By Appointment Only (20 page)

He reached out to touch her shoulder, but his hand hovered in the air, and then he drew it back. He’d behaved like a Neanderthal . . . literally. And caveman sex was no way to woo a woman like Danita. She was soft and refined and ladylike. He’d probably disgusted her.

He had no idea if she had even come close to an orgasm. He doubted it. Memories of last week hit him hard, and he remembered her beautiful face, flushed with passion, her husky voice begging him to let her come.

God, if he only knew what triggered that. Why had she climaxed in a dirty stairwell when he could never seem to satisfy her in their comfortable bedroom? Was there a man alive who understood the female psyche?

Thinking about last week’s session made him hard . . . again. His mind was a whirl of emotions and regrets. He was lost in a trackless wilderness without a map or a compass. And the only hope he had of survival was the woman beside him. A woman who seemed like a stranger to him now.

He lubed up his dick and rolled to spoon her. Without speaking, he lifted her leg and entered her from behind. Her soft gasp gave him pause, but she wasn’t fighting him. She wasn’t touching him, but she wasn’t rejecting him. At least not overtly.

This one was longer and slower. In another circumstance, he would have reached around her and stroked her clit. But he couldn’t bear the thought that she would tense up. And he didn’t want to face the fact that he might not be able to bring her off. So he thrust from behind, impersonally, using his hand on her shoulder only for an anchor.

When it was over, he felt unutterably sad. He might as well have been screwing an inflatable doll.

He stood up and started putting his clothes on. Danita acknowledged him . . . at last. She rolled to face him, but her gaze fell short of meeting his. “Is it time to go?”

He shrugged. “I’m done.”

Her bottom lip trembled before she clamped it with her teeth. “Okay.”

Watching her get dressed was torture. Everything she did was sensual, graceful. He wanted to howl in frustration when he felt his cock rise again. The hunger he felt for her was tearing him apart. Her colorful sundress left her back and shoulders bare. When she bent over to slip on her sandals, he lost it.

With his pants still unzipped, he lunged for her, grabbed her around the waist and shoved her, butt first, up against the nearest wall. He freed his dick from his boxers and impaled her, panting, desperate for release despite what had happened earlier. Her tiny, easily-shoved-aside panties were no barrier at all.

He avoided looking in her eyes. Instead, he concentrated on the place where their bodies joined. They were still linked physically, even though they seemed to have lost the emotional connection that had kept them together all these years.

He cupped her ass, lifting her into his strokes. His biceps and his knees screamed in protest. He fucked her repeatedly, feeling more pain than pleasure. He wanted a response from her . . . anything. But he was too damn scared to say or do anything but grit his teeth and thrust until he shot off again.

Right there at the end, he thought he felt her climax, but he was beyond thinking clearly, lost in his own groaning release. He lowered her slowly, and actually felt his face go hot. God, he was such an ass.

Still, Danita said nothing.

She was shaking as they finally left the room. Shaun was so different today. And clearly, his unusual behavior was her fault. She’d been cold the past week. She knew it. And the fact that her responses were beyond her control was no excuse.

But strangely, despite his brusque manner and the complete lack of tenderness he normally showed during sex, she’d been turned on. Certainly there at the end. Her climax had ripped through her like a flash fire. She hadn’t been repulsed by his crude language or his rough lovemaking. If anything, she had enjoyed it.

And that shamed her. What kind of woman preferred angry sex? Was she broken inside? Had she lost the ability to respond to her husband’s gentle caresses? What in the hell was wrong with her?

It took every ounce of self-control Shaun could muster to face the receptionist, take his own set of questions, and fill in the answers. He hoped the good doctors graded on a curve, because his choices on the A/B/C/D form were completely random. Afterwards, he barely even remembered reading the words on the page.

Their appointment had been late in the day this time. When they got off the elevator in the parking garage, he realized that he and Danita had parked on different levels. The irony did not escape him.

He ran a hand through his hair. “Would you like me to grab some Chinese for dinner and bring it home?”

