Home Field Advantage (16 page)

They simply looked at each
other for a long moment. Then he said huskily, "If I still want you? What
do you think?"

All she managed was his name.
"John..." Was she protesting or begging? She hadn't any idea.

But it was enough to bring
him to her in one long stride. The tension that had simmered between them all
day crackled into searing life. There was no gentleness in him this time; no
tentativeness, no chance for her to escape. He yanked her up against him and
took her mouth in one devouring move. Instinctively she lifted her hands to
push him away, but when they found powerful, bare shoulders with muscles that
jerked at her touch, her fingers curled to hold on instead of reject. Blood
tumbled madly through her veins when she felt John's tongue slip inside her
mouth, tasting, pleading, demanding, until her own met his. He had her backed
against the wall, the length of his hard body trapping her as effectively as
one look from him had done. This madness between them was like a squall at sea,
rising with frightening suddenness and sweeping all before its ferocity.

Marian had forgotten—had she
ever known?—that she could feel this way. Her body had become boneless and
pliable. Pleasure at his hungry touch had her shivering with delight. One big
hand cupped the back of her head to hold her mouth for his to plunder, while
his other hand moved restlessly over her waist and hips, pressing her against
the obvious evidence of his arousal, kneading her flesh through the thin
fabric until she whimpered against his mouth. It was insane, terrifying, and
yet so perfect.

And then she heard another
whimper. From her? She wondered, suddenly confused. John's hands stilled, and
she realized the sound had come from Emma's room, through the closed door just
beside them. John lifted his head and took a shuddering breath that Marian
echoed.

She wanted him to kiss her
again, to sweep her into his arms and carry her to that huge bed in his room.
She wanted his hands on her breasts and his weight over her. She wanted...

To lose everything? Marian
heard the voice of sanity as clearly as if someone had spoken aloud. She was
unbearably tempted. Above her his face was taut, his gray eyes smoldering, his
breathing harsh. All she had to do was smile or lift a hand to touch his rough
cheek. All she had to do was press her lips to that sleek chest, taste the
saltiness of his skin... All she had to do was ask.

Instead, she squeezed her
eyes shut and took a sideways step, pulling free from his grip. When she opened
her eyes and saw the flare of frustration in his eyes, Marian took another
involuntary step backward.

She had to lash out to defend
herself, not from John, but from her own need. Her voice was raw. "Do you
think I agreed to be your mistress? Is that what this is about?"

His eyes darkened. "What
the hell are you talking about?"

"I said I'd stay for
Emma's sake. Not yours. If this is what you expect..."

"I'm not in the habit of
keeping lovers in the same house as my daughter," he said grimly.
"And I've never made love with a woman who didn't come to me wholeheartedly.
But I'm not going to lie, either. I want you, Marian, but only when you're
ready."

Ready? Oh, Lord, if he only
knew!

"I..." Abruptly the
words died. What could she say anyway? She was no more willing to lie than he
was. She did want him. Her body was achingly, recklessly, ready for him. But
her mind was confused, her heart afraid. "Can we talk about it tomorrow?"
she faltered.

"Go to bed," he
said wearily. He leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes, as though he
wanted to shut the sight of her out. "Now."

She went, fleeing both him
and her own desperate need.

John didn't watch her go, but
he could feel the hall's emptiness when she was gone. His heart was still
slamming against his chest and he was sweating, though the night air was cool.
He hadn't wanted a woman this badly in years, or been as frustrated. It would
have been funny, if he'd had any sense of humor left.

Had he just implied that he
wouldn't make love to a woman in his own bed, in his house, because his
innocent daughter lived here? God! He did laugh, mirthlessly, at the perversity
of it. He had fallen in love, but he couldn't touch her until he was invited
and he couldn't make love to her in his own bed. Without going out of his mind,
how the hell was he going to court Marian?

