The Passion Play (16 page)

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Saturday he left for an away game on Sunday, but on Monday night he came to her door again. He just showed up, and though she told him a little crossly if he did not phone ahead he might find her out for an evening work appointment, he only shrugged and grinned at her.

"Don't you have a home to go to?" she asked him.

"I sure do, but it's not as nice as yours because it doesn't have you in it," he said unanswerably.

He had all Tuesday off, and that morning he was exuberantly energetic, rolling out of bed and leaving her dazed and relaxed under the covers.

"Breakfast," he declared. "I'm making it. Anything in particular you like?"

"You don't have to do that. I'll cook."

"Not a chance. You stay there, all pink and pretty and rumpled. No, don't get up. Don't move. Don't even blink."

"Okay," she said doubtfully. A man who cooked was out of her realm of experience. She kept very good, very expensive ingredients in her fridge and pantry, and was not sure she wanted him messing with them.

"Don't look so worried." He bent and put a kiss on her nose. "I'll be right back."

But he was gone half an hour, and although she read the novel she had on her night stand, she could feel uneasiness mounting inside her, a combination of protectiveness about her kitchen, and a well-honed tendency to serve.

Don't be pathetic. It's every woman's dream to have a hunky man cook her breakfast. Try and enjoy it.

But she was not at ease until he returned with a tray fully laden. She inspected it for signs of mauled foodstuffs and found he had done a creditable job with the eggs, bacon, fried tomatoes and mushrooms.

"I didn't make toast because I couldn't find bread," he said, setting it down next to her on the bed

"I don't usually buy it for myself. Wheat is bad for the digestive system."

"Not for my digestive system. It's solid as a rock."

"I'm sure. You know, I don't usually eat breakfast in bed."

"It's great to try new experiences."

"I don't want to get a mess on the sheets."

"A dainty, polite little thing like you? I bet you couldn't make a mess if you tried. If you're worried I can feed you."

Being
spoonfed was too much for her dignity, let alone the tender overtones of it. And it would hardly be tidier. "Thank you but no, I'll manage." She shifted her plate into her lap and started to eat, while he pulled the night table over to the Queen Anne chair to put his plate on. When he looked up and found her watching him he confided:

"I won't take a chance eating on your nice white sheets. They feel expensive."

"Egyptian cotton. Sky-high thread count."

"I thought it was something like that. Savage creature like me better steer clear. I'll just eat over here."

"Perhaps you feel a little cold." When he just raised his eyebrows at her she said a little more pointedly, "Perhaps you'd like to put some clothes on."

"Oh," he grinned at her in sudden comprehension. "You mean rather than put my naked ass on your fancy chair."

"Yes, that," she said.

"Sure thing.
I don't know where my pants are, though."

"I think they're in the living room," she murmured.

"Right. Right. You eat your breakfast before it gets cold."

He returned a moment later, only half naked, and set to devour his stacked plateful of food with a will. She ate more slowly, and found that while it was not perfect, the breakfast was decent and there was a thread of pleasure in her to have someone else tend to her needs.

This was why other people liked it so much.

"So," he said, already finished, put his cutlery down and rubbed his hands together. "What shall we do today? I have the whole day free."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "I don't know what you're doing, but I have appointments from ten through five. My schedule is very busy today."

"That's unlucky. Ah well." He stood and wandered to the window. The master bedroom and
ensuite were in a separate small wing that showed the front of the house from the windows on one side, and a jumbled mass of foliage out the other. He looked at the foliage.

"Hey, this is
a nice silky sassafras you have here. It needs more light, though." He opened the window, leaned out and took a deep breath. "Mmm, smell that. That's beautiful. How attached are you to this cluster of redcedars?"

"
Redcedars?" She set her plate to one side and looked around for her robe, put it on and came to his side. A spicy smell hung around him from the open window, mixed with the sharpness of the conifers that stood around the tree his was looking at, shutting out its light. The air was sharply cold. She shivered and wrapped her robe tighter, and wondered how he could stand there with his chest bare as if it was nothing.

