Starstruck (25 page)

He slid into the bed alongside her, their bodies touching from toes to mouths, hardness and softness melting together, seeking a unity
too long denied. For a fleeting instant Liv remembered Tom’s telling her that she wasn’t the passionate sort and thought,
he should see me now.
But her giggle was muffled in the warmth of Joe’s lips.

“What is it?” he muttered.

She replied, “Nothing,” and was overjoyed to realize that it was true. Tom was over, past. What he thought totally ceased to matter. What mattered was Joe, only Joe. Now and forever, Joe. And she rolled over onto him, pressing him into the sheets, feathering kisses across his chest.

“What are you doing?” he gasped, catching her face between his hands.

“Kissing your scabs.” She grinned at him in the moonlight that peeked suddenly through a break in the clouds as the rain stopped. “I think if I do a thorough job of it, I just might cover your whole body.”

“You might,” he growled, grinning back. “But don’t expect me to last that long.” But he didn’t object further, lying back and letting her have her way a while longer, watching her with a kind of glazed astonishment on his face, and she remembered that Veronique wouldn’t have touched him. She smiled, her tongue slipping between her lips to trace a circle around his navel and then dip inside.

His strong arms suddenly engulfed her, pulling her up against his chest and then tugging the nightgown over her head, so that she lay naked against him. Gently, skillfully, his hands molded her to him, smoothing down her back and over the curve of her hip, running lightly up the inner sides of her thighs, so that she ground her hips against his, aching for him, her desire as strong as his. Her fingers slipped inside the waistband of his shorts, and she lifted herself to her knees above him, sliding the shorts down over his narrow hips and strong thighs. Joe kicked them away impatiently and pulled her down again, rolling her over and lying on his side against her. His right hand came up to cup her breast, to stroke it to a taut peak before his lips came down to caress it with liquid softness. Liv tossed her head, burning, needing, aching.

“Do you know what it’s like to envy a bunch of little kids?" he groaned, his mouth still planting kisses on both breasts.

“What?”

“Your kids. They’d known you for years, hugged you, kissed you. Cripes, at my house Jennifer even slept with you,” he muttered. He got to his knees, hands still moving over her, memorizing her body. Then he bent his head, showering her abdomen with kisses, his hands going before him, smoothing the way, increasing her anticipation, her readiness, sending flames of desire shooting through her.

“Joe!” She tugged at his hair, her fingers twining in the dark, unruly locks, dragging him up against her, needing his warmth, his passim, his love. “Joe, please—”

“Mmmmm.” His hot breath caressed her ear as he lifted himself slightly, then gently lowered, fitting between her thighs as Liv welcomed him, drawing him down, urging him on. She was gripped in a wild, tempestuous delight, an ecstasy that knew no name, and her arms and legs tightened around him, fitting to his rhythm, mindless of everything but Joe now. She knew neither past nor future—only this—that this loving was the proper, the deepest, expression of what she felt for him. She loved him wholly and completely, holding nothing back. Her back arched, stars blazed, spirits soared and they became one together.

Weakened, spent, yet whole at last, Liv tasted the salty perspiration on Joe’s shoulder, felt his galloping heart next to her own and smiled. A sense of completeness, of inevitability overwhelmed her. She had shown him her deepest feelings; she had given him her love. Her hand drifted down his sweat-dampened back, stroking the smooth skin and rough scabs, loving them all. “I love you, Joe,” she whispered and settled easily onto her side, curving her back into his chest and wrapping his arms around to hold against her. She felt his cheek
against her hair. “I love you,” she murmured again, sleepiness overcoming her. “I do.” And her eyes flickered shut and she slept, content and at peace in his arms.

It was Joe who lay, eyes open, for the remainder of the night.

Chapter Eleven

T
he bright morning sun said it all. Liv hummed as she set out the cups and sliced the bread, her movements quick and deft, her lips curved into the smile she’d been wearing since she’d awakened an hour before.

The temptation to lie in bed and watch Joe sleep had been almost overwhelming. She loved the strong line of his jaw, now blurred with a week’s worth of beard, the slight irregularity of the bridge of his nose where he’d broken it playing football as a boy, the soft mahogany hair that drifted across his forehead, more red than brown in the sunlight shining on it. It was an indulgence that she couldn’t completely deny herself. Too soon she would be bolting out of bed in the morning, hustling the kids off to school, and such luxuries would be as remote as Madison seemed now. So she had watched him, trying to synchronize her breathing with the deep evenness of his, tracing with her eyes the groove in his cheek, the tiny lines from laughter and hard living that fanned out around his eyes. And then, resolutely, she had slipped from the bed without waking him. Noting the dark shadows under his eyes and deciding to let him sleep as long as she could, she took a shower and fixed herself some breakfast. Then she fixed Joe’s breakfast, too.

She had been fixing him breakfast for days, but this morning it meant more, took on a new significance. It was a small task, but done for the man she loved, the man who knew now without a doubt how much she
loved him. She poured herself a cup of coffee and added milk, stirring it absently as she sat in the dining room in the warm sunshine and remembered with even greater interior warmth their lovemaking of the night before.

