For Now, Forever (15 page)

"Well, you did." He kissed her again, hard, and was steadier. "What happened to Sally?"

"Apparently her hands were wet and she wasn't paying as close attention to her chopping as she might have been. The knife slipped and slashed her at the wrist. She hit an artery. That's why there's so much blood. It's a serious cut, but McGee and I got her to the hospital. She's resting now. She'll need a couple of days off."

For the first time he noticed the chopping knife and the blood on the floor by the sink. With an oath, he tightened his grip on Anna. "I'll go in to her."

"No, please." From her position in his arms, she managed to stop him. "She's sleeping. It would really be better to wait until morning." His cook, like his butler, like every one of his employees was his responsibility. He glanced at the knife again and swore. "You're sure she's all right."

"I'm sure. She lost a good bit of blood, but I was right outside the door when it happened. Then once McGee realized I knew what I was doing, he couldn't have been more helpful."

"And where is he?"

"Parking my car. Here he is now," Anna corrected herself as the butler came through the kitchen door.

"Mr. MacGregor—" a bit pale, but as proper as ever, McGee stopped just inside the door "—I'll have this mess cleaned up right away. I'm afraid dinner will be delayed."

"So I'm told. Miss Whitfield said you were very helpful, McGee."

Something—it might have been an emotion—flickered across his face. "I'm afraid I did very little, sir. Miss Whitfield was very efficient, and if I may say so, sir, plucky."

Anna had to swallow a chuckle. "Thank you, McGee."

"Don't worry about dinner. We'll see to ourselves."

"Very good, sir. Good night, miss."

"Good night, McGee." The kitchen door swung shut behind them. "Daniel, you can put me down now."

"No." Easily he started up the stairs. "This isn't the welcome I'd wanted for you." She hadn't realized how good it could feel to be carried as though you were something precious. "I hadn't planned it this way myself." He paused on the stairs to nuzzle her neck. "I'm sorry."

"It wasn't anyone's fault."

God, she tasted so good. Every hunger he had could be sated with her alone. "You've ruined your blouse."

"Now you sound like Sally. She muttered about that all the way to the hospital."

"I'll buy you a new one."

"Thank goodness," she said and laughed at him. "Daniel, don't we have anything more important to do than worry about my blouse?" ,

"Do you know what I was thinking of the entire time I sat through that damned meeting?"

"No. What?"

"Making love to you. In my bed. Our bed."

"I see." As he pushed open the door, she linked her hands behind his head. Her pulse was already beginning to race. Anticipation. Imagination. "Do you know what I thought about as I was unpacking my things?"

"No. What?"

"Making love to you. In your bed. Our bed."

Hearing her say that made the room he rarely noticed seem special. "Then we should do something about it." With her hands still linked behind his head, he tumbled with her onto the thick white cover. It was easier to live with Daniel, to wake with him, to sleep with him than Anna could have imagined. It seemed to her that the part of her life she had lived without him had been no more than anticipation. Yet their first weeks together weren't without adjustments. Though she had lived most of her life with her parents and the rest in the regimentation of college, Anna had always managed to move at her own pace and protect her privacy.

It was an entirely different matter to wake up with someone beside her. Especially when that someone was a man who viewed the hours spent in sleep as a waste of vital time. Daniel MacGregor wasn't one to loiter in bed or to linger over coffee. Mornings were for business, and morning started the moment his eyes opened.

Because her system was on a different time clock, she usually found herself wandering down for her first cup of coffee when Daniel was finishing his second and last cup. Goodbyes were brief and hurried and anything but romantic. Daniel and his briefcase were out the door before her mind was completely ready to function. Not exactly a honeymoon, she'd thought more than once when she settled down to a solitary breakfast, but it was a routine she could live with.

By the time she drove to the hospital, Daniel was already wheeling and dealing. While she folded linens and read to patients, he played the stock market and planned mergers and takeovers. In living with him, Anna had a better view of just how powerful Daniel was and how potentially powerful he could become. She herself had taken a call from a senator and relayed a message from the governor of New York.

