Tender Loving Care (6 page)

When he finally lifted his head, the anger had disappeared from his expression. His eyes intimately searched hers, and whatever he saw there aroused the trace of a smile. Still, his low voice had an edge. “Don’t ever peg me on the same hook with him, Zoe. Children don’t matter to me; they’ve never mattered to me. It’s damned hard to find someone to talk to, someone you want to wake up to in the morning, someone who’ll still be there if you make a mistake. If and when a man finds someone like that, he’d be a damn fool to let her go. Believe me, you don’t still love him.”

Loving Steven wasn’t an issue, and she would have told Rafe that if he’d give her the chance. He didn’t. When his hands slid under her shirt, she shuddered. His palm stroked one breast until the tip hardened and her eyes closed, and his lips labeled the pulse at her throat “his.” The hollow above her collarbone was treated to a similar branding.

Any minute now, her heart was going to stop quaking. Tenderness and excitement didn’t go together like this. A man couldn’t be both fierce and tender. And a woman couldn’t possibly feel both helpless and superlatively, powerfully, exultantly female.

“You felt like this with him? As though the whole world were burning up? Do you know how you make me feel when you respond like this?”

“Rafe, stop…”
Talking.
She didn’t want to hear; she didn’t want to think. If he was trying to tell her he wanted her, he was making himself crystal clear. If he was trying to banish the thought of any other man from her mind, he was doing a good job of that, too. Steven had taught her something about need; Rafe was teaching her about a maelstrom of need. He made her feel as if she’d just discovered desire. He could make a woman believe she would die if she didn’t have him.

When he eased her down to the carpet, she welcomed its cushioning support in a world that was rapidly becoming blurred, indistinct, without edges. Her whole body tightened when his thigh slid between hers. His tightened when he impatiently released the buttons of her shirt and discovered bare skin.

Obviously, she shouldn’t have let him discover bare skin. His breath was suddenly a hoarse rasp, his eyes blazed blue, and need shuddered through his body. Through the thin material of her bra, she felt his lips on her nipple, and then his tongue.

He was going too fast, much too fast. She knew every reason why this was wrong, and couldn’t care. Maybe for too long she’d refused to believe that a man could want just Zoe, just the woman, not for what she could give or produce but for who she was. Maybe it was different because he was Rafe—patient always, but not now. Easy and slow always, but not now. Logical and rational always, but at the moment he couldn’t seem to manage the simple catch of a bra, and he kissed her like he was damn-well starved.

“Touch me, Zoe. Do you want me to go crazy?”

Was that the question of a rational man? “Rafe.” She managed to capture both his hands before they burned her up with a touch that was hotter than fire. “If you give me a chance, I will,” she murmured softly.

He opened glazed eyes on her smile. Whatever he saw made him momentarily still. Her tumbled hair was catching the glow of firelight, and his fingers reached up to touch it, and while he was busy with that she raised her lips to his. She offered him a woman’s kiss, a woman’s wooing, soft, exploring, a sharing of promises. Her fingers strayed over his forehead, his cheekbones, the line of his jaw.

“You know this isn’t wise, don’t you?” she whispered, but she didn’t stop. The pulse in his Adam’s apple leaped when she traced it with her forefinger. She opened the top button of his shirt, and then the next and the next. His chest was smooth and brown and warm to her touch.

“This isn’t wise,” she echoed, but sensations kept flooding her, and wisdom was easily jettisoned. She felt brazen and desirable and joyful. She hadn’t voluntarily touched a man in three years. She couldn’t. The right to be loved was inexorably linked, in her mind, to her right to love, to come to a man as a whole woman. For three years, she’d felt like apologizing to every man she met for being flawed. Not with Rafe. When Rafe touched her, she felt infinitely whole, deliciously powerful as a woman. Her lips brushed his heartbeat with sweet abandon.

