Be My Baby Tonight (8 page)

She lowered her hips—her legs could no longer
hold her, because she had gone all soft and liquid. But the need
was still there, a different completion than he had given her, one
that included them both.

The
want
clogged in her throat, the
need
to give.

Dragging her fingers down his back, she urged
him with her body, pulled him toward her. Up and over her.

He sank between her legs, filling her even as
his mouth claimed hers again, his tongue mimicking the thrusts of
his lower body.

She broke free, gasping, biting on his ear.
“More, more,” she urged him, wanting nothing else in this life than
to give him everything he wanted, everything he might not even know
he needed. “More, Tim. Faster. Deeper.”

“Oh, babe. Babe,” he said, and increased his
tempo. Deep, hard, fast. And faster. And faster. Driving into her
as she opened to him, gave him all she had.

All he probably would ever want....

* * *

“Nice,” Tim said, looking around after
dropping her two suitcases on the floor of the small foyer of her
Allentown apartment. “When did they build these?”

Suzanna deposited the case containing her
laptop on the paisley-print chair just inside the living room.
“Last year. That’s when I moved back home for good, sold the old
homestead,” she told him, looking around the room that could have
fit inside the bathroom of their Vegas hotel room. With room left
over for a horse. A Clydesdale.

“It was really great of you to do this, Tim.
Fly into ABE instead of Philly, and all of that. I’ll just be a
minute;” she said nervously, heading for the door once more.
“There’s soda in the fridge. That way,” she ended, pointing toward
the kitchen.

Once outside her apartment, Suzanna leaned
against the wall, took a few deep, steadying breaths. Other than
her trips to the bathroom in the hotel and on the plane, and a
brief moment with the frogs in the casino, this was the first time
she’d been alone since saying hi to Tim. Ever since she’d gone
temporarily insane, to be more precise.

But it was okay. She’d get used to this.
Being married to Tim, the love of her life, a man who called her
“babe” when they made love. Did he always do that? Just so he
wouldn’t goof up, call somebody by the wrong name?

“Don’t think like that. Maybe he’s got a
thing about Babe Ruth, that’s all. No, that’s just too weird,” she
told herself, pushing away from the wall and heading across the
square hall for 4B.

Mrs. Josephson opened the door as far as the
security chain would allow, then smiled at Suzanna. “Oh, it’s you.
Just a moment, dear.”

The door closed, then opened again, the
security chain undone, and Suzanna stepped inside the apartment
that always smelled like cinnamon sticks. “How are you, Mrs.
Josephson?” she asked. “I got your message on my cell phone. I hope
Margo wasn’t any trouble?”

“No, no, dear, Margo’s never any trouble. But
when my sister called to tell me her husband fell and broke his
hip, well, I knew you wouldn’t mind coming home to take Margo back.
Stupid Walter. Tell me, what is a seventy-year-old man thinking, to
climb up on a roof like that?”

“He fell off the roof?” Suzanna winced, then
went to the corner of the room to pick up Margo, who had been
sleeping on the floor in a patch of sunlight coming through the
window. Margo wasn’t much on big welcome home celebrations.

“The lower roof, luckily. Putting up one of
those satellite thingies, Mary said. Five thousand channels, Mary
said, all of them sports, to hear her tell it. Well, I’ll be off,”
she said, picking up an overnight bag. “I phoned for a cab when I
saw you walking across the parking lot. I thought my cab had come
early, but then I saw you get out of it.”

Suzanna buried her smile against Margo’s soft
brown fur. That was Mrs. Josephson. The town crier. She waited for
what would come next.

And here it came....

“Such a nice-looking young man, Suzanna,”
Mrs. Josephson said, reaching for her huge handbag. “Anyone I
should know about?”

“He’s an old friend, Mrs. J. Tim Trehan. The
ball player?”

“Ballplayer? I’m afraid I wouldn’t know,
dear. Well, the cab will be here any minute now, and then there’s
that long bus ride to Pittsburgh. I think I’ll be able to make the
ten o’clock bus. I may be gone for a while, dear, but don’t you
worry. I know how busy you are, so I’ve asked Mr. Horvath to water
my plants for me and bring in my mail. He’d have taken Margo, too,
if you had to go out of town again, except he’s allergic. Nosy old
coot, grant you, but he’s sure to bring in my Social Security check
next Monday.”