“Hi. Pour me a cup, will you?” Joe appeared in the doorway, hair uncombed and eyes bleary, but already dressed in gray slacks and buttoning up a long-sleeved, pale blue oxford cloth shirt. He was barefoot and disgruntled looking, and Liv smiled at him as she poured the coffee. She handed it to him, longing to reach up and kiss his cheek, actually moved to do it, but he said, “Thanks,” and took a long swallow, vanishing again into the bedroom as he did so. She heard him rummaging around in his suitcase, and moments later he reappeared, knotting a regimental striped tie around his collar.

“Hadn’t you better be getting ready to leave?” he asked.

Liv felt her brows draw together as she frowned. Where were the good morning kiss and the smile she had been expecting? As if he could read her mind, he suddenly bent down and kissed her hard and quick, then stood up and began buttering a slice of rye, saying, “When we get back to Madison you can move your stuff into my place and put yours up for rent.”

“What?” She stared, a funny, hollow feeling growing where she had felt comfortably full of breakfast just moments before.

He flicked her a quick glance, then concentrated on the bread. “I said—”

“I heard what you said,” Liv told him, feeling
s of dread building. “
What did you mean?”

Joe stopped buttering the bread. “Move in with me. Live with me. Cohabit.”
His voice was calm, matter-of-
fact, but he was holding the knife in a death grip, and Liv felt suddenly cold, as if the sun had gone behind a cloud. She dropped a piece of bread into the toaster, not really wanting it, but needing something to do.

“I
can’t,” she said finally.

He looked at her then. Stared, his brows drawn down in a dark line, his eyes hard and grim like dull jade. “Why?”

Why? How could she answer that? “Because, because
…
I thought
…
” How did you say, “I thought we’d get married? I thought you’d be my husband and I’d be your wife and we’d live happily ever after”? She closed her eyes briefly, groping for the words which seemed to slip further out of reach.

“You said you loved me,” Joe reminded her. He was leaning against Mrs. Carvalho’s dark walnut buffet, looking fierce and menacing with a backdrop of delicate tea cups and porcelain horses.

“I do. I do love you.” There was no point in denying it now, even though every rational thought told her to, told her to cover her weaknesses and retreat, defending herself however she could.

“Well, then
—
” He was looking annoyed, his fingers
busy destroying the bread on his plate, crumbling it into little mounds and moving them around distract
ed
ly.

“First of all, I won’t do it because of the kids. My kids know that I think what Tom did was wrong. I won’t turn around now and do the same thing, too. And I won’t have them subjected to more gossip. Goodness knows, having Tom for a father brought enough of that.” She knew she was making a bad job of it, stumbling, breathless, her voice jerky, not saying the things that mattered the most.

“The kids like me,” Joe argued.

“That’s not the point! They deserve a stable life, a—”

“They were stable with us while they had chicken pox!”

“For two weeks. How long do you want to live with me? Two weeks? Two months? Two years?” She was shaking and clenched her hands in her lap, hoping he wouldn’t notice.

“Who knows? Forever, maybe.”

“Maybe?” Scorn dripped from her voice and she
knew it. The knife slammed down on Joe’s plate. The toast popped up, burned.

“Maybe. Nothing’s certain. You ought to know that!” His voice rose as he loomed over her. “I suppose you want me to propose,” he growled, his dark head bent over the plate in his hand.

“I suppose I do,” she said quietly.

Neither of them spoke; the silence stretched like a mine field between them, each step fraught with potential for disaster. Liv held her breath, her sunny day suddenly banked with thunderclouds. She heard a distant rumble and was surprised to realize that it was only a passing truck.

“Marriage is a trap, a cage,” he said finally, each word driving a nail into her heart. “It’s a convention that has destroyed more relationships than I care to count.”

“Lots of marriages last,” Liv argued. “My parents’ marriage has.”

“So has my parents’,” Joe said heavily. “They’re the best example of what I’m talking about that I can think of.”

Liv was puzzled. “What do you mean?”

“My father married my mother because it was the thing to do; it was expected. They’ve rubbed along together for forty-six years, and neither one of them has done a spontaneous, interesting thing in the thirty-six years I’ve known them. Maybe they never have; I wouldn’t be surprised. Their marriage is dead, lifeless, a shell. Nothing like what I had with you last night.” He looked up from his plate and she could see the seriousness in his gaze, and she wanted to deny everything he was saying, but she, too, knew of marriages like that. And how could she convince him that a marriage between the two of them would be any different?

“For years I avoided anything that remotely resembled what they had,”
he went on. “I had plenty of af
fairs, as you well know, but I never once asked a woman to live with me, not even for two days.”

Liv swallowed hard, her mouth tasting of burned toast. “I’m sorry,” she said into her napkin. “I still can’t do it. I love you too much.”

It was Joe’s turn to stare. “Come again?”

She twisted her napkin around her fingers. “It would hurt too much,” she began slowly, picking her way through the mine field. “I don’t want anything less than all of you, just as I would give you all of myself.”

“I gave you all of me last night!”

“Your body,” she corrected.

