An Accidental Kiss (Dearly Beloved) (3 page)

Frank filled Doc’s water bowl. They each enjoyed a slice of chocolate cake while Justine asked a few more questions. Marcy stroked an appreciative Doc. This felt so good, she thought. The three of them hardly knew each other and yet the atmosphere between them was so light and easy, almost as if they belonged together.
Don’t,
she warned herself,
don’t get carried away
. But every time Frank looked in her direction Marcy felt herself fill up with a heady mixture of lust and affection.

“I like him,” Justine said, going over her notes as they drove home.

“So do I,” Marcy admitted quietly.

Justine looked over at her. “So, are you going to bake him a cake?”

Marcy smiled. “I think I just might.”

****

A week later, Frank hung up the phone and wondered why he didn’t feel more elated. He’d just received the news he’d been waiting months to hear.

“It’s finished,” he said quietly to Doc, who dozed lazily at his feet. “The house is finally finished.”

As much as he’d loved Katie, his wife had been very much a city girl, which was why they’d always lived here in Denver, close to the restaurants, museums and the hustle and bustle she’d thrived on. When he’d started to make a success of his writing, Katie had argued that it was much more convenient for them to live in town. After she’d died, he couldn’t bear to live in the home they’d shared, so he’d sold it and moved into the townhouse he lived in now, thinking it would be a good base from which to plan the creation of a real home—a log house up in the mountains, where he could ride for hours on end and walk around in the woods, just him and nature, the stars shining down every night bright and clear.

Room by room, he had planned his dream home, thinking it would be his salvation. It would have a conservatory and a huge, well-equipped kitchen where he could cook up batches of chili and tacos. His office would have soaring windows so that he could glance up as he worked and see the mountains in all their glorious and unchanging splendor. His bedroom would have a deck so that he could step outside at night and hear the coyotes howling in the distance and look up at the stars. But now, thinking about the home that waited for him, Frank felt an aching sense of emptiness. He’d achieved quite a lot during his life. But when he was with Marcy and Justine, he was reminded of all the things he didn’t have, and never would.

Abruptly, he got to his feet, snapped on Doc’s leash, and left the house for what he called a therapy walk.
What the hell is wrong with me? Why am I having these pointless thoughts?

But of course he knew exactly why. Marcy Garrett had gotten under his skin. After he’d agreed to Justine’s interview, he’d cursed himself, because if there was one thing he hated it was strangers invading his home asking damn fool questions. But that was just it—Marcy and Justine hadn’t seemed like strangers. Sharing a meal with them had seemed like the most natural thing in the world. When Marcy walked into the kitchen to help him load the dishwasher he’d wondered if taking her in his arms would seem natural, too. The sight of her licking the wooden spoon clean before placing it in the dishwasher had almost sent him over the edge.

After his guests said their goodbyes, Doc looked at him reproachfully, before slumping despondently on the rug in front of the fireplace. Frank knew exactly how he felt.

After the “therapy”, he attempted to write, knowing the current work in progress wasn’t going well. The heroine was a flirtatious brunette named Clara, but when he tried to write her, all he could think of was a quietly intelligent woman with wayward curls and a tendency to blush. When suppertime rolled around Frank switched off the computer in relief, ate and took a quick shower.

Then he looked over the pictures of his new house again, trying to reignite some of the enthusiasm he’d once felt at the idea of living in a glorified log cabin in the middle of nowhere.

He couldn’t do it.

Suddenly, Doc barked, seconds before the doorbell rang. Frank opened the door, and there stood Marcy on his doorstep. She peered at him from around the enormous dome-covered platter she was carrying. Through the clear dome, Frank spied a chocolate cake.

“Oh, you
are
home,” she said. “I tried to call, and when there was no answer I thought I’d drive over anyway and just leave this outside for you.”

“I must have been in the shower,” he said, surprised by the rush of joy he felt at the sight of her. “Come in.”

After following him into the kitchen she placed the cake on the counter. “I wanted to tell you that Justine got an A for her assignment. This is a thank you from both of us.”

