Someday Soon (12 page)

She was Francine. Stubborn. Demanding. Spunky. And one hundred percent woman.

His therapist might think his ultimate goal was to walk again, but she was wrong. Somehow, some way, he was going to get this sexy Amazon beauty into bed with him. Mallory spent a good portion of each night planning just that.

Greg delivered their lunches. Soup, salad, and a couple of thick sandwiches. Mallory was hungry. An appetite was something novel. Food hadn’t appealed to him for months. He wasn’t sure when it had happened. Sometime around Christmas, he guessed. About the time Francine had waltzed into his disgruntled life.

“Didn’t I tell you you’d be back with Deliverance Company someday?” Cain said, looking too damn smug to suit Mallory.

“Yeah, but it’ll never be the same.” There would always be limitations now. He wouldn’t be able to do all he had before the accident. One thing was sure, he refused to be a weak link on the team’s chain.

“There’s plenty you can do.”

Mallory frowned. “I want to be in the field.”

“Fine, I’ll put you in the field.”

Francine stepped into the room, her eyes flashing. “What do you mean, you’ll put him in the field?”

“Mallory says he wants to be in on a mission, then I say he’s in.”

“No, he isn’t.” Francine circled the table like a shark closing in on dinner. Mallory had seen her like this often enough to know when to keep his mouth shut. He knew to bide his time and wait until he had the advantage before tackling her when she was in this frame of mind.

“If you think I’ve worked this hard with this man just so you can haul his sorry butt out on some crazy soldier-boy escapade and get hurt again, then I suggest you rethink your game plan.”

Cain’s jaw sagged open. Few dared to cross Cain McClellan. It did Mallory’s heart good for his boss to get a taste of the sheer brute stubbornness he’d faced in the last few months.

“You can trust me, Francine,” Cain said with admirable restraint. “I’m not going to put Mallory in a position where he’ll be hurt.”

“If that’s the case, then kindly explain how he nearly lost his leg.” She folded her arms and shifted her weight to one foot with ill-concealed impatience.

“Perhaps I should clear this up,” Mallory suggested.

“Stay out of it,” Francine snapped.

“I’ll handle this,” Cain insisted.

The two glared at each other while Mallory calmly ate his sandwich. If the truth be known, it was all he could do to keep from laughing.

Cain left without explanation early that same evening, and Mallory was disappointed. He’d counted on the two of them talking over old times and sharing a couple of drinks. Being with Cain filled him with eagerness to return to Florida and the good friends he’d left behind.

After he’d first been injured, Mallory had spurned their efforts to help him. He regretted that now. Regretted the things he’d said and his childish behavior.

Thinking Cain was going to be around for the evening, Mallory had given Greg the night off as well. Now, with both Greg and Cain out of his hair, he was left to his own devices for dinner.

He mulled over his options. He could order out and have it delivered. Or he could cook something himself. Not an impossible task. Actually he welcomed the freedom to move about the kitchen. Before the accident he’d cooked the majority of his own meals. The idea of tackling this simple project appealed to him.

After checking out the freezer, he decided upon a thick T-bone steak. Two thick T-bone steaks. Why not? After the afternoon workout with Francine he deserved a reward.

He was fumbling around the kitchen, shocked by how quickly his energy left him, when the doorbell rang. Before he could do anything but wonder who it could be, Francine flew into the room like a small tornado.

“We need to talk,” she said, her eyes snapping.

He stared at her for a moment, wondering what burr she had up her butt, when she apparently noticed he was standing in front of the stove with a steak dangling from his hand.

“Exactly what are you doing?” she demanded. Not waiting for him to answer, she whirled around as if looking for something. “Where’s Greg?”

“I gave him the night off.”

“And your friend, although I’m using that term loosely?”

“Hell if I know where he went. He left about an hour ago.”

“He left you?” She made it sound as if Cain McClellan should be strung up from the nearest tree.

“I don’t need a baby-sitter, Francine.”

“Then kindly explain what you’re doing with that steak. And what’s that?”

Mallory looked at the cast-iron skillet, surprised by her question. “A frying pan.”

