Roomful of Roses Read online

  There was some serious debate and a few objections from taxpayers who didn't want to see the town go so far in debt for the expansion. Harry handled them well, though, and when the time came for a vote, the city council went unanimously for the project. It was on the way.

  "What were you talking to Harry about after the meeting?" Wynn asked him as she headed the car toward home.

  "Water," he confessed with a sideways grin. "I told him I'd be glad to do some public-relations work for him gratis if he needed it. It might make a good feature story for one of the national magazines," he added. "I'm going to check that out."

  "You're super," she said quietly.

  "I'm glad you think so. No, don't go home. Let's go get the front page and the editorial page back. I'll have to tear it up to make room for this story."

  "I'd thought about asking you to hold the front page, but I wasn't sure the vote would go through," she said. "Ed doesn't like to hold it back, anyway."

  "We'll make an exception this time. Wynn, thanks for asking me to come with you," he said quietly. "I enjoyed it. Really enjoyed it. I'm beginning to see that there are quite a few big challenges even in small towns."

  She smiled to herself. She'd hoped that he would. McCabe loved a fight. And there were plenty of battles to wage right here.

  It was midnight when they got back, having left the pages at the office to finish first thing in the morning and take back to

  the printer. It was a good thing the printer was an accommodating gentleman, Wynn thought with a smile, since they'd had to get him back to the office in the middle of the night to let them have those pages. But then, he was an old newspaperman himself, and understood.

  Wynn had already started into her room when McCabe called her name softly in the dimly lit hall.

  She turned and he hobbled up to her. "If you won't sleep with me, at least kiss me good night," he said deeply.

  Her eyes searched his for a long time. "I was very proud of you tonight," she said, without meaning to.

  He actually flushed. "I'm always proud of you," he replied. He rested the cane against the wall and drew her against him, spacing his legs so that she was drawn between them.

  "McCabe!" she said nervously.

  "I can't hold you against my legs," he said, his eyes searching hers. "I'm not trying to shock you."

  "That would be something new," she murmured. The feel of his body was weakening her. She let her palms rest flat against his chest and her heart ran wild.

  His hands linked behind her back at her waist and he lowered his forehead to rest against her own. "Wynn, you didn't really mean what you said about going back to Andy, did you?" he asked, as if it really mattered.

  Her eyes closed. She could feel him, smell him. He was drowning her in scent and sensation and she rocked slowly against him.

  "No," she whispered shakily, wanting nothing more than to lie in his arms and do all the things she'd dreamed of doing with him.

  His lips parted and his breath came roughly. "I want to lie with you," he breathed against her mouth. "I want to lie with you and on you and under you, Wynn." His big hands slid up and down her back over the thin pink blouse she was wearing with her beige slacks. "Let me show you what you do to me." And he moved his hands down to the base of her spine and pushed her hips suddenly, shockingly against his.

  She gasped, flushing wildly.

  "I'm a man," he said unsteadily, watching her. "And I want you. I can't help it."

  "I know that." He had sounded almost apologetic. And she felt a sense of guilt for causing him discomfort, even though there was no helping it.

  "I can't have you permanently," he bit off. "But we could sleep together."

  She shook her head, leaning it heavily against his shoulder as the feel of his hungry body made her stagger. "I couldn't bear it," she whispered. "You're already hurting, aren't you, McCabe?"

  "My leg isn't," he murmured.

  "That isn't what I meant, either," she murmured. "I may be innocent, but I'm not stupid. I know what happens to men when they ... when they get like this."

  His hands moved back up to her waist, relaxing their intimate hold on her, and he shuddered softly. "It's just an ache," he whispered. "The sweetest ache in the world, and I don't mind it. Not with you."

  She drew back to look up at him, surprising a look on his face that she'd never seen, couldn't understand. "Is your leg bad?" she asked suddenly. "You've been on it most of the day."

  "It's not so bad," he said. "But it's going to feel good to get off it," he confessed with a dry smile.

  Her eyes searched his. "Will you be all right?"

  He shook his head very slowly. "Not until I get you in my bed," he said bluntly.

  She lowered her eyes to his chest. "I can't."

  "Yes, you can!" he burst out, glaring at her. His hands caught the back of her head and held it while his mouth lowered onto hers with a crushing, demanding pressure. His lips forced hers open to meet the wild,sweet ardor of his mouth, and he kissed her until she moaned and clung.

  "Wynn," he whispered, anguished, as his hands moved to her breasts and cupped them softly, warmly. "Oh, Wynn, Wynn, I've never wanted anyone so much!"

  Her fingers brushed up and down over his shirt and moved to the buttons and trembled at the top one, toying with it while she struggled to get her breath.

  "I want you, too," she managed.

  "But ... "

  "But, nothing," he said, sounding half strangled.

  "How would you manage it," she asked, feeling needed and wanted, "when you can't even bear to have your leg touched?"

