Darling obstacles (6 page)

"Mom, may I have my breakfast, please?" Kevin asked politely, glancing up at Greg. He gave the boy an approving smile which Kevin returned.

"Of course, darling." Maggie stumbled blindly toward the kitchen, still holding onto her son. The child was a comforting anchor of reality to her—and his presence kept her torturous thoughts at bay. "I'll fix you and Josh some pancakes right now."

"Me and Wendy," Kevin corrected her. "Josh isn't hungry anymore. He ate all Wendy's pancakes. But Kari wouldn't give me hers," he added with an injured air. "Sometimes I wish I could trade sisters."

Greg chuckled, making Maggie aware that he had followed them into the kitchen. She wished he hadn't. She wished he would disappear. What was she going to say to him? Worse, her body was still

DARLING OBSTACLES • 43

throbbing with the excitement of his caresses. His voice sent a pleasurable tingle down her spine.

"We'll bring your pancakes into you in a few minutes, Kevin," he said. "Why don't you watch your program while you're waiting? We won't be long."

"Okay," Kevin said, pacified for the moment. He raced off and Maggie almost called after him and begged him to stay. She did not want to be alone with Greg Wilder.

"Maggie." She ignored the sexy, intimate drawl and began tossing ingredients into the bowl, haphazardly guessing at the correct amounts. "Maggie, turn around and look at me."

She couldn't. She simply couldn't.

"Mary Magdalene!" His voice, though amused, held a commanding note.

"Don't call me that!" she said in a sudden flash of anger.

He was beside her now and she was shatteringly aware of his nearness, of the strength and virility emanating from him. "You wouldn't answer to Maggie. I had to get your attention somehow."

She could feel his eyes upon her as she reached for another egg. Still, she couldn't bring herself to turn around and look at him. And then his hand was on her neck, the long fingers gently stroking. "Maggie?" he murmured softly.

She dropped the egg and it splattered all over the counter. "That was my last egg!" she wailed. She tried to salvage what she could of it, scraping it up while avoiding the little pieces of shell. Actually, she was grateful for the diversion. "I need it for this batter. If Kevin has to wait any longer for his breakfast, he'll—"

Greg caught her chin with his other hand and forced her to look up at him. "Forget Kevin's breakfast for a minute, Maggie. And forget the stupid egg. Why won't you look at me? Why won't you talk to me?"

"Let me go!" She tried to wrench away from him, humiliatingly aware that her behavior bordered on the adolescent. He had kissed her and she should

have reacted with blase cool. She knew that, but she couldn't seem to help her histrionic response. "Go in and watch television with the kids," she snapped in an effort to regain her lost composure. "I have to make Kevins breakfast. He's hungry and— M

"It's a mother's duty to feed her little ones," Greg finished nobly. He cast her a playfully rakish grin, which, to her dismay, she found utterly irresistible. "But it's a woman's job to satisfy her man," he added, teasing. Before she could move, speak, or even breathe, he hauled her into his arms. "Now where were we?" He grabbed a handful of her hair and gently tilted her head upward.

the desire to rush her again. When they had been standing so closely on the stairs he'd recognized her attraction to him. It was almost as if permitting him into her house had allowed her to let down her emotional barriers as well. She was suddenly sexually aware of him and he'd been unable to resist responding to her.

"I'm not what you—you probably think I am," she said stiffly, jerking her head away from his touch. Her hair fell against her cheek. "I—I'm not a sex-starved widow looking for a cheap thrill."

There was an ominous silence and Maggie gathered enough courage to cast a covert glance at Greg. He was grinning! "What's so funny?" she demanded, pouring oil into the hot skillet. It spit back at her and she lowered the temperature slightly before spooning the batter into the pan.

"You are. A sex-starved widow looking for a cheap thrill."

Tm not!" she said hotly. "How dare you say such a thing!"

He laughed at her indignation. "I've never seen you this way. You're cute when you're all fired up, Maggie." He lounged comfortably against the counter, obviously enormously amused.

"A not-very-clever spin-off of the tired, old 'You're beautiful when you're angry' line," she muttered. She'd watched enough TV to know all about tired, old lines. "Surely a man of your vast experience can do better than that, Dr. Wilder."

"So we're back to that, hmm? Funny how you didn't seem to have any trouble saying Greg back there on the steps, Mrs. May."