"
Juniperus virginiana. Common as dirt. But this sassafras is great. You could take the redcedars out and it would be a feature tree. You'd get a lot more light into this room, as well."

"I hadn't thought about it."

"You should think about it. Come on, let's go outside and have a look."

"I can't. We can't. It's cold out there."

"So put some clothes on."

"I need to have a shower first."

"Have a shower, put some clothes on and let's go see." He was patient.

She eyed him. "What's all this about? Frustrated longing for a garden? You want to get your hands on my dirt?"

"Hell yeah. Sounds like fun. The perfect way to spend a day off."

"And what?
You're just going to nip out there and uproot those big trees with your bare hands?"

"I'd need some tools, of course. But that's okay. I can buy those. So long as I can store them in your garage-"

"I don't know. I could just hire someone to chop them down-"

"For sure, if you want.
But we should look at it all first, make a plan. Then if you want other stuff taken out at the same time you can have that done. Or I get the tools and I can just do a bit at a time."

"All right."
She gave in. "I'll have a shower and we'll look at the garden."

"Sure thing.
But I'll use your other shower, or I'll never get out of there with you sauntering around all naked and wet."

"I do not saunter."

"Looks like sauntering to me. Don't take long." He went out, a definite spring to his step, and she sighed. The garden was fine the way it was, with its expanses of lawn and mature trees. She weeded and planted annuals when she was in the mood, mostly at the front of the house to keep the place looking reasonable, and other than that it was left to grow as it wanted. Still, if he wanted to get in there and thrash around – and would enjoy the task – then that was harmless enough as long as he did not disturb the privacy the trees gave her from the neighbors.

She said as much as they stood together looking back at the house from the bottom of the garden.

"Oh yeah," he replied. "Privacy, no question. But there's heaps of space to work with even if those big fellows around the edge stay. You could have some different levels of shrubbery, and some more evergreens so you don't lose that effect in winter like you do over there and there." He indicated the gaps in the foliage where nearby houses were visible. "I think that's probably what the previous owners tried achieve when they planted the cedars and those balsam fir. Looks like they've had some die off, though. At least I assume it was the previous owners and not you who planted them."

"Not me. We haven't- I haven't been here that long." Eight years. Not long enough to have those trees grow to maturity. "When I moved in the plan was to have kids and turn the garden into a great place to play. Other than that I don't really know what to do with it, so I've just left it." She said it steadily, refusing to acknowledge her feelings about it. Besides, the doctor had said she was fertile. This garden would have its children.

"Do you want a vegetable patch out here?" he asked. "It could be hidden behind those trees over there if you don't want to look at it, and still get the sun."

"Too much work. The fresh produce would be nice but I don't want to keep up with all the weeding."

"So how do you use the garden? What do you like to do out here?"

"I read out here, in the summer.
Host picnics and dinner parties. I have a wooden table that can be hauled out of the garage and left under that tree there."

He strode over to stand in the spot she indicated, scuffed the dirt underfoot and surveyed the house. "You like the casualness of the bare dirt? Or would you prefer a solid base, a patio or something?"

"A patio would be good, I guess. More approachable. I could always set the table further out again if I wanted the dirt occasionally."

"You could have a barbecue area over this way, with seating around it for company while you're cooking, flowing on to the dining area here. If you like the shade you don't have to lose it just because you're away from the tree. An
arbor with wisteria or a grapevine would keep it covered in summer and in winter the sun could come through."

"I don't really need a barbecue area. I don't use one."

"That's a crying shame. An entertainer needs a barbecue. It's a marriage made in heaven. All that grill space, and plenty of room for everyone to gather around and keep you company-"

"You're obviously a fan of barbecues."

"I know my way around a six-burner. That's how I like to entertain. And then you could have a path that winds its way down around those trees and disappears. It'll draw your eye down there, make the space look as big as it really is. And if you do it as a solid surface it would make a mean cycle track for kids on trikes. Have it come back over there in a big loop and they'll go round and round on it for hours."