“I know that much. What have you got in it?”

“Salt. You sprinkle a teaspoon or so on the bottom, turn it up on high, and sear the steak. That way the meat doesn’t stick to the pan.”

She shook her head as if this were the most ridiculous thing she’d ever heard. “What were you planning to cook other than that T-bone?”

“I hadn’t given it much thought.”

“Sit down,” she ordered.

Actually Mallory was more than ready to do exactly that. “You’re getting bossy in your old age, aren’t you?”

“Do you want dinner or not?”

“You cooking?”

“Yup. Any objections?”

He felt like whistling. “None. I like my steak rare.”

“How rare?”

He thought about it a minute. “So rare a good vet would have that cow back on its feet.”

Francine laughed softly.

Mallory made his way to the table and sank onto the chair. Not until then did he notice the therapist was wearing something other than her uniform. She had on jeans and a cable-knit sweater the color of winter wheat. The sweater did an admirable job of showing off her ample breasts. Other than when they were in the swimming pool, he hadn’t paid much attention to her breasts. They were nice and full, just the way he liked. He’d told her that once and damn near got his head bit off.

This was one hell of a woman, only she hadn’t figured it out yet. He just prayed he was around when she did.

“Do you always wear your hair in a braid?” he asked.

“Yes.” She was busy at the stove.

“Why?” Tim watched her remove the pan from the burner and set it aside. Not exactly a promising start if she was cooking his dinner.

“It keeps the hair out of my face.”

He should have suspected it was something as utilitarian as that. “I don’t mean to question your obvious culinary skill, but exactly what are you doing?”

Francine turned about, a surprised look on her face. “Cooking dinner, what else? I thought you should have something other than protein. There’s a couple of potatoes in here I was going to slice up and fry, and while I was at it I’ll grill a few onions. I’ll fix a salad, too.”

She opened the refrigerator and bent forward, searching through the contents of the vegetable bin. This particular view of her soft derriere was something Tim had never seen, and it surprised him by how incredibly sexy he found this woman.

“How about gunslinger’s sauce?”

The question came out of left field. “I beg your pardon?”

“You’ll like it, I promise. It’s flavored with whiskey.”

“Yeah, but what do I put it on?”

She straightened and turned around. “Your steak, of course.”

“Naturally,” he echoed with mild sarcasm. “What else are you cooking up? Boot Hill broccoli?”

She laughed, and the sound of her amusement caused him to smile. Holding a carrot in her hand, she waved it at him. “We’re still going to have that talk.”

“Anything you say, dahlin’, only feed me first.”

She blinked at the endearment and quickly reverted
to the task of salad making. “I’m not your dahlin’, your sweetheart, or anything else.”

“Yes, but with a little sweet talk you could be.”

She grated the carrot as if she intended to puree the thing. “If you continue in this vein, I’ll walk right out that door.”

“And leave me here half starved?”

“Yes.”

Mallory didn’t doubt she would, either. “All right, I’ll be good.”

She continued slicing tomatoes and tossing those with the lettuce, and Mallory continued studying her. Damn, but he liked her. Francine was his equal in every way. In all his years, he’d never met a woman like her.

Finished with the salad, she set it in the middle of the table. Recognizing this as an opportune moment, Tim caught her around the waist. “Take your hair out of the braid,” he said.

She blinked down at him as if he’d spoken in Greek, then braced her hands over his, although she didn’t shove them aside. “Why?”

“Because I want to see you with your hair down.” Not waiting for her to refuse, he reached behind her back until he found the end of the French braid and released the clasp. The long, thick strands sprang free, almost bouncing in their eagerness to comply with his wish.

“Tim, please,” she whispered. “I don’t think this is a good idea.”

“Sit,” he ordered. He wanted to look at her without getting a crick in his neck. With his good leg he dragged a chair away from the table and gently eased her onto it.

She kept her eyes lowered, refusing to look at him. “I wish you wouldn’t,” she whispered.

“That’s too bad.” He splayed his fingers through the soft blond hair, draping the abundance over her shoulders. Leaning back on his chair, he studied the effect. His heart caught in his throat at the beauty he found her to be. How could he have been so blind? Francine Holden literally took his breath away.

