Package Deal(34)
“Is Cece all right?”
She nodded.
He looked at her. “I thought you said you left something here.”
“I did.”
“Mind telling me what it was?” He pulled off his jacket.
“My desire—”
“Your desire?” He kicked off his shoes and climbed onto the bed next to her.
“For you.” She stood up. “Don’t talk. No more talk.”
His pulse soared into the stratosphere.
Then she helped him out of the rest of his clothes before allowing him to unzip her dress as he gazed at her, unable to take his eyes off her. He kissed her and she fell back on the pillows, pulling him with her.
“Happy New Year,” he murmured as their passion overtook them.
Chapter 7
Marcus woke to the sounds of birds outside the window of his bedroom in the woods. Amanda lay next to him, her steady, slow breathing telling him she was still asleep after their lovemaking of the night before. Six weeks of increasingly frequent time spent together. He smiled and closed his eyes, images of them since the New Years’ Eve party … at the library when they worked on plans for the summer writer’s workshop, the walks they took—sometimes with Cecelia who had taken to calling him her best man friend—and what he now thought of as his “going steady” dates with Amanda.
Living together. That’s what he wanted. He and Amanda and Cecelia—together all the time. Would she agree to that? She was stirring. Good.I’m going to ask her.
Marcus ran his fingers through her hair on his way to massaging the rest of her. While he let one of his fingers trail down her body, slowing waking her, heating them both, he murmured, “Amanda, let’s celebrate Valentine’s Day for real.Move in here with me—you and Cecelia.”
She turned her head abruptly, eyes wide, and stared at him.
“Did I say something wrong?” His pulse picked up.
After the longest minute of his life, her answer was short, unmistakable. “No.” The lines on her forehead and stiffness of her back when she turned away from him punctuated her rejection.
“Just like that?” He struggled to ignore the shaft she’d sent directly to his heart from that single word. “Why not? You know you like it here.” He reached over and nibbled her earlobe, trying not to take her refusal personally. But how could he not? Was it the living together part, or him, she was saying no to?
He tried again. “You said you liked my house.” He gave her a halfhearted grin, hoping humor might soften her response. “And I thought you liked me.” If not humor, pleading?
When she remained silent, unresponsive, he asked, his voice serious, “Can’t we at least discuss it?”
She lay next to him, her body tense for another long minute. Then, her voice quietly firm, “I’m sorry. It’s a lovely thought. Really. It’s something that—but I just can’t do it.” Her fingers smoothed the sheet nervously. “If I were single … if I didn’t have Cece—”
“But you are single, and she likes me.” One hand trailed down the length of the necklace she always wore.
“That’s not the point. We’re not married. My mother would have a cow and—”
“You’d let your mother tell you what to do? I thought you were a modern woman, a woman who makes her own decisions. Like what you did after—like when you decided to keep the pregnancy …”He traced circles on her skin with one finger, wondering again if he’d made a mistake. Was it his timing, or something else?
“No. Not with Cece. I can’t do it. I won’t do it.” She sat up in bed and abruptly moved away from him.
“Because we’re not married,” he declared.
She nodded and padded into the bathroom.
He waited until she returned from the shower and was drying her hair. Time to test—even if she hasn’t said she loves me. “We could fix that,” he whispered, leaning over to kiss the nape of her neck.
“Fix what?” She ran her comb through her hair slowly and then more vigorously.
“The ‘not married’ part.” He stopped smiling into the mirror at her when she bit her lips and frowned, then sat unmoving.
Abruptly, she turned and faced him. “It’s not you, Marcus.” Her eyes were brimming. “Really. But I—”
It seemed forever before she cleared her throat and finally spoke, her voice low, pleading. “Please. Don’t even say it.”
“Why not? You know how I feel about you, the two of you.” His heart pounded. “And, I thought … I thought you felt the same.”
She gave him a barely perceptible nod, but then said, “Yes, I do, but …” She paused again. “No, I’m sorry. I just can’t do it. We aren’t ready for such a big step.” She replied to him in monosyllables all through breakfast. Minutes after they had finished eating, she looked at him, with something akin to pain in her eyes, and said, “I think I’d better go.”