"You're familiar with the habits of children?"

"I've got more than my fair share of nieces and nephews. We're a big family."

"That must be nice."

"I like it."

"You must miss them."

"I do. But we keep in touch. Besides, you got to go where the work is. So what do you reckon? Shall I get a tape measure and some big sheets of paper, measure it up, draw it out and show you what I'm thinking?"

"Oh Luke, that's too big a project." She did not want her garden dug up and left a mess when he stopped coming over.

"Alright. I'll just start by clearing some of the undergrowth, maybe put in a couple of shrubs."

"Okay. Not too much, though. And keep a total for me of how much it costs, so I can pay you back. I'll show you the gardening tools I have. There aren't many, but you're welcome to any of them you need."

"Sure thing. Lead the way."

So she went to her first work appointment and left him happily grubbing in the dirt, examining the soil and muttering his way around the place as he thought out loud, a pencil and paper nearby. He had said he was a keen gardener. She supposed she would have to trust he knew what he was talking about.

CHAPTER
TWENTY

When she returned at the end of the long day – later than she had thought she would – it was dark. Yet unexpectedly the house was lit with welcoming light. Luke must have stayed all day. She should resent the intrusion, but instead she was glad.

She parked her car in the garage and entered the house, paused to remove narrow shoes from feet that had started to ache.

"Luke?" she called out.

"I'm in the kitchen. You've timed that perfectly."

"Have I?" She walked towards his voice, pulling pins from her chignon until it unraveled and fell to her shoulders. "I'll have to take half an hour to make some notes before I forget- Oh."

He had laid two places at the table and there was an appealing aroma in the air.

"It's nothing fancy," he warned. "Just a casserole. If you need to take some more time I'll just turn off the oven and leave it in there. It'll keep warm."

"Ten minutes. You serve and I'll take ten minutes to write down enough to prompt my memory. I'll do the rest after we've eaten. I'm hungry!"

He smiled happily. "Great."

So she went to her study, woke her computer and typed like a fiend, brief bullet points she would flesh out later and add to her database of client notes. She was finished in twelve minutes.

"This will spoil me, you know," she told him as she returned. He was already seated.

"I don't believe it. You're impossible to spoil."

She took the seat opposite him, and unfolded her napkin to spread it over her lap. "Put you to work in my garden, make you cook all my meals-"

"And satisfy you in bed."

She blushed, and looked down as she fingered the cutlery at her place. "Very decadent."

"This casserole is something Mom taught me to make as a teen. I don't do it as well as she does, but it's easy and healthy and you had all the ingredients."

"It looks great," she said sincerely. And it did. Plain, simple fare with – she inhaled and considered carefully – bay leaves and thyme from the garden, and something else. She had to taste it to get the flavor. "Nutmeg."

"You're good. Not much of it, either."

"Oh, I should have asked if you want some wine."

"No thanks. I don't drink much during the season. But you go ahead."

"No, that's fine. I don't need it. So. Did you get much done in the garden?"

"Quite a bit.
I didn't want to make any drastic change without you there, so mostly I just trimmed the best of your trees and shrubs, and made a lot of notes. I called around to get quotes on felling the trees that aren't working for you, and at the prices they're asking, I reckon you're better off for me to just get the tools and do it."

"No. I can't ask you to take on all that-"

"Honestly, I loved it. It's been a good day for me out there. I'll have next Tuesday off again and I can have everything ready, get it all down and chopped up for firewood by nightfall."

"Isn't that dangerous?"

"I know what I'm doing. Besides, I'm not talking about the really massive ones. It would be a crime to take down your oaks or the striped maple or walnut. Those will give you the shade so it's still great out there for kids in the middle of summer. It's all the others that are making it dank and encroaching on the house. I'll show you the sketches I made-"

"This is really a passion of yours, isn't it?"