"Don't call me that!" Maggie snapped, then paused to stare at him, confused. There was absolutely nothing wrong with Greg addressing her as Mrs. May. Except that she hated him to do it. "I mean I—you—"

"You don't know what you mean, hot little Maggie," Greg replied, laughing. He was positively

delighted that he'd managed to shake her previously relentless cordiality toward him.

Her cheeks burned. "Don't laugh at me!"

"I'm not laughing at you." He traced the length of her arm with one long finger, slightly scoring her skin with his nail. To her great dismay, Maggie quivered at even this most simple touch. Greg was watching her, his eyes narrowed speculatively.

She stepped away from him. "Greg, I know I'm acting like a blazing idiot." She chewed her lower lip. This was incredibly difficult for her. "But I'm not well versed in these—these games. You're the first man who's kissed me since my husband died."

Greg looked stunned. "You're kidding!" he said.

For some reason, his reaction infuriated her. "No, I'm not," she replied defiantly. "You're the first. And I'm sorry that it had to be you."

His lips tightened into a straight, hard line. "Why?" he asked harshly.

"Why?" she echoed crossly. "I'll tell you why, Dr. Wilder. You had a fight with your girlfriend last night and you went to bed all frustrated and—and—" She swallowed. "Unsatisfied. When you woke up this morning in the same unfortunate condition, you grabbed the first woman you saw. And it happened to be me! Am I supposed to be flattered by your attentions? Well, I'm not!"

"Maggie, you're wrong. I—"

"I'm absolutely right and I refuse to discuss it any further."

"Oh, we're going to discuss it, Maggie. Just as soon as you finish making the children's breakfast."

Maggie flipped the pancakes onto two plates and sailed out of the kitchen, her head held high. After serving Wendy and Kevin, she hurried upstairs, ignoring Greg's commanding summons from the kitchen. She rushed into her bedroom and locked the door behind her. She'd made a complete and utter fool of herself with Greg, she conceded grimly, quickly stripping off her robe and nightgown and reaching

into the drawer for her underwear. She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror above the bureau and stared at her nude body as if seeing it for the first time. Full mature breasts—breasts that had nursed three babies—that were softly rounded with rosy peaks. Waist, not as small as it had once been, but still in proportion to her breasts and womanly curved hips. Legs long and well shaped, the thighs still firm and rounded, calves and ankles slim.

For just a moment Maggie allowed herself to remember the feel of Greg's experienced hands on her body and every nerve began to tingle. She pulled on her panties and bra with an exclamation of self-disgust. Those were the thoughts of the hot, sex-starved widow, which, as she had heatedly assured Greg, she most definitely was not! She was a respectable, solicitously maternal mother of three. Her eyes fell upon a framed photograph of Kristin, Kevin, and Kari taken some four years ago. They were so little then, and how they had needed her! She thought b&ck to the day when she had been given the terrible, tragic news of Johnnys death. Kari had been one week old, Kevin three years, and Kristin six. Numb and heartbroken, she had nevertheless carried on for her children's sake. She had lived for them and given them every bit of love, energy, and affection that she possessed. And for years it had been enough.

But the children were older now, were becoming involved in school activities and friends and interests outside their home. They didn't need their mother as much. Maggie foresaw the day when they would leave home and she would be alone, and her pain at the thought frightened her. Above all, she didn't want to be the kind of martyr-mother who clung to her children, refusing to let them go because they were the sole reason for her otherwise empty existence. It was a terrible burden to place on a child and a totally unfair one. Maggie wanted her children to feel free to grow up and become independent.

She pushed her disturbing thoughts aside. The

day her children left home was a long way off. It was foolish to brood about it now. She enjoyed her life, just as it was, and damn Greg Wilder for making her feel anything but content with her lot.

She pulled on a green and white striped blouse, a pair of blue jeans, sport socks, and sneakers, her usual Saturday uniform. Then she brushed her hair until it shone and curved around her neck in a saucy pageboy. Frowning at her reflection, she deliberately pulled the hair up into a less flattering ponytail, carefully avoiding considering her motives in doing so< After applying her makeup—for Kevin's sake, Maggie assured herself (her son wouldn't want his mother to appear at his soccer game looking as washed out as a ghost)—she headed downstairs.

