They stood on her front porch. Paul held both her hands.
"I'm sorry about tonight, Susan. I didn't know Jean and Curt would be there, and neither did Bill."
"It's all right."
"No, it isn't. I wanted tonight to be perfect for you."
She'd told him it was all right, but it wasn't. It had been awful. She'd been miserable and jealous and scared. She'd vacillated between wanting to run and wanting to face Jean Tyler and shout, He's mine, now. You can't have him back. You had your chance, and now he's mine.
"Susan . . ." He caught her face between his hands. "Look at me . . ."
"It was horrible, Paul. I knew ... I knew it would be like this . . . going out in public with another woman's husband . . ."
"God, Susan, I'm sorry." He held her close, rubbed her stiff back with his hands. "I'm so sorry."
She fought the urge to sag against him. Darned if she was going to turn into a helpless woman who can’t handle a single thing, who has to run to a big strong man to take care of her.
Besides all that, Paul was not another woman’s husband. Not really. By refusing to sign divorce papers, Jean was being stubborn and manipulative and selfish… Susan ran out of adjectives bad enough to describe a woman who wanted to have her cake and eat it, too. She was not only furious at Jean, but furious at herself at letting this evening reduce her to the kind of woman who thinks in trite adages.
"I had no right, Susan, no right to put you through this."
"You couldn't have known she'd be there."
The naked bulb shone down on their heads as they swayed together on her front porch, hurting. But even so, she wanted him. Passion rose through the pain, desire so hot and bright, she burned with it, was near screaming with it.
"I'll try to make it all right," he said, caressing her hair. "I'll continue to help Jeffy if you want me to, but I won't put you through this kind of torture." He kissed her cheek, then released her. "Good-bye, Susan."
His footsteps sounded hollow on the old wooden porch as he walked away from her, tall, dignified, and resolute.
Never to be touched by him, never to be held by him. She'd die.
"Don't go." He turned slowly, his eyes sparking fire. Desire such as she'd never known with Brett caught her high under the breastbone so that she could hardly breathe. She marveled at the intensity of it, the unexpectedness. Need was a sneak thief and desire a taskmaster. It didn't seem right, somehow, that such feelings should come to full flower after spending an evening in the company of Jean and her date.
And yet she couldn't deny them, didn’t want to, didn’t intend to.
"Make love to me, Paul."
Light from the porch bulb cast a halo on his dark hair, but Susan was not naïve enough to believe he some sort of saint, to idolize him because he was a skilled surgeon, because he’d found a way to make Jeffy walk and talk.
"Susan, you don't know what you're asking.”
“Paul Tyler, don’t you dare try to make decisions for me. I know what I want, and I fully understand the consequences.”
“You're worth more than an affair."
"If I knew this very minute that tonight was all I'd ever have with you, I'd still ask you to stay." Besides, she’d never heard of any woman who held onto to divorce papers and never signed. Eventually, Jean would have to sign.
As Paul stood on the porch steps watching her, Susan was aware of her own breathing, of the way her heart had stepped up its rhythm. Say something, she wanted to scream. His stance was tense. Hunger was there on his face, raw and fierce, and something else, some dark emotion that she didn't dare guess.
She could have said Please. She knew her blond hair and pale skin, not to mention her slenderness, made her appear fragile. But she was not. And she didn’t intend to play the role. If Paul Tyler wanted her, he’d have to make that decision for himself.
He came to her, then, crossing the great gulf that separated them. Softly, ever so softly, they slipped into a world beyond time, a world of bursting color and vivid smells, a world where senses were heightened until there was nothing left except raw emotion and the body, hungry and electric.
He took her hands and laced them around his neck; then bent over her, his lips touching hers. The kiss started as a tender joining. Her sweetness matched his need, and his gentleness matched hers.
It will be enough. Just this one night.
She'd lied to herself. When his tongue slid across the moist inner lining of her lip, she knew one night with this man would never be enough.
o0o
Paul lifted Susan into his arms and carried her inside. The moon made shadows on the wall, and the deep quiet of the house cocooned them.
"Tell me no," he said. "You can still tell me no."
"Yes." Her arms tightened around him.
"God, I need you."
"And I need you."
He didn't ask where her bedroom was, didn't have to ask. Instinctively he knew. His footsteps were muffled by the carpet as he strode down the narrow hallway.
Go back before it's too late, he told himself. But it was already too late. He had to have Susan Riley, no matter what the consequences.
Her bed was brass and her sheets were crisp and smelled like flowers. He spread her upon the covers and buried his face in her hair.
The fragrance of gardenias invaded his senses, and he was young once more, young and carefree, racing through a summer meadow, racing with pounding heart and singing spirit.
She pulled him down to her. She was wonderfully made, with ripe curves that fit naturally into the hard planes of his body and seductive hollows that begged to be touched.
Still, he held back. They'd named it need, called it a simple affair. But it was more, ever so much more. Her hair was special, and the way she tilted her head, and
the tiny creases that appeared beside her eyes when she smiled. She was special. And if he took her casually, if he made love to her without thought or care or tenderness, he would not only destroy her; but he would destroy something in himself as well.
"You're the best thing that ever happened to me, Susan Riley."
"And you're the best thing that ever happened to me, Paul Tyler."
He undressed her then, unveiling her as slowly as he would a rare and priceless piece of art. When her dress lay in a heap on the carpet with his clothes piled on top, he swore to himself that he would never betray her trust. Never.
"Come to me, Paul." She pulled him down to her again, fitting him close against her lush body. He felt the purr of satisfaction that built in her throat, and he kissed her there, where the sound thrummed beneath her silky skin. The taste of her was addictive, and he wanted everything at once.
He'd meant to be slow and gentle and tender, but it had been too long since he'd made love.
Bearing his weight on his elbows, he looked down at her face. It was flushed and lovely.
"I didn't mean for it to be over so soon, Susan."
"Shhh." She put her hand over his lips. "It's been a long time for me, too, Paul. Not since . . ."
He covered her mouth with his hand. "Don't say his name."
She nodded, her eyes bright. He rolled onto his side, taking her with him. Side by side, leg to leg, thigh to thigh, breast to chest, they studied each other.
"I don't want you to go," she said, tracing the thick eyebrows that slashed above his eyes.
"Jeffy?"
"He's spending the night at Mother's ... I planned ahead."
He loved that about her, that in a modern world where sex was a household word she still could blush. Taking her face between his hands, he kissed her.
She made one of those delicious humming sounds he loved so well, and he rolled her onto her back. With his arms braced on either side of her, he kissed the tip of her nose and the side of her chin and the love-damp skin below her earlobe where her heavy hair had made her sweat.
"The next one’s for you.”
"For us," she whispered.