"It is. I don't want to go on about it but if you aren't in love with what's out there it would be a heap of fun to turn it into something really nice for you."

"I'd owe you too much, though. I don't want to put you to all the trouble-"

"I swear, it's good for my soul. I like it. If you want to say thanks come and hang out with me while I'm working."

"I'm not a big fan of gardening."

"You don't have to do that stuff. Just come and talk to me. Or bring a book even."

"We'll see."

He gave her a rueful smile at her continued caution, but he did not nag. Only ate with solemn dedication. When they were done she insisted on doing the dishes and he went to sit on the sofa and watch her. It made her self-conscious to have his heavy-lidded eyes on her and she felt warm from more than just the hot water she used for rinsing before she had stacked everything neatly in the dishwasher. The room was too quiet when they did not talk, the atmosphere growing thick.

What was he thinking behind those eyes?
Something naughty, from the look of him.

When she pulled the rubber gloves off and removed the apron she had put on, he spoke up.

"Come here." He patted the sofa beside him. The intent look from under his eyebrows made the invitation salacious. She paused in the middle of the floor, defiant from shyness.

"Why?" she stalled.

"I want to rub your feet. I bet they're sore. Those shoes you wear are very pretty, but they hurt, don't they?"

"Sometimes," she admitted, came forward and curled up on the other end of the sofa.

"Give me your feet."

She considered,
then extended them in his direction. "I should go and finish those notes."

"In a moment."

When he put strong thumbs into the center of her arches, she nearly groaned aloud, her eyelids drooping closed. He chuckled quietly and then there was silence as she slowly melted into a puddle against the cushions.

"Yes," she said after a long, long while, more a sigh than a word.
"Definitely spoiled." His hands were stroking up her calves now, deep pressure that was half therapeutic and half stimulation. "Did you learn this from the team physios?"

"Some of it.
There's a certain amount you can do working on your own legs and feet. Plus I had a friend studying massage a while back, who used to try stuff on me. Massage and reflexology. I asked lots of questions."

"A friend, huh?"

"Yeah."

"A
guy
friend?"

"No, M
a'am. See, this spot here is supposed to relate to your liver," he said, with a touch at once more gentle and more specific.

Of course she was not the first woman he had ever given a foot rub. No reason to feel piqued about it. Just enjoy his touch for what it was. "So I should b
e feeling liverish right now?"

"Yes. Can you feel anything?"

"Maybe you're not rubbing hard enough. It's just ticklish. Try a little harder – oh, not that hard."

"Sorry. You've got such delicate feet I keep thinking I'm going to snap something in there."

"I think you snapped my liver."

"You want me to get under there and kiss it better?" he ask
ed, reached over from his position with her feet in his lap and lifted her blouse to peer straight up it with a leer. She laughed.

"No, I should go and write up those notes."

"Forget the notes. Another half hour won't hurt them."

"Only half an hour?"

"Sure. If all I'm doing is kissing." He redistributed himself on the sofa so his chin rested on her upper thigh. "I'm going in," he said, raised the edge of her loose-fitting shirt and kissed his way up her flank with delicate little points of suction here and there that made her lie back with a happy sigh, acquiescent.

"I don't know that you'll ever make it as a reflexologist," she said, "but if there's a position for liver-kissers you've nailed it."

"You'll give me a swelled head."

"That's only a problem if it can't fit under my shirt anymore."

"I think you will find," he released a button at the bottom of the blouse, "that I have unexpected reserves," he released a second button, "of ingenuity."

"How did I ever think you were stupid?"

"I know. I know. It blows my mind too. Beyond inexplicable."

"Well you weren't this glib the first time we met."

"As I already said, I was mesmerized into something resembling stupidity by your beauty. Also by the hard on you gave me, asking me if there was anything I wanted."

"You – what?
You never told me that!" 

"Now you know."

"I . . . well. Gosh."

