Tender Loving Care (4 page)

In time, he was shuddering more than crying, and eventually even that stopped. His body turned to dead weight in her arms, and his damp lashes lay flush on his cheeks. He’d fallen asleep. Carefully, carefully, Zoe laid him back down and tucked the covers under his chin. She was moving to tuck Parker in when she saw Rafe in the doorway.

She finished tucking and then moved toward his shadowed form. At the door, Rafe reached out to touch her shoulder; she flinched away from his hand. Locking her arms across her chest, she stalked toward the stairs.

Rafe had been asleep until the sounds of Aaron’s crying wakened him, and the lights were off downstairs. He followed Zoe, watching her grope her way to the kitchen and snap on the light. He couldn’t keep his eyes off her face. Her skin was pale and her eyes emerald with anxiety. She was as tense as a coiled whip.

“There’s wine in the refrigerator,” he said quietly.

“The last thing I want is wine!”

“And I’ll pour.” He reached into the cupboard for two glasses.

She pushed back her hair in an exasperated gesture, and the words that lashed out of her tore at his heart. “Look, Rafe, you could
see.
I’m just no good at dealing with children. Already, I’m doing all the wrong things. They’re good kids, dammit; it’s just
me
…I made a mess of it this afternoon with them, I didn’t know how to handle the bath, and up there with Aaron just now, I couldn’t think of anything to say. He needed comfort, and I couldn’t think of one single thing to say!”

All Rafe wanted was to sweep her into his arms and erase that terrible look from her eyes. “Maybe there’s nothing anyone could have said, Zoe,” he said quietly. “And for the rest…don’t you think there’s a small possibility that you’re trying too hard?”

“How can anyone try too hard? They haven’t got anybody but us. And I keep trying to tell you that they’d be better off with you than with me.”

“Yes,” he murmured. “Every time I turn around, you’re showing me how much you don’t like children. How selfish and cold-blooded you are. Come on, C.B.” He threaded the fingers of his right hand around the stems of two wineglasses and the bottle, and hooked his other arm around her neck.

She was in no mood to be gently nudged toward the back room. “Come on
what?
What are you doing?”

“It’s a cinch you’re not going to sleep. So we’re going to try a little eight ball. Ever played pool?”

He flicked on the hanging wicker lamp over the pool table. The green felt was spotless, and the balls were all set up. Zoe wasn’t interested.

“Look,” she said wearily.

“The cue looks about right for your size. The chalk’s over there.” He poured a glass of wine and set it on the rail of the pool table in front of her, then chose a cue from the rack on the far wall and started chalking it.

She looked at Rafe as if he were insane. He pushed up his sleeves, focusing his concentration on the cue ball, all business. Sooner or later it was bound to occur to Zoe that she was standing barefoot in a frayed nightgown in the middle of the night. He hoped it wouldn’t happen soon. He also hoped she didn’t make any reckless moves, like flying for the door, because there wasn’t a chance in hell he’d let her go back to bed alone, upset as she was.

She sighed. He took that to mean she was resigned to a game of billiards. “So you
have
played before?”

“I know how.”

“Willing to play for some interesting stakes then?”

“Rafe…” She didn’t know
what
she was willing to do at the moment. She certainly had more sense than to encourage any closeness between them, but he was also the only other adult on this emotional island with her and the twins. Returning to her bed was the wisest choice, except that if she went back to bed she would undoubtedly think. About children. About emotional avalanches. About problems she couldn’t seem to solve.

She took a sip of the cool red wine and picked up the pool cue he’d chosen for her. “What are these ‘interesting stakes’?”

“Not money. We’ll play for total dominion—and you can break,” he offered generously.

“What’s ‘total dominion’ supposed to mean?”

“For every ball you sink, you get a minute of total dominion. A minute to ask for anything you want—within reason, of course. For instance, if you sink five balls, you win five minutes…five minutes with the kids completely off your hands whenever you choose, or five minutes in which you could order me to polish the silver or paint your toenails or…heck, I don’t know. Whatever you want.”

Whether she knew it or not, he held his breath while he waited for her answer. Seconds passed before he saw the unwilling spark of whimsical humor in her eyes, the first hint that she was relaxing. “Those are probably the silliest stakes I’ve ever heard,” she announced finally.

“Yes.”

“Eight ball?”

“That’ll do.”

“I used to play when I was a kid, but I’m awfully rusty.”

