Regrets and doubts rioted deep inside Jenny the instant she agreed to go home with Frank. But the temptation had proved too strong, the illusion too powerful. Caught up in it, she’d been unable to say no. She would give anything for this one night to be perfect. She didn’t doubt, not for a second, that Frank would try to make it so. She didn’t doubt that he loved her. Every considerate action spoke of the depth of his feelings.
But was love the only thing that mattered? She had doubts enough about that for the both of them.
Even so, there could be no backing out now, no second thoughts leading to a tearful withdrawal. When she had said yes, she had made a commitment, to him and to herself. It might last no longer than this one night, but it was a commitment just the same. And, like Frank, she believed in honoring her vows.
Inside his house, she caught him studying her, his expression thoughtful, worried. “Nervous?” he said.
Jenny nodded.
“Me, too.”
It had never occurred to her that he might be every bit as scared as she was. His nervousness and his admission of it both charmed and reassured her.
“You can change your mind anytime,” he said, his blue eyes serious. “Anytime.”
Feeling stronger with each reassurance, she shook her head. “I won’t change my mind,” she said with absolute conviction. “I want to be with you more than I’ve ever wanted anything in my life.”
He nodded and held out his hand. When she placed her hand in his, he rubbed the pad of his thumb across her knuckles, then lifted her hand to his lips, his gaze fastened on hers. Inside, she trembled with the magic of that tender gesture.
“Would you like a drink?” he offered. “I think I have some wine.”
“Yes. Wine would be good,” she said, though she wanted time more than she wanted the drink. She needed to accustom herself to being here, to the prospect of an almost-forgotten kind of intimacy. She needed to steel herself to the possibility of rejection. Though her heart told her that Frank would never ever hurt her intentionally, she knew that the faintest hint of revulsion in his eyes, the least sign of disappointment would be devastating. She had to prepare herself for that, had to be ready not to cast blame for something over which he might have no control.
As she waited for the wine, she walked down the hall to his workroom and flipped on the light. She breathed in the clean scent of the various woods, rubbed her fingers over the textures of his finished carvings. When she came to the unfinished blue jay, she recalled how she had guided his inept fingers in this very room, how she had badgered him until he began fighting back against his injury, fighting to regain his skill. Unless she was mistaken, there were fresh details on the piece, less delicate perhaps, but evidence that he was trying.
She sensed that Frank was standing in the doorway. Glancing over her shoulder, she smiled at him. “I hope you don’t mind that I’m in here,” she said, suddenly realizing that he might consider this an invasion of his privacy, a claim to intimacy that she didn’t rightfully have.
“Of course not,” he said, though his uneasiness contradicted the words. He came closer and handed her the wine.
“You’ve been working.” She gestured toward the blue jay.
He shrugged, his expression unexpectedly vulnerable. “I’m trying.”
“It’s very good.”
He shook his head and regarded the carving critically. “Not yet,” he said, but there was a trace of hope even in the denial.
“I’m proud of you.”
“I’m proud of you, too.”
Startled, she stared at him. “Why?”
“For daring to take this step, for trusting me.”
“It was time,” she said simply, and knew it was true. She might have put off the action for a week or a month or a year, but emotionally she was as ready now as she was ever likely to be. No man was ever likely to be more right for her than this kind, gentle man who waited patiently for her to set the pace. She put down the glass he’d given her. “Frank, would you hold me?”
A slow smile trembled on his lips as he put aside his own glass. “I thought you’d never ask,” he murmured, opening his arms then folding them around her.
Jenny rested her head against his chest, listening to the quickened beat of his heart and breathing in the faintly woodsy masculine scent of him. There was such comfort in his embrace, such a sense of coming home at last. And yet…
And yet there was the lightning-quick racing of her pulse. Warmth that had nothing to do with the comfort and everything to do with rising passion stole over her. When his lips finally, inevitably settled on hers, the lightning added thunder, the warmth became white-hot urgency. There was no rush to the kiss, no hurry to the slow exploration by his tongue, but deep inside her, need built feverishly, demanding more, demanding a more passionate pace. She appreciated the care he was taking, the gentle advances, but she hungered for desperate loving, loving that would carry her beyond thought to pure sensation, passion able to overshadow doubts.
Her fingers tangled in the dark midnight of his hair as she pressed him closer. Her now-sensitive lips brushed across stubbled cheeks, seeking, again, the velvet fire of his mouth. When one arm braced her back and the other tucked beneath her knees, she gasped in startled astonishment, then settled against his chest as he carried her down the hall and into his bedroom.
