Reasons Of the Heart

'Only that it wasn't enough. I didn't agree at the time, but I do now. Not nearly enough.' His eyes glinted at her bewildered reaction to his cryptic remarks. 'You look quite beautiful, Frankie.'

She was taken aback by the sincerity of the quiet com­pliment. 'I... Don't be ridiculous, I'm a mess...'

He smiled, and a tongue of flame licked out of the blue eyes to singe her body beneath its flimsy covering. 'A beautiful mess... how I always imagined you'd look when you made peace with yourself...earthy, real, the kind of woman a man wants to enfold and be enfolded by...'

A slumberous warmth flushed across Fran's skin. Earthy, that's how she felt, especially when he looked at her like that, and her feelings for him were very strong and real. Thank you, Beth, she thought silently. The girl had enabled them to meet without sacrifice of pride on either side. 'I'm afraid I'm earthy in the very literal sense,' she said huskily, holding on to his gaze with dif­ficulty. She had made peace with herself, and he was part of the treaty. She lifted her grimy-gloved hands apologetically. 'While you look very...elegant.'

She didn't understand why he laughed softly, until he explained. 'You make it sound like an accu­sation ... after all the times you tried to make me put some clothes on when we lived together.' Fran's flush heated even more at the images his turn of phrase pre­sented and his voice deepened, catching her off guard. 'It's just a skin, and underneath it I'm just the same man... a little more lean and hungry maybe, but the same man. I missed you, Princess. Did you miss me?'

He didn't wait for an answer. His hand reached out to cup the heavy fullness of one breast and exert the pressure which guided her body forward against his as his mouth covered hers, searching and finding her melting response.

As he kissed her his hand massaged her breast in lazy circles until she moaned quietly, and he lifted his mouth to murmur, 'Touch me... You want to, I know you do...'

'I can't—' her hands hovered

helplessly in mid-air, '—these gloves, I'll mark you—'

'You already have, indelibly. Touch me,' he com­manded huskily, sealing her hesitation with his mouth and she gave in to the need, her gloves catching and pulling at his shirt as she slid her arms around him, up under the tailored jacket, digging her fingers into the rippling heat of his back. When next he raised his head she was trembling against him, her eyes wide and dark with unsated pleasure.

'Oh, yes, you missed me,' he growled with thick satis­faction, and Fran stirred, briefly unsettled by that pos­sessive triumph. But when the warm hands supporting her shoulders slid down to press her shifting hips against the slow rotation of his her resentment died. He, too, was possessed by this blissful torment.

'I wasn't going to wait much longer, Frankie,' he told her, nipping the vulnerable curve of her throat. 'If you hadn't called me some time in the next couple of weeks, I would have come looking.'

'But, you said—'

'I know what I said.' He gave her a small shake. 'I was angry, the way you meant me to be, and my pride was suffering... but you were just being you, resisting the pitfalls of impulse, dealing with one problem at a time. I knew how critical it was to your self-respect that you make this business of yours a success. I estimated it would take you about four months to find your feet, to gain the confidence to look around and reassess your priorities. I made a pact with myself to let you have that time, without the added pressure of my presence. Of course, I didn't know you were going to let Beth in where you feared to let me tread...' He stroked his thumb across her lips in wry reproach.

'Beth is different—'

'I should hope so.'

She blushed. 'I mean, she really did need me.'

His smile was sombre. 'So do I. Are you happy, Fran? Fulfilled? Or have you found out that success, alone, isn't enough to fill all the lonely crevices in your life?'

'I... I was going to ring you.' She owed him the confession. 'I was afraid you—' He laid a gentle finger across her lips, stopping her rush of words.

'It doesn't matter now. What matters is whether you're willing to make room for me in this brave new world of yours.'

'I think you already know the answer to that.' It was written in every line of the supple body shaped to his.

'I need to hear it, as much as you need to say it. What do you really want, Fran?'

'You.' There was exquisite relief in saying it at last, and a glorious sense of breaking free. 'I want a lover to share myself with...'

'Then you shall have him, Princess!' If he had been triumphant before, he was exultant now. 'And more... everything you ever wanted.' More? How could she want more than this heady feeling of freedom?

'You didn't sell the cabin, after all, did you?' he teased irrelevantly.

'I... no... I just mortgaged it and sold the rest. How did you know?'

'Because my intermediary made the outrageously gen­erous offer that you refused for "sentimental reasons".' He laughed at her blush. 'It kept me going, through the lonely nights, knowing that you wanted to hold on to a piece of our memories. Now we can renew them. I can't think of a better place for a honeymoon, if we can keep my family at bay...'

'Honeymoon?' she echoed faintly and he grinned, misunderstanding her shock.

'Isn't marriage the guarantee that you wouldn't ask for, and I wouldn't give? I wasn't ready then... I was too hung up on saving face. But it's yours for the asking now...'

Marriage? To Ross? A lifetime of playing Russian roulette, wondering when her happiness was going to explode in her face? Fran went weak at the thought.