Tessa McDermid - Family Stories (25 page)

"What is it?"

"I don't want to mess anything up."

He laughed, a deep, throaty laugh that made her stomach pitch. His smoldering glances had excited her but this laugh made her want to throw her arms around his neck and hold him close so he'd never leave. His laugh was that of a man who saw much joy in life.

He leaned over the couch and pressed it with his palm, creating a dent in the center of the cushion. With a low bow, he turned. "Milady, your seat."

She curtseyed and started to sit. Halfway down, his hands caught her elbows and she raised her face trustingly for his kiss.

His lips were firm. She closed her eyes, letting him support her weight. After a moment, she pul ed her arms away and locked them around his neck. He gathered her closer and she sank into his embrace, her back against the cushions of the couch.

She couldn't breathe. For a moment, she thought about cataloging his kiss, storing the sensations away for a story, but then his tongue invaded her mouth and she forgot everything except his kiss.

His mouth seared a path down her jaw, her cheek, along her neck. His hand crept up her side and she inhaled sharply, her nipple puckering in anticipation.

He removed his hand and she opened her eyes. "No," she said, placing his hand back on her waist.

"Are you sure?" His voice was rough with longing.

"I've never been more sure of anything."

They moved frantical y, sliding garments off and onto the floor, hands exploring newly bared skin, lips trailing over shoulders, mouths, cheeks. His beard grazed the tender skin of her breast and she giggled, surprised at the soft, ticklish sensation.

He raised his head, eyes dark with desire. "What's so funny?"

"Nothing, nothing." She curled her fingers into the thick mane of his hair, bringing him closer so she could kiss his mouth. "I didn't realize your beard would tickle, that's al ."

"It tickles, does it?" He rubbed his beard back and forth over her nipples until she forgot to laugh and moaned with need.

"Okay, you have to understand." He was stretched on top of her, one hand flung over the back of the couch, the other on the floor. "I real y did think we'd just talk when we came up here. I don't usual y..." He paused.

She pushed a strand of hair out of his eyes. "I should hope not. And I've never jumped into bed on a first date before, so I suppose that says something, too." She'd jumped into bed twice, both times with men she'd met on her English trip, determined to completely expand her horizons.

He kissed her, a hard kiss that pressed her head into the couch arm. When he released her, she gently smoothed a finger over his cheek. "I told you things tonight I've never told anyone before. And now this." She ran her finger over the straight line of his thick brows, down his nose, over his mustache, around the lips that had driven her crazy. "Alex Martin, if you don't stop leering at me, I'll expect satisfaction al over again."

"That can be arranged." He shifted and nipped her bare shoulder and she knew he was speaking the truth.

She sighed, smiling as his gaze fol owed her breasts. "Cal my parents, would you? Tel them I'm not coming home tonight."

He straightened, half lifting himself off the couch. "What time is it? They're probably wondering where you are."

She pul ed his head down until his beard tickled her chin. "I'm grown-up now, Alex. I don't answer to them."

But the mood was broken. He jumped off the couch and pul ed on his pants. She lay on the couch, watching, her arms tucked casual y behind her head. He threw her blouse and sweater at her.

"Margaret, I love you and thank you for a wonderful evening' but you must go home."

She sat up, clutching her clothes. "What did you say?"

"I said you must go home. You may not worry about your reputation but I worry about mine."

"No, Alex, be serious. What else did you say?"

He knelt down, his hands cupping her face. "I said I love you. Those words never came out of my mouth before, honest."

Her tears surprised them both. He snatched a handkerchief from his pocket and gingerly mopped at her cheeks. He helped her into her blouse, fastening the tiny buttons with clumsy fingers. She hiccuped and stepped into her skirt.

"I—I—"She hiccuped again. "Thank you. You didn't have to say that, you know. I was a party to al this."

He frowned, then caught her around the waist, bringing her close. "I didn't just say the words, Margaret. I meant them."

Her tears flowed faster. He tilted back her head and captured them with his lips, his mouth on her cheeks and then her lips, his kiss overwhelming her with tenderness.