“Stop me, Rafe,” she whispered. All of it was illusion. It had to be. Maybe she just wanted to believe with this man it was different. Touch was only going to complicate her life and his. She knew that, but she couldn’t seem to stop. Her own needs led the dance she’d thought she’d never know again.

“So precious, Zoe. You’re so precious…” His palm slid down her side to her hip. He molded her length to his, kisses falling on her nose, her cheeks, her closed eyes.

“Hi,”

Rafe instantly turned to stone at the sound of the sleepy soprano.

“Whatcha doing?” Parker asked interestedly. His pajama bottoms sagging, he had one foot propped on the other in the doorway.

“We were…” Rafe took a rapid breath. He turned eyes glazed with horror on Zoe, but only for a second. In the next second, his hands were groping for her shirt. “I was…Snookums had a small hurt. I was fixing it.”

“Daddy did that for Mommy all the time.”

“Did he?”

Parker nodded. “He kissed her to make it better. Mommy did that for us, too. Except that most of the time she kissed our hurts on the kitchen counter. Daddy always took Mommy into the bedroom on Sunday mornings while we were supposed to be—”

“I get the picture,” Rafe said rapidly. He shot Zoe another look, an interesting blend of murderous frustration and mild amusement. She was too busy climbing back to the real world to ponder it. He was having problems closing the blouse over her breasts, mostly because his hands were distinctly unsteady. Finally, he appeared satisfied and straightened up.

He pushed a hand through his hair and stared for several seconds as if the child were a Martian. “Did you want something?”

The urchin nodded. “I’m thirsty.”

“Thirsty.” Rafe repeated the word as if he’d never heard it before. “Thirsty?”

“I’m milk thirsty. Not water thirsty. Otherwise—”

“You could have gotten it yourself.” Rafe muttered a fierce “Do
not
move, Zoe. Do not think, do not breathe, do not do
anything,
” and lurched to his feet.

Thoughts began to reel through her head the instant he and Parker were out of sight. Shakily, she got to her feet and pulled her blouse closed, buttoning fast. From the kitchen, she could hear the two talking, the refrigerator door closing, a glass being set on a counter.

It wasn’t long before the light flicked off in the kitchen and Rafe headed for the stairs with the little boy in his arms. Parker’s head was already lying on Rafe’s shoulder, and his eyelids were drooping.

Minutes later, Rafe came back downstairs. Waiting for him at the bottom of the steps, Zoe had her hands on her hips. His gaze seared on hers when he saw her expression. “You didn’t do a very good job of staying put,” he said softly.

“We both knew that either of them could have woken up at any time. And we were right there in plain sight on the living room carpet.”

“Yes,” he murmured. “And the wonder of it is that you forgot about the kids for a few minutes.”

“Rafe—”

“Yes, I heard you. We were way out of line.” He took the last step down, blocking her path to the stairway. Gently, he brushed her hot cheeks with his knuckles. “We’ll have to be more careful about choosing a time and place.”

“No,” she said simply.

He didn’t pretend any confusion about what she was saying no to. “It
will
happen again,” he said quietly. “I think you know that.”

She shook her head and stared at the blur just beyond his shoulder. To look in his eyes was to see things she didn’t want to see. To be touched by him was to feel things she shouldn’t feel. She took a breath. “If this happens again, I’ll leave. They’re better off with you anyway, Rafe; surely you can already see that?”

All he could see was that she ran scared whenever kids came into the picture. Time. He desperately needed time with her. “You can’t leave,” he said swiftly.

“I can.”

“But you wouldn’t, Zoe,” he said softly. “You wouldn’t leave the children stranded with me unless you were absolutely sure they’d be happy here. You agreed to give it three weeks in my place and another three at yours. I intend to hold you to that. At the end of that time, we’ll agree about where they’re better off, but you’ve got to give—” He almost said “the two of us,” and immediately corrected that. “You’ve got to give them that much time.”