  "There are ways, and ways," he muttered. His eyes were charcoal dark and glittering with passion. "Take your clothes off, Wynn, and let me show you."

  "You lecherous old thing," she retorted, drawing back. "I will not!"

  "I'll bet you're beautiful," he said slowly, letting his eyes run up and down her body until it began to tingle from the scrutiny.

  She caught her breath. "Hush," she said shortly. "You mustn't talk to me that way."

  "It's all I can do, at the moment," he sighed bitterly. His eyes held hers and his lips parted under a rush of breath. His face was rigid. He looked big and blond and frankly dangerous. "We could undress each other," he said quietly. "And lie together, in my bed, in the light. We could make love in every sense except the ultimate one."

  She swallowed. "And what would happen then?"

  "We'd go to sleep, of course," he murmured, smiling.

  "No, I meant what would happen then?" she said, staring up at him. "Do you really think that I could take that kind of intimacy with you in my stride, and pass it off as a pleasant interlude?"

  He frowned slightly. "It's done all the time, Wynn."

  "In your world, perhaps," she agreed. "Not in mine. You've been away a long time, you've grown away from the basics.

  But I haven't. In my world, intimacy is between man and wife, and it means something."

  His eyes darkened as he studied her, unblinking. "And I was muttering about Andy's hang-ups," he said.

  "Sorry to disappoint you, darling," she said sarcastically, "but I don't play that kind of bedroom game. And before you make some cutting remark, no, I don't expect you to offer me marriage for a few hours of fooling around."

  He looked as if she'd hit him. His face colored slightly, and there was anger in his eyes, in the fingers that bit into her waist.

  "You're making it sound like something cheap," he said flatly.

  "Because that's what it is, McCabe," she replied quietly. "I don't think of sex as a pastime. Apparently you do."

  "I've had to," he said surprisingly. "I haven't had the inclination or the opportunity to form any kind of lasting relationships with women."

  "Yes, I can understand that."

  His eyes searched hers. "I want to lie down with you and love you," he said softly. "Is that such a shameful thing?"

  Her eyes closed and tears stung them.

  "No," s
he whispered. "But I couldn't bear having nothing but the memory of it, after you leave."

  His hands stilled on her waist and she heard his breath go ragged. "What are you telling me?"

  "That I'd rather not know how it feels to make love with you," she said tightly, "even in an incomplete way."

  "Why?"

  Her lips parted and she leaned against his broad chest, letting her forehead nuzzle him lovingly. "Because it would make it worse," she ground out, tired of subterfuge and games and lies. "I want you, all of you, with all my heart. But I can't live on bits and pieces of you, I'm too greedy. I can't be intimate with you and then watch you walk out of my life. It would tear me apart. It's bad enough already!"

  His hands moved hesitantly to the back of her head and smoothed her hair gently. There was a fine tremor in those hard fingers that she didn't understand. His head bent and she heard his soft, ragged breathing at her ear as his hands contracted and forced her cheek close against his broad, warm chest.

  "What are you saying?" he whispered roughly.

  She slumped, letting all the tension out in one unsteady breath as her eyes closed.

  "I love you," she whispered.

  Chapter Nine

  He didn't speak. He seemed to stop breathing. The hands on the nape of her neck stilled and she felt his body tauten

  where it touched hers. She hadn't realized how she'd been hoping that he'd be happy about her confession, that he'd tell her he felt the same and ask her to marry him and the future would be rosy and bright. But he didn't speak. And she felt rejection more sharply than any she'd felt in her life.

  She drew away from him without actually looking at him, and laughed softly, nervously. "Are you shocked, McCabe?" she chided. "Surely it must happen to you all the time. Women read those books you write. I'm sure this isn't the first time one of them threw herself at your feet."

  He was watching her. Just watching her.

  And she was afraid to look up and see what might be in his eyes, because she couldn't bear pity.

  "You needn't worry, I'm not going to threaten to throw myself under a train or anything," she said, moving to open her bedroom door. "I just thought it might make things easier if you understood the situation. I'm ... very vulnerable with you.

  If you pushed the issue, I'd sleep with you. But I'd hate you, and myself, and I'd never get over it. So stop making passes, will you?" she added on an unsteady laugh. "Because it's all a game to you. But it isn't to me."

  She turned away, but his hand caught her arm and gently turned her back.

  "Wynn," he said softly, "it's no game."

  And before she could protest, he lifted her face to his and kissed her. It was like nothing she'd ever experienced in her life, not even with McCabe. She felt his mouth brush hers, part her lips, probe in a silence that was poignant with emotion. His hands brought her against his big body, his breath sighed out at her cheek, while he built the kiss into something that was worlds away from a touching of mouths. It was slow and fierce, but achingly tender, and she tasted him as she'd never dared.

  "Does this feel like fun and games?" he whispered over her lips. "Do I feel like a man who's playing?"