Greg was in the living room with the children, holding Wendy on his lap. "It's time to get dressed and leave for the soccer game," Maggie announced to the children.

"Do I have to go?" Max whined. "I want to stay here and watch cartoons."

"I'll stay with him, Mommy," Kari volunteered. Her motives, Maggie knew, were more governed by her own desire to stay home and watch the cartoons than by any altruistic wish to take care of Max. "I'm afraid you're a little young to baby-sit anybody, Kari," she said with a smile. She glanced over at Wendy sitting impassively on her father's lap. "Your daddy brought your clothes, Wendy. You and Kari go on up to her room and change."

Compliant as always, Wendy hopped off Greg's knee, gathered her small pile of clothes, and trotted out of the room after Kari. Kevin jumped to his feet, switched off the television set, and challenged Joshua to a race upstairs. The two boys tore through the small house and the walls seemed to shake with the noise. Max glanced at Maggie and his father, calmly walked to the TV, and turned on the set. He then seated himself cross-legged directly in front of it. Greg

and Maggie exchanged glances, suddenly allies in the face of Max's declaration of war.

Greg stood up. "Max, no more TV." His voice was forcedly pleasant. "It's time to get dressed and go to the soccer game."

Max didn't move. "I don't wanna go. I wanna stay here."

"Well, you can't. You're going." Greg strode to the television and turned it off. Max slipped past him and turned it on. Greg turned it off. Max turned it back on. And then they repeated themselves for one more round. The television blared defiantly.

Maggie foresaw an ungodly expensive TV repair bill. "The next one who touches that television set gets a spanking!" she warned automatically in her most intimidating mother-voice.

Max froze and stared from the blaring TV set to his father, his brown eyes gleaming. "I'll get dressed now, Maggie," he said with a sudden, angelic smile. Maggie saw Greg's shoulders sag with relief at having avoided another unpleasant confrontation with his child. He reached down and switched off the television set.

"You touched it! Daddy touched it!" Max shrieked, jumping up and down. "He gets a spanking, doesn't he, Maggie? Daddy gets a spanking!"

Greg's face reddened and he scowled his irritation. "Set up by a four-year-old!" he mumbled. Maggie couldn't help laughing and Greg's frown deepened. He obviously didn't find Max's gleeful squeals as funny as Maggie did.

"Give him a spanking, Maggie!" urged Max, grabbing her hand and pulling her toward his father. "Go on, hit 'im hard."

"The little sadist," Greg grumbled.

"Revenge is sweet, even for the very young," Maggie said. "Okay, Daddy, are you ready to take your medicine?"

"Not medicine, he's not sick," Max said. "He's bad and he needs a hard spanking."

"Shall I sit down on the sofa and take you over my knees?" Maggie was thoroughly enjoying Greg's discomfort. He was clearly not used to being at a disadvantage.

"Yeah!" Max yelled.

"I think this little joke has gone on long enough." Greg's smile was definitely forced. His face looked ready to crack. "Time to get dressed now, Max."

"Get 'im, Maggie!" cried Max.

"You really don't want me to hit your daddy, do you, Max?" Maggie wondered if things weren't getting a little out of hand. She hadn't expected Max to be so insistent. "What if I make him cry?"

"Good! He made me cry. And—and I hate that dumb lady too!" the little boy added fiercely.

"Which dumb lady?" Maggie asked. "The one in the car last night?" The plot thickens, she thought. Max hadn't forgotten the lovely Francine or his father's seeming betrayal of him and his bear. But she could put things to right. "Your daddy found out what she said about Teddy and he was so mad at her that he wouldn't take her to the party. He took her right back to her house and told her how mean he thought she was. He said he didn't want to be her friend anymore."

Max listened pensively, chewing on two of his fingers. "Your daddy loves you very much, Max," Maggie continued. "Even when you're being naughty."

Greg cleared his throat. "That's right, Max." He came to stand beside the little boy, then impulsively knelt down and hugged him. Maggie, an admittedly absurd sentimentalist, felt a quick rush of tears at the sight.

"Do you want me to help you get dressed?" Greg asked Max.

The little boy shook his head. "I can do it myself," he said. He snatched up his clothes and skipped from the room, pausing to call over his shoulder, "I guess you don't have to spank him, Maggie."