She searched his eyes a long time before she said quietly, “You’re right. I won’t leave you stranded,” and sighed. “Rafe, we’ve both been thrown into this situation against our will, so maybe it’s natural for us to need each other, to turn to each other. And maybe we got temporarily carried away, but we’re not going to be together permanently. One of us is going to have the kids. The other one isn’t. And to start something—”

Rafe’s palms framed her face, forcing her to meet his eyes. “Nothing’s going to happen that you don’t want. No one’s going to push you into anything you can’t handle. Believe me?”

“No.”

Humor glinted in his blue eyes. For two cents, he’d kiss that stubborn chin until it melted. “Maybe you can believe something that’s far more important, then,” he whispered. “A man scraped your emotions pretty raw because he wanted a mother for his kids. You can be damned sure that what I feel for you has nothing to do with children.
Any
children.”

“That isn’t the point.”

“Yes, it is. I want you for
you,
Zoe. And what the two of us feel for each other is the only thing that matters.”

There was just no talking to him. Zoe shot him a look, and then ducked under his arm and hurried up the stairs. Inside his bedroom, she leaned back against the closed door, feeling her breath come quick and uneasy in the darkness.

Rafe was clearly an irrational man. Any sane human being would see that a relationship was impossible because of the kids. It was sheer selfishness for them to think of each other when they had to do what was right for the children.

Eventually, she moved away from the door and burrowed under the bed covers. And eventually, it occurred to her that, like a total idiot, she was lying there fully dressed. She pushed herself back up, rid herself of her clothes and tugged on a nightgown. Between soft sheets and the warm weight of a comforter again, she discovered her hands were annoyingly cold and trembly.

It seemed she was capable of being as irrational as Rafe. When he touched her, she felt as if she’d found something she’d thought irretrievably lost, the quality of feeling whole and good about herself and free and just…a woman. She wanted that feeling. She so badly wanted the man. In his arms, she’d never once thought of the kids.

Two people naturally turned to each other when they were thrown together in an emotional situation. That was all that was going on. She knew better than to involve herself in a relationship with a man who needed her only to care for children. She would never be sure she was loved for herself. And as far as the kids went, everything that had happened since they’d arrived had shown her she had no ideal-mother potential whatsoever.

She had to think of the twins. In her heart, she knew they would be better off with Rafe.
Kids don’t matter to me, Zoe. They’ve never mattered to me.
Yes, she’d heard that, but she also saw how he was with them. His job, his house, his whole life would be affected when he took the children; naturally, he felt unsure about his ability to handle it. He needed time. He was such terrific father material. He just didn’t know it yet.

Punching the pillow, Zoe settled down and determinedly closed her eyes. She’d stay because she had to stay. She’d stay until he saw how precious the twins were, and with time she had no doubt that would happen. The only thing that couldn’t happen was her falling in love with him.

Except that in the darkness, in the silence, she was terribly afraid that it had already happened.

The next night, as soon she came downstairs after putting the boys to bed, Rafe was waiting for her at the bottom of the stairs with two pool cues in his hand. The balls had been racked, the game ready to play. They played, Zoe’s nerves hammering, but he never said a word about stakes or total dominion, nor did he protest when she announced that three games were enough and she was going to bed.

The next night, he set up a Trivial Pursuit board. The night after that, they watched a movie on television. She would have gone to sleep immediately afterward if Rafe hadn’t heated up two mugs of mulled cider and brought them into the living room. And Thursday night she was so tired; the boys had been pistols all day. Rafe insisted that she go for a walk with him. The night was pirate-black and crisp and special; starlight sparkled on snow. He never touched her.

He just talked and made her talk. Not about kids. Once a day, he affirmed that there was no possible way he could handle the children without her, but after that, the subject of kids was banned. They discussed more important issues. Like how many whimsical hats she owned. Whether Bogart or Tracy was the best actor of the forties. How serious her allergy to clams was. How many stars filled the night sky. How many feet there were in a fathom.

