Whatever It Takes (35 page)

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Authors: Gwynne Forster

BOOK: Whatever It Takes
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He walked over to Kellie. “You have disappointed me, but you're still my daughter, and I love you. I'm moving into my house next Thursday. You'll get tired of this.” He waved his hand to suggest that his words covered everything around him. “As long as I live, my home is your home, and you're welcome to live with me.”
She sniffed a few times, to hold back the tears, but her watery eyes told the tale. He put his arms around her and kissed her cheek. “God bless you.”
He rushed past Hal without looking at him, for the temptation to slug him was greater than anyone who knew him would have imagined. His child lived in the slums with a man who couldn't give her a carpet for the floor. Somewhere, somehow, he'd made terrible mistakes in raising her. What other reason could there be for the mess she was in?
 
 
After leaving church Sunday morning, Lacette drove to the supermarket, unmindful of the city's flowering gardens and fragrant trees and shrubs. Her thoughts centered on the coming evening. She wanted to serve a meal that would make a man romantic and very susceptible to a willing woman, so she bought candles and flowers for the table and bought groceries for a menu that appealed to the senses as well as the belly. The one bottle of red wine in her pantry would have to suffice.
At six o'clock, with dinner ready, the table set and feeling as if she'd run a marathon, she treated herself to a warm bubble bath, oiled and perfumed her body, slipped into scant, red bikini lace underwear, and pulled on a red, one-shoulder, floor length jersey dress over them.
“Thank God, I'm not as worn out as I was before my bath,” she said to herself. “He's planning to seduce me, but I'm way ahead of him. If he leaves here the way he came in, it'll be proof that one of us is sick.”
When the doorbell rang at seven o'clock, it seemed as if every nerve in her body stood on end. She started down the stairs, but as she looked toward the bottom step, it seemed that the distance down was twice as great as it had always been. The bell rang again, and she told her self to move, but it seemed that her belly had begun to quiver and roll like an ocean swell. Perspiration beaded her forehead, and she gripped the banister. When the bell rang a third time, she told herself that only her father was that persistent and, armed with self-deceit, made herself walk down the stairs, go to the front door, and open it, albeit with shaking fingers.
“Oh, my,” Douglas said, when she opened the door. “All this for me?” He handed her a bouquet of purple Dutch irises and yellow lilies and a small bag, bent over and quickly kissed her on the mouth.
She stared at him. Mesmerized. In his gray suit, pale gray shirt and gray and yellow striped tie, his good looks jumped out at her. Blatant. In your face. She'd never seen him so elegant with sex appeal radiating from him like heat from a smelter's furnace.
All this for me?
she was tempted to reply but instead she said, “Mmmm. You look good.”
His grin banished her jitters. “Thanks for the flowers. What's in the bag?”
“Wine. One red and one white, since I didn't know what you'd serve.”
She tore her gaze from his.
My Lord, this man is good-looking
.
“Can I help?”
“Sorry. This may be the only time it happens, but tonight I am pampering you. I won't even let you wash the dishes.”
He poked his tongue in his right cheek, inclined his head to the side and squinted at her. “If dressing up give me privileges, I'd better make it a habit. And you can pamper me all you want; you won't get a word of complaint out of me. Not even a sigh.”
She winked at him, pinched his cheek and strolled into the kitchen, knowing that his gaze was locked on her, and that the movement of her behind beneath that silk jersey sheath was doing its job. She served the meal in courses beginning with melon soup laced with tawny port and ending with crème Courvoisier and coffee.
He put his coffee cup down and looked at her, deadpan. “I was half besotted when I got here. That dress did what you knew it would do, and this meal finished me off. I'm putty in your hands, sweetheart.”
“Oh, dear,” she heard herself say, “and here I was thinking that from the minute I opened the door, I was completely seduced.”
He coughed several times, and it seemed that the coffee had gone down the wrong way, strangling him. “Slow down, Lacette,” he managed to say. “Don't say such things playfully.”
She got up from the table. “Who was being playful? Not me. Excuse me, while I take these things to the kitchen. I like to leave my table neat.”
He met her at the kitchen door with the remainder of the dishes, put them in the dishwasher, took her hand and walked with her to the living room where she saw that he had put the white wine and their glasses on the coffee table.
“Want some music?” she asked him, realizing that her plan would meet no resistance and procrastinating, now that the moment had arrived.
“I'd love it.”
How can he be so calm at a time like this?
She put on the mood music she'd previously chosen and walked over to where he sat. He patted the space beside him, and she slid into the circle of his arms.
“I had begun to think that I was out of step, that women didn't want love, tenderness, and caring from a man, that during the eight years of my courtship and marriage, their priorities had switched to monetary gain and sex. I didn't want to believe that you're different, but you are. You're talented, smart, and beautiful, but you're also a kind, tender, and loving woman. Deep in my gut, I know you're right for me.” He took a long breath, and she waited for the word “but.”
He went on. “You're imbedded in every muscle, joint, sinew, bone and tissue of my body.” He put his hand on the left side of his chest. “And you're deep in here. Are you willing to cut ties with other men and let us see if we can make a go of it?”
“I care deeply for you, Douglas. Did you just tell me that you care for me?”
Laughter rumbled in his throat and finally poured out. “Yes, indeed.”
She sobered then, sat up straight and looked at him. “What about Nick? His attitude toward me may change again. I don't want to get more deeply involved with you only to have our relationship blow up in my face.”
“Nick asked if he could spend next weekend with me, because he wants you to teach him how to carve and paint birds. He's captivated with those birds you create.”
“Really? He tried carving, and he has the touch. Sure. I'll teach him as much as I know.”
“Any other misgivings?”
Lacette rested her head against his shoulder. “If I think of any, you'll be the first to know.” Mancini's orchestra filled the air with the strains of a love song she cherished, and as if he read her mind, he stood and said, “Dance with me.”
Locked to his body and moving by inches to the music, she put one hand behind his nape and the other one at his waist and pressed him to her. So long. Oh, Lord. So long she'd waited for this moment—at the edge of paradise with a man she loved. This time she wouldn't be denied. She stood on tiptoe, parted her lips against his and felt him suck in his breath as his body quickened. Then, he plunged into her. Heat spiraled through her body, and she stopped thinking. With her right hand, she took one of his and pressed it to her left breast, it's areola already hard in anticipation of what was to come.
He stepped back from her, but she moved into him, gripped his body to hers and held him.
“I need to make love with you, sweetheart, but if you're not ready for it, send me out of here this minute.”
For an answer, she put his hand back on her breast and let him feel her erect nipple. His fingers caressed the top of her cleavage before he slipped his hand inside and toyed with her nipple.
Oh, the sweet hell, the torture,
as unrestrained moans escaped her. “Kiss me. I'll die if you don't kiss me.”
He freed her breast and sucked it into his mouth, and she felt him then, hard and bulging against her. “I sleep upstairs,” she whispered, and he didn't hesitate. Minutes later, he flung back the cover of her bed and threw his jacket and tie across her boudoir chair.
Robbed of his calm by the passion that possessed him, he reached for her. “Come here to me and let me know that you want me.”
She kicked off her shoes and molded herself to his body. She longed to touch him, and when she extended her hand to caress his belly, he caught his breath and she let her hand drift down until she could feel him. Emboldened by his gasp, she fondled him, and he threw his head back as groans poured from his throat.
“Stop it. Baby, stop it.”
Nearly an hour later, he raised his head from her breast, looked down at her and smiled the sweetest smile she'd ever witnessed. “I'm in love with you, girl.”
“Nothing could make me happier.”
 
