The Good Provider (20 page)

William studied her face a moment, then, apparently not satisfied with what he saw, took her hand and led her back indoors. He invited her to sit on the butter-yellow sofa, then returned for their port. He closed the door firmly and locked it, then looked at her. “Are there ghosts here that we need to exorcise? I’d like to know before I kiss you. Because we both know where that leads.”

The strap of her dress slipped over her shoulder, exposing a hint of black lace. The unintentional peek-a-boo turned him rock-hard. He wanted to believe her. Badly.

He sat beside her. “Good.” He tugged on the bodice of her dress—one tantalizing fraction of an inch at a time until he could see the imprint of her highly aroused nipple straining against the fabric of her bra. “I’m a worldly kind of guy, but I don’t share well with others.”

“M-me, either,” she stammered, threading her fingers through his hair to press him closer.

He rubbed his index finger in a slow, suggestive circle around her nipple. He watched her expression change; her eyes narrowed to passionate slits. She drew her bottom lip between her teeth.

“That feels good,” she whispered, arching against his touch.

He slipped his hand into the cup of the stretchy material to free her breast and take the nipple into his mouth. He licked, nibbled and sucked, just as she’d done with his body the first time they made love. Her breathing turned ragged. Her hands dropped to his shoulders, urging him to move things along.

He angled their bodies so he could unzip the back of the dress and unhook her bra. William watched as she wriggled free of her clothing. His mouth started to water.

She looked down at herself critically. “Two babies. Nursing. My breasts aren’t what they used to be.”

He let out a low snarl. “Please. You dare defame these spectacular, womanly globes?”

He took her hands and placed them where her bra had been seconds earlier. “Feel their weight and substance, Daria. If they’ve changed, it’s for the better. They couldn’t be any more beautiful.”

Her head cocked to one side and he could tell she was considering his words carefully. A second later, she looked at him and smiled. “Okay. They aren’t bad.”

He covered her hands with his then leaned in to bury his face in the fleshy V. He inhaled deeply before tackling her playfully. “You’re far too modest. As an agent, I guarantee you I could book your breasts as a body double for several less well-endowed starlets,” he said. “Not that I would. These beauties are far too classy.”

Her laughter made her jiggle in a most provocative way. He repeated his earlier attention on the other breast until Daria was moaning again. Then he worked his way lower.

Her dress was bunched around her waist, so he pulled her to her feet and worked it downward. Her panties were miniscule but sexy as hell. “Those Victoria’s Secret people know their lace, but if you don’t mind…?”

She took them off, then gave him a pointed once-over. “I’d say one of us is terribly overdressed for this party.”

Within a heartbeat, he was as naked as she.

They’d made love that afternoon, explored each other’s bodies and created a new language, but this time was different. They knew each other better, and William, for one, had a great deal more invested. He loved her. He could admit it now. But could he show her how much he loved her without scaring her away? He knew his timing was problematic, ghostly ex-husband or not.

She seemed to sense his hesitation and took the initiative. She led him to the bed and pulled back the covers. “We have all night,” she said. “Isn’t that an amazing thing?”

Yes. All night. Her words took away some of his anxiety. This wasn’t about performance, it was about love.

And he had all night to show her exactly what she meant to him.

She scooted to the center of the king-size mattress and patted the place beside her. “Are you coming?”

“Oh, yes, my dear. Again and again and again. Now, where to begin? Ah, but of course, the toes.”

She giggled like a little girl when he picked up her foot and started kissing each digit. Her laughter faded as he started kissing his way upward, pausing to nibble the inside of her knee and run his tongue back and forth across her inner thigh.

“Ooh,” she cried as he progressed farther upward.

That fabulous mix of perfume and pure woman beckoned. Her recent spa treatment showed a perfect, V-shaped arrow of pubic hair directing him to her warm, moist core. He tested the springy curls and parted them in search of that special spot. She bucked involuntarily, letting him know he was close.

“Tell me, Daria, what do you like?”

“Huh? Oh, um…well. Nobody’s ever asked me that. But what you’re doing now. That’s nice.” He flicked the tip of his tongue back and forth across the little jewel he’d uncovered. “V-very nice. I…like…that.”

As his tongue toyed with her clitoris, he slipped his middle finger into her hot, juicy folds. She let out a welcoming cry that nearly unmanned him.

His body was resonating with her need, her readiness. He wanted to join her but she deserved more.

He spread her legs and sank lower, putting his tongue where his finger had been a moment earlier. She moved against his mouth, using him but giving back as much as he offered. He felt her climax build to a crest even before she cried out. And while her muscles still pulsed, he grabbed the condom from the bedside table where he’d stashed the package earlier.

His hands were clumsy in his haste and he couldn’t get it open. The urgency of the moment made him fumble until he swore. “Bugger.”

“Let me,” Daria said, taking the package from him. She pushed him down so he was lying on his back. “When you’ve opened as many juice packs and bags of corn chips as I have, you get really good at certain things.”

The ripping sound was most delightful. “Ta-da,” she said with a sexy grin.

William sucked in a breath, which he held as she slowly, deliberately unrolled the prophylactic down the length of his penis. She surveyed her work, licking her lips like a starved woman. “You’re beautiful, too. Did your English poets ever create an ode to a really great cock?”

He laughed, surprised and a little shocked to hear such a word coming from her mouth. She looked at him several seconds. He felt her hesitate. “What? Is there a problem?” Was this the moment she changed her mind?