Politics, she began to realize, was an aspect of his career she had never considered. He also had contacts and interests in the entertainment field. A telegram from a well-known producer or a fledgling playwright wasn't uncommon. Though he rarely attended the ballet or the opera, she learned that he made enormous contributions to the arts. It would have pleased her more if she hadn't understood they were made for business purposes.

Culture, politics, stock-market ventures or housing projects—it was all business to Daniel. And though she learned that business consumed his time and his life, he passed off her inquiries into it with the equivalent of a pat on the head. Each time he did, she tried to ignore the little twinge of frustration. In time, she told herself, he'd share. In time, he'd give her both his trust and respect. Her life and her time were consumed by the hospital, her studies and her preparation for her final year of medical school. Daniel rarely asked her about her hours involving medicine. When and if he did, Anna took it as no more than polite interest and said little. They spent their evenings lingering over a meal or over coffee in the parlor. Neither of them spoke of ambitions, of what drove them or of professional needs. While they were content just being with each other, it seemed to both as though a shade had been drawn over a part of their lives. Neither of them wanted to be the first to lift it.

They became misers with their social time, spending most of it alone at home. When they did socialize, it was with the newlywed Ditmeyers. Now and again there was a film, and they could sit in a darkened theater holding hands, forgetting about the pressures of the day or the uncertainty of the future. They learned of each other, of habits, whims and annoyances. Love, soothed and left to itself, deepened. But even as it did, they both fretted about what was missing from their relationship. Daniel wanted marriage. Anna wanted partnership. They hadn't yet discovered how to combine the two.

Summer heat soared in August. It boiled in the streets and hung mistily in the air. Those who could escaped to the shore. On the weekends Daniel and Anna took drives out of the city, with the top down. Twice they picnicked on Daniel's lot in Hyannis Port. They could make love there as freely and unrestrainedly as they had the first time. They could laugh or simply doze in the grass. And it was there, unexpectedly, that Daniel began to pressure her again.

"They'll be breaking ground here next week," Daniel told her one day as they shared the last of a bottle of Chablis.

"Next week?" Surprised, Anna glanced over to see him staring at the empty plot where his house would be. He could see it, she knew, as though there were already stone and mortar standing sturdy in the sun. "I didn't realize it would be so soon." He hadn't told her, she thought. He hadn't shown her, though she'd asked, any of the plans of blueprints for the house that was so important to him. He merely moved his shoulders. "It would have been sooner, but I had some other things to tidy up first."

"I see." And he hadn't considered the other things worth mentioning, either. Anna bit back a sigh and tried to accept it. "I know the house is important to you, and it'll be beautiful, but I'll miss this." When he looked at her, she smiled and reached out to touch his face.

"It's so peaceful here, so isolated—just water and rock and grass."

"It'll be all of those things after the house is up. After we're living in it." Because he felt her slight withdrawal, he took her hand. "It won't be quick—the best things aren't. It may be two years before the house is ready for us. But our children will grow up here."

"Daniel—"

"They will." His fingers tightened on hers as he cut her off. "And whenever we make love in that house, I'll remember our first time here. Fifty years from now I'll still remember our first time here."

It was all but impossible to resist him when he was like this. He was more dangerous when he spoke quietly, when his voice flowed over her. For a moment she almost believed him. Then she thought about how very far they had to go. "You're asking for promises, Daniel."

"Aye. I expect promises."

"Don't."

"And why not? You're the woman I want, the woman who wants me. It's time for promises between us." Keeping a firm hold on her hand, he reached into his pocket and drew out a small velvet box. "I want you to wear this, Anna." With a flick of his thumb, he opened the box to reveal a fiery pear-shaped diamond.

Something caught in her throat. Part of it was astonishment at the sheer beauty of the ring. The rest was fear of what the symbol meant: promises, vows, commitments. She wanted, she yearned, she feared.