“So am I,” he lied. She was giving in. He breathed again, and swallowed a solid lump of guilt. Zoe didn’t know what was coming, and what he had in mind was neither honorable nor fair. Another time, he’d exercise those principles.

Now he watched her lithe form lean over the table as she concentrated on the break. She was good. Balls scattered every which way, two so close to pockets that a breath of air would have nudged them in. More important to him was watching a little color come back into her cheeks. Maybe she didn’t really want to play, but she couldn’t live on that razor’s edge of tension forever.

“Darn,” she said. “You’d think one of those would have gone in.”

“They should have,” he agreed, casually aiming his cue. He dropped the four ball into a corner pocket, then used a bank shot to land the six in the side. “Must be my lucky night,” he mentioned.

“I’ll have my chance.”

“You bet you will.” And while she still believed it, he plopped the two, ten and twelve balls neatly in various pockets. Zoe was taking a sip of wine when he slowly hung up his pool cue.

She cocked her head. “It’s still your turn.”

“I won my five minutes,” he said gently. “That was all I wanted.”

“But the game isn’t over. I haven’t had a chance to catch up—”

“I’ll give you a chance to finish this game or start a new one some other time,” he promised her. “But not just now. These five minutes of total dominion are mine. Come here, Zoe.”

Odd, but her legs turned to lead and her heart was strangely pounding. “Now, wait a minute…”

The man could cross a room faster and more quietly than a tomcat on a spring night, and he was suddenly standing in front of her. Behind her was the pool table, which had about as much give as a brick wall. “No talking,” he murmured. “While you’re under my dominion, I make all the rules. You agreed to those terms, remember?”

“But I never thought you meant—”

“Shh.” He took the pool cue out of her hand and laid it on the table.

“This is
not
fair,” she declared mutinously. And to prove it, she remained an iceberg when he bent down to smooth his lips over hers.

He raised his head and smiled…and then stopped smiling. His voice was little more than a mesmerizing whisper. “For five minutes, I want you to relax. That’s all. You’re as tense as a kitten stranded on a limb. For five minutes, I want you to believe there’s someone waiting to catch you if you fall. For five minutes, I want you to let go…”

His fingers threaded through her hair, and his thumb brushed the line of her jaw. She intended to move. All of this was nonsense, just a silly game. The man had no real dominion over her, no real control. She could move if she wanted to. Any time she darn well pleased.

But when his lips touched hers a second time, his mouth was warm and mobile. The smell and shape and power of him surrounded her, and that kiss just kept coming. He tasted of wine, and his mouth moved with such alluring tenderness over hers, inviting her to share a cold winter night, teasing her with temptation…Her breasts tightened under her nightgown, and a shock of heat warmed the private parts of her body. Still, she didn’t move.

He murmured, “Your arms are just dangling there, Zoe. Put them around my neck.”

“Rafe—”

“I still have four minutes left. What on earth are you afraid might happen in four short minutes?”

Well, damn the man. A kiss, she supposed, was hardly worth the effort of fighting it. And four short minutes wouldn’t mean the end of the world.

She lifted her arms, and immediately felt the lance of a very different kind of kiss. His mouth took hers with devastating thoroughness. His hands possessively swept down her spine, and he molded her hard against him. Her heart was suddenly galloping inside her chest. Hunger, loneliness, the intimacy of his dark, dark eyes…he’d have her believe she was the first woman he’d touched in years. The only woman that he wanted to touch.

It was a trick, Zoe knew. A trick of time and place that she so quickly felt like that kitten on a high, shaky limb. Her fingers clutched for a hold on his neck, but not because she didn’t know better. Rafe understood too much for her sanity…but not enough. From the moment she’d met him, she
had
felt stranded on an emotional limb…and she was alone. No one could help her. No one would catch her if she fell.

For this moment, though, she couldn’t seem to move away. His soft tongue found a willing mate. She was lonely, too, and frightened—and all the emotional upheaval of the past week poured into a response she couldn’t control. He had the total dominion he wanted. She was afraid…of so much. And she had to hold on to someone.

His hand traced the shape of her breast, and her emotions became a shambles. There was something dangerous about a man who kissed so thoroughly that the earth moved. He wouldn’t make a safe, easy lover. He wanted too much. He took too much.

He gave too much. His hands protected as they claimed. His lips gave warmth as they sapped the will from her. His body shielded her even as it tempted her toward danger. He made it far too easy to believe that she could fill his world, banish the loneliness, and when he finally lifted his head, she still wanted to believe. His eyes were a searing blue, luminous with need. The way he looked at her was more intimate, more knowing, more possessive than even his touch had been. “You’re beautiful,” he said softly.