Gradually, against her will, she could feel her pulse leaping as soon as the kids were in bed. Knowing she’d be with Rafe was like the promise of an ice-cream sundae after a sweltering day. Even during the most harrowing hours with the fractious twins, she knew relief was coming. He’d seen reason…she was so glad. She needed him as a friend, and he was such a good friend; any deeper emotional relationship would have cluttered up everything, and she was relieved that he finally saw that.

Today, though, she was having a small problem.

She tried again to free her hand from Rafe’s. He wasn’t exactly holding her hand like a handcuff or a vise or a chain, but every time she tried to ease her fingers free from his, his grip tightened.

This morning he’d suggested bringing the boys to see his lab. It had seemed like a terrific idea. It still
seemed
that way. The boys were talking ten for a dozen; Sarah and another of Rafe’s coworkers were in the room; and his lab was frankly as conducive to romantic feelings as a bucketful of dead fish.

“And this particular instrument is the only one in the country, Zoe……”

Dutifully, she inspected his laser-ranging equipment, then his magnetometer, tiltmeter, scintillation counter and the dozen other technical tools of his trade. A sane woman did not respond to such an environment like a nymphomaniac to a free bed. A sane woman did not come apart at the seams simply because a man was holding her hand.

“We don’t face much danger of major quakes here, but the potential for disaster from a small earthquake in snow country is incredible. The smallest tremor can set off an avalanche of dangerous proportions. And in the past twenty years, populations have increased around ski resorts to such an extent that…”

Yes. She heard him, but she couldn’t seem to seriously listen. A lock of hair drooped boyishly over his forehead. He talked about his work with his hands, with his smile, with a vitality and fascination that spilled over into his voice. His jeans fit just right this morning; he was wearing a yellow-and-gray plaid shirt that revealed the shape of his shoulders and chest.

“…so the information we’re gathering here can be used in the Alps, in Aspen, at the California ski areas. Wherever fault lines…”

“Yes,” she murmured obediently. But she already knew about fault lines. The major source of her personal earth tremors had misled her all week into believing she was safe. How could she be less than safe here in his lab, where he was showing the boys his work? And she was so sure she’d drilled personal feelings right out of her head and substituted concern about childcare instead.

The boys finally detached themselves from Sarah in the far corner and bounded toward them. “Uncle Rafe, we’re hungry,” Parker announced.

Her heart warmed at the way they looked at Rafe. On every occasion when she’d tried to discuss the kids, he’d expressed increasing doubts about his ability ever to handle them, and then he’d cut her off. He needed more time, she kept thinking…but the urchins didn’t realize that. Parker already knew he could count on Rafe even if the whole rest of the world fell apart. Aaron sidled up to Rafe for the hug or casual squeeze he knew was coming—Aaron craved those touches. Whether Rafe realized it or not, he knew instinctively what each child needed.

Really, it wasn’t strictly her fault she couldn’t stop falling in love with the man.

Once the children claimed his attention, though, she had the sense to remove her hand from his. “I’ll take them home for lunch,” she said swiftly. “We never meant to take up this much of your morning. I know you’re busy—”

“Not too busy for a picnic lunch with you and the boys. Sarah?” Rafe motioned to let her know they were leaving, and then gave Zoe a pensive frown. “You’re not exactly going to fit into my spare snowmobile suit.”

She raised both eyebrows. “Is that supposed to be a major worry in my life?”

“Of course it is. You need to dress warmly if we’re going sledding.”

“What? And I don’t know what you meant about a picnic, but someone should have mentioned to you that it’s snowing outside.”

“Yes.”

“And this is a workday for you.”

“Yes.”

“And I’m taking the boys home for lunch.”

Poor Zoe, she still didn’t understand. Rafe zipped her into the huge old snowsuit she didn’t want to be zipped into, and had the boys in giggling fits when he had to fold and refold the cuffs to make it even marginally fit. He jammed a hat on her head and tucked in her hair possessively. She didn’t like that either.

