A Lady Under Siege(86)
“I never want to hear that name again, do you hear me?”
“What is this?” he demanded, startled by her ferocity.
“Promise me you will never say that name again!” she cried.
“And if I do?”
Standing before him, her breast rising and falling in a deep ragged cadence, she looked ferocious and vulnerable at the same time. He thought of a hellcat, cornered. In a quiet, serious voice, she murmured, “It doesn’t matter. I’m nothing to you. I’m nothing to anyone.”
She was shivering, yet she stood proudly, bravely, with her head held high. He suddenly felt rise up in him a great pity for her and the circumstances he’d put her in.
“That’s not true. You’re something to Daphne. And to me.”
“I begin to see that women to men are mere playthings, to be fed lies and toyed with, like a cat scratches a half-dead mouse.”
“If I toyed with you, it was unintentional,” he said. “I’ve never lied to you.”
“Your stories might as well be lies, or fairy tales.”
“Those fairy tales cured my daughter. You listened to them. For that I owe you my happiness. What can I give you in return? What can I do to make you happy?”
She shivered severely, and her shoulders shook. Closing her eyes, she brought her hands to her face in a gesture of prayer, the tips of her fingers touching the wetness of her eyes. The idea of happiness seemed impossible to her at that moment.
He watched her, then moved to her, and placed his hands softly on her shoulders to sooth their tremors. He almost expected her to push him away, to reject his empathy, but instead she leaned toward him, and let her forehead rest on his broad chest. He said softly, “You need the same thing I need, and that is to be loved.”
44
“So you’re having sex with a man you can’t stand, because you’re in love with another man trapped in his head,” Jan said.
Meghan laughed into the phone. “Don’t say it like that. I can stand him now—I’m even starting to like him. Quite a lot, actually.”
“Then it must be very good sex.”
“It’s only been once, but it was great. Better than it ever was with Seth.”
“You’re making me jealous.”
“I’m even—just a sec, someone’s battering down my door.”
Her doorbell had chimed, followed immediately by an insistent pounding. The bell chimed again. “I’m coming, I’m coming,” she shouted. She opened the door to the sight of Derek’s flushed, eager face, perched above a mass of messy, tousled red roses. With mock gallantry, he pronounced, “These are for my Lady fair.”
“Huh. It’s just like you,” she smiled. Into the phone she said, “Gotta go. It’s Derek, bearing gifts. I’ll call in a bit.”
“You better,”
“Promise.”
She hung up, reaching out to take the flowers he laid gently in her encircling arms. “I feel a bit like Miss Universe,” she said. “There’s got to be at least four dozen here, that’s a bit extravagant.”
“Six dozen, in fact. Don’t worry, I got them cut-rate.”
“On closer inspection they look it,” Meghan giggled.
“They’re meant to make a huge, splashy first impression, not be scrutinized for every flawed bud or droopy petal. Can I come in or what?”
“Of course. I have some news for you—there’s progress.” They went to the living room and she laid the roses in a heap on the coffee table. “Sylvanne found out her husband had been cheating on her, not just once or twice, but by the truckload. It was just sinking in when Thomas came along, and he handled it just right. He dried her tears and told her very sweetly that what they both need is to be loved.”
“A human being’s only really being, when he is being, loved,” Derek sang. “He picked that up from me, I’m sure.”
“Your advice for him to woo her was good. I really wish he’d marry her. Thomas, do you hear that? It’s like Daphne said, you’re in need of a wife. And Sylvanne needs someplace to anchor herself. She’s too proud to beg, but she’s allowing her heart to open, I can feel it.”
“Great.” Derek said. He gestured toward the roses on the table. “I’d tell you to put them in a vase, but you’d need a forty-five gallon drum.”