“Is six-thirty all right?” Marjorie asked, cutting into his thoughts.
“Perfect.”
“I’ll see you then.”
Smiling, Gary returned to his office. He sat down at his desk and pulled out the phone number Lorraine had given him. Once again he toyed with the idea of calling this place in Mexico, leaving a message inquiring about her. And yet he didn’t want his future father-in-law to think he was the type who overreacted. Thus far, he’d resisted calling, but he wondered again if he should make some effort to reach Lorraine.
He released a long-drawn-out sigh and decided he’d give it a few more days.
That evening Gary arrived for dinner at Marjorie Ellis’s place at precisely six-thirty. Grateful for the invitation, he’d brought a small bouquet of flowers and a bottle of wine.
Marjorie met him at the door, wearing black leggings and a long gray top. It was the first time he’d seen her outside of work. Dressed this casually, she took him by surprise; he hadn’t realized quite how attractive she was.
She held open the screen door and he stepped inside. Her house looked a lot like her office—definitely lived-in, unmistakably personal. Despite the clutter of books, plants and artsy objects, he was impressed with the sense of welcome it exuded. “I hope you like lasagna,” she said.
“Love it.” His favorite. She couldn’t have chosen a better meal.
“Great!”
A lanky boy in a baseball cap ambled into the room, wearing a glove on his right hand.
“You must be Brice,” Gary said. “Your mom says you like baseball.”
“Are you Mr. Franklin?”
“That’s me,” Gary said. “So what position do you play?”
“Shortstop.”
“I played shortstop in college.” Gary liked the kid already.
“You did?” Brice’s eyes widened in admiration. “So did my dad, but he died.”
Gary remembered hearing that Marjorie was a widow. Her husband had drowned in a boating accident three years earlier, but he couldn’t recall who’d told him that. Marjorie had done a terrific job with the boy, that was easy to see.
“Would you like me to throw you a few balls?” Gary asked.
The boy beamed. “Can we, Mom?”
“I just put the lasagna in the oven so you have plenty of time,” Marjorie said.
Her expression told Gary it wasn’t necessary, that he didn’t need to entertain her son; what she didn’t realize was that he actually enjoyed this sort of thing.
“I’ll call you when dinner’s on the table,” she said as Gary headed out the door with Brice.
Gary and the boy spent nearly an hour playing catch and talking sports before Marjorie called them in for dinner. In addition to lasagna, she served a garlicky Caesar salad, another of his favorites, and crusty French bread.
“This is one of the best meals I’ve had in months,” Gary said with genuine enthusiasm.
To his surprise, Marjorie blushed, which struck him as quite endearing.
Brice went upstairs as soon as the table was cleared. Gary realized it was time he made his excuses, but found himself looking for a reason to linger.
Impulsively he tied an apron around his waist and insisted on helping with the dishes. “My mother always said those who cook shouldn’t have to wash dishes.”
“Nonsense,” Marjorie protested. “It’ll only take a few minutes.”
“It’s the least I can do.” He plugged the sink, and before she could argue any further, filled it with hot, sudsy water.
“Gary…”
She started to protest again, only this time he plopped a handful of bubbles onto the end of her nose. Her eyes grew huge with shock. Gary couldn’t seem to stop laughing. Nor could he stop himself from kissing her.
He hadn’t intended it. But for one crazy second, he forgot about Lorraine, forgot he was going to be married in October. Forgot everything but the warm, wonderful woman in his arms.
He eased his mouth from hers, certain she’d be upset. She had every right to be upset.
Marjorie stared at him, her lips moist from his kiss. Then she blinked a couple of times, looking bemused…and utterly charming.
“Should I apologize?” It was probably the most asinine thing he could have asked.
“I…I don’t know.”
“Let’s pretend it didn’t happen,” he suggested. He dropped his hands from her shoulders.
“Okay,” she said, and managed a weak smile. “Although I would like to say one thing.”
He wasn’t sure he wanted her to, but nodded, anyway.
“You’re a hell of a good kisser, Mr. Franklin.”
Somehow Marjorie had done it again. He’d acted on impulse, stepped out of character. She should chastise him, yell at him, throw him out on his ear. Instead, he left her home whistling, feeling better than he had in weeks.
Jack didn’t know what had happened to break his resolve. He’d had every intention of saying his farewells and walking away. But when the moment came, he discovered he couldn’t do it. His plan had been to see Lorraine safely to the suite, say a few words and be on his way. Even as he ran through all the familiar arguments about why they shouldn’t make love, he was kissing her.
Acting purely on instinct, Jack continued the deep slow kisses. He knew very well that these few hours would have to sustain him through all the lonely years ahead.
She whimpered.