Suzanna held open the door for Mrs.
Josephson, then waved her on her way before reentering her own
apartment.

“Here she is,” she said, rather proudly,
depositing a squirming Margo on the carpet. “One Princess Morgana
Margret of Leeds, to be precise about the thing. But I call her
Margo. I couldn’t resist her.”

The brown tabby Persian stretched out one
back leg, then the other, before walking over to the couch where
Tim sat. She sat on the floor in front of him for a few moments,
examining him for flaws, then gracefully hopped up onto his
lap.

“Pedigree, huh?” Tim said, scratching behind
Margo’s ear. Suzanna could hear the cat purring from halfway across
the room. Margo
never
did that. “You know, I have a cat,
too. Lucky. Big black tomcat. He’s got muscles like Arnold
Schwarzenegger, I swear it.”

“No, I didn’t know you had a cat,” Suzanna
said, watching Margo melt under Tim’s touch. She knew the feeling.
“Who takes care of him when you’re on the road?”

Tim grinned at her. “Guess we’re finally
getting around to talking, huh? I should have told you.”

“That’s okay. You didn’t know about Margo
until I picked up my messages on our way to the airport.”

“True enough. Okay, you know I have a house
here, right?”

She smiled. “Right.”

“It was one of Mort’s ideas. Jack bought a
house; I bought a house. Tax write-off, that sort of thing. I had
been in a condo, but the bigger the house, the higher the taxes,
the bigger the write-off. At least that’s what Mort and Aunt Sadie
said.”

Suzanna’s smile widened. “Your Aunt Sadie. I
remember her. She worked at a bank, didn’t she? Trust officer,
something like that? Never married.”

“That’s Aunt Sadie, although she doesn’t work
at the bank anymore. She, with some input from Mort, manages Jack’s
and my finances now. Among other things.”

“Other things? Oh, you mean because she’s
retired now? What does she do? Garden?”

“You wish. Last time I checked, she was
auditioning for a project at some local theater,” Tim said, putting
Margo to one side as he stood up, headed for the kitchen. “You want
a soda?” he called back over his shoulder. “Then we’d better get
moving, okay?”

“Okay,” she said, following him. “And I did
know you built a new house last fall. Near Jack’s, right?”

He straightened after bending to grab two
sodas from the bottom shelf, then looked at her overtop the
refrigerator door. “Keeping tabs on me, huh?”

She shook her head. “Don’t get too puffed up,
Tim. You remember Ron Laub? He did the tile work on your
place.”

“Ronnie? You’re kidding.” He popped both
tops, handed one can to her. “I haven’t seen him in years. He was
going to join the navy, wasn’t he?”

“Until Babs told him she was pregnant, yes.
Now he does tile work with his dad, and he and Babs have three
kids. I saw them at the reunion you didn’t go to, remember? Now,
just give me a minute to change my clothes, feed Margo, and we can
go.”

“She’ll be all right here until tomorrow?
Because I really want us to stay at my place in Philly
tonight.”

“She’ll be fine. I’ll leave her lots of water
and dry food.”

“Or you could leave her with Lucky?”

Suzanna had taken three steps toward the
hallway leading to her bedroom, but then stopped, turned back to
look at him. “Yeah, how do you do that? Who takes care of Lucky for
you when you’re on a road trip?”

He stepped out from behind the bar in the
kitchen. “I guess the old Whitehall High rumor mill missed one,
huh? But it’s simple enough. I have this huge house I’m barely ever
in, and this cat, who really needs company.”

“And...?” Suzanna prodded.

“And so I asked Mrs. Butterworth to sort of
move in, take care of Lucky for me.”

Suzanna put out one arm, steadied herself
against the wall. “Mrs. Butterworth?
Our
Mrs. Butterworth?
Our history teacher Mrs. Butterworth?
That
Mrs. Butterworth?
You’re kidding.”

“Nope. Our Mrs. Butterworth. Her husband
died, you know. Last year. They never had any kids, and she was all
alone. Aunt Sadie told me about it. It was pretty sad, you know? So
I asked her to be my housekeeper, move in, take care of Lucky for
me. She lives in a small apartment attached to the garages, the
same way Aunt Sadie lives in an apartment attached to Jack’s
garages. It works out great, really.”

Suzanna looked at Tim for long moments. “When
did you get Lucky?”