*****

Somehow they managed
breakfast without ever quite meeting each other's eyes or addressing each other
directly, but also without the children noticing the tension. Emma bounded into
the kitchen after John had rousted her from bed. Marian, heavy-eyed and head
aching from her sleepless night, was setting cereal and milk out on the table.

Emma's huge dark eyes were
touchingly vulnerable. "Are you really going to stay?" she asked.

Marian smiled, but heaven
only knew how. "Well, your dad and I haven't talked about it yet..."

"You are." She
hurtled across the kitchen to hug Marian fiercely. "I thought maybe I
dreamed it. I dreamed once that Helen came back, but she didn't."

"Well, I'm here,"
Marian said firmly. "Tired and cranky this morning, but definitely
here."

"I'm glad, I'm glad, I'm
glad!" Emma caroled. "Anna...Jesse!" She whirled away.
"Where are you? Did you know you get to stay? It'll be like you're my
sister and brother. Not really, but we can pretend."

John came into the kitchen,
his face drawn, and Marian hurriedly turned away to look in the cupboard for
bowls. How could she stay, after last night? How could she not, after she'd
promised Emma?

With Emma safely off on the
school bus and the twins settled in front of the television in the living
room, Marian gave a wide berth to John, who still sat sipping his coffee and
gazing bleakly out the window toward the barns. As quietly as possible, she
piled dirty dishes in the sink and was about to sneak out of the kitchen when
his voice stopped her.

"Marian, we need to
talk."

She hesitated, her back to
him. "Now?"

"No." His voice was
tight and very controlled. "I propose a neutral setting. Sort of like the
arms talks. I'll get a baby-sitter and we can go out to dinner tonight."

Out to dinner?
"But..."

"We can't be honest with
each other if the kids are in earshot."

She didn't know if she wanted
to be that honest. But she pushed her hair back from her face and said in a
constrained tone, "Yes, that would be fine."

"Six o'clock?"

"Fine," she said
again. "Do you know a babysitter?"

A hint of humor crept into
his voice. "Actually, I was hoping you could recommend someone."

She had to turn, though
meeting his clear grey eyes was one of the hardest things she had ever done.
"Crystal has an older sister," she said. "I've never used her,
but they're a nice family."

"Do you want to call, or
shall I?"

"I don't mind," she
said.

John pushed back his chair.
"Then I'll get to work."

Crystal's sister, Lisa, was
happy to baby-sit, with the result that four-thirty found Marian hopelessly
studying her meager wardrobe, hung in the oversize closet. She hadn't bought a
new dress in—what?—four, five years. Before her pregnancy, anyway. Of course,
what she looked like shouldn't make any difference. She didn't want to attract
John McRae. Did she?

Marian finally dragged out a
suitcase that she hadn't bothered to unpack for their short stay here, and
reluctantly settled on a featherweight wool jersey with a softly draped
neckline and a skirt that swirled. Ruby red, it flattered her more than she
remembered. She finally left her hair loose, except for clipping it back from
her face. It hung to her waist, a heavy silk curtain that rippled with her
every movement. Walking downstairs carefully in the unfamiliar high heels, she
felt horrendously self-conscious. This was worse than her first date! Suppose
John intended to take her to the pizza parlor. Or MacDonald's. What if he had
on jeans and a sweatshirt? What if...

But he waited at the bottom
of the stairs in a dark suit, his jaw clean-shaven and his hair still damp. His
expression was inscrutable, but when he saw her, something incendiary flickered
in his eyes. A blush warmed her cheeks, and she hurried past him to kiss the
kids good night.

"We won't be gone long.
You be good for Lisa."

John had the front door open
and his car keys in his hand. Marian turned to the teenager. "I made a
casserole..."

"Mr. McRae told me. I
already put it in the oven," she said.

"Do you have John’s
phone number?"

"Yep," John said.
"Ready, Marian?"

Wishing desperately that she
had some excuse not to be, she finally nodded. He held open the door for her,
and then the car door, before going around to get in on the driver's side. They
had driven in silence for several minutes before Marian finally asked,
"Where are we going?"