"I love the way you say that. Gosh.
All prim and proper. Yes, very gosh. You took my hand like this and looked all soulfully into my eyes," he fluttered his eyelashes at her, "and said 'Is there anything I can do for you, Mr Barrett?' and I felt the pressing urge to take a seat."

"I didn't say it like that."

"Near enough."

"And I gave you a hard on?" she asked.

"You surely did, Ma'am," he drawled. "A good and proper one."

"How can a hard on be good and proper?"

"Don't you know? Perhaps you're not as clued up on the subject as I thought."

"Perhaps I'm not. You might need to educate me." She smiled and looked at him under her lashes.

"I can see it's my duty. Now if you'll just give me your hand, I think you'll find
this
is a fair to middling hard on."

"I see. And this is used for?"

"It's your general garden variety erection. Good for maintenance of the equipment, a little light frottage, for generally expressing one's interest and attention."

"I see. Do go on."

"Well if madam would care to give it a rub . . ."

"Madam is so inclined."

"Madam is very kind.
Now
you hold a specimen of a considerable hard on."

"And what is that good for?" she said, her hands enclosing him as well as they could through the straining denim of his jeans.

"That's your good-to-go erection, ready for all sorts of friskiness. You got to keep your eye on those."

"I've got my eye on it. Do you think it might need a bit more space to express itself?" she stroked him again.
Such a pleasant shape. She reached for the top button of his pants.

"It's possible. I see you have an instinct for these things."

"I do my best. All the buttons?"

"I think so. I think . . . mmm."

"Sorry, you were saying?" she teased him as he lay his head back against the couch cushions.

"Oh don't worry about me. You go right ahead with what you're doing."

"I don't want to interrupt you," she murmured, her lips brushing against the tip of his erection as she spoke, hands encircling him.

"Oh a good . . .
mmmm . . . teacher is always responsive to his . . . audience."

"Very obliging of you."

"I aim to please."

"Luke?" she said an hour or more later, adjusting the throw he had tossed over them both, so it covered her toes as well.

"Yes?" He sounded sleepy.

"What are you going to be when you grow up?"

"Woman," he said with a put-upon sigh, "how much sex do I need to give you before you acknowledge my great and terrible powers of
man
liness. Urf arf," he finished with a couple of mangled gorilla grunts.

She laughed against the hair on his chest, slightly scratchy on her cheek, smoothed it out a little with the palm of her hand so it
all lay in one direction, then settled in again. "When you've finished playing, I mean. You said once you're already planning for that. So what will it be?"

"Why do you ask?"

"I was just wondering." Just thinking about categories and boxes, actually. It was so easy to see football players as a group of overgrown kids, running around playing at life with too much money to spend and for many of them, too few responsibilities. She might – just possibly – have been guilty of lumping Luke in with that generalization.

"My degree's a Bachelor of Science in Landscape Architecture, so I'll go into that. I'm not sure yet if I'll go back for a couple of years to get my Masters first and refresh my knowledge, or just get started looking for jobs. I'm more of a practical sort of guy so studying really dragged for me. I did it and made a good job of it but I can't say it was a lot of fun. I'd like to get my hands on the actual work."

"Oh."

"I'll use my savings from football to start my own firm and hire an office person to take care of all the paperwork, and maybe a draftsman too. I haven't managed staff before so I don't want to get too overloaded. My dad has a business and he says it's the
staff that are his biggest headache.

"It sounds like you've got it all sorted out."

"I've given it some thought. I won't last forever in football, though I've stayed relatively injury-free so far. Just little things. Broken fingers and toes and the like. I thought I should probably invest a bit too. Actually I was planning to ask if you'd sit down and look at what I've got, give me some advice. That's what you do, isn't it?"

"I do, yes. I suppose I could take a look." She felt reluctant. She'd done the work for other players on the team but she didn't want to know so much about his intimate personal details. It was too much of an intrusion into his life. Not that she ever sensed him throwing up barriers against her. She was the one striving to keep her boundaries up against this genial man who just assumed his welcome and sauntered in.