"I can't."

"Of course, you can." When he started to pluck the ring from the box, she put both hands over his.

"No, I can't. I'm not ready for this, Daniel. I've tried to explain to you."

"And I've tried to understand." But his patience was wearing thin. Every day he lived with her he had to accept half of what he needed.

"You don't want marriage—at least, not yet. But a ring's not marriage, just a promise."

"A promise I can't give you." But she wanted to. With each day that passed she wanted to more. "If I took the ring, I'd be giving you a promise that might be broken. I can't do that with you. You're too important."

"You don't make sense." He'd expected to feel frustration. Even when he'd bought the ring he'd known she wouldn't wear it. In some odd way, he'd even known she'd be right. But that knowledge didn't soothe the hurt. "I'm important to you, but you won't accept a ring from me."

"Oh, Daniel, I know you." Regrets washed over her as she took his face in her hands. "If I took this ring, you'd be pressuring me to accept a wedding ring in a month's time. Sometimes, I think you look at the two of us like a merger."

"Maybe I do." Anger flared in his eyes but he controlled it. He'd discovered he could when it was Anna he was angry with. "Maybe it's the only way I know."

"Maybe it is," she agreed quietly. "And maybe I'm trying to understand that."

"You look at it as a trial." He said it flatly. When she looked up, stunned, he continued in the same tone. "I'm not sure whether I'm on trial, Anna, or you are."

"It's not like that. You make it sound so cold and calculated."

"No more calculated than a merger."

"I'm not looking at what's between us as a business, Daniel."

Was he? He realized uncomfortably that he had been, but he wasn't so sure any longer. "Maybe it's time you told me just how you're looking at it."

"You frighten me." Her words came out so fast and strong that both of them sat in silence for several moments.

"Anna—" because her statement was the last response he'd expected from her, his voice was low and tentative "—I'd never do anything to hurt you."

"I know." She thought of the ring in the box, of the image of the house at their backs and rose with her nerves jumping. "If you could, I believe you'd treat me like glass, like something to be protected, cared for and admired. Somehow, it's easier for me when you lose sight of that and shout at me."

He couldn't pretend to understand her. But he rose and stood behind her. "Then I'll shout more often."

"I'm sure you will," she murmured, "when I frustrate you or disagree. But what happens when I give you everything you want?" She turned then, and her eyes were glowing with emotion. "What happens when I say all right, I give up?" He grabbed her hands for fear she'd turn away again. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"I think you do, deep down. I think you know that part of me wants just what you want. But do either of us know if I want it for myself or just to please you? If I said yes and married you tomorrow, I'd have to toss away everything else."

"I'm not asking for that. I wouldn't."

"Wouldn't you?" She closed her eyes a moment and struggled for composure. "Can you tell me, can you be sure that you'll accept, care for, Dr. Anna Whitfield the same way you do for me now?"

He started to speak quickly, but her eyes were too dark, too vulnerable. There could be nothing with Anna but the truth. "I don't know." She let out a quick, quiet sigh. Would he have lied if he'd known how much she'd wanted to hear it? And if he had lied, would she have taken the ring and given the promise? "Then give us both the time to be sure." Because he'd released her hands, her arms were free to go around him. "If I accept your ring, it'll be with my whole heart, with everything I am, and it'll be forever. Once it's there, Daniel, it's there to stay. That I can promise you. We both have to be sure it belongs there."

"It'll keep." The ring was back in his pocket. Anna was in his arms. They were alone, and the air was swirling with summer. When she lifted her face, he crushed his mouth to hers. "This won't," he murmured and drew her down with him.