“There is a
lot
of snow outside,” Zoe remarked.

“Hmm?”

“Picnics are for hot summer days. You need ants and lemonade for picnics. You need watermelon. You need sunshine.” It was like trying to explain to a brick wall. “I have lunch all ready for them at home…”

“Boys?” Rafe turned to the children. “Do you want to go home to plain old peanut butter, or do you want to cook hot dogs in the snow?”

On cue, the unanimous verdict was “Hot dogs in the snow! Come
on,
Snookums!”

She gave in—only because of the boys, of course. Rafe felt a moment’s guilt for using the urchins to win an argument, but it didn’t last long. Over the past week, he’d discovered that she was seriously prepared to play this silly “we can be friends” routine forever. He’d hoped that by defusing a little sexual tension, he could help her build trust and confidence in him, make her see that they had something special between them. But Zoe could apparently hide behind her best perky smiles and keep her distance from him forever if he let her. Which he wouldn’t.

It was a sun-dazzled day. Rafe parked the Jeep just off the road in a stand of snow-laden trees. Just beyond the heavy firs lay a long sloping hill, crusty with the sun’s diamonds and ideal for sledding. He’d found the private retreat months before. Ever since he’d come here, he’d wanted to share it with Zoe.

“Does it strike you even the least little bit that this is slightly nuts?” she asked politely.

It struck him very strongly that Zoe was the most giving woman he’d ever met. As far as he could see, she never took from anyone. Once she realized the kids wanted the picnic, she’d never seriously hesitated. If they wanted the Nile, he figured she’d probably have the river shipped from Egypt. She fussed with things, like putting a spoonful of sugar in his coffee for him when he could obviously do it himself. Bickering kids were herded out of his sight—she thought she was making sure he saw only the best side of the boys. What he saw was that she had the gift of caring for people, smoothing over all the rough spots a person could encounter in a day.

He’d never once caught her thinking of herself. And an example of that was now. From the back of the Jeep, she was loading her arms with the tarp, hot dogs, buns, two thermoses…

“Zoe?” he asked patiently.

She turned back.

“I really think I could carry a little something.”

“I don’t mind—oh, look at them, Rafe!” The boys were making angels in the snow and laughing, all red-cheeked. When her face tilted back toward him, her smile was mystically sweet and her eyes dancing. “
How
are we going to make a fire in the snow?”

“
We
aren’t going to do anything. I’m going to make the fire, and you’re going to practice doing absolutely nothing.” He reached up to touch her cheek. She never moved away from his touch; she just looked at him as though he were an overgrown puppy who hadn’t learned to behave himself yet. “You’re here to play,” he informed her.

“That’s all I do, play all day. I can build a fire. If you—”

He took the gear from her and dropped it, then motioned her firmly toward the boys with a forefinger.

She propped her hands on her hips. “What is this macho nonsense? I’m not exactly helpless, you know.”

“Pity,” he murmured.

He was making her darned nervous, and she really had no intention of enjoying herself, but somehow it happened. Cold air burned her cheeks, and snow fell around her like confetti; she should have felt foolish in the oversized snowsuit, but somehow she didn’t. Building the little fire was fun, because they were all part of it; the twins raved over the burned hot dogs and so did Zoe. Rafe had brought one thermos of soup and another of hot cider. Veal cordon bleu and champagne couldn’t have tasted better.

With her fingers wrapped around the cider mug and her legs curled under her, she watched the kids shake branches and chortle when mountains of snow tumbled down on them. At home, she would have been worried about spills and spats. Outside like this, there was nothing to worry about. With Rafe around, nothing bad was going to happen.

