Truly Married (13 page)

She didn’t know what to say. How to react. She wanted so much to believe him, but when she’d found him and Elaine Odbert in each other’s arms he’d admitted that he cared for the other woman.

She knew with the knowledge of hindsight that if she’d been older and less idealistic she would have fought to keep her marriage intact. But she hadn’t, and he’d married Elaine and apparently been happy with her until she’d died so suddenly.

Now he was a lonely widower and it would be easy to convince himself that he was still in love with the ex-wife he’d felt guilty about all those years. It was a good way to assuage his guilt and alleviate his loneliness.

Well, that was nice for him, but she hadn’t been willing to be second best with him five years ago, and she still wasn’t now.

But how could she hold on to the sensible resolution of her mind, and resist the overwhelming temptation of her psyche to forget the past and give him her heart, her body and everything else he might want from her?

Chapter Seven

S
haron and Fergus just stood there holding each other and savoring the delicious intimacy as the seconds ticked into minutes, until Sharon finally gathered enough self-discipline to again lean back in his embrace.

“Why don’t you take off your shirt while I pull down the wall bed?” she asked, changing the subject without comment on his last remarks. “Or better yet, undress and put on the bottoms of your pajamas. Then you won’t have to get up again after you’re all relaxed.”

Fergus gave her one last hug, then released her, but there was a suspicious glint in his eyes. “Now you’ve hurt my feelings,” he said morosely, but his mouth twitched into a tiny smile. “How could you have forgotten that I don’t wear pajamas?”

She felt a dizzying rush of blood to her head and knew that her face must be red with embarrassment. How could she, indeed?

Actually, she hadn’t. How many hundreds of nights since their divorce had she lain awake in her cold and lonely bed, remembering his powerful, naked body entwined with hers, also nude, as she’d fallen asleep? But as usual with Fergus, she’d let her mouth run off before she’d gotten her brain in gear.

Her teeth worried her lower lip. “That...that was a long time ago, and it’s not something I needed or wanted to remember.”

She hated the waspish tone of her voice, and made a determined effort to banish it when she continued. “Take off everything but your slacks. Then you can pull down the bed while I get into something more comfortable.”

She bolted for the bedroom and closed the door before he could reply.

Sharon hurriedly undressed, then pulled on a long, flowing, India-print caftan in bright shades of orange, green and brown. It buttoned at the neck and had wide sleeves with gathers at the high bodice. She’d chosen to bring it instead of a robe because she thought it wouldn’t have the same sexual connotation that nightclothes did, but now, as she glanced at herself in the mirror, she wasn’t so sure.

If she had a candle holder with a lit candle in one hand and a floppy rag doll clutched in the other arm, she’d look like those pictures of a Victorian maiden on her way to bed.

Oh well, it was too late to worry about that now. She didn’t have anything else to put on unless she wanted to get dressed again, and she didn’t.

At the door to the living room she hesitated, then rapped. “Fergus. Are you decent?”

He answered with one terse word, “Yes,” and she knew he was again displeased about something.

She opened the door and walked into the room, to find him sitting on the side of the bed, glaring at her. He was bare to below the waist, and it was evident the years hadn’t aged that magnificent body of his at all. He was still tanned and muscular, with a heavy sprinkling of brown hair on his chest.

He’d also removed his shoes and socks, and she’d never before realized how erotic bare feet could be as she was suddenly seized with a desire to feel them rubbing slowly up and down her calves. She gulped and blinked in an effort to erase such unsettling images, and noticed that his glare had turned into a stare as he watched her.

“You look like Little Bo Peep,” he said in a strangled tone, then cleared his throat and changed the subject. “What was that crack about am I decent? Dammit, Sharon, I wish you’d stop acting like Little Red Riding Hood fending off the Big Bad Wolf. My God, you even dress like a nursery rhyme.”

He stood up and turned away from her. “We were married for three years, and you never worried about whether I was ‘decently’ clothed when we were together in our apartment. You’ve seen me nude more times than you can count, so why are you now acting like a naive virgin who’s likely to swoon at the sight of a man in the buff?”