For a few seconds she registered the room’s details, the clean, masculine lines, the cheerful colors, the clutter of framed family pictures crowded on the dresser, the haphazard toss of clothes scattered about by a man always in a rush…until now. Then Frank captured all of her attention, his eyes smoky blue with desire, his expression still anxious.
“You’re sure,” he said one last time.
Though her heart raced with something very much like sheer panic, Jenny nodded. “I’m sure,” she whispered. Then, more loudly, “Very sure.”
He stepped closer, his gaze locked with hers. With fingers that trembled, he traced the neckline of her blouse, leaving a trail of goose bumps along her neck. Scared as she had never been scared before, filled with a yearning deeper than any she had ever known, Jenny allowed him to slowly, carefully, unbutton her blouse. With the release of the first button, she stilled, but the press of his lips against the newly exposed flesh had her quivering with need. His touch was so deft, his kisses so potent that she forgot to watch for the revulsion in his eyes as first her blouse, and then her specially designed bra fell away. All she remembered were the nights she’d lain awake imagining being cherished like this.
When she first felt his lips against the scar, a cry of dismay gathered in her throat, but before she could utter a single sound, she was lost in the sensations he aroused, the fierce tug deep in her belly, the sweet, aching hunger below. She wanted nothing more than to go on feeling, but she had to know. She had to.
At last she opened her eyes. With a mixture of awe and dread, she observed him as he gently traced the line of the scar. With her breath caught in her throat, she waited for him to back away, but the only sign of emotion was the tear that tracked down his cheek and the faint trembling of his hand as he touched her. He lifted his head, though his hand continued to stroke and caress and inflame.
“I love you, Jenny Michaels,” he said, his gaze locked on hers.
“I love you,” he whispered again, as his gaze slid lower to the scar and lingered there. There was an instant when he seemed to freeze, and Jenny felt her heart go still. Then she realized that he was staring at his own fresh scars, seeing the cruelly reddened skin against the whiteness of her flesh. She captured his hand in hers and kissed each finger until he, too, believed in the healing power of love.
Her own tears falling, mingling with his, Jenny heard the tender endearments, felt the powerful stirring of her body responding to his touch. Eyes closed, she gave herself over to the feelings, savoring them as a treasure she would hold always. Even after he’d gone.
That these wonderful, wild sensations couldn’t last seemed a certainty. She wouldn’t dare to hope beyond tonight, beyond this sweet, thrilling moment. With the fascination of a woman capturing dreams enough for a lifetime, she studied the magnificent lines of his body, the sculpted flesh with its richness of texture. No wonder that he created perfection with his carving knife, when he’d been given such an example. She traced each hardened muscle, each curve and indentation until she knew him as well as she knew herself, until his body tensed with need.
When their touches grew more frenzied, when their blood flowed like warm honey, when their thoughts had given way to pure sensation, they came together at last. Years of pain and hurt and doubting vanished in one shuddering moment of exultation. Love, as fresh and new as springtime, flowered in Jenny’s heart.
As she curved her body against his, she told herself that forever was within reach. With his hands curved gently over her disfigured flesh, she could believe that she was beautiful and that anything was possible.
* * *
Awakening to find Jenny still in his arms filled Frank with a joy so profound it was as if he’d been reborn. He stretched cautiously, trying not to disturb her, then settled back to study the perfect silk of her skin, the tumble of curls with highlights the color of amber caught in the muted rays of morning sun. She was even tinier than he’d realized. His hands could probably span her waist. He rested one hand just above the curve of her hip to prove his point.
Beneath his touch, her flesh warmed and she began to stir. As she rolled onto her back, his fingers moved from hip to belly in a slow, sensual caress that changed the pattern of her breathing from restful to hurried. Hesitant to touch her breast, fearful that she would perceive the touch as a need she couldn’t amply fulfill, he stroked the scar instead. Jenny whimpered, then sighed, then came slowly awake.
Frank smiled down at her, her sleepy sensuality an incredible turn-on that had him instantly hard and wanting. For an instant she remained open to him, then as if realizing her vulnerability, the exposure in daylight that hadn’t existed the night before, she grabbed for the sheet. He reached out to stay her hands.
“Don’t,” he whispered, trying to quiet the panic in her eyes. Meeting that fearful gaze straight on, he said, “You are beautiful, a beautiful, desirable woman. Inside and out. And I could not possibly love you any more than I do right now.”
Her lower lip quivered, and he wanted desperately to cover that faint trembling with his own lips, but he held back, knowing that the best proof was in not looking away. She would only believe him if he acknowledged the defect and showed her time and again that it didn’t matter. It would take words and actions and time.