They were both breathless when he released her lips, his head bent over hers. "When I walked into that classroom today, I had no idea I was meeting my future wife. But after tonight, sweetheart, I am never letting you out of my life. Ever."

The tears threatened again and she swallowed. "Alex, you'd better get me home soon. Or I'm going to flood your apartment."

His kiss was gentle. "Let's go then. Or I'll keep you here for another reason."

She curled against his side on the ride home, too dazed to speak. She hadn't given him an answer and he hadn't asked for one. When he parked in front of her house, she waited but he didn't repeat his proposal. If his kiss hadn't been so possessive and intense, if her body didn't stil bear the imprint of their lovemaking, she'd worry that she'd imagined the entire scene.

She made it to her bedroom door before she heard the cal . "Margaret? Margaret, is that you?"

"Yes, Mom, sorry it's so late."

"Did you enjoy yourself?"

A grin spread over Margaret's face. "I did."

"And is he the one?" Her mother's voice was sleepy but Margaret could hear the humor in it.

You knew as soon as you met Dad, didn't you, Mom? You took one look at him and you knew. And thirty years later, you're stil looking at each other with love in your eyes.

"I think he is," she whispered to herself.

She wasn't ready to say the words out loud, though, so she wished her mother good-night and received a muffled "good night, dear" in reply.

After that, she spent every available minute with Alex, cooking meals at his apartment, grading papers at his dining-room table, making love in his big bed. A week after their first dinner, he proposed again and she eagerly accepted. He breathed an exaggerated sigh of relief then tumbled her onto the pil ows.

He asked her to announce the engagement and choose a wedding date, but she begged for more time. "Not yet, please. I know and you know, but other people might think we're rushing into marriage."

"Why wait when we know it's right?" he asked, nibbling her earlobe.

She ducked away.

He shoved the papers she'd been trying to grade onto the floor and brought her closer to his body. "If you're worried about what happened with your sister Alice, remember your other sister's happily married. We have a fifty-fifty chance of being successful. And that's just going by your sisters. If we factor in your parents, not to mention mine, our odds are even better. Besides, I'm an optimistic kind of guy myself."

"Yes, but—"

She couldn't focus on her argument, not with his arms encircling her, his lips making their way down her cheeks, over her shoulders. He was insatiable, touching her, caressing her, and she basked in the attention.

Sometimes she wondered if that was why she was so enamored with him or if—as she hoped—her feelings went deeper. But he never gave her time to reflect on it.

She pushed against his chest. "Alex, please. I can't think when you're kissing me."

"That's the general idea." He nuzzled her neck.

She squirmed out of his hold and stood up. "Alex, please."

He gazed at her, lust burning in his eyes. "Al right. What?" He folded his arms over his chest.

She paced around the room, unable to concentrate now. She did better with a blank sheet of paper, and time to formulate her thoughts.

She turned to face him. "It's sil y, Alex, but how can I tel my parents I'm engaged to a man they've met once?"

He reached her in a few quick strides, forcing her to stop her mad dash around the room. He raised her chin up with one long finger. "Margaret, I love you and I love the way you care about your family. But I'm not marrying your parents. I'm marrying you. Your opinion is the only one that matters."

She nodded, tracing a finger down the buttons of his shirt. "I know you're right, Alex. It's just that—"

He swallowed her objection with a hard kiss. "It's just nothing. Now, repeat after me. I, Margaret Robertson, love you, Alex Martin, and agree to marry you within the month."

She stared at him. His finger and thumb pinched her chin, forcing her mouth to open and shut like a ventriloquist's dol . "Repeat after me," he said.

She giggled and then said the words, pausing after "marry you."

"Finish the sentence," he ordered.

"Within the month," she whispered.

"Good. Now let's go practice for our wedding night."

Six weeks after their first meeting in the classroom, they stood together in the col ege chapel and exchanged vows. His parents, two sisters and brother came from Kansas, eager to witness tin- marriage. Anne and Alice were her attendants, his brother and j fel ow teacher assisting Alex. Marian sniffled throughout the short service, Frank s arm around her shoulders. After a buffet dinner .it her parents' house, Alex drove them to his apartment.