She shook her head.

“Yes.” He stroked her hair. “I knew you’d be fire. And sweetness. I didn’t know how much. Lord, you’re so giving.”

“I’m not,” she breathed. When he said nothing, she stepped back from him. “Rafe, this can’t happen again.”

She wanted an answer, but got none. He made no move to stop her from leaving the room, but she could feel his eyes on her back until she was out of his sight. A shiver chased up her spine as she climbed the stairs.

Long after the household was totally still, she lay wide awake in the darkness.

At 5:45 the next morning, coffee was perking and so was Zoe. Wearing a favorite striped shirt tucked neatly into jeans, she’d already set the table for four and was dipping bread into egg batter for French toast. Although she suspected that no sane human being would choose to be awake at this ungodly hour, she felt ready for anything.

Her whole problem the night before, she’d told herself, was exhaustion. When she was overtired, a woman would be prone to exaggerate things…like magic, for example. Like the impact of an embrace. Like the empathy and caring that had miraculously seemed to spring up between two relative strangers.

At two o’clock in the morning, she’d still been reading herself the riot act. Rafe already had a woman, and Zoe was smart enough to understand the dangerous relationship of chemistry, convenience and forced proximity. More important than that, she seemed to have totally forgotten the only reason she was here, which was to ease the kids into Rafe’s life. She wasn’t about to forget that again. No more kisses. No more total-dominion games. No more hums.

“Good morning!” She greeted the pair of mop-haired redheads in the door.

Parker was trailing his blanket; Aaron was just behind him. Both had managed to put on overalls and shirts, but they had shared socks. Each wore a blue and a red one.

“What’s for breakfast, Snookums?” Parker asked.

“French toast. Sound good?”

Aaron squinched his nose. “I hate French toast.”

“Ah…” Without the least hesitation, Zoe scooped the French toast off the sizzling griddle and plopped it into the disposal. “Scrambled eggs, then.” She added several more eggs to what had been the beginnings of French-toast batter and congratulated herself on being flexible. Nothing could throw her if she didn’t let it, another principle she seemed to have forgotten yesterday.

“Where’s Uncle Rafe?”

“Still sleeping. We’ll be real quiet until he wakes up, okay?” She shot a quick look at Aaron. His cheeks were a healthy pink and his eyes bright. There was no sign of his tears from the night before.

“What’re we going to do today?”

“Well…” A good question. “Uncle Rafe is going to work. And we’re going to—” she hesitated “—build a snowman and maybe bake cookies?” She poured two small glasses of orange juice and set them carefully on opposite ends of the table. She was learning: Large glasses made large spills, and only a masochist would allow the two boys to sit next to each other.

The twins were halfway through their eggs and Zoe was gulping coffee when she heard a knock on the back door.

“Anybody home?”

Before Zoe could answer, a woman was stomping the snow off her boots in the laundry room and wandering through to the kitchen. “Hi there. You must be Zoe. And these are the twins?”

Zoe swallowed a mouthful of coffee fast. The blonde was tall and perhaps in her early thirties. Beneath a down jacket, a mauve cashmere sweater and navy slacks accented a lush figure. Her hair was a long swath of pure honey, and her eyes were a clear dark brown with lashes a normal woman would have killed for.

Offhand, the only thing Zoe wasn’t prepared for this early in the morning was a meeting with the owner of the black silk panties. In the meantime, the woman was smiling at her, friendly fashion. And in another meantime, the twins seemed to have completely disappeared—or at least slid instantly off their chairs and hidden under the kitchen table at the first sign of a stranger. “Come on out of there,” Zoe hissed at the twins, and smiled at the blonde. “Yes, I’m Zoe Anderson. And you’re…?”

“Sarah Robertson. A friend of Rafe’s. I brought over a sled for the kids.”

Both kids’ heads popped up from under the table, but neither ventured any farther. “That was nice of you,” Zoe said cheerfully, and motioned them up with frantic hand movements behind her back. “Can I get you a cup of coffee?”

“Sure. Rafe up yet?” Sarah settled easily in a chair at the table as if she belonged there.

“Not quite.”

“I figured you’d all be here by yesterday, but I never had a chance to call. I work with Rafe,” she explained. “And I don’t live all that far from here, so I kept an eye on the place while he was gone. He didn’t tell me all the details, but I have a little idea what you two have had to take on.” She shook her head sympathetically. “You could have knocked me over with a feather when he called from Detroit and said he was coming back with…” She cast a tactful eye toward the twins.