“You must believe me, Jenny,” he said. “You are all the woman I need, and I will spend the rest of my life proving it to you.”
Tears gathered in her eyes, then spilled down her face. She captured his scarred hand in hers and held it to her damp cheek. “I know that,” she said with a sigh.
There was a hesitation in her voice, a shadow of doubt. “But you don’t entirely trust what we have, do you? Why not? How can a woman who spends her life teaching others to look beyond scars, not see beyond her own?”
She drew away from him then, both physically and emotionally. He could read the distance in her sudden stiffness, the dullness that took the lively sparks from her eyes.
“Frank, it’s not just the scars. If it was, don’t you think I would throw myself into your arms and never let go? Last night was the most perfect night of my life. I felt fulfilled and complete and desirable. You did that for me. But I won’t be one of those people you gather in and protect. You’ve already raised five brothers and a sister. You deserve a life that is carefree and filled with happiness.”
Frank struggled to follow what she was saying. It made no sense. How could she equate herself with his family? It sounded as if she viewed herself as a burden, rather than an incredible woman to be treasured. It sounded as if she planned to end things just as they were beginning.
“Jenny, this is crazy. I love you. I certainly don’t think of you as some stray I have to take in and care for.”
“But that could happen and I won’t have it.”
“Won’t have what?” In his frustration, his voice rose to an irritated shout. “Dammit, talk to me. Make me see why you’re willing to throw away what we have.”
She turned pale at the thunder of his voice, but her voice was steady and bleak. “Because I don’t trust it to last.”
If she’d used the excuse that the sky might fall in a million years, he would have been no more confused. “Sweetheart, I know there are no guarantees, but why give up what we have now because of something that might never happen?”
“I don’t like the odds.”
“Odds? What odds? The fifty-percent divorce rate? What?”
“Stop yelling.”
“I’m sorry. It’s just that you’re making me crazy,” he said impatiently.
Her look quelled him. He took a deep breath. “Okay, talk to me. Make me understand. Are you worried about the way we met? Are you afraid that I’ve just grown dependent on you?”
Her expression softened. “No,” she said, taking his hand and pressing a kiss to the knuckles. “You’re strong now, and I know exactly what your feelings for me are. And I won’t take advantage of that.”
“Take advantage how?”
She did grab the sheet then and tug it around her. When it was snug, when there was nothing for him to see below her bare shoulders, she said quietly, “What scares me more than anything is the possibility that I might become dependent on you.”
“Jenny…”
She touched a silencing finger to his lips. “No, listen to me. It’s been just about four years since the surgery. Five years seems to be the magic number in cancer survival. I’m still a long way from that. Every day I live with the reality that the cancer could come back. I won’t burden you with that, I won’t ask you to live each day with the possibility of a death sentence hanging over us.” Her gaze met his. “I won’t,” she said with finality.
Frank struggled with the horrible possibility of losing her to a disease he thought she had conquered. His heart ached for her as he tried to imagine living with that fear of recurrence. And, yet, weren’t they losing even more by living now as if the merely possible were certain? He had to make her see that.
Gently he brushed the tendrils of hair back from her face. He searched his heart for words that would be convincing. “Jenny, my love, haven’t you ever listened to the wedding ceremony? In sickness and in health, remember that?You’re healthy now. We have this moment in our lives. We’ll take each tomorrow as it comes. If we don’t, Jenny, if we turn our backs on this, what sort of memories will we have? Loneliness? Fear? Longing? I don’t want that for myself. I don’t want it for you. Maybe we’ll never quite stop being afraid, but we certainly don’t have to be alone.”
“It’s not fair to you,” she said stubbornly.
“It wasn’t fair for you to get this disease. It wasn’t fair for me to get burned. We both have to go on. It was your cancer and my burns that brought us together. Maybe we should concentrate on that and count our blessings.”
“I’m scared, Frank.”
“Of dying?”
“Of leaving you.”
“Then don’t do it now, not while you have a choice in the matter.”
It was the most eloquent Frank had ever been, and he waited to see the effect of his words. For a moment as Jenny’s arms slid around his waist, he thought he’d won. But then she rose, found the clothes they had tossed aside last night in their haste and, after sorting through them for hers, took them into the bathroom.
Frank wanted to throw something. He wanted to grab her by the shoulders and shout until she not only listened, but heard him. Instead he could only sit by helplessly as she did what she thought was right, what she thought was the noble thing.
When she came out of the bathroom, he held out his hand. “Jenny, don’t go. I’ll fix breakfast. We’ll talk this out.”
Swallowing hard, she shook her head. Then she kissed him one last time, with tears in her eyes, and left.