Moaning, he dragged his mouth from hers. He’d dreamed of this endlessly, ever since the night she’d lain in his arms. They gazed at each other and his breath rasped through his lips. He traced his index finger along her mouth, swollen now with his kisses.
She smiled sweetly and he was lost. He buried his face in her neck. Her head fell back and she slumped against the door, her fingers thrust deep in his hair.
Jack’s first thought as they entered the bedroom was that they shouldn’t be doing this. If he loved Lorraine, he wouldn’t allow it to continue.
“Lorraine, no.”
She looked at him, her eyes wide and full of despair.
He broke away from her and sat on the edge of the bed. His body throbbed with the need to accept what she was offering. He couldn’t bear the thought of turning away from her now. But he had to. This was the only way he had of letting Lorraine know how much he loved her. If he loved her any less, he’d be on this bed with her. Any more, and it would kill him.
“Please…don’t do this,” she choked out. “Stay…”
“We can’t.”
She’d endured so much, been so strong. She’d fought off Carlos’s attack, engineered a risky escape, nursed him through the effects of a gunshot wound. But she looked fragile just then, as if his refusal was the one thing she couldn’t endure. Didn’t she know? Didn’t she realize? Walking out of this bedroom now was the only way he had of proving his love.
He moved away, heaving a deep sigh in an effort to regain his composure. When he turned around, he noticed that Lorraine had used the time to straighten her clothes. She stood at the foot of the bed and watched him.
“You’re going to leave now, aren’t you?” she asked, close to tears.
He nodded.
“Just like that?”
He hardened his heart. “Just like that,” he said.
Her shoulders sagged with resignation. Jack knew firsthand how brave she could be. He loved that about her. He loved everything about her.
“Goodbye,” he whispered. He’d taken one step when she hurled herself into his arms.
He knew he should leave while he had the strength. Instead, he closed his eyes and hugged her to him, savoring these final moments together, loving her so much it felt as if his heart would die without her.
She held him tightly and hid her face in his chest. “I can’t let you go,” she cried, clinging. “Not like this. I need to tell you about Gary and me.”
“Don’t tell me.” His voice was harsh. This was exactly what he didn’t want to happen. “Don’t,” he said again.
“But you need to know!” Her arms tightened with the urgency of her emotions.
“No.”
“But—”
He gripped her upper arms. “No.”
She went still. She looked down and her hair fell forward, blocking her face from his view. “This isn’t the end,” she promised in a broken whisper.
It had to be. Jack wouldn’t allow it to be anything but the end. She had a husband who loved and cherished her, and Jack wouldn’t allow either of them to betray that trust.
He released her. Then he turned and walked out of the room, his pace fast as he closed the suite door and headed for the elevator.
He was half a block from the hotel when Lorraine came running after him. “Jack, wait!”
He pretended not to hear her. The streets were chaotic, thronged with traffic. Cars honked, people yelled, buses spilled heavy exhaust fumes into the air.
“Jack! Please.” Her frantic cry followed him.
Jack walked faster.
“It isn’t over,” she shouted. “All I need is time. I’ll be back. As early as next week. I’m coming back. Listen to me, I’ll be back. Please listen.”
He didn’t turn around, just walked away as fast as he could.
Lorraine stood in the middle of the congested sidewalk and watched Jack disappear into the crowd. Her heart told her to run after him and make him listen to the truth, make him understand.
He loved her. He had to, or he would’ve taken her to bed. She couldn’t have made her feelings or her desire for him any plainer. Physically she was frustrated. Emotionally, she was in mourning—and in awe. His actions told her more about the kind of man he was than anything else he could have done.
Jack was right to go. Out of fairness to Gary, she had to let him.
She needed a few minutes to regain her composure before she reentered the hotel lobby.
A shower first and then bed. Feeling drained, exhausted to the bone, she stepped into the elevator.
On the ride to the top floor, she reviewed a list of things she had to do. By this time Gary must be worried sick. She’d phone right away. She’d return her father’s call later, she thought, pulling the message slip from her pocket. There was nothing on it but his name and the time of his call—this morning, at 9:45. But Jack would— She stopped, refusing to let her mind dwell on Jack. This was merely a short interlude apart. In a few days, she promised herself, she’d be back.
She rubbed her eyes tiredly as she inserted the key into the security lock. Pausing, she glanced over her shoulder, surprised to note that the guard was nowhere in sight. So much for the promised protection.
The door clicked open and she walked inside.
“It’s about time you got here.”
Jason Applebee sat in the living area eating grapes from a beautiful fruit basket.
The key fell out of Lorraine’s hand and landed silently on the luxurious carpet.
“I hope you don’t mind, but I helped myself. A very nice gift from your friend Catherina, by the way. You weren’t going to eat all this fruit yourself, were you?”