Keeping Katie (A Mother's Heart #1) (17 page)

“Oh no, I …”

“We owe you, Rita.” Alan leaned over and kissed his aunt’s forehead while grabbing Maureen’s hand.

“Really, Alan, I can’t.”

“Sure you can,” Rita insisted, nearly shoving them out the door. “Now, go on.”

Rita closed the front door behind them, and they stood silently for a moment on the porch. Maureen sighed, feeling the walls of inevitability close around her. Looking at Alan, she saw him watching her with the same intensity she’d seen in the house. Then, without speaking, he led her down the steps. They walked to the end of the street, where he stopped, pulling her into the shadows of nearby trees.

“Come home with me, Maureen.”

She searched his face. It had all happened so fast. At the river. Now. Yet she’d seen it coming, known maybe from the first moment he’d turned his soul-searching eyes on her that this would happen. That they would be lovers. That they would end up in bed. Or by the river.

“It shouldn’t have happened the first time like that,” he said, and Maureen wondered at how easily he read her thoughts. “I never meant—”

“It’s okay.” She touched his lips with her fingers. She couldn’t let him take this all on himself. “It happened. And it wasn’t one-sided.”

He smiled, and she knew he was remembering the wanton way she’d thrown herself at him. She felt the warmth rise in her cheeks, but she didn’t turn away. It was too late for regrets.

“Come with me, then,” he said. “Let me make love to you the way it should have been.”

She hesitated only a moment before putting her hand back in his. They would have this night, she told herself. Because they would never have anything else. “Yes,” she said. “I’ll come home with you.”

The walk to Alan’s house was short. But then everything and everyone in Wyattville was too close together, Maureen reminded herself. There were no secrets here, no privacy. A short while ago, she’d been worried about the town’s speculations. No doubt someone would see them together now, and there would be few questions left in anyone’s mind. Despite that, she wished it had taken longer to get there.

As they approached a large house on the street above Rita’s, she came to an abrupt halt. “It’s not what I expected,” she said.

She stood for a moment, taking in the details of the house. Large and rambling, it had obviously been designed for a family, not a bachelor. The huge yard was meant for children, scrambling across the grass in summer, building snowmen in winter. The wide veranda, complete with white wicker furniture, spoke of long summer evenings where a family might sit together and watch the sunset.

Maureen wished that he lived in a small, crowded apartment complex. Somehow, it would make being with him easier, less tempting.

“My grandfather built it,” Alan said. “I’ve thought of moving into a smaller place …” He shrugged, letting his voice trail off. Releasing her hand, he slid his arm around her shoulders and led her up the walk. “Come on.”

He opened the front door and they stepped inside. Alan flipped on a small table lamp, and a large, graceful foyer sprang into sight. High ceilings, hardwood floors and a long, curving staircase highlighted the entryway. But it was the little things that caught Maureen’s eye: the well-worn braided rug, the vase of fresh flowers on a table, the smell of wood polish.

“Very nice.”

“I only use the downstairs.” Alan shoved his hands into his pockets, and for the first time since meeting him, Maureen thought he looked a bit uncomfortable. Maybe he knew how incongruous it seemed that he should live in a house like this.

“The living room is this way,” he said, and motioned toward twin oak doors on one side of the foyer. Maureen followed him into the other room.

Like the outside of the house, the living room was large and comfortable. A massive fireplace dominated one wall, while a cozy seating arrangement invited one to curl up before a blazing fire. There was no fire tonight, but Maureen could imagine the warmth of the room on a cold winter night, and how sweet it would be to make love slowly in rhythm with the dancing flames.

“How about a glass of wine?” Alan asked.

A flush of heat rose to her cheeks as she shifted her gaze to him. “Sure,” she said, turning away quickly so he wouldn’t see the wayward direction of her thoughts. This house, his house, tugged at her, making her want things she couldn’t have. Things that could never be.

While Alan got the wine, she drifted around the room. A bay window faced the street, and she thought it would be a good place to sit on rainy days. She shoved the thought aside and moved to one of the bookcases flanking the fireplace. It contained an odd assortment of books, hardcover and paperbacks, from classics to current bestsellers.

She’d never thought of Alan as a reader, but some of the more recent books must be his. It reminded her of how little she knew about him. She ran her fingers along the shelf, wondering what she was doing here.

“Checking for dust?”

Maureen pulled her hand from the shelf and turned at the sound of his voice. “I was just looking at your books.” She crossed the room to take one of the glasses he held in his hands.

“Do you approve?” He smiled down at her and took a sip of his wine.

“Sure.” Shrugging, she moved away from him, away from the heat of his smile. “I’m just a little surprised.”

Alan laughed. “Surprised that I
can
read, or that I
do
read?”

Maureen grinned and shook her head. “At
what
you read. Or more to the point, at the variety of things you read.”

He moved up beside her. “I’m full of surprises.”

“Yes.” She met his gaze for a moment, thinking how easy it would be to lose herself in him. “You are.”

“You’re uncomfortable. Why?”

Again his perception startled her. “Well,” she began, deciding to be as open and straightforward as he, “this evening has been somewhat unusual for me.”

“Me, too.”

Maureen turned and stepped away from him again. “I wasn’t looking for a relationship. And what happened earlier …” She shrugged, refusing to meet his gaze, afraid that if she did, he would see too much. “Anyway, it wasn’t supposed to happen.”

“But you came here with me.” He’d followed her across the room and stood behind her, so close she could feel the heat of his body against her back. She closed her eyes, letting his warmth penetrate her senses.

“Yes. I did.” She turned back to face him. “And maybe that’s the scariest thing of all.”