He ran his fingers through his hair in a gesture of frustration. “Are you afraid of me? Have I ever given you cause to be?”

Once more she’d been robbed of speech. Shock and anger warred for dominance in her confused mind, and anger was rapidly winning the battle.

What was the matter with him? He wasn’t making sense. He apparently expected her to behave to act like the lovestruck young wife she used to be, but that was a long time ago. She was a different woman now and it was about time he understood that.

“I don’t know what you expect of me, Fergus,” she said, struggling to keep her tone calm and controlled, “but I’ll tell you what you’re going to get. When you and I were living together we were married. That didn’t stop you from being attracted to another woman, but I took the commitment seriously.”

He winced and held up his hand to stop her, but she hurried on. “Don’t interrupt—just listen. You asked me earlier if I’ve been involved with other men since our divorce. The answer is no. I date fairly often, but I don’t sleep around, and I’m not going to make an exception of you. You lost your husbandly privileges the night I caught you kissing Elaine, and now you’re no different than any other man.

“If I act like a virgin it’s because, except for you, I am. I’m also not a tease. I’m sorry if my high standards offend you, but I don’t parade around in front of men in skimpy, seductive clothes, and I don’t allow men to undress in my presence.”

Sharon knew that now wasn’t the time for this discussion, but as her agitation rose so did her need to speak her mind.

She began pacing around the room. “You asked if I’m afraid of you. You’re damn right I am, and yes, you have given me good reason to be.”

Again he tried to speak and was cut off. “Five years ago you walked out on me and shattered my whole world—”

“Sharon, I did not walk out on you!” This time he didn’t give her a chance to shush him. “I never intended to leave you. I didn’t want a divorce—you were the one who insisted on it.” His voice was ragged with frustration, and he bowed his head in his hands and rubbed his temples with his thumbs.

The headache. In her anger she’d forgotten about his headache and her promise to try to relieve it with massage. Instead, she was making it worse.

The rage drained out of her, and she hurried across the room to where he sat on the side of the bed. Hunkering down in front of him, she put her hands on his shoulders and felt the tightly drawn muscles. “We’ve been over all this before. There’s no point in rehashing it,” she said softly as she removed the pillow. “Lie down on your stomach. Do you have medication?”

He raised his head and looked at her. His face was white and his eyes reflected his torment. “Yes, in my shaving kit, but let’s try the massage first.”

He cupped her cheeks with his palms and lifted her face to look at her. “Sharon, I’m sorry,” he said brokenly.

She reached out and stroked his forehead. “I’m sorry, too. I didn’t mean to let you suffer while I railed at you for things neither of us can do anything about now.”

Their gazes met, and the magnetism between them was so strong that she knew she’d wind up in his arms again if she didn’t move—fast!

She practically jumped to her feet and turned away from him. “Lie down,” she instructed again. “I’ll be right back.”

When she returned from the bathroom, where she’d picked up the sample bottle of lotion the hotel had provided, Fergus had pulled back the covers and was stretched out on the bed on his stomach, with his arms to his sides and his face turned toward her. His back was as muscular as his chest, and all that bare flesh was tempting almost beyond resisting.

She remembered how she used to kiss and lick her way up from the indentation at the base of his spine to his shoulders, and the funny little purring noises that had escaped from deep in his throat. She’d loved the feel of his firm flesh under her hands, and the way his muscles had twitched when her stroking became more intimate.

Enough of that!
she admonished herself silently, and pulled the sheet and blanket up to his waist, then sat down beside him.

“Are you warm enough?” she asked as she squeezed some of the lotion that she’d warmed under the hot water onto his shoulders. “If you’re chilly I can turn up the heat.”

She put her hands in the pools of lotion and began the massage.

He sighed contentedly. “Honey, there’s no way I could get a chill with you sitting close and doing such erotic things to me.”

His seductive words and tone sent a liquid warmth to her nether region, and her fingers involuntarily dug into him. “I...I am not doing erotic things to you,” she protested.

