Solomon's Decision (28 page)

"Here?" The word came out a croak.

"Here," she affirmed. Without another word, she was around the table and
crouched before him. Her hands were soft on his cheeks, her breath warm on his mouth.
"Erik Solomon, will you marry me?"

Before he could answer, she kissed him.

It was a mind-bending kiss, a memorable kiss, a kiss for all time. Erik's world
narrowed to this instant, this place.

This woman.

Madeline knew it was her last chance. She'd seen him do it before--pull himself
into a hard shell of brittle charm, so powerful that no one could get past to the real person.
There was a vulnerable, gentle part of him, but he kept it so well armored that few people
seldom saw it.

Well, this time she wasn't going to let him. With a last, lingering exploration of his
warm, inviting mouth, she pulled far enough back to be able to look him in the eye. "You
heard me. I want you to marry me."

She waited.

Almost sitting on his lap, looking into his eyes, she had no idea what he might be
thinking. He seemed to be staring at something far away. His lips were parted slightly, his
brows pulled into a slight frown.

And still she waited.

Finally his hands circled her upper arms, forcing her away. Without a word,
without even a change of expression, he pushed her into a chair.

She watched as he awkwardly stalked back and forth across her kitchen, managing
the crutches better with every pass. He seemed incapable of thinking unless he was
pacing.

Words bubbled to her lips, but she held them back. All the reasons why she
needed him, why they'd be good together. And all the reasons why it would be best for the
children. She locked her lips over the words and let him think. For he had to come to her
willingly, with no more persuasion on her part.

She'd stated her case. The decision was his.

Erik's greatest regret was that he'd spent so many years of his life with no one to
love.

With no one to love him.

Out there in the flooded meadow, expecting to die in the next moment, he had
realized he'd never really lived, for he'd always been alone.

And now Madeline was offering him another chance.

Even better, it was exactly what he'd come to realize he wanted, once his life had
been given back to him.

He stopped before the sink, looking out to where vines shaded the window from
the setting sun. Slowly he turned around and faced her.

She was still sitting where he'd moved her, her back straight, her eyes enormous
and questioning.

Her expression hopeful.

"I can't."

He watched her crumple, like one of those Mylar balloons with a tiny
puncture.

Quickly he swung back to the sink, using the window above it as a mirror because
he could not look at her. "Madeline. Linnie, sweetheart, I want to. But I can't. I can't marry
you, just because Kyle and Ginger need a father."

He bowed his head. "I was going to tell you tonight," he said, fighting the quaver
in his voice. "I'm not going to claim paternity."

Madeline waited until she heard him go into the sewing room, then she crept down
the stairs. Carefully avoiding all the creaky boards, she tiptoed to his door, listened
carefully. The thump of his crutches, followed by a faint clatter told her he had put them
down. He muttered, and she was sure it was a curse.

She waited some more, until the line of light under the door went out. Then, with
infinite patience, she eased the door open.

Entered.

Found the edge of the bed and pulled back the covers.

"What the hell?"

"Be quiet, Erik. You'll wake the neighbors." Quickly, before he thought to resist,
she snuggled up beside him--where she believed she belonged. "Good night." Even though
he couldn't see her in the dark room, she closed her eyes and feigned sleep.

He turned on the bedside lamp. The mattress leaned, telling her he was propped on
an elbow, staring at her. Madeline pretended for all she was worth.

"Get out."

She opened one eye, saw him looming over her, and wanted to close it again.
"Won't." Opening the other eye, she challenged him to evict her.

He was naked. At least, what she could see of him was a gloriously bare as the day
he was born, except for the bandage on his upper arm. Madeline resisted the powerful
longing to stroke her hands across his chest, to kiss the black and purple bruises marring
his masculine beauty. She kept her hands tucked under her head, while what they really
wanted to do was rip the sheet back and lose themselves in erotic exploration.

"Madeline." His tone held warning and threat.

"Erik." Hers spoke of promises and commitment. Did he hear?

No, because his hands were on her, pushing her away. Madeline wrapped her arms
around his waist and held on for dear life.

"No. You're not going to push me away again," she cried. "Listen to me Erik! You
don't know what you're turning down."

"Yes I do." He grabbed for her wrists, but Madeline managed to keep her fingers
interlaced, and he didn't have the leverage to separate them. She felt an instant of shame,
picking on him like this, with his bruises and bandages and all. Just an instant, though,
because if he were in full fighting trim, she'd never get away with what she planned.

As it was, she had a real fight on her hands. It was time to get sneaky.

She went limp. Well, almost limp, for she kept her arms tight around him, and
even managed to inch closer until their hips were plastered together with only the sheer
batiste of her nightgown separating them.

He wasn't indifferent to her. She smiled secretly.

"What do you think you're doing?" he gasped.

Good! His injuries were telling. She had the upper hand.

"Trying to make you hold still and listen." She took advantage of his distraction to
climb atop him, until she was sitting astride his waist but not letting him take her weight.
She was aware of his budding arousal against her buttocks, but she forced the knowledge
to the back of her mind. Right now she had to arouse his intellect, not his libido.

She leaned forward and clasped his wrists, forcing them, against very little
resistance, to cross on his chest. With one hand, she held them there, knowing that even
token effort would pull them free of her clasp. "Will you?"

"Will I what?" He'd stopped resisting.

"Will you listen? Without interruption, without argument, until I'm finished?"

"If you'll let me say something first."

She didn't trust him, not for a minute. Still... She nodded. "Go ahead."

"When you asked..." He took a deep breath and began again. "You took me by
surprise, earlier. I thought you hated me."

"I was awfully angry with you for a while," she admitted. "I couldn't understand
how any man could accept one of his children while rejecting the other."

"I wasn't rejecting her," Erik said, his voice growing stronger. "I was scared to
death of her, scared I'd hurt her."