“I better slice the potatoes.”

Mallory edged his chair closer to hers. “Don’t leave,” he said, weaving his fingers through her hair and using it to urge her mouth toward his.

“I…I thought you were hungry.”

“I’m famished,” he whispered just before his mouth settled on hers.

Mallory was convinced neither one of them had anticipated the explosion of fire and need that would erupt between them. He’d intended to go slow and easy, introduce her gradually to his touch, coax and soothe her as he would before riding a feisty mare. But the minute she welcomed his kiss, encouraged his touch, Mallory was lost.

His lack of control surprised even him. He kissed her long and hard a number of times. Instead of appeasing his appetite, it increased a need for more of her. He reached inside her sweater, half expecting her to stop him. Encouraged that she’d allowed this small invasion, he cupped her breasts in his palms. He groaned as her nipples tightened and seemed to grow hot beneath the manipulations of his fingers. With a decided lack of finesse, he reached behind her and undid the clasp. The damn thing wasn’t the least bit cooperative, and he was
tempted to tear the obstinate slip of lace, and would have, if it hadn’t freed her lush breasts just then.

Her bounty spilled from the confines of her bra. Godalmighty, she felt good. The need to make love to her was so intense, it was painful. It seemed every part of his body throbbed. All he could think about was getting Francine into his bed. And fast. He wanted her nipples in his mouth and her legs wrapped around his waist. With exquisite anticipation, he yearned to fill her beautiful body with his. Never in all his life had he needed a woman more.

Not any woman, either. He needed Francine. Mallory didn’t know much about love. But he knew a hell of a lot about sex. What he felt for her was an off-balance configuration of both, he decided. At the moment the scales tipped toward sexual satisfaction, but not at the expense of hurting her.

Mallory needed Francine. The pounding in his loins was evidence enough of the physical desire he suffered, but it was the emotional craving he didn’t understand. Didn’t know how to appease.

He wanted her with him. At the end of the day when she walked out the door, he immediately calculated how many hours would pass before he’d be with her again. She dominated his thoughts. The monotony of many a long, torturous night passed while he filled his head with thoughts of her.

“Tim…”

All she said was his name, but the way she said it, low and sensual, warm and wanting, caused his body to tighten. He felt lost, and she was the home he’d never had. The love he’d never secured.

He struggled now, breathing hard in an effort to regain some semblance of control. He reminded himself she was a virgin. He couldn’t allow himself to forget that. Nor could he make love to her for the first time on the kitchen floor. But God only knew how long it would take him to drag his way into the bedroom with that cursed walker.

He eased her closer and bent forward and nuzzled his face between her breasts. Sliding his mouth to one side, he took her hardened nipple between his lips and sucked deeply. Francine nearly came off the chair. She moaned and clamped her arms around his head.

He continued to suckle her breasts, then gradually reduced the pressure. “Go to my bedroom,” he instructed her, kissing the underside of her jaw.

“Your bedroom,” she repeated as if she were a robot.

“Wait for me there.”

“But…”

“Please, Francine, just this once do as I ask.”

“Should I…do you want me to undress?”

“Yes.”

Reluctantly she moved away from him. Her parting word as she rushed from the room was, “Hurry.”

Mallory didn’t need any such inducement. He had his shirt off even before he was upright. His hands gripped hold of the walker, and he raised himself out of the chair, using the contraption for leverage. He wasn’t looking at any watch, but he suspected he made record time, shuffling his way down the long hallway.

His bedroom door was closed, but it would take a hell of a lot more than a little thing like a door to stand between him and Francine.

He walked inside, not surprised that she’d left the light off. Actually he preferred that they made love in the dark. Although Francine was intimately familiar with his body, Mallory found himself self-conscious. This was different.

He closed the door, and the room became pitch black. Slowly, he made his way to the bed.

“Tim, before we make love, don’t you think we should talk?”

“Later,” he promised gently. He appreciated her fears, but he wasn’t going to destroy this time with a lot of foolish chitchat. As it was, he felt as if he were about to explode.