Frank nodded, staring at her. She looked so pretty. Some sort of gauzy blue scarf draped around her neck, her cheeks flushed pink from the cold night air. He had absolutely no idea what to do, didn’t know whether he should ask her to remove her jacket, offer her a cup of coffee, ask if she was hungry. It was as if his brains had scrambled the second Marcy Garrett came into his house.

She stood there, her hands fidgeting with her scarf. He fought the urge to cover them with his own. “I guess I’ll be going,” she said. “I really just wanted to say thanks and deliver the cake.”

Panic grabbed at him just before his spirits crashed in complete and utter disappointment. “Okay.”

Marcy nodded, looking at him with an expression he couldn’t read, her eyes huge and sad. “I thought...” she began, then shook her head. “Oh, it doesn’t matter. Goodnight, Frank.”

“Marcy.” As she walked to the door he knew he should keep his mouth shut and let her go—but couldn't. “What did you think?”

She took a deep breath. “At the restaurant that night you made your feelings very clear. You said you weren’t looking for a relationship and I appreciated your honesty. But then afterward when we, when you—”she stumbled helplessly over the words. “We sort of kissed and I thought things had changed...”

“They did,” he admitted. “Marcy, the last thing I planned on was becoming interested in a woman, but I haven’t been able to get you off my mind.”

“Oh, Frank.” She stepped away from the door and rushed to him. “You’re all I can think of—I feel like I’m going crazy.”

She felt so small in his arms, and she smelled so good, like roses and chocolate and sunshine. And it was such a relief to hold her close again that for a moment all he could do was close his eyes and savor the feel of her, the pounding of her heart and the warmth of her body. When she lifted her face, he kissed her in a deliberate, sweet exploration.

And he knew in that one brilliant moment he never wanted to let her go.

****

Without him realizing it, they were in the living room, feverishly kissing like there was no tomorrow as he helped her wiggle free of her jacket and unwinding the scarf from around her neck so he could get to the silky skin of her throat, her face, her mouth. Heat pulsed through him, need exacerbated by her soft, desperate moans.

He pulled off her top then unclipped her bra. Almost reverently, Frank touched her full, round breasts, gently grazing the pale pink nipples with his fingertips.

Marcy stood and pulled off the rest of her clothes while Frank watched. In the dying light of the fire, her pale skin appeared golden. Quickly, he took off his jeans and shirt, saw Marcy swallow convulsively as her eyes ran over his body, and then she was touching him, gliding her hands across his skin and making him shudder, then guiding him inside her. He groaned aloud, struggling for control as Marcy moved, finding her own release. She whispered his name, her body tensing as it was overtaken with ecstasy, and Frank felt his own need explode as he plunged deeply inside her.

Afterward, he held her, not quite believing what had just happened. He thought that if he’d been a praying man, he might have thanked God. For so long, his life had been so bleak, so empty of joy. And now here he was, holding Marcy in his arms. Her arms were around him, her silky nakedness pressed against the length of his body.

“Frank,” she whispered.

He guided her upstairs. She tripped once in the darkness and giggled and he grinned, feeling young again. They made love again in his bed, slower this time. He touched every inch of her, marveling at the way her body felt—the curves of her waist, the silkiness of her shoulders, the sweet roundness of her bottom. His fingers played and lingered in the damp curls between her thighs, exploring the slippery heat he found there. Marcy’s breath quickened. Slowly, Frank eased himself inside her. She wrapped her legs around his body and pulled him close, straining against him. And they made love, moving as one, amazed.

They slept for a while, a peaceful and satisfied sleep the likes of which he hadn’t enjoyed for some time. And then he felt Marcy stir in his arms.

She raised herself up on one elbow. “What time is it?’

He blinked at his alarm clock, wondering why it mattered. “Almost midnight.”

“Goodness, I have to get going,” she said, hopping out of bed and grabbing the sheet to cover herself.

“Why don’t you just stay the night?”

“Justine’s on a sleepover but I don’t know what time she’ll be home tomorrow—don’t want her to come home to an empty house and worry,” she said, hurrying away.

“Wait a minute.” Disgruntled, he grabbed a pair of pants and dragged them on so he could go after her. “Marcy!”