"I made reservations at
Giulia's. Unless you hate Italian food?"

The restaurant was elegant
and expensive. It was also a twenty-minute drive. And, she realized, this was
the first time she had ever been totally alone with John. "No, that's
fine," she said hurriedly. "I enjoy almost any kind of food."

"You don't look like
it."

"What do you mean?"

"I haven't seen you put
away a good meal yet. You're too busy waiting on everybody else."

She turned to look at him,
but his attention appeared to be on the road. "Is that a criticism?"

"An observation. I wish
you'd relax."

Marian opened her mouth to
snap, "Of course I'm relaxed!" when she realized that she was taut as
a bowstring, with tension that ran up her neck and tightened like a band around
her forehead. She was the farthest thing in the world from relaxed.

She would still have lied if
she'd thought she could get away with it. Unfortunately, she had too expressive
a face. So she did something worse. She babbled. "I'm...just nervous, I
guess. I'm sorry. This is difficult for me. These last few days..."

He let the apology pass.
"I've put a lot of pressure on you, haven't I?"

"No." Marian heaved
a huge sigh that drained some of the anxiety away. "I don't know what I
would have done without you. The trouble is, I hate admitting that."

Without taking his eyes from
the road, John reached for her hand and gave it a quick squeeze. The gesture
was undoubtedly meant to be kind and reassuring, but didn't have quite that
effect.

"My mother came to stay
with Emma and me after Susan died," he said conversationally. "I was
grateful, but after a couple of weeks I realized that I felt like I had to
explain myself every time I stepped out the door or told Emma what to do or
wandered into the kitchen for something to eat. I love my mother, we're good
friends, we talk on the phone regularly. But living with her..." He shook
his head. "It just didn't work. I regressed about twenty years in age. No
adult likes to depend on anyone else."

She gave him honesty for
honesty. "I feel like a guest," she said. "Always uncomfortable.
Your house isn't...isn't home.'"

He shot her one unfathomable
look. "The way I kissed you hasn't helped things, has it?"

She was surprised to feel a
tiny spark of amusement. "The way you kissed me? I don't know if there
would have been any better way."

His mouth curled into an easy
grin, and Marian was suddenly light-headed. She could fall in love with him so
easily.

She was in love with him. She
was shocked by the truth. It was already too late. She loved John McRae.

Of all the impossible times
to fall in love. Of all the impossible men! A stubbornly fair part of Marian
insisted on reminding her that he wasn't impossible at all. He was gentle, good
with the children, kind, humorous, fun to talk to, and sexy. He also thought
nothing of parking his lonely daughter wherever he could whenever it was
convenient. Maybe she wasn't being fair about that—he certainly hadn't deserted
Emma like Mark had done to his children. But he wasn't there for her as a
normal father would be, either. And especially, as a single father should be.

They reached the restaurant a
few minutes later, and John escorted Marian in as if she were one of Sports
Illustrated's swimsuit models. He held open the door, steered her gently after
the waiter with a hand on the small of her back, pulled out the chair for her
before the younger man could get to it.

Marian had to keep reminding
herself that this was not a date. She was an employee receiving instruction on
her duties. Except that she couldn't kid herself that it was usual for him to
have taken a new housekeeper to a place like this. But then, he didn't think of
her quite as he did his usual housekeepers—unless there had been more between
him and Helen than he or Emma had ever hinted at.

John was well aware of
Marian's mixed emotions. So far, so good, he thought. She'd let him con her into
a dinner away from the kids. While they'd have to talk about real life—her role
as a housekeeper—he had told her the truth: he really didn't have much idea
what Helen did. Marian was great with kids, a superb cook, and, as far as he
could tell, a decent housekeeper. That covered the job as far as he was
concerned. What he wanted was to learn more about her. About the woman, not the
mother, day-care provider, housekeeper.