When he glanced at her, she clutched her car keys and grimaced. “I’m not really hungry. Why don’t you get whatever sounds good to you? I’ll heat a can of soup later if I want anything.”

He bowed his head for a moment, staring at an oil stain on the concrete floor. “We have to talk when we get home, Danita. Tonight.”

He studied her face and saw her pallor, her air of complete emotional and physical exhaustion. The artificial lighting in the stark garage emphasized her somber expression. He saw her clear her throat.

“I know,” she said quietly.

The look in her eyes haunted him as he drove home. He stopped for a burger and tried to eat it in the car, but after three bites, his stomach revolted.

At the house, he found Danita packing an overnight bag. For several seconds, his heart simply stopped beating. He cleared his throat. “What are you doing?’

“Mom called. Dad’s not doing well. She asked me to come spend a night or two and help her decide if he needs to go to the hospital.” She faced him with the width of their king-size bed between them. “I’m sorry, Shaun. I don’t really have a choice.”

He sighed, leaning against the doorframe. “Of course you don’t.” He continued to watch her quick, efficient motions. “When is our next appointment?”

Her sharp indrawn breath pained him, but she answered. “Thursday afternoon. And then the final group appointment on Friday night.”

He nodded slowly, wondering if he was going to regret drawing a line in the sand. “We’ll go,” he said bluntly. “But it doesn’t matter what they have planned for us. We’ll use the room as neutral ground. And we’ll talk. About everything.” His heavy emphasis on the last two words didn’t escape her, because he saw her body jerk as if his phrase had hit a nerve.

When she didn’t respond, he felt his frustration start to rise, but he tamped it down. “I can’t go on like this, Danita. You have to talk to me. We either go forward, or we call it quits. It hurts too much. I can’t stand by any longer and watch us destroy what it took a lifetime to build. So be ready. We’re not going to leave that room until we clear the air. No matter the outcome.”

It was a long speech. And the words felt like razor blades in his throat.

Danita had stopped packing. She clutched a T-shirt in her hands, her face dead white and the expression in her eyes agonized.

He refused to give in to the urge to pet her and assure her everything would be all right. Instead, he frowned. “Say something, damn it.”

A single, fat tear rolled down her cheek, but she met his gaze steadily. “I understand,” she said, her voice dull and flat. “I’ll be there.”

Monday night Morgan took Hannah and Elda out to dinner at Kentucky Fried Chicken. He would have gladly sprung for something more upscale, but it was the old woman’s favorite. He was content to eat his meal quietly as the two females chattered away.

It was a hoot to see how each of them tried to mother the other. And he doubted if either of them recognized it. Over dessert, Hannah finally got around to sharing the news that had prompted the evening’s agenda. She told Elda about the meeting with Vivian and Raymond.

Elda put down her spoonful of pudding and stared. “Good Lord.”

Hannah grimaced. “Yeah. It was ludicrous. I don’t know why I went.”

“Do you think he really is your father?”

Hannah shrugged, but her nonchalance didn’t fool Morgan, so Elda probably wasn’t convinced, either. “I don’t know and I don’t care. If I had to bet, I’d say no. Vivian’s track record with the truth is lousy. And over the years it’s occurred to me that she might not even
know
who my father is. She’s always claimed it was this Raymond guy, but even that could be a lie.”

Elda pushed her glasses up her nose, her rheumy eyes strangely gentle. “They say that bad parents are better than none at all.”

Hannah snorted, her words cynical. “You’d have to prove that to me.”

Morgan remained silent, content to monitor the byplay between the two women.

Elda sighed. “You have to think past the present, Hannah my girl. There are lots of things to consider . . . like having grandparents for your children. And what about having a dad to walk you down the aisle?”

Morgan saw Hannah’s face register the memory of Vivian voicing a similar thought. Hannah frowned. “In the first place, I doubt I’ll ever have children. And in the second place, if I get married, I plan to walk myself down the aisle. There won’t be anyone
giving
me away. That’s an antiquated notion at best.”