  Before she could get out an answer to the gruff question, he was kissing her again. She reached up, going on tiptoe to prolong the sweetness of the contact, feeling his body so rigid in unmistakable desire.

  His teeth nipped her mouth and he grew rougher as the desire worked on him. His arms contracted, bruising her as he dragged her against him, letting her feel the full strength of the powerful muscles of his chest, his arms. His tongue probed slowly, rhythmically into her mouth, and a harsh groan burst out of his throat.

  He lifted his head, and she could see the turmoil in his face that she'd already felt in the tremor of his body.

  "We'll get married," he said in a voice she hardly recognized. "Just as soon as I can get a license."

  Her lips parted. "No."

  "Yes." He bent and kissed her again, slowly, lazily, smiling when he felt her body lift to meet his.

  "You you'll just hate yourself," she whispered, "when the newness wears off, when you've had me." Her eyes were tortured. "I'd rather we just slept together...."

  He shook his head. "Not yet."

  "Your leg," she murmured, lowering her eyes. "I forgot."

  "No, not my leg. My conscience." He lifted her chin. "I can't take you in my stride, either, Wynn. So we'll get married, and we'll see how it goes."

  "And you'll rush right back off to Central America at the first opportunity," she said.

  "I've already told you that I don't intend giving it up," he said curtly. "It's my life."

  "Yes, I can see that," she said, her voice sad and bitter. "I won't marry you, McCabe. I won't stay here and try to work, worrying about whether or not you're going to die in some jungle covering a volleyball conflict."

  "You want it all your own way, I suppose," he replied, his eyes glittering and blatantly unloverlike. He moved away from her to light a cigarette. "You want me to stay in Redvale and write books and forget all about it, is that how the song goes?"

  "Chorus and verse," she returned. "I am not having babies alone."

  "There is a hospital," he burst out.

  "Big deal, and how about a husband to help me through it?" she asked him. "How about holidays and birthdays and anniversaries that I'll spend alone? How about weeks without letters or phone calls when you're incommunicado, and what will I tell the children? Yes, you have a daddy, here's his picture, and you'll actually get to see him between wars!"

  He was looking more thunderous by the second. "Take me as I am, or leave me alone! I've told you once, I'm not changing. You're being unreasonable, Wynn, and you know it."

  "I'm being unreasonable." She nodded, her green eyes blazing. "So what are you offering me, McCabe? A few nights rolling around in bed with you once or twice a year? Because that's all I'll get."

  He made an angry gesture. "You're exaggerating it. You said you loved me! What kind of love is this?"

  "The only kind I want," she said, calming. She studied his tanned face under its disheveled blond hair, and loved him until it hurt. "No deal, McCabe, I won't marry you, and I won't sleep with you. Andy may not be for me, but eventually I'll find someone else I can love enough to marry. A man who's willing to give as much as he takes."

  He looked dangerous for an instant, his eyes charcoal gray and savage.

  "What are you giving?" he taunted. "Just your body and a profession of love?"

  "The body is standard issue," she said. "If you just want one for a night or two, may I suggest that you drive up to the city with a few fifty-dollar bills and stand on a street corner downtown?" She moved into her room. "On the other hand, my profession of love was a nasty mistake. You can forget I ever said it. As cheaply as you're treating it, it must not be worth much after all." And she closed the door on his shocked face and locked it.

  She undressed and went to bed, ignoring the one sharp rap on the door and a puzzled deep voice calling her name softly. And surprisingly, she slept, too. She felt too numb to worry about the problem. It would hurt enough later.

  McCabe was sipping coffee at the breakfast table when she went in. "I poured you a cup when I heard you stirring," he said coolly. "It should still be hot."

  He pushed it toward her as she sat down, and she noticed that he'd already added cream and sugar. She couldn't meet his eyes; she still felt the sting of embarrassment about her heartfelt outpouring of the night before.

  "Do you want anything to eat?" she asked curtly.

  "I'd choke to death trying," he said with equal bluntness. He sipped his coffee and put the cup down. "I'm going to finish out this week and go back to work."

  She was expecting it, but it hurt just the same. Why did her eyes have to fill up with tears now?

  "Did you hear me?" he ground out.

  She took a slow breath and lifted her coffee to her mouth. She tried to speak, but couldn't, so sh
e nodded.

  "No argument?" He laughed sarcastically, his eyes narrow and glittering.

  Her tongue came out to brush at a drop of coffee that had missed her mouth, and she shook her head jerkily.

  She took another sip, but her hand was trembling so that she had to put the cup down again.

  "Wynn, don't do this to me!" he said in a voice that was blatantly and involuntarily anguished. He got up from his chair and reached for her suddenly, dragging her up into his arms and holding her close enough to bruise her. He lifted her clear of the ground, mindless of the pain in his lei, trembling with violent emotion. His cheek scraped her skin, his mouth searching; blindly for hers. He found it with a muffled groan and he kissed her and kissed her, tasting tears and feeling uncertain about where they came from.