and light was on inside the car. She could see Greg sitting on the passenger side. The driver was a woman.

Maggie walked outside to the car, heedless of the rain which had decreased to a light drizzle. Greg had already opened the car door, but hadn't yet climbed out. The woman in the driver's seat was talking animatedly to him in an obvious attempt to delay his departure. She was pretty, Maggie noted. Short, sleek blond hair, an engaging smile, well-dressed. And intent on charming Greg.

Maggie caught hold of the partially opened door

and swung it wide open. "Hi!" she said brightly, leaning inside the car.

The woman appeared slightly taken aback by the intrusion. Greg took a deep breath. "Maggie!" he said. He looked sick.

"Are you the baby-sitter?" the blonde asked incredulously.

"Among other things, yes." Maggie gave her an effervescent smile. "I was getting ready to put the bloodhounds on this mans trail."

Greg didn't meet her eyes. "I had car trouble, Maggie. I left the headlights on this morning and wore the battery down. It was totally dead when I came back to the parking lot tonight. Clare, here, Clare Priestly"—he inclined his head toward the blonde—"happened to be in the hospital lobby when I was phoning the auto club. She offered me a lift and I decided to take it instead of waiting around."

"It was terribly kind of you to drive Greg the whole way out here to Woodland, Clare," Maggie said sweetly. Nice try, Clare Priestly, she thought to herself, but this man is mine.

Perhaps Clare read the unspoken message in her eyes. "No trouble." The blonde shrugged. "I guess you don't want a rain check on that drink at my place, Greg?"

"Why, we'd be delighted, Clare," Maggie said, flashing her most charming smile. "Just give a call to confirm the date."

Greg coughed, shook his head, and got out of the car, mumbling a quick "Thanks for the ride."

Greg and Maggie walked in silence to the door of the duplex as Clare Priestly's black Maserati disappeared into the night. When they reached the doorstep, Greg grasped Maggie's shoulders and turned her around to face him. "Look," he said, "I know you don't believe me, but it's the truth, Maggie. I really did leave the headlights on and the car battery really was dead. Clare works in the hospital admitting office and she happened to come along and—"

"—offered you a ride and a drink at her place," Maggie finished for him. "And you accepted the ride and turned down the drink."

"Yes!" Greg's voice shook with vehemence. "I swear it's the truth, Maggie."

"I believe you," she said calmly. It was true. She'd suffered no pangs of jealousy at the sight of Greg with the blonde. Whatever Clare Pries tly's motives in offering the ride, Maggie trusted Greg. He had asked her to marry him, to create a home with him. He wouldn't betray her. She knew that now. "After last night I—"

"After last night you don't give a damn? Believe me, I understand, Maggie. Last night should never have happened!" Greg said fiercely. "I spent all day regretting every minute of it, beginning with that imbecilic proposal!"