Taking the glass from her hand, he set it on a nearby table. Maureen followed his movements with her eyes, unable to meet his gaze when he turned back to her. She felt so strange being here. It made no sense after what had happened at the river, but an odd shyness crept over her.

Alan framed her head with his hands and tilted her face to his. “Don’t be afraid,” he whispered.

But she was. So much more afraid than she’d been of the arrogant cowboy who had taken her by the river. He bent to kiss her, and she trembled when his lips touched hers. The floor shifted with his touch, rendering coherent thought impossible. Their frantic lovemaking by the river hadn’t changed that.
Why now?
Why did this man affect her like this?

“I’d never hurt you,” he said against her lips. “You know that, don’t you?”

“No.” She shook her head slightly. He started to protest, but she prevented it by deepening the kiss. When she could speak again, she added, “Please, Alan, no promises.”

He pulled back a little, searching her face. Maureen’s heart went out to him. She could see the confusion in his eyes. How could he know that he would hurt her—badly? That it was inevitable. He started to say something else, another reassurance, she supposed, but she stopped him again.

“No more words,” she pleaded. Rising on her toes, she slipped her arms around his neck and hid her face against his chest. “Just make love to me. Like you promised.”

Alan held her, fearful that at any moment she would change her mind. Their frantic lovemaking by the river had only whetted his appetite. He wanted her now more than ever, with a force threatening to overpower him. But he didn’t want to hurt her, and she seemed so sure that he would.

“Alan,” she whispered against his chest, a question in her voice. Her fingers moved restlessly to the hair touching his collar and she shifted against him, reminding him of the sweetness of the body he held.

Bending, he lifted her in his arms. “No more words,” he agreed, pressing his lips to the top of her head. He carried her into the bedroom and laid her gently on his bed. He would just have to prove to her that she was wrong about him.

Sitting beside her, he took a moment to admire the sight of her there, her small form nearly overpowered by his massive bed, her pale skin translucent in the dim light. He planned to go slowly. He wanted to savor every touch, relish every whisper, cherish every moment.

She started to say something, but he pressed a finger to her lips. “No more words. Remember?”

She closed her eyes as his hand slowly drifted, tracing the line of her jaw and then her neck, until he came to the top of her blouse. She held her breath as he paused there, teasing her with the gentlest of touches.

“Do you always go braless?” he asked.

Maureen opened her eyes and smiled. “Sometimes.”

“I like it.”

“Come here.” Lifting her arms to his shoulders, she pulled him down until his lips touched hers. After a moment, he shifted to lie next to her. They lay there length to length, both fully clothed, as he explored the taste of her.

Maureen treasured the feel of him, his lips on hers, his hands on her body. So strong. So sure. They moved over her with a possessiveness that made her yearn to belong to him. He slipped her blouse over her head, and his hands found her breasts. Strong, callused hands against the soft fabric of her skin. She wanted to feel those hands elsewhere.

She moved to unfasten the buttons of his shirt, but he grabbed her wrist. Shifting his weight, he slid a strong leg between hers, while pinning her groping hand against the mattress.

“Patience,” he whispered as he rubbed a muscled thigh against the ache between her legs. He kissed her, brief, nipping touches of his teeth and lips that made her squirm to capture his mouth. A low chuckle emanated from deep in his throat, and he gave her what she wanted—a hard, searing kiss that only managed to intensify the ache where his thigh lay.

“Better?” he asked when he abandoned her mouth.

“No.”

“Slowly.” He lowered his head to her breast. “We’re going to go slowly.”

She lost the last shreds of composure as his mouth teased her breast. The room, the world, swirled around her in a dizzy array of sensation and yearning. Her back arched and her legs clamped around the hard thigh that held them apart, while she strained to free the hand he held prisoner. She wanted to touch him, to have him touch her.

She was driving him mad, Alan realized. Nothing had prepared him for this. He felt the desire pulsate through her body, turning his own passion into a hot, raging need. He tasted her fevered skin, while her legs strained against his thigh. Her unbridled moans of pleasure and protest begged him for more. No other woman had ever wanted him this way. And he’d never needed anyone like he needed her.

He freed her wrist to pull at her skirt, and her hands flew to the buttons of his shirt. They both groped, pulling the printed fabric over her slender hips, popping buttons in frantic haste. Shirt and skirt were tossed carelessly aside. He pinned her again, and this time his bulging sex, still restricted by denim, pressed firmly between her thighs with all his weight.

“Please,” she moaned, her eyes dosed, her hands fumbling at the waistband of his jeans.

He pressed harder, loving the way she wanted him. “Say it again,” he breathed against her lips.

Maureen wanted to feel him—all of him—skin against skin. Yet he teased her. It was obvious how badly he needed her. But, he held back.

“Please,” she repeated as her lips met his, her hands slipping around his waist, her legs wrapping around his, pulling him tighter against her.

He answered her with his mouth and the harsh fabric of his jeans rubbing against her aching femininity. He brought her higher, until need and desire wrapped around her like a blinding light, bringing her a release that was both sudden and shattering.

When the room slipped back into focus, he remained on top of her, his own unsatisfied need evident against her. She opened her eyes to find him watching her, hunger and restraint warring in his dark eyes. Uncoiling her legs, she reached down to unfasten the snap of his jeans. He didn’t stop her this time, but held her gaze as she slowly lowered the zipper.

Then she held him in her hands, hot, hard and throbbing. Just the feel of him resurrected her own desire. Closing her eyes, she pulled him gently toward her. With a low growl, he rolled away from her.

“Wait,” he said, his voice deep and gravelly. “I can’t put you at risk again.” Reaching over to the nightstand, he pulled open the top drawer and grabbed a small foil packet from inside. Then he stripped away his jeans in one easy motion and returned to her. She lifted her hips to meet him, wanting him again, wondering if she would ever stop.