Chapter Eleven

Anna took the news that they would be entertaining the governor calmly enough. Both her parents and her grandparents had entertained dignitaries from time to time. She'd been trained how to prepare a properly impressive menu, what wines to order and what brandy to serve. It really wasn't the doing it that bothered her. It was the fact that Daniel had simply assumed she would. She could have told him no. Anna lectured herself on this as she drove home from the hospital. She could have reminded him that she put in a full day between the hospital and her studies and didn't have the time or inclination to plan whether to serve oysters Rockefeller or coquilles St. Jacques as an appetizer. She could have and would have gained a brief moment of self-satisfaction. Then she would have spent the rest of her time feeling guilty for being petty and mean.

It would, after all, be their first dinner party as a couple. And it was so important to him. He wanted, she knew, to show her off as much as he wanted to give the governor a memorable meal. It should have infuriated her. Somehow she found it endearing. With a shake of her head, Anna admitted that loving Daniel could do strange things to common sense. So he could show her off; she wouldn't disappoint him. The time it took to plan the evening would be as much fun as work.

To be honest, she had to admit that preparing for a dinner party came as naturally to her as reciting the names of bones in the hand. Which reminded her, she wanted to look at Sally's the moment she got home.

Home. It made her smile. Only three weeks had passed since she'd unpacked in what had been Daniel's bedroom. It was their bedroom now. She might have her doubts about tomorrow, next week, next year, but she had none about today. She was happy. Living with Daniel had added a dimension to her life she had never expected. Because that was true, how could she explain that going on just as they were seemed the best way? The thought of marriage still sent a chill of unease down her back. And of distrust, she admitted. But whom did she distrust, Daniel or herself? She hadn't forgotten that he'd accused her of putting them both on trial. Perhaps she was, but only because she feared hurting him as much as she feared being hurt.

There were moments when it all seemed so clear to her. She'd marry him, bear his children, share his life. She'd be a doctor and develop her skill to the very height of its potential. He would be every bit as proud of her accomplishments as she was of his. She would have everything any woman could ever want, and so much more. It could happen. It would happen. Then she would remember how carelessly uninterested he was in her work at the hospital. She would remember how he closeted himself in his office with business he never discussed with her. And how he never asked about the medical books that now littered the bedroom. Not once had he mentioned the fact that she was due back in Connecticut in a matter of weeks—or if he planned to be with her.

Could two people share a life, share a love and not share what was most vital to them? If she had the answer to that one question, she could stop asking herself any other.

With a shake of her head, Anna pulled into the driveway. She refused to be gloomy now. She was home, and that was enough. As she walked in the kitchen door, Sally was bending over to pop something into the oven. "You're supposed to rest that hand."

"It's had all the rest it needs." Without turning around, Sally reached for a cup. "You're a bit late today."

"There was a car accident. Lots of bumps and scratches in Emergency. I stayed to hold some hands." Sally poured coffee and set the cup on the table. "You'd rather have been cutting and sewing." On a little sigh, Anna sat down with the coffee. "Yes. It's so hard not being allowed to do even the little things I could do. I'm not even allowed to take a blood pressure."

"It won't be long until you'll be doing a great deal more than that."

"I keep telling myself, one more year, just one more. But I'm so impatient, Sally."

"You and the MacGregor have that in common." Knowing she'd be welcome, Sally brought over a cup of her own. "He called to say he'd be late himself and for you to eat your supper if you didn't want to wait—but I could tell he was hoping you'd hold off till he got here."

"I can wait. Are you having any pain in that hand?"

"It's a bit stiff when I wake up, but there's barely a twinge even when I use if heavily." She held it out, admiring the scar that ran down the wrist. "There's a nice neat seam. Don't think I could do better myself." Then with a grin, she lowered her hand. "I don't suppose sewing up flesh is much like mending a tablecloth."

"The technique's pretty close." Anna gave the injured hand a pat. "Since Daniel's going to be late, this might be a good time for us to go over the guest list and menu for next week. I have some ideas, but if you've a specialty you'd rather—" She broke off and sniffed the air.

"Sally, what have you got in the oven?"

"Peach pie." She preened. "My grandma's recipe."

"Oh." Anna closed her eyes and let the aroma flow through her. Warm peach pie on a summer's evening. "How late was Daniel going to be?"