In bed that night, she ran her fingers through his beard, reveling in the different textures against her skin. "Any regrets?" she asked.

He gave a satisfied groan and rol ed over so she was resting on his chest. "Not now and not ever."

"Pretty words, my love." She leaned down to give him a floating kiss. "I'll remind you of them during our first fight."

"We won't ever argue." He rol ed over again, trapping her beneath him. "From now on, your stories will reflect our happily- ever-after marriage."

She laughed. "Art imitating life."

"You bet." He framed her face with his hands. Her stomach I tensed at the need she saw in his dark eyes.

"Now, enough talking, Mrs. Martin. This is our wedding night."

*****

"Shotgun!" Hannah grabbed the front passenger door handle a fraction of a second before Preston reached it.

"I'm the oldest, anyway!"

"How long do you get to do that?" he grumbled, crawling in the back.

"Forever. I'll always be the oldest, won't I, Grandma?"

Anne buckled her seat belt and started the engine. "'Fraid so, Preston. That's the way it works. I'm always the oldest in my generation, too."

"No fair ganging up on a guy."

Laughter echoed through the car. Hannah settled more comfortably in her seat, half turned toward her grandmother, and fiddled with her beaded bracelet.

Her grandmother glanced over when they stopped at a traffic light near Winter Oaks. "No talk of parties tonight, Hannah."

"Fine." When her grandmother used that no-nonsense tone of voice, they al listened.

The table was set at the far end of the sunroom. Grandpa Frank lose from his chair and shuffled over to greet them. Every visit, he seemed older. The idea of not having him around one day brought a pang of sadness.

"Such a gloomy face," he chided, chucking her under the chin. "What's the matter?"

"Nothing." No reason to spoil the evening with thoughts of a future without him.

He gave her the same searching look she'd received from both her mother and grandmother. She wondered if she'd be able to perfect it when she had children of her own. "Wel , come along," she said and they fol owed him across the room.

Anne placed her purse and jacket on a chair in the corner. She leaned down and pressed a light kiss on her mother's cheek. "Hel o, Mom."

"Annie, Hannah, Preston." G.G. smiled at the children, her eyes brighter than the last time Hannah had seen her. "I was worried you'd forgotten."

"Of course not." Anne draped G.G.'s napkin over her lap. "Dinner with you is a highlight of our week."

"Wel , you need a more exciting life, then." G.G. winked at Hannah.

Hannah grinned.

Supper was served to them, a meat patty with mashed potatoes, salad and green beans. This was the same meal they ate every time they visited for the evening.

"So, Hannah, did you leave a string of broken hearts behind when you came to visit your grandmother?"

Preston snorted. Hannah ignored him and smiled at her greatgrandfather. "No, I'm not dating anyone."

"She's a little young," Anne murmured. She raised her eyebrows. "You were never this eager to have any of us dating," she said. "If I remember, you almost took Richard's head off for even considering one of your daughters."

"That was because you neglected to tel us you were dating anyone. We met him after you were engaged."

Anne passed the basket of rol s to Preston. "If he'd met you before we were engaged, he might have run away."

"Your father could not have chased Richard away," G.G. said, "He was smitten with you."

Smitten. Hannah wished she had a piece of paper to write that down. It was exactly the word she'd been searching for to describe her grandparents. They were smitten with each other.

"If only Alice had been as fortunate as you and your sister." G.G. dabbed at her lips with her napkin.

No one said anything. Hannah watched the two women and then glanced at Grandpa Frank. He was frowning into the distance.

Anne rubbed his hand where it rested on the table. He shifted his gaze to her and she smiled. "She made her own choices, Dad. We al did. You two provided a warm, supportive home. After that, | it was up to us."

"It's hard raising children," he said.

"It is," Anne agreed. "But then you get grandchildren. And great-grandchildren."

She smiled at Preston and Hannah. "Even if they're stubborn and nosy," she added so that only Hannah could hear.