“Oh, no?” She heard the exaggerated leer in his voice. “Would you like me to turn over and show you?”

That was exactly the type of thing he used to say to her, and in spite of her good intentions, she choked with laughter. “Darn it, Fergus,” she said, intending to sound stern but giggling, instead. “How can I stay mad at you when you say outrageous things like that?”

“I don’t want you to be mad at me.” This time his tone was serious. “And it’s not outrageous. I’m willing to prove it.”

She’d take his word, but even so it didn’t mean anything special. Any reasonably pretty woman could arouse a half-naked man just by stroking him, and Fergus was no exception.

She decided it was time to change the subject. “I won’t be able to help you get rid of that headache if you won’t be quiet and relax. Your muscles are tied in knots.”

“I feel better already,” he murmured, and with a few deep breaths managed to release some of the tension in his body.

For some time after that they didn’t speak. Sharon worked to unknot his muscles as the most effective moves came back to her, and he gradually loosened up as she stroked and kneaded his tortured sinews and nerves.

After half an hour Sharon’s shoulders and hands were screaming for relief from the unaccustomed pressure she was putting on them. Besides, she was almost sure Fergus was asleep. He was totally relaxed and his breathing was deep and regular.

She squared her shoulders and moved them back and forth in an effort to loosen her own aching muscles, then stood and pulled the covers over Fergus’s exposed back. He looked so peaceful lying there. The lines of pain were gone from what she could see of his face, and he appeared younger and less harried.

She suspected that he drove himself mercilessly in his profession, and she made a silent vow to try to ease the extra burden he’d assumed by taking on her defense. She’d stop wallowing in past hurts and start being more helpful.

She tucked the sheet and blanket around him, as she’d have tucked in their child if they’d had one, then gave in to the insistent temptation to lean down and kiss him on his slightly bristly cheek. She caught the faint lingering fragrance of shaving lotion and felt a muscle quiver under her lips.

Before she could pull away his hand came up and wrapped around her wrist. “Don’t leave,” he whispered.

She brushed a lock of dark-brown hair back from his forehead with her other hand. “I’m not going anywhere,” she said softly against his ear.

He caressed her palm with his thumb. “I mean stay with me. Sleep next to me on the bed. I won’t bother you.”

Her heart raced at the very thought of sleeping in the same bed with him again, but that was out of the question.

She opened her mouth to tell him so, but heard herself saying, instead, “All right, if that’s what you really want.”

He hadn’t moved anything but his lips, and now they turned up in a small smile. “It is. More than anything.”

Oh, what the hell,
she thought.
It was bound to happen sooner or later. At least tonight he feels too rotten to seduce me.

She got up and turned off the lights, then climbed in on the other side of the bed and settled down, close to him, but not touching. It was then that she remembered the time shortly after they were married when he’d had the flu with a temperature of 101 degrees.

The temperature had hovered up there for three days, but they hadn’t missed a night of making love!

* * *

Sharon was exhausted and fell asleep almost instantly, but sometime during the night she surfaced enough to be dimly aware that she was cradled in the circle of Fergus’s arms. Her back was against his chest, her derriere nestled in his groin and one of his legs captured between both of hers. It was as if the past five years of separation had never happened, and they were back in their apartment in Chicago sleeping as they always did, with their bodies entwined.

Instinctively she snuggled closer, and his hand moved just enough to cup her breast. With a contented little sigh she sank back into the misty buoyancy of sleep.

* * *

Sharon awoke the next morning to the ringing of the telephone, but it wasn’t until the second ring that she was conscious enough to open her eyes. When she did she saw Fergus, fully dressed in gray slacks and a blue print shirt open at the throat, rushing to the desk to pick it up.

“Lachlan,” he said in a low voice, apparently trying not to waken her. “Hi, what’s up? Did you get those affidavits...?”

It was obviously someone from his law firm in Chicago, but did they have to bother him on Saturday?

She knew the answer to that. It was a question she’d asked many times during their marriage. Trial lawyers seldom worked a neat forty-hour week. It was more like fifty or sixty.