“Yes.” Zoe set a mug in front of her.

“If there’s anything I can do to help, let me know. I come from a family of nine, so I’ve been around kids all my life.” She bent down to peek under the table. “Hi, boys,” she said casually, and then straightened, winking at Zoe. “I brought them something else. There are two packages wrapped in yellow sitting on the washing machine. For when they get around to deciding I’m not such a terrifying stranger.”

The twins decided that in three seconds flat. While with blissful grins they unwrapped their shiny new action figures Zoe analyzed everything about Rafe’s lady that she could conceivably analyze in the space of a few minutes.

Sarah wasn’t exactly a beauty, but her smile was darn near breathtaking, and her voice had vibrations that Zoe figured a man would pant for. That Rafe would pant for. She radiated an easy confidence; Zoe figured Rafe would like that, too.

Zoe searched harder for a fault, and found only maturity, a subtle sense of humor and a warmth that was completely natural. On top of that, Sarah obviously liked kids—and the kids were warming up to her as though they’d just discovered candy.

She was a little top-heavy, but altogether, if Zoe had had nothing to do all day but pick out a woman who might suit Rafe, Sarah was it. Intellectually, she was pleased that he showed such good taste in women. And Zoe was well aware that building a relationship between Sarah and Rafe could solve the problem of the twins in very short order.

But emotionally, the woman grated on her nerves.

“I know this was early for a visit, but I figured Rafe would be heading to work around eight. If I picked him up, I thought that might leave you the Jeep if you needed it. You must be feeling pretty stranded out here in the middle of nowhere.”

“Actually, I absolutely love it here. Would you like some breakfast?” Zoe asked politely. Sarah was a marvel of consideration. She also certainly knew all kinds of things about Rafe’s private life, and was tactfully making sure Zoe understood she didn’t care that another woman was living in Rafe’s house.

Hell’s bells,
Zoe thought irritably.
I’m not exactly pock-faced. And if those were my black panties, lady, you can bet your boots I’d have something to say about another woman roaming around in his life, and never mind all the extenuating circumstances.

“Well, good morning, sleepyhead!” Sarah said teasingly. Her instant smile could have lit up a sky, and all because a certain man was standing in the doorway.

Zoe lanced a searing look at that smile before her head whipped toward Rafe.

“I heard voices in here, but I thought it was just Zoe and the kids.” Rafe’s gaze slid from Sarah to Zoe and stayed there. Last night, she’d been as warm and responsive as any woman he’d ever met. This morning, her body was rigid with tension, she was moving at the speed of light around the kitchen and her smile could have frozen the Amazon River.

He swung the boys up for a good-morning hug and listened to Sarah’s easy chatter, never taking his eyes off Zoe. The lady more than fascinated him. Life had handed her such a blow, and maybe he’d initially been affected by a blend of chemistry and compassion. Unfortunately, hour by hour, his feelings were growing into more than that.

Caring about her could only complicate their predicament. He knew that, but advising himself to keep things merely friendly was about as effective as cautioning iron filings not to gather around a magnet. He wanted to know about that man in her past; he wanted to know how on earth she’d managed to delude herself into believing she was selfish. He wanted to hold her. Touch, claim, comfort, understand.

From the crisp way she slammed his coffee mug on the counter, he figured she’d be happier if he took off for the North Pole.

“…so I thought you’d probably leave the Jeep here and I’d just drive you in. No problem if that doesn’t suit you, Rafe, I just thought I’d offer…”

Rafe swung his gaze back to Sarah. “Fine, I appreciate it,” he agreed thoughtfully.

Both boys got a goodbye hug. Zoe got a list of phone numbers, the keys to the Jeep, and instructions on how to get to town. Sarah considerately added her work phone number in case Zoe couldn’t reach Rafe in an emergency, adding that her family lived in the area and would be glad to help out if Zoe got in a pinch. He still hadn’t gotten her to look at him.

Fifteen minutes later, Rafe and Sarah headed for her truck. He climbed into the driver’s seat, and Sarah handed him the keys. She said something to him; he didn’t hear. His gaze was fixedon Zoe’s face at the kitchen window.

“Just a minute,” he murmured to Sarah, and stalked back toward the house with his hands jammed in his pockets.

She didn’t even look up when he walked in. Her head was lowered in total concentration on the soapsuds in the sink.