“Honey,” Tim drawled, dropping a kiss on her
forehead as he walked past her, back into the living room. “I wuz
born
lucky.”

She followed after him. “No, seriously, Tim.
When did you get Lucky—the
cat
Lucky? Before or after you
heard about Mrs. Butterworth’s husband dying and her being left all
alone in the world?”

He collapsed onto the couch, shrugged his
shoulders. “I don’t remember. About the same time, I guess. It
doesn’t matter. It worked out, right?”

“Right,” Suzanna said, then turned and headed
down the hallway once more.

God. That great big goofy ball of
marshmallow. He bought a cat just so he could convince Mrs.
Butterworth he needed her to move in, where he could keep an eye on
her.

How she loved this man. He tried never to
show it, ever, but she knew. She’d always known. The guy had a
heart as big as all—

She wheeled around, trotted back into the
living room. “This cat. Lucky. You said something about muscles.
Tomcat, right?”

Tim was once more scratching behind Mango’s
ears, as that fawning feline sat on the arm of the couch. “Yeah,”
he said, not looking at her.

“And he’s fixed?”

“He was never broken.”

“Funny,” she said, walking around to the
front of the couch to glare at him. “And you know what I mean, Tim.
He’s been—snipped?”

“Snipped?”

“You know. What do they call it?
Castrated?”

“Now, there’s a word I try never to work into
a conversation,” Tim said, scratching beneath Margo’s chin, so that
she stuck out her neck, closed her big golden eyes in ecstasy.

“Tim, Margo’s a pedigree animal. I mean, I
don’t show her or anything like that; but she is pedigree, and I
may want to have her mated one day, have kittens. Persian kittens,
Tim, with another Persian cat. She’s nearly one now, and will be
going into heat any day now. So I can’t leave Margo with Mrs.
Butterworth unless you tell me Lucky’s been fixed. Now, did you
have him fixed? Look at me, Tim. Is Lucky fixed?”

He looked straight at her. “Sure. The vet
took care of all of that. Shots, flea stuff, you name it.”

Was he lying to her? Tim could lie with the
best of them. She certainly knew that. But would he lie about
something like this?

“Okay,” she said at last. “As long as he’s
fixed. I’ll be right back, and then we can go drop Margo with Mrs.
Butterworth. I’m dying to see her again.”

“That’s because you were always her pet,” Tim
called after her.

“No,” she yelled back at him. “That’s because
I wasn’t twins and never tried to pretend I was my own brother.
Margo’s crate is in the hall closet. Load her up for me, okay?”

By the time she had brushed her teeth and
changed into a denim skirt and soft pink summer sweater, Margo was
safely locked into her carrier, and Tim had loaded dry cat food and
two dishes into a clear plastic bag, along with two fuzzy toy mice
and a packet of Margo’s favorite organic catnip.

“Small kitchen,” he said as she headed for
her purse. “It was easy to find this stuff.”

“I know. I’m ready.” She carried, slung over
her shoulder, a soft carry-on bag she’d found in her bedroom closet
and quickly stuffed a few things into, and now picked up her
overnight bag that held her toiletries.

“I hope you didn’t mind me opening cabinets,
finding this stuff. I think Lucky eats another brand.”

“We’re married, Tim. Everything I have is
yours.” She took the plastic bag from him anyway as he followed
along, holding Margo’s carrier.

“Yeah,” he said, giving her a slight pat on
the backside with his now free hand. “I like this part pretty well.
Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it,” she told him, locking the
dead bolt “Please.”

“And I like this part,” he continued as if
she hadn’t spoken, bending to kiss the tip of her nose. “And this
part...” he went on, lowering his head to kiss the bit of skin
revealed by the vee in her sweater. “And this—”

“Okay, okay, I get it,” she said, quickly
stepping away from him. She was so nervous! “Here, carry my
overnight bag. I think you need your hands occupied.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said, looking about as
innocent as a thirteen-year-old with a copy of his dad’s
Playboy
stuck between his mattress and box spring. “But
everything I have is also yours, remember. What parts do you like
best?”

She raised her eyebrows, lowered her eyelids,
tried to look stern.

He grinned at her.

Oh, what the hell.

“Your eyes,” she admitted. “I’ve always been
crazy about your eyes.”

“Really?” he said, following after her, out
into the parking lot. “But they’re the same blue eyes Jack’s got.
Same color, same eyes.”