Morgan lost track of the conversation for a moment. The knife lodged in his chest throbbed dully.
If
not
when
. One stupid little word. But the distinction was telling. Hannah had spoken without thinking, comfortable with Elda, not guarding her speech. And in doing so, she had let slip a Freudian gaffe that even a moron could analyze.

Hannah still didn’t think she was going to end up marrying him.

His fists clenched beneath the table. He felt paralyzed with emotions that were impossible to sort through. But the one clear constant was hurt. And a real man never let that one show.

Elda caught his gaze, her own sympathetic. He lifted his chin and smiled stubbornly. It seemed a good time to change the subject. “Well, ladies,” he said, needing to regain control of something. “I have good news.”

Hannah looked puzzled. “You do? What is it?”

He avoided her lovely golden-brown eyes and grinned at Elda. “Arnie is no longer a free man. And if all goes well, your money will be back in your account by the end of the week.”

“Lord save me.” Elda slumped back against her seat, her eyes wide and her gnarled hands trembling. Her voice shook. “Are you sure?”

Morgan nodded. “I hired an investigator, and actually, it was a nearly open-and-shut case. Arnie was a small-time crook and not too bright. He left a trail of bread crumbs every step of the way.”

That seemed to bother Elda. “So he wasn’t a professional con man?”

Morgan took a swig of his beer. “Well, if he was, he was lousy at his job. Or maybe he got careless. Either way, you don’t have to worry about him anymore.”

Elda sighed gustily. “I’ll definitely be more careful next time.”

Hannah raised an eyebrow. Morgan read the disapproval on her face loud and clear. “Next time?”

Elda grinned sheepishly. “That nice man we saw at the mall wants me to take a bus tour to Vegas with him.”

“But, Elda, I thought you were swearing off men.”

“When did I ever say that?” She patted Hannah’s hand. “There may be a lot of snakes in the world, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to quit walking in the garden.”

Morgan turned on the radio for the drive home. He was out of sorts, and didn’t know if he could talk to his infuriating fiancée at the moment. She deserved his support, especially in light of what had happened over the weekend, but he was running out of patience.

He tuned in to an Orlando XM station that did weather updates on the hour, and he pretended to listen. But in a moment he actually had to tune in mentally as well. There was a hurricane on the way.

The forecasters were predicting the storm would make landfall as no more than a category one or two, but would almost certainly drop heavy amounts of rainfall over central Florida. They were recommending the usual laundry list of precautions: bottled water, flashlights, nonperishable foods.

Morgan groaned aloud. That was all he needed right now. The hurdles in his theme park project seemed to be mirroring the bumps in his personal life, aka the rocky road to marital bliss.

Hannah put her hand on his thigh. “That won’t be good for you, will it?”

He wanted to ignore her innocent caress, but damned if his body didn’t betray him. He wanted to be surly and rude and righteously indignant.

But old habits die hard. Hannah couldn’t help her feelings. She hadn’t been intentionally cruel. It was his own damned fault for thinking anything had changed.

He kept his attention on the road, his spine stiff. “Yeah. This week is going downhill fast.”

Hannah peered out the drapes Tuesday afternoon, watching for Morgan. Despite the looming weather crisis, he’d managed to get away from work as he had promised and would be picking her up momentarily. Today was their next-to-last session before Friday night’s wrap up.

She couldn’t really imagine what that final group appointment would entail. Surely they weren’t all going to spout off about the intimate details of what had gone on in those rooms behind closed doors.

She was concerned about Morgan. He’d been awfully quiet the night before. Especially after the dinner with Elda. And though she had invited him to come in or even stay the night, he’d made some flimsy excuse and had left her on her doorstep with little more than a quick kiss.

She’d tried to let him know how much she appreciated what he had done for Elda, but he brushed off her thanks. It was clear that to him the whole Arnie thing was no big deal. Morgan was a man people could count on in a crisis large or small, and he didn’t seem to understand how wonderfully comforting it was to have that kind of reassurance. He was such a protector at heart, and yet he didn’t recognize what that meant to those around him.