“Are you the kind of woman to jump to conclusions, Zoe?” he asked casually.

She shot him her best bewildered frown. “I can’t imagine what you’re talking about.”

“No? Well, we’ll discuss it later.”

“There’s absolutely nothing to discuss,” she started to say, but the back door had already closed with a snap.

Busily mixing cookie batter, Zoe glanced at the clock on the kitchen wall. Three minutes past three. Exactly three minutes had passed since the last time she’d looked. Her back, neck, knees, hands and nerves felt as if she’d been through a war. This had to be the longest day she could ever remember.

Every task had taken ages to accomplish. She’d spent an hour making a snowman, and approximately five hours getting the kids in and out of their snowsuits. At home, she could have tossed in a wash and made a few beds in minutes; those simple projects had stretched to an hour because of little boy–type interruptions. Four games of Go Fish had lasted forever. She’d pushed Magneto around in a mock battle with Wolverine on the living room rug for at least a lifetime, but of course all of that was an exaggeration. She knew darn well she’d never been out of the kitchen for more than four minutes between drinks, spills, lunches, cocoa and cookie baking.

She glanced at the clock again. Four minutes past three. Rafe wouldn’t be home for another two hours. She certainly didn’t want him home; she wanted him busy at work building a serious relationship with Sarah, but she felt so…stranded.

Was it normal for two four-year-old boys to try to kill each other every fifteen minutes? What was the appropriate thing to say when one discovered them practicing their aim from three feet away from the toilet? Had Janet
really
let them eat their lunch upside down? How much cookie batter could she remember her mother letting her lick without risking her getting sick?

She’d die if the kids got sick.

“How’s
that
look, Zoe?”

She glanced at the cookie sheet. Some of the blobs of batter would have filled a teaspoon; others would have filled half a cup. “Wonderful,” she said.

“What are we going to do after this, Snookums?”

Die. Nap. “I could read you a story,” she suggested.

Reading a story, she discovered, was a ritual. Thumbs went in mouths; each boy glued himself to one side of her; and since she had to put her arms around both of them, the boys took turns holding the book. Interruptions like oven buzzers for burned cookies were followed by a vigorous resettling in the same spot on the couch. They were so quiet that she vaguely worried that they’d both gone into a catatonic state, but that posed yet another question to ask Rafe. Where was the nearest children’s bookstore?

At four forty-five, the kids seemed reasonably settled in front of the television, and Zoe slipped into the bathroom to wash her face. Her appearance in the mirror appalled her. She not only felt as if she’d been through a war, she looked it. Hastily, she washed, tucked, brushed and was just reaching for her mascara wand and lipstick when both boys showed up at the door.

“Whatcha doing, Snookums?” Parker demanded.

“I thought you liked that cartoon…”

“The screen’s all wavy. What’s that?”

“Mascara.” Zoe carefully removed a lipstick tube from Aaron’s hand.

“What’s it for?”

Alarmed, she saw Aaron was ready to cry. “To make your eyes look bigger,” she said distractedly to Parker.

“What’s wrong with your eyes the way they are?”

“
Why
can’t I put some on?” Aaron demanded. “Mommy let me put hers on.”

“Look, you can spray perfume on me, okay?” Zoe said desperately to Aaron.

“What’s perfume have to do with eyes?” Parker looked irritated. “Look, numbskull, I’m trying to talk to Snookums.”

“Oh, shut up, Parker. What’s this?” Aaron had discovered her cosmetics bag, and he wasn’t content until he’d seen for himself exactly what every item was.

As a result, Zoe was made up for a formal ball when Rafe walked in the door, and all three of them were wearing perfume and sporting powdered noses.

His nostrils flared slightly when both boys ran to him with a whoop of a hello. Zoe flushed clear to her toes and headed for the kitchen. Cookie pans sat on the counter; she’d forgotten them. She’d meant to have everything cleaned up by the time Rafe arrived. She’d also meant to have dinner started.

Rafe followed her in, toting the twins. Hurriedly rinsing dishes and wiping off the counters, Zoe heard an embarrassing stream of conversation about her eyes, which needed black stuff, her lopsided snowman and her inability to win at Go Fish.

On top of that, her heart started thumping the minute he walked in the door and hadn’t stopped since. She was only glad to see him because of the boys, of course. Except that when those blue eyes pounced on her, she was inclined to completely forget the boys and Sarah and remember nothing but the night before…how intimately he’d held her, how strong and warm his embrace had been, how comfortable and natural it had felt to turn to him.