 
Lacette danced out of bed the next morning and tripped into the shower. She could hear in her memory Mancini's rendition of “Diane” and its words, “I'm in heaven when I see you smile,” and in her tuneless alto, she gave voice to them. Later, she strode into her office swinging her briefcase.
“Good morning, Lourdes,” she sang to her secretary.
Lourdes paused in her typing and raised an eyebrow. “Hmmm. Looks like he's gone from lunch to dinner. Bully for you.”
He called her several times during the day. “I'll be over at five this evening to start work on your property,” he said in one of his calls. “Does that suit you?”
“Seeing you beats not seeing you. If you want to hook your visit up with landscaping, fine with me.”
He laughed as she'd known he would. “I can't abide untidy lawns and shrubs,” he said, “though I don't know why I'd go to the trouble.”
“What do you mean by that?” she asked him, annoyance creeping in.
“It ought to be as plain as your face. What will you do with two houses?”
She held the receiver at arm's length and stared at it. Convinced that she hadn't heard him correctly, she said, “What time did you say you're coming? Five o'clock?”
“Uh. Yes. I'll be there as close to five as I can make it.”
Wonder what cooled him off,
she asked herself after she hung up. Nonetheless, she left the office at four-thirty, on time for a change, in order to greet him at her door when he arrived. Although unduly tired, she threw her jacket and briefcase on a living room chair, changed into a corduroy jumpsuit and walked out on her back porch to decide what tips she could give him in regard to her garden. She'd be satisfied growing beans and sweet potatoes, but he would have more grand ideas. She started down the steps and sat down.
 
 
How did he get so lucky as to find a woman who suited him in every respect? He had made love with her time after time the night before, and each time they scaled greater heights. He wouldn't have believed it possible. The day passed with him counting the minutes until he would be with her again. He parked in front of her house right behind her white Mercury Cougar, got out and went to her front door. After ringing the bell repeatedly, he peeped into the picture window of her living room and saw her jacket and briefcase. He rang the bell again, took out his cell phone and telephoned her and he could hear the phone ringing. The more it rang the more frustrated he became until a restlessness and a fear settled in him. He walked around to the back of the house hoping to find a way to get in.
“My God. Lacette!” He ran to where she half sat half lay on the steps. “Thank God, she's breathing,” he said aloud after checking. He telephoned for an ambulance, sat on the steps holding her head in his lap, caressing the side of her face and whispering words of love to her. He rode in the ambulance with her to Frederick Memorial Hospital and walked the floor awaiting word of her condition.
Good heavens, he'd forgotten to call her parents. He didn't know her mother's number, so he phoned her father. “I don't know what's wrong, sir. I was going to do some work around her house, but when I got there, I found her unconscious on the back steps. Will you please call her mother?”
“I will, and I thank you for calling me. I'll be at the hospital in half an hour.”
 
 
Douglas stopping pacing and rushed to greet Marshall Graham when he entered the waiting room. “I got here as soon as I could,” Marshall said. “Do you know how she is?”
“No, sir, and she's been in there a good three hours. Could you . . . uh . . . say a prayer?”
Marshall raised an eyebrow, stared at him for a second and then bowed his head. “Father, thy daughter, Lacette, is in your hands now, and we ask you mercifully to send her back to us in good health. Amen.”

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