“Yes, what’s wrong with that?”

“Nothing. It’s just not enough. I want a commitment.
I
want you—as husband, as father. Till death do us part
.
”

It sounded like a sentence, not a benediction, but Liv folded her hands and bowed her head, waiting for the storm to break.

“The plane leaves in less than two hours,” Joe said, picking up his plate and carrying it out to the kitchen. “You’d better get packed.”

A
ll the way back to Madison she waited for a miracle— the smile that never came, the words that were so loudly unspoken that they reverberated in her head. But she waited in vain. The issue was decided; the case was closed. Joe was polite, attentive, and as distant as if she had left him standing in the Wien-Schwechat Airport instead of sitting with his pale blue, knife-creased sleeve brushing hers.

She remembered the chasm that had opened at her feet the night that Tom had announced that he wanted a divorce and knew that it was nothing compared to the emotional Grand Canyon before her now. But there was nothing she could do to close it. He had made his offer, his compromise that was, she admitted, more than he had ever offered anyone else. But she could not accept it, would not accept it. And that was that She had the satisfaction, grim and useless though it
was, of knowing at least that she had tried. She had loved him, had given him her all, and Joe Harrington could never say he hadn’t known. There were no sins of omission to be held over her head in this relationship. But sometimes, no matter what one did, it wasn’t enough.

Liv shut her eyes and tipped her seat back, feigning sleep, wishing it would overtake her and obliterate the black fog of depression that surrounded her. Four more hours to O’Hare, a short hop to Madison. Home before nightfall. She squeezed her eyes tighter, refusing to let the threatening tears leak out. Home. But a home without Joe. And what kind of a home was that?

A welcoming one, if nothing else. Frantic babbling, hugging, kissing, shouting greeted them at the airport. Blond heads and brown ones bobbed around Ellie, then broke loose as small bodies hurled themselves on both Liv and Joe, nearly knocking them to the ground.

“Didja have fun?”

“What did you bring home?”

“How come you grew a beard, Joe?”

“Wait’ll you see what Frances bought for your room, Ma!”

None of them noticed her pale cheeks and haunted eyes. No one commented on Joe’s edginess and hunted look. Only Ellie stared—and stared—and knew. Liv could tell by her compressed lips, sad face and the resignation that had replaced her initial welcoming smile.

“Shall we go, then?” Ellie asked and began to lead the way toward the baggage claim area, but Joe shook his head and hung back.

“I have to go on,” he said.

“What?” Liv’s and Ellie’s voices joined in chorus.

“To L.
A.,” he said hastily. “I have to get back to L.A.”

“Now?” There was only Ellie’s voice, sharp and incredulous, this time.

“Uh-huh,” he patted his jacket pocket which seemed to have a sheaf of paper in it. “Meeting Luther about a contract,” he explained, edging away.

El
li
e just stared.

“But Joe,” Ben said, “You just got here!” All the kids looked crestfallen, Liv noticed. Damn, why couldn’t they just dislike him? It would be so much easier to believe that she was absolutely doing the right thing if she knew they didn’t like him, if she was sure they wouldn’t want her to live with him.

Joe shrugged, looking decidedly uncomfortable under their stares. “I’m sorry,” he said to Ben. “I really do have to go.”

“When are you cornin’ back?” Theo demanded.

“I don’t know.”

Never, Liv could have answered for him. She almost offered to pack up his things at the house and send them along to him, but why make it any easier for him than it already was?

“You gotta come to my game,” Noel told him. “We’re in the champio
nships. It’s two weeks from Sun
day.” Joe had attended more of Noel’s ball games than Tom ever had, Liv knew. It had thrilled the boy that someone as busy as Joe was so interested. And now he wouldn’t be there for that either.
My fault,
Liv thought, but knew she couldn’t change her mind now. Nor did she want to. But it didn’t seem fair that doing the right thing was always so hard!

“I’ll try,” Joe promised, and Liv looked to see if he had his fingers crossed, but his hand was stuck in his pants pocket, so she couldn’t tell. Most likely they were. She doubted, once he’d got back aboard a plane, that they’d ever see Joe Harrington in Madison again. “If I don’t make it, send me a card and tell me the score,” Joe told Noel.

“Come on,” Ellie said to the kids, hustling them toward the luggage turnaround. “Let’s get the suitcases and give your mother a chance to say good-bye to Joe.”

Liv grimaced, wanting to turn and run, following her children away from the biggest heartbreak in her life. But she couldn’t move. She was rooted to the spot, devouring him, soaking up last impressions like a thirsty daisy in the rain. His tie was crooked, and a tiny scab was peeling off by the outside co
rn
er of his left eye. He ran a finger beneath his collar, then stuck his hand back in his pocket and stared at her as well. Was there nothing left to say?

She heard the last boarding call for the return flight to O’Hare and knew that he heard it, too, but neither of them moved. Eyes fenced, parried, memorized. Loved. Then she heard his voice, very low. “
If you ever change your mind…
”

Her teeth sunk into her lower lip, drawing blood. “I won’t,” she told h
im, sadness piercing her. “Good
bye, Joe.”