She inhaled deeply, drawing his attention back to her bare breasts. He was so distracted he only caught the last part of her question. “…on top?”

Me on top? You on top?
He hedged his bet. “Obviously, I’m easy. Whatever you like.”

Her smile was bold, her actions decisive. She quickly straddled him. After that, his brain went silent. No worries, no hesitation as his body eased slowly, deliciously into the hot, wet place that welcomed it.

She loved more than his hair, she realized with a start.
I love him.

He lifted his head, apparently sensitive to her slightest shift in mood. “Are you hungry?”

“Ravenous for something chocolate,” she answered, more out of a need to move and digest her sudden revelation than to actually put food in her belly.

He rolled away, giving her room to slide off the bed. “And I want to show you the negligee my friend, Julie, gave me. Utterly scandalous. But I promised I’d wear it.”

He got out of bed and walked to the table where he’d left their glasses. When he bent over to top them off with the remaining port, her mouth started watering and her lower body tingled with excitement.
Good lord,
she thought,
I’ve turned into a sex addict.
But she knew that wasn’t true. She wanted him. Not any old Tom, Dick or Harry. She wanted William. Unfortunately.

“That’s a serious frown,” William observed, handing her a glass. “Was our lovemaking that terrible?”

She made a loud raspberry. “Fishing for compliments, are we?” She sighed. “I was just thinking how good it was, actually. Fabulous. You’ve completely ruined me for other men.”

“Do there have to be other men?”

She wasn’t ready for this discussion, but the one thing she knew for certain was that she could speak her mind with William without fear of creating a firestorm. “I have a lot of people—and every single woman’s magazine—giving me relationship advice. And none of it is the same. Date, don’t date. Wait, don’t wait. Eat dessert first, too much of a good thing is bad for you. Who knows? Where’s the cake?”

He returned to the bed, paper container in hand. “Do you want my advice?”

She tried a sip of wine to calm the sudden spike in her heart rate. “Yes.”

“I say screw those know-it-alls. You’re you. I’m me. And we get to decide what works and doesn’t work.”

“We do?”

“Why not? You can’t change the past, but you can learn from it. How better to learn than through experience?”

She hesitated a moment, then pushed the pastry box aside. “The cake can wait. I’d like to
experience
a little more lovemaking, first.”

His broad smile was all the answer she needed. They moved together without words. They’d learned shortcuts from their previous adventures. They threw themselves into the pure heat and sensation that had worked so magically earlier. There were moans of pleasure and groans of intense urgency. Some hers, some his. But for Daria, the only thing that mattered was the sensation that started between her legs and quickly swelled to encompass every cell of her body. Her mind lost track of everything but the need that built to a tantalizing precipice then radiated outward, leaving her shaking.

He was right. Every beginning had to start somewhere. Where this connection would take them, nobody could say. But she knew one thing. He was her dessert. And she planned to enjoy every morsel.

She held up three fingers that she wiggled, grinning. “The first was…well…orgasmic. And the third was beautiful. It nearly brought me to tears. But the middle one. The one that prompted our chocolate orgy? Yeah. That was classic.”

He agreed, although he might have argued that number four—their early morning rhapsody—had moved them both to a climax as synchronized as humanly possible. Instead of arguing the point, he leaned back against the gaudy red-and-green plaid stadium blanket that he’d found in the picnic tote. They’d skipped the traditional breakfast part of their accommodations that morning in favor of sex, leftover steak and coffee. Moira’s amazing picnic tote had provided lunch.

“In answer to your question, no, I am not embarrassed. I’m seriously considering taking out a full-page ad in
Rolling Stone
to share this accomplishment with the world.”

She tossed a tiny piece of crust at him. Then she sat up straight, took a deep breath and hugged herself. “I am so happy, William. At this moment. In this place. With you. Thank you.”

He stretched out, interlacing his fingers beneath his head as a cushion. He felt exactly the same. Satiated. Complete. Magnanimous to the point that the minute he returned home he planned to clear his calendar and invite Daria and her daughters to Disneyland.

What about your trip home?

As if reading his mind, she said, “Do you have any photos of your parents? In your wallet? Or on your laptop?”

My laptop?
He cocked his head to look at her.

“I saw it in the trunk when we were loading all that wine you purchased yesterday.”

“As a matter of fact, Notty’s been scanning old photos recently and copying me by the dozens. Why do you ask?”

“I put together a short slide show set to music for Mary’s funeral. I don’t suppose you were there, were you?”

He shook his head.

“Me neither. That’s one of the reasons I did it. Finding the right program was a challenge, but once I figured it out, I really liked being able to tell a person’s story through pictures and music. I don’t know if there’s a call for that kind of thing in the marketplace, but I’d like to do it again.”

He smiled, trying to visualize what she meant. The only videos he was familiar with involved rock music and all sorts of outrageous elements. It took him several seconds to realize she wasn’t speaking in the abstract. She wanted to do this for him.

“What kind of video are we talking about?”

“Relax. It’s not work. It’ll be fun. And I’ll get to know you better.”

He didn’t say anything right away. What could it hurt, he asked himself? So she saw a few old family photos. So she saw the big and important lives of his parents and felt sympathy—maybe a tiny bit of revulsion—for the surly, always frowning little boy they’d left behind.

No doubt she’d come to the same conclusion William had when he flicked through the shots. He was born a loner. He was an observer, not a participant. And he had not the slightest idea how to be part of a family.

Better she finds out now rather than later, right?

“Very well. Shall we get started?”