Package Deal(69)
“I guess you’re right.” Amanda sat down on the couch, her fists clenching and unclenching in her lap.
He reached for her hands. “You saw it for yourself, didn’t you?”
She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “What I saw was a man with his arms around my child. I had a momentary fright, wondering what she might do.” She let out a big breath. “But she didn’t do anything.”
He gazed into her brown eyes. “She was watching me work the zipper. I don’t think she even thought about it.” He leaned forward and kissed Amanda on the tip of her nose. “Isn’t that what you want, for her to trust that she can ask for my help if she needs it?”
She nodded. “From a male friend.”
He nodded. “Or a father figure.”
“That, too.” They went into the kitchen to put away the groceries. It seemed they had made big strides today.
That weekend Cecelia went to Sam’s for a sleepover. Marcus invited Amanda for dinner and they ended up having their own sleepover at his house, the first in many weeks.
“Amanda,” Marcus murmured into her ear, holding her close. “Move in here with me—into my house. You and Cecelia—Skipper, too.”
She angled her face so she could look into his eyes, her heart skipping beats that he had raised the issue again. “But I need my job. What will the college do if someone finds out?”
“They can’t do anything. They don’t have veto power over personal relationships, at least not between single people, and neither of us is a student.”
When she pursed her lips and looked like she was going to say no, he opened his mouth to say something else. She guessed that he was going to explore more than living together, placed her fingers against his lips, and shook her head.
“Don’t say it, Marcus. It’s bad luck. Please don’t say it.”
“Is this about Dylan?” he asked.
Instead of answering him, she distracted him with kisses while her hands wandered.
A week later, this time in her bed, he raised the issue again.
“Can’t we just enjoy each other? I really don’t want to talk about it.”
“One of these days, I’m going to insist,” he said, his expression telling her he wasn’t going to drop the issue.
The clock radio was dark when Amanda woke hours later. The normally-strong August sun shone weakly on the wall opposite the window. Marcus rolled over, smiled at her, and slid his arm from around her shoulders. He cupped her breast in one hand.
“Nice to see you this morning, Professor,” he whispered.
She grinned, and then remembered how they had argued—good-naturedly at first, before he got more serious about her and Cecelia moving into his house in the woods. How many times lately had he mentioned it? How many hours ago was that?
She couldn’t recall her retort. What she did remember was how they resolved their differences in a flurry of clothing removal and fevered lovemaking.
“What time is it?” She turned toward him and snuggled closer, gliding her fingers down his firm chest.
“Not sure. It looks like the storm was pretty wild last night. The clock radio is blinking—I wonder when we lost power. I should probably check my cell. Where did I leave it?”
“I think it’s downstairs.” She chuckled. “And you didn’t lose any power.”
“Our personal little storm did end pretty nicely, don’t you think?” His hands began to slide aroundher curves and crevices as he punctuated his intent with little kisses.
Downstairs, the back door slammed.
“Mom, I’m home! I put Skipper in the backyard!”
“Oh, my God! Cece’s back.” Amanda reached for her nightgown and slipped it over her head just before Cecelia burst into the room.
Her daughter stopped at the foot of the bed, her face moving from a happy smile to dismay, and then anger as she stared at Marcus, his bare chest visible above the covers.
“Mom—what is Marcus—”
“Cece. Could you go to your room, please? I’ll be there in a minute.”
Her daughter did not move.“He had a sleepover with you, didn’t he?” she demanded.
“Yes, I did,” Marcus answered quietly, as he pulled the covers up to his chin.
Cecelia glared at him. “You shouldn’t be here. You need to leave!” She picked up his shirt and tossed it at him. Then she faced her mother. “You did it with him, didn’t you—the icky stuff?” Tears streaked her face. “That’s why you let me sleep over at Sam’s—so you could do that nasty stuff with him.” She turned and ran into her room, slamming the door.