"Scared?"

"I've told you how my father ran away from his responsibilities, leaving us with
my mother."

She nodded when he paused and stared into the distance--into the past? Erik had
told her much of this before, but he seemed to need to explain. It was almost as if, by doing
so, he would be able to come to a decision.

"And my mother, well, I don't think she was entirely sane. She idolized my sister,
acted as if she couldn't stand the sight of me. And she was always going on about how
boys were little barbarians."

Madeline couldn't help but smile, because sometimes that thought had crossed her
own mind. About both her children.

He cleared his throat, but his voice was still a little uneven. "After Gail... After my
sister died, Mother got worse. She insisted that it was impossible for a woman to
understand a son, or for a man to understand a daughter. I know she tried to get my father
to take me, but he'd remarried by then and had a new family. He didn't want to be bothered
with me, especially after she was through telling him what a monster I was."

"Oh, Erik--" How could any woman do that to a child? She ached for the pain in
his voice, longed for the opportunity to soothe his ravaged heart.

"It's okay, Madeline. I've worked through it, mostly, although I won't deny it took
me a long time. She really was mentally ill, you know, so you can't blame her."

"Yes, I
can."
Madeline wanted to do violence to the woman. "That
nonsense about not understanding you because you were a boy--it was so much bull pucky.
She couldn't handle the responsibility any more than your father could, so she made it your
fault." Leaning forward, she kissed him gently, trying to put all her love and all her
understanding into it. "You're not your parents, Erik. You have a lot of love to share with
your children."

"I always believed I was what they'd made of me, emotionally and genetically. But
when I thought Ginger was... Oh, God! When I thought I'd lost my daughter before I even
had a chance to know her, I... I just couldn't bear it. I love her, love them both more than
my life!"

"Oh, Erik." She understood. Forgave.

Loved, even more, if possible, than before.

"I thought the best thing I could do for them was go away, before I could mess up
their lives the way mine was messed up. Then you asked me to be their father and I found
there was one thing that could hurt me more than leaving them." Another deep breath, this
one causing his whole body to shudder.

"At first I wondered if you wanted a husband so you could have more children."
He smiled, just a little one, but unmistakably a smile. "And found myself thinking what a
good idea that sounded.

"Then I decided you wanted child-support, until I took a good look and saw how
well you're providing for your--
our
--children without my help."

Again Erik remembered the timeless moment as he watched the mass of tangled
logs rushing toward him. "I thought I was going to die. And what I regretted most was that
we'd wasted eight years."

"Really?"

"Eventually, I accepted what I've been fighting for weeks. I love you, Madeline. I
really do. In a way I never thought I could love anyone." He buried his face in her hair,
loving its every curly strand, drawing a deep breath of its lilac scent. "I need you, because
the contemplation of a life without you is more than I can bear. But I won't marry you for
the children's sake."

"I love you," she said then. "I think I have ever since..." She sought the right
words. "I never forgot you, but I didn't--couldn't trust my feelings. That night in Seattle, I
was still hurting too much, still missing Jesse too much. Then, when you didn't answer the
Christmas card I sent, well, I figured you'd written me off as just another one night
stand."

"I've still got it," he said, thinking of the humorous little card he'd kept in a drawer
under his handkerchiefs for so many years.

"If all I'd wanted was a man around the house," she said with a note of smugness,
"I've had several candidates." Her teeth flashed white in her shadowed face.

"I'll bet you have," he almost snarled, thinking of her kissing those faceless,
worthless men.

"Then you came back, and I knew why none of them had been more than friends.
They weren't you." Her shuddering breath told him more than the tremble in her voice.

Suddenly he moved, despite the weight of his cast, the residual stiffness in every
muscle. In an instant they were on their sides, her legs still clasping his waist. The stitches
in his arm pulled, but he didn't care. Madeline loved him.

He kissed her.

No, he consumed her. Madeline gave herself up to mindless pleasure.

With lips and tongue, he explored her mouth, her face, her neck. His mouth
burned her, wherever it touched, all the way down her throat and across her chest. The thin
fabric of her gown offered no protection from his questing, plundering exploration.

"Erik!" The word came out as a squeak, when his teeth found and gently held her
beaded nipple. "What are you doing?"

When he raised his head, his breath cooled the wet fabric of her gown. "Making
sure you don't change your mind." His smile was diabolic.

Lowering his head once more, he teased and coaxed and suckled, until she
wondered if her entire soul was being drawn into his mouth.

"What do...."

His free hand found the hem of her nightgown and lifted.

"...you...."

Now his fingers were stroking the tender flesh of her inner thigh, almost
distracting her from the explorations of his mouth.

She managed one final, gasped word, "...want?"

He touched her. Probed.

Madeline arched into his hand, crying out in her need.

"I think that's perfectly obvious."

His words caused waves of fire to sweep from her toes to her belly.

"I want the whole package." His finger found exquisitely sensitive flesh.

Madeline shattered.

He held her while she shuddered in the throes of completion, forcing his body into
unwilling patience. When her spasms faded into gentle twinges, Erik could wait no longer.
He moved her just so and slipped inside her. The hot, tight wetness of her almost made him
explode. Grimly he forced his thoughts into other paths, recalling cold rain down his collar
and ice crusting on his lashes.

Tiny aftershocks still tightened her around him, until he could hold back no
longer. One thrust, and another. The third carried him after her, into completion and
satiation.

She turned in his arms, snuggling against him, holding him close with her arms
around his waist. "Eight years ago I wasn't ready," she said. Her voice was almost a
whisper, her breath warm and moist against his shoulder. "Jesse... It was only a few
months since Jesse...."

He touched her cheek, felt tears. "Do you still love him?" He
couldn't--wouldn't--compete with a ghost.