Take a Chance on Me (141 page)

He didn't even recognize the man he saw in the mirror. That man had no center. No heart. No Emma.

That man had who knew how many more days to live? And nothing left to lose.

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T he first splashes of crimson and gold dotted the tree line between farm fields, and the sky was a sharp, cool blue. Emma tilted her face and breathed deep, feeling the sun on her skin and the pleasant rock of her hips in the saddle.

The rush she got from loving Thomas hadn't dissipated in the last few weeks, but it had mellowed, found its own rich and pleasurable rhythm. And lately her happiness seemed to be a physical entity in itself, something that sat deep inside her, weighted and sure, at the core of everything she did. And she could feel it growing every day.

She looked over at her riding companion, and chuckled to herself. Thomas seemed more relaxed on Bud today, less like a man with an iron rod up his spine. And Bud seemed resigned to carrying Thomas, no longer gazing at her with that pitiful, put-upon expression. It did her heart good to see the two of them getting along.

"It's gorgeous out here," Thomas said, the way he always did when she took him riding.

"I'm glad you think so."

He turned to her. "You're gorgeous out here."

"I'm glad you think so."

"Let's get naked."

Emma laughed. The man needed a prong collar. Admittedly, not having to worry about pregnancy or disease sure allowed for things to be spontaneous. And she'd lost track of how often and in how many places they'd been spontaneous.

Not that she was complaining.

"Do you think that thirty years from now you'll still try to seduce me with that particularly charming phrase?"

"If you still want to be seduced."

"I will if you're up for it."

He shot her a smile framed in dimples. "If there's Viagra now, baby, just think what will be around when I'm an old man. They'll have to tape it down when they lower me in the ground."

"You scare me."

Thomas roared with laughter, and she could still hear him snickering as he followed her down the narrow path to the creek. Once they dismounted and flipped the horses' reins over tree limbs, Thomas immediately pressed up against her back and enfolded her in his arms.

"There's a word for your medical condition, Thomas." She snuggled back against him. "It's called priapism, and I hear it's horribly painful."

He kissed the side of her neck. "I'm in pain all right."

His fingers were unbuttoning her denim jacket, brushing over her breasts beneath the T-shirt, fluttering down to the snap of her jeans.

"That house up there belongs to Mr. Martin," she said between shallow breaths. "He's a very nice Mennonite widower."

"Sorry. He can't have you. You're mine."

His hot palms were flat against her belly and the tips of his fingers were sliding down under the elastic band of her underpants. She started to shake. He always did this to her—made her tremble and flush with heat until she was pushing into his hands and squirming against him.

"But he might see us down here," she whispered.

"Nobody's looking, Emma. Nobody but me."

Somehow, her jacket was already in the grass and her shirt was bunched up under her chin and her bra was unsnapped. And somehow, he'd already shoved her jeans and underwear halfway to her knees and she was groaning.

Emma reached back blindly with her hands to find that he'd also managed to remove most of his own clothing, and she was impressed—turned on and impressed.

He twirled her around.

"I love you so much." His kiss was hot and erotic and the sun felt so delicious on her bare skin that she didn't care about Mr. Martin, only Thomas. Just Thomas.

And she found herself dragging her lips down the side of his neck, onto the muscles of his chest, and leaving a trail of kisses and nibbles down the center of his body until she was nearly on her knees.

Thomas bent down and placed his shirt on the grass beneath her.

She peeked up at him. "That was quite chivalrous of you."

"I have a big ulterior motive."

"I can see that," she said, smiling. Then she put her lips around it, and Thomas spread his feet and growled in raw male satisfaction.

"You're so good to me, Emma. Why are you so damn good to me?"

She smiled while she worked, feeling the tremors move through him, inhaling the delicious musk of him.

His fingers thrust into her hair, his big hands clasped her head—but he didn't push, just held, touched, rode along as she moved.

"Emma—"

Thomas fell to his knees, his face drawn in wonder, then kissed her again, rougher, lifting her bottom until she was off the ground, suspended by the desperate clasp of his hands and the crush of his lips.

He broke away for breath. "God, I love this."

"Me, too." She pressed up against his erection.

"It's everything, Emma. You're everything."

He'd set her down gently and smiled. He turned her, his hands sliding all over her body, hot in contrast to the cool breeze. He guided her onto her hands and knees as he positioned himself behind her.

Emma whimpered in need. She couldn't wait, couldn't wait for him to get inside her…

She felt the press of his smooth belly against her soft bottom, the prod of his rock-hard cock, poking, teasing, missing the mark so often that she had to reach underneath and touch herself to relieve the distress.

"God, Thomas, don't tease me! I can't stand it!"

Oh! Then he was there, taking her from behind, a big, hot spike that killed her, resurrected her, made her into perfect form and perfect sensation, and it was the best thing she'd ever felt in her life—best in the way it was every time he became a part of her.

She was delirious with it—the feel of one of his hands cupped over her stomach as the other reached up to pinch her breasts, squeeze and roll her nipples until she was calling out for more and begging him to never stop. She was swimming in the rhythm, the rushing need, as he rammed her harder and slid his hand down her belly to her clitoris, so swollen and tender that she knew she was teetering on the edge.

"God, yes!" she hissed.

Thomas lowered himself over her back and laughed into the crook of her neck, still pounding into her.

"You're my wild thing, aren't you, baby? Think you could bark like a dog for me now?"

"Let's not go too far with this," she said.