“Zoe…”

Her eyes swiveled to meet his across the last of the spitting, bright fire. His snowsuit was open at the throat; he didn’t seem to feel the cold. His smile was warm, and the irony of the situation swamped her. With Rafe, she felt safe. With Rafe, she also felt as if she were sitting on rotten timbers. A logical woman couldn’t possibly feel both sensations in equal measure, and she was extraordinarily grateful when the boys came hurtling toward them.

“When?”
Aaron demanded for the fifteenth time.

“I thought you promised to give us a full five minutes to finish our lunch,” Rafe reminded him.

“We’ve given you hours,” Parker said sternly. “We were done with lunch practically yesterday. What’s taking you guys so long?”

“Digestion,” Rafe murmured, but he stood up with a long-suffering expression that made Zoe laugh. “I should have settled for just lunch instead of mentioning the sleds,” he whispered darkly.

“I saw the hill,” she told him.

“It’s long.”

“And both sleds look heavy.”

Her first time down the hill, she tipped over the sled, rolled twenty feet and came up laughing. In seconds, all three males in her life were there to dust her off. The next time, she went down with Aaron on her back, and the third time she took both laughing boys, who insisted they could win a race against Uncle Rafe only if they had “ballast”—a new word for the day, and one they repeated over and over as if it were magic.

“More ballast, Snookums. More ballast!”

“Uncle Rafe’s beating us! If he wasn’t so ballaster—”

On her fourth trek up the hill, she was still laughing, heaven knew why. Snow had crept down her neck, she’d lost her hat and every leg muscle protested the fierce climb. Still, the boys were so obviously happy. Rafe’s hideaway was so crystal-lovely, so private and special. And uncomplicated fun hadn’t been part of her life in so long.

At the top of the hill, Rafe announced, “All right. The big kids against the little ones this time. Parker and I will be on the bottom. Zoe, you climb on top of me, and Aaron, you climb on top of Parker. Last one down the hill is the last one to get cider!”

She should have known. She
did
know that climbing on top of Rafe wasn’t the wisest of choices, but this was sledding, and they were just playing, and there were pounds of clothes between them.

They took off at a racing speed that sent snow stinging in her face and made her stomach thrill for the ride, but there was suddenly more. There was having to hold on to him, and an awareness of the length of him beneath her. The chemistry that had been on hold suddenly exploded in a burst of exhilaration. Dammit, did she have to love being near him?

“Keel!”
he suddenly yelled.

Keel?
“What?”

“The trees! Damna—”

As far as she could tell, he deliberately threw her off the sled. She landed on a sun-crusted patch of sheer ice that sent her sliding several feet. When she finally stopped, stars were dancing in front of her eyes in broad daylight. Snow was everywhere—in her mouth, in her hair, in her eyes.

“You’re all right?” Rafe was beside her in seconds. He knelt down and ripped off his glove. Cold, firm fingers brushed the snow from her face and hair.

“I’m…fine.” She thought she was, anyway.

“We wiped out. Damned trees,” he said disgustedly.

She laughed. “I thought we were flying. Maybe Parker’s right about your being ‘ballaster.’ Don’t blame the trees, you big lug.”

She wasn’t sure what happened then. She was trying to rise, and he was still brushing the snow from her cheeks. His face suddenly blocked the sunlight, and she saw his eyes. What had been clear and bright became hazy and soft. A cold day turned hot. And there was no one there on earth but the two of them.

She never saw the kiss coming. His lips were suddenly there, cool and smooth on hers, in total contrast to the damp warmth of his tongue. He took no time for a tentative exploration, but claimed, now, with a hunger that wouldn’t wait, an urgency as naked and bold as a man’s desire.

The sun shone in her eyes and she had to close them. For hours, her whole body had been geared up for energy; suddenly, every muscle and pore felt sapped of will, languid and lazy. He was a thief. A kiss thief. A man who’d take advantage of a woman when she was down, and she had no excuse for letting her arms slide around his neck. The tumble must have addled her wits, but his breath was so clean and fresh. His need touched something so purely feminine inside her…