She was in the living room, pulling on her clothes, and Frank watched her for a moment, amazed at the feelings coursing through him. He didn’t want her to leave. He was anxious about when he’d see her again. She smiled at him as she pulled on her jacket.

“I’ll drive you home.”

“Don’t be silly, my car’s right outside.” She kissed his cheek. “We’ll talk tomorrow, shall we?”

He nodded, unable to resist pulling her to him for one last, lingering kiss, then groaning when he had to let her go. After she’d left, he stared at the front door as stunned as if a whirlwind had just blown through his house. His world had just turned upside-down and he’d loved every minute of it.

****

May

Over the next few months, Marcy wondered if she’d ever stop smiling. She couldn’t help it. Whenever she thought of Frank, her face would dissolve into a dopy grin with little or no warning. Try as she might, it was near impossible to hide the fact that she was blissfully happy, having amazing sex, and falling in love with the kind of man she’d given up on ever finding. With her rather dismal history, thinking about love scared Marcy a little. But things were going well with Frank, and tonight they were having dinner with her parents.

“You know,” Herb Garret said ponderously, “when you have kids, Frank, they’re always your kids. Marcy may be forty-five, but she’s still my little girl. Always will be.”

“I can understand that, sir,” Frank replied politely.

“Mom, this meatloaf is delicious,” Marcy said, hoping to change the subject. “And everything looks lovely.” Kath had laid the table with a snowy white cloth and her best china. White candles flickered.

“How long have you two been walking out?” Herb demanded, not to be put off

Frank shot Marcy a smile. “It’s been three months.”

“Three months,” Herb repeated thoughtfully. “Well now, that’s long enough for a man to know his intentions, I’d say.”

“I agree,” Frank said. “And my intentions toward Marcy are serious, sir.”

“Ooh!” Kath gave a little sigh of bliss from the end of the table.

This was beyond awful, Marcy thought, two elderly parents desperately trying to marry off their middle-aged daughter. Frank probably wanted to throw down his napkin and run screaming into the night.

Just as she thought things couldn’t get any worse, Justine piped up. “You could even have a baby, Mom.”

Frank made a small choking sound as Marcy stared at her daughter in horror.

“You could,” Justine assured her, apparently mistaking horror for disbelief. “I saw all about it on a show called Miracle Moms—a lady of sixty had a baby. The doctor just had to—”

“Dessert anyone?” Kath interrupted smoothly. “Justine, come and help your grandma.”

Why, Marcy thought as her mother and daughter exited the dining room, did her family have to be so embarrassing? It was as if they had a talent for it, which Justine had inherited.

Under the table, Frank sought her hand and gave it a squeeze. Relief and gratitude poured through her at the gesture which she knew meant
don’t worry, everything’s fine.

Herb launched into one of his favorite topics of discussion—or rather lectures—Civil War battle strategies. Marcy looked at Frank as he nodded and engaged with her aging dad, and she felt a love so deep it almost took her breath away. And she realized she’d known it long before that moment but not allowed herself to admit it. She was in love with this smart, serious blue-eyed man, and her life would never be the same.

Since Justine was staying with her grandparents for the weekend, Marcy went home with Frank. She’d come to think of his home as hers. They planned on spending a few quiet days together, walking Doc, cooking and just relaxing.

“You’re quiet, sweetheart,” Frank remarked as they walked into the house. “Something on your mind?”

Marcy smiled up at him. “Oh...”

There was very little they hadn’t talked about over the past months, but they had never mentioned love. She wanted so badly to tell him how she felt, but she just couldn’t do it yet. What if he didn’t feel quite the same way?

“You were amazing with my family tonight.”

“Your family is great.”

What did you mean when you told my father your intentions toward me were serious?
Marcy longed to ask.
What did those old-fashioned words mean, exactly?

She kept her silence as they settled Doc for the night and went up to bed. She brushed her teeth with the pink toothbrush she now kept in Frank’s bathroom, and climbed into bed beside him.

He took her in his arms and kissed her. “Goodnight, sweetheart.”

“Goodnight, Frank.”

She lay awake after he’d fallen asleep, telling herself this man loved her. She just knew it. If he didn’t feel the same way she did, Marcy just didn’t know what she was going to do.