Thomas stopped moving.

His hard chest curved against her back and he brought his lips close to her ear. "We've already gone too far, Emma, but not far enough. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

A hot flash raced through her blood. Yes. She knew exactly what he was saying. His body was sheathed inside her, cupped protectively over her—but it wasn't nearly enough. Why was that? Why did she want so much more of him, so much more from him? Why did she want to reach down into his soul, pull it out, and wrap herself up inside of him?

How could she love him that much?

"I can't get enough of you, Thomas." She pushed her hips into him. "It'll never be enough."

He pulled her up to kneel in front of him, encouraged her to lean back against his chest. Thomas stroked her hair, overwhelmed with the combination of lust and love this woman churned up inside him.

He breathed her in, touched the real beauty of her body and her heart that made him want to fuck her deeper, love her endlessly, protect her and belong to her. Forever.

Her head fell back against his chest and she turned her face so that his mouth could find hers.

She tasted like joy, like one of her smiles, and Thomas felt nothing but absolute connection, like he was plugged into the wettest, hottest, most powerful electrical socket in the universe.

"Did you know it could be this way?" he whispered, cupping her breasts, nuzzling her neck as he thrust into her.

She cried out, overwhelmed with the hot rush of emotion and stab of pleasure that left her gasping, lost.

"Because I had no idea, Emma. No idea."

She felt a drop of his sweat—or a tear—fall to her shoulder. She reached around and pulled his face to hers again. She kissed him. And the circuit was complete.

* * *

"I'm sure it was Mrs. Q's tuna casserole." Thomas kept his voice in a whisper as he patted the cool washcloth on Emma's forehead and kissed her cheek. He winked at Leelee. "I think I might have hurled the first time I tasted it, too."

They all laughed.

Beckett shushed them. "She's going to hear you. It wasn't that bad. She's a damn fine woman."

Thomas wagged an eyebrow at Leelee, which sent the girl into hysterics. The burgeoning affection between Sylvia Quatrocci and Beckett had diverted some of Leelee's attention from her own love affair, much to Emma's relief.

"Gag," Leelee had said the other day. "Isn't there some kind of law against old people kissing?"

Not that Leelee seemed particularly opposed to having Thomas around. As Emma watched the two of them now, she was filled with an easy sense of well-being. All the pieces of her life were falling into place.

All the pieces of herself seemed just the right shape and size to fit the big picture, for the very first time.

Emma groaned and pushed herself to a sitting position on the couch, and Thomas immediately reached to support her back. "I'm good, really, guys," she said. "Let's finish our game. And Pops, please go tell Mrs. Q

to stop cleaning the kitchen."

Beckett looked down at the Scrabble board and sighed. "I quit anyway. I ain't seen a vowel in two turns."

"Vowels?" Leelee grabbed for her imaginary pistols and pointed them at Thomas. "We don't need no stinking vowels!"

Emma smiled as Thomas accepted Leelee's challenge with a wicked grin and pulled her to the Scrabble board.

Hairy chose that moment to jump up into her lap, the boxer shorts hanging from his mouth.

"Hey, little guy! Did you come to comfort me?"

You're looking mighty green around the gills, Soft Hands. You smell different, too. What's going on with you?

"I'm okay, Hairy. Don't worry."

She kissed the little dog's snout, then scratched behind his ears, smiling as he held her gaze with his bug-eyes. It was nothing short of miraculous how Hairy had improved. He was off his meds. He no longer needed the maxi pad or the crate or the relaxation exercises. He'd settled into a comfortable routine of a life equally divided between the farm and Federal Hill, and he seemed happy, well-adjusted, and calm.

And he was staring at her.

Uh-oh.

"What is it, Hairy?" Emma laughed uneasily. "You can stop staring at me now." Her headache swirled.

Her stomach lurched.

"Oh, boy," she mumbled, tossing Hairy aside. She staggered toward the bathroom.

"Are you okay?" Thomas was on his feet and right behind her.

Uh-oh. Uh-oh. Uh-oh.

* * *

"I must be getting old." Emma accepted the new-patient questionnaire from Velvet, and scanned information about a calico who'd compulsively licked her front paws bare. "This virus is knocking me on my butt."

"Whatever you say."

Emma looked up to find Velvet glaring at her, her hands propped on her hips.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Emma … is there … well … ?"

"What?"

"Could you possibly be pregnant?"

Emma's hands fell to her sides and she heard the chart slap against her leg. "Excuse me?"

"Pregnant. With child. Expecting."

"No." Emma quickly resumed reading. "You can tell Mrs. Wilson to come on back."

"Not yet. Just a minute."

Emma was already shaking her head. "Look, Velvet. I've got the flu, okay? I'm not pregnant. There's no way." She started toward the exam room.

"Why not?" Velvet was close on her heels. "We all know you and Thomas are … uh…"

Emma threw open the exam room door and whirled around to face her friend. "There's no way, okay?

Let's get Mrs. Wilson in here so I can go home and die."

Velvet was in her face now, her expression menacing. Emma's heart began to race. This was ridiculous.

She couldn't be pregnant! She just couldn't be…

"I'm running to the CVS for a pregnancy test," Velvet said. "Don't go anywhere."

An hour later, Emma was so freaked out, that she couldn't tell if the twin blue lines were real or the result of blurred vision and trembling hands. Velvet was pounding on the door again. How long had she been in the bathroom? How could this have happened?