"Eight, he said."

Anna glanced at her watch. "You know, I have a feeling that working on this menu is going to take a lot out of me." She smiled as she rose to fetch a pad and pencil. "I'll probably need a bit of something to tide me over."

"A piece of peach pie, perhaps?"

"That should do it."

When Daniel came in, Anna was still in the kitchen. Recipe cards, lists and scraps of paper littered the table where she and Sally sat. Between them was half of a peach pie and the remains of a bottle of white wine.

"I don't care how much we want to impress the governor," Anna said with her head close to Sally's. "We're not serving haggis. I know for a fact I'd turn green if I had to eat anything with entrails."

"A fine surgeon you'll make if you're squeamish."

"I'm not squeamish about what I have to look at or what I have to get my hands in. What goes in my stomach is a different matter. I vote for the coq au vin."

"Good evening, ladies."

Anna's head came up, and the smile that was already on her face grew when she saw him. "Daniel." She was up and taking both his hands. "Sally and I have been planning the dinner party. I'm afraid I may have offended her about the haggis, but I think our guests might be more comfortable with coq au vin."

"I'll leave that to the two of you," he said, and leaned down for a kiss. "Things took longer than I'd thought. I'm glad you didn't wait supper for me."

"Supper?" She still held his hands, as much now for support as anything else. Until she'd stood, she hadn't realized how fuzzy her mind was. "Sally and I were just testing out her peach pie. Would you like some?"

"Later. Though I could use a glass of that wine if you've left any." His eyes were burning from reading pages of fine print.

"Oh." She looked blankly at the bottle, wondering how it had come to be nearly empty.

"I'll have a shower first."

"I'll go up with you." Anna rummaged through the piles of paper until she found the one she wanted. "I'd like to read you this guest list so you can add anyone I've forgotten before we send the invitations out."

"Fine. Go on to bed, Sally. I'll help myself to the pie when I'm ready."

"Yes, sir. Thank you."

"You look tired, Daniel. Was it a difficult day?"

"No more than most." He slipped his arm around her as they started up the stairs. "A few problems with the fine points of a deal I'm working on. I think we ironed them out."

"Can you talk about it?"

"I don't bring my troubles home." He gave her a little squeeze. "I spent the afternoon with your father."

"You did?" She felt a little skip of emotion but kept her voice level. "How is he?"

"Well, and keeping business and personal matters well apart."

"Yes." Her smile was a bit tight when they reached the top landing. "I suppose that's for the best."

"He asked about you." His voice was gentle now because he'd come to know her.

"He did?"

"Aye."

She entered first when Daniel pushed open the door to the bedroom. Because she felt so warm, she walked to the window to lean out.

"Maybe if I hired him, he'd stop avoiding me."

"He's just worried about his daughter."

"There's nothing to worry about."

"He'll see that for himself at dinner next week."

Anna looked over, the guest list still clutched in her hand. "He'll come?"

"He'll come."

She let out a quick breath before she smiled again. "I suppose I have you to thank for that."

"Some, but I think your mother had more to do with it." He tossed his jacket and tie on one of the chairs Anna had arranged in front of the fireplace. As he unbuttoned his shirt, he could smell the summery scent of sweet peas that brimmed out of a bowl on a table by the window. Small things. Enormous things. Daniel stopped undressing to fold her tight in his arms. She sensed the abrupt flurry of intense emotion that had taken hold of him. Anna circled his waist with her arms and let the feeling rush through her. Daniel kissed the top of her head before he drew her away.

"What was that for?"

"For being here," he told her. "For being you." He slid off his shoes with a little sigh of relief. "I won't be long. Why don't you just call out the names on that list to me." With economy of movement, Daniel stripped off the rest of his clothes, then walked into the bath. With only a small frown, Anna looked at the pile of clothes on the floor. She wondered if she'd ever get used to his carelessness about such things. Ignoring the obvious alternative, she stepped over them. A woman who picked up after a grown man was asking for trouble.

"There's the governor and his wife, of course," she called out. "And Councilman and Mrs. Steers." Daniel answered with a crude and accurate description of the councilman. Anna cleared her throat and made a note on the list to seat that particular couple at the opposite end of the table from their host.

"Myra and Herbert. The Maloneys and the Cooks." She lifted her voice over the sound of water. Still feeling warm, she unfastened the first three buttons of her blouse. "The Donahues, with John Fitzsimmons to balance out Cathleen." Anna peered at the list, blinking because her vision seemed blurred.

"John who?"

"Fitzspimmons—simmons. Fitzsimmons," she repeated when she managed to get her tongue around it. "And Carl Benson and Judith Mann. Myra told me they're about to be engaged."

"She's built like a—" Daniel caught himself. "Very attractive woman," he amended. "Who else?" Anna walked into the bathroom with her eyes narrowed. "Built like what?"

Behind the curtain Daniel merely grinned. "I beg your pardon?" To his surprise, Anna drew the curtain back. "Woman, is nothing sacred?"

"Just what is Judith Mann built like?"

"Now how would I know?" For safety's sake, he stuck his head under the spray. "You'd better pull the curtain to. You'll get wet."

"And how
would
you know?" she demanded and stepped, fully dressed, into the shower.

"Anna!" Laughing, he watched the water plaster her blouse against her. "What in hell are you doing?"

"Trying to get a straight answer." She waved the now soaking list at him. "Just what do you know about Judith Mann's anatomy?"

"Only what a man with good eyesight can see." He caught her chin in his hand and took a good look. "Now that I think about it I see something else."

She put a hand to his soapy chest for balance. "And what's that?"

"You're drunk, Anna Whitfield."

Dignity streamed from her as thick as the water. "I beg your pardon?" .

Her haughtily delivered reply delighted him. Daniel brushed wet hair out of her eyes. "You're drunk," he repeated.

"Don't be ridiculous."

"It's drunk you are. Drunk as an Irish roof thatcher and twice as pretty. I'll be damned."

"You may well be, but I've never been drunk a day in my life. You're just trying to avoid the question."

"What's the question?"

She opened her mouth, shut it again, then grinned. "I don't remember. Have I ever told you what a magnificent body you have, Daniel?"

"No." He drew her against it before he began the task of peeling off her clothes. "Why don't you?"

"Such well-developed pectoral muscles."

Her blouse fell with a muffled splash. "And where might they be?"

"Just here," she murmured and ran a hand over his chest. "The deltoids are very firm. And of course the biceps are impressive, not obviously bulging, just hard." Her fingers slid over his shoulders and down as he tugged off her skirt. "It shows not simply strength but discipline—like the abdomen—very flat and tight." His breath caught as she explored there.

"Tell me, Anna—" he lowered his mouth to her ear and began to trace it with his tongue "—just how many muscles are there?" Her head fell back, and the water sluiced over her. Naked, wet, pliant, she smiled up at him. "There are over six hundred muscles in the body, all attached to the two hundred and six bones that make up the skeleton."

"Fascinating. I'm wondering how many of mine you might point out."

"We could start with the muscles of the lower limbs. I admire your walk."

"Do you?"

"Yes, it's very firm and arrogant, but not quite a swagger. This, naturally, has something to do with your personality, but you also need your antigravity muscles, such as the soleus…" She bent down just enough to run a finger up his calf. Water poured over her hair. "The vasti," she continued, running a finger up his thigh, "and…" With a sound of approval, she slid her hands around to his bottom. He grinned and let himself enjoy. He'd never had a woman give him quite so interesting a lesson. "I thought that muscle had more to do with sitting. The things you learn in anatomy class."

He switched off the water then reached for a towel to cover both of them.

"The gluteus maximus—" with an approving murmur, she ran her hands over him again "—has to stretch sufficiently or else you'd have a tendency to jackknife forward as you walk."