The Swear Jar (19 page)

Chapter Twenty-Two

Meara answered her cell phone, sitting
on the edge of the bed.  Duncan quietly crawled out from under the blanket.  He
slid behind her, placing his legs around her.  She jumped.  He pressed himself
into her buttocks.  Feeling his arousal, her back arched.  She put her head on
his shoulder.

“Diana.  I’m not at the library. 
Where am I?”

“Tell her.”  He commanded with a
whisper, reaching into the afghan for her nipple and massaging it.

“I’m at Duncan’s house.”  It came
out in a low moan.

“Ask to postpone dinner until
tomorrow.  Sorry about the late notice, but something came up.”  He breathed
into her ear, pinching her nipple.

She squeaked.  “Diana?  May we
change the dinner to tomorrow?”

As he played with her nipple, he
burrowed into the afghan to find the soft mound between her legs.  She inhaled
sharply.  She was finding it incredibly difficult to concentrate.

“No, I’m fine.  We got involved in
something.  Thanks, Diana.  What are we doing?  Ah…oh…my…”  She lost her train
of thought as his hands did their work.

“Give me the phone.”  He released
her nipple, but his other hand didn’t let up.  “Diana?  Hi, it’s Duncan.  My
girlfriend and I are having a sleepover.  We’ve already had one pillow fight
and your sister is about ready for another one.  I’m going to keep her
overnight.  I’m going to feed her lots of bad things and let her drink soda. 
I’m going to put her to bed very late and wake her up early for another pillow
fight.  I’ll feed her breakfast and send her home.  She’ll be doing the walk of
shame around nine tomorrow morning.  Is that okay with you?”

He continued to rub between her
legs.  She was covering her mouth with her hand.  He could hear gentle moans
coming from her.  Her chest heaved as her head rested on his shoulder.  She bit
her own hand.

He listened.  “Yes, it’s my own
funeral.  I hate to cut our chat short, but Meara’s ready for the pillow
fight.  I’ll see you tomorrow.  And thank you, it is a wonderful birthday.”

Disconnecting the call, he dropped
the phone on the floor.  He massaged her nipple, gave it a pinch.  She gasped. 
He increased the pressure between her legs.  He braced her chest with his
hand.  She went rigid, orgasming.  He pressed himself against her backside. 
She arched her back and took ragged breaths.  He slid back on the bed and
dragged her with him.  He wanted her.  He had her heart and soul.  He had
waited for her.  He had waited so long to feel again.  She made him feel alive
in her arms, but it wasn’t enough.

He wanted her body too.  She had
awakened a passion, a lust he had never known he had.  He removed the afghan from
her body and tossed it away.  He roughly pushed her down onto her back.  He
knelt in front of her legs with his hands gripping her knees.  He groaned,
waiting for the slightest encouragement from her.  Gasping in shock and nodding
her head, she reached her hands out for him to come closer.  She wanted him to
take her.  He pushed her knees open and buried his face in her irresistible
breasts.

His first thrust jolted her.  She
wanted to please him as he had pleased her.  She moved her hips and held onto him. 
Encouraged, his passion increased.  His thrusts were wild and urgent.  He was
losing control.  Thrusting as hard as he could, he wanted her to call his
name.  She made murmuring sounds, but he wanted her to let go and scream.  He
placed his hands above her shoulders, locking her into place as his thrusts
went deeper.  Her eyes shot open.  She blushed to see he was watching her with
raw lust.  She gave a long, low groan.

“Oh…Duncan…Yes…Please…Duncan,” she
cried out.  “DUNCAN.”

As another orgasm rocked her, he
knew he had her body.  It was his.  She was completely his.  A powerful wave of
release came over him and he growled.  He took several ragged breaths before he
slowed to a stop.  She was breathing heavily as well.  He held her tight so she
wouldn’t tremble.

“Happy Birthday, Duncan my love,”
she whispered.

He kissed and caressed her face. 
He drew the blanket around them.  He pulled her close, spooning her.  His arm
was wrapped around her waist and his leg was over hers.  He was careful not to
press up against her buttocks.  They were cuddling comfortably.

“That’s settled.  You’re not
getting away this time.  Understood?”

“Yes, Duncan.”  She giggled,
tickling the hair on his arm.

“Please don’t giggle until I
recuperate.  I’m only human.”

“Yes, Duncan,” she said
mischievously.

He kissed her dimple.  “Let’s stay
here for a while.  Then we’ll have something to eat.  Is that all right with
you?”

“Yes, Duncan,” she smirked.

“Is that all you can say? 
Tomorrow, when I send you home, you’ll have to pack an overnight bag.  Extra
clothes and pajamas.  Toiletries and a toothbrush.  I’ll give you space in my
dresser so you can leave your things here.  And if I keep you all weekend,
you’ll need clothes for work on Monday.”

Stiffening, she squirmed to face
him.  “What?”

He had gone too far.  He was
rushing things and frightening her.  There was only so much control she could
give up at one time.  He silently cursed.

“It’s my birthday weekend.  Don’t I
get to keep you all weekend?” he asked innocently.

She narrowed her eyes.  “Are we
going to do more than stay in bed?”

He exhaled.  “Of course.  What’s
wrong?”

“This time was different.  Was it
love or sex?”

“I’m not going to lie to you.  You
drive me crazy.  It was both.”  He waited anxiously.

“That’s what I thought.  I wanted
to make sure we’re on the same page.  I’m completely satisfied and I have
absolutely no complaints.  I know you had a lot of tension.”  She giggled.

His heart restarted.  “You’ll pack
a bag and come back?”

“Yes.”  She curled up so they were
spooning again.

He held her close.  His breathing
slowed.  He needed to prove he wanted to spend time with her and not just have
sex.  He wanted to show he loved her.  Mike’s present was on the nightstand. 
An idea came to him as he drifted off.  He needed to call Mike.

As she drifted off to sleep, she
felt happy, but he needed to slow down.  If she told him she would move in with
him, he would probably jump at the idea.  Spending the weekend with him was not
an invitation she could ignore.  Even now she wondered what would happen if she
pressed her buttocks against him.  She didn’t want him to let her go.  She fell
asleep thinking how sexy he was and how her body longed for him.

A few hours later, he awoke.  It
was dark outside.  He was still holding her.  She was breathing deeply.  He
raised himself up, careful not to disturb her.  She was curled up on her side. 
She had her left index finger folded against her lips.  He smiled and made a
mental note to ask her about it.  He quietly got out of bed.  He found his underwear
on the floor and put on the gray t-shirt he used as pajamas.  He tiptoed over
to her side of the bed and picked up Mike’s gift.

Retreating to another room, he
opened the gift.  It was a hardcover copy of
The Hobbit
by J.R.R.
Tolkien.  Mike knew Duncan had always liked
The Hobbit
.  He called Mike
to thank him for the present.  As they exchanged pleasantries, he felt sheepish
making his request.  However, Mike understood and didn’t seem surprised. 
Duncan’s plan would work perfectly.  He thanked Mike and hung up.

He padded back to his bedroom.  He
paused.  She was still sleeping.  His heart ached because she looked as if she had
always been there.  She belonged there.  He fought the urge to crawl back into
bed and make love with her again.  He found a t-shirt for her to wear.  He sat
on her side of the bed.  It was so easy to think of it as her side of the bed.

He kissed her forehead.  “Meara?”

She stirred at the sound of his
voice.  “Hmm?”

“Meara, sweetheart, we should eat
something.  Wake up and have something to eat with me.”

“Duncan, is it still your
birthday?”

“Yes, for a few more hours.  I can
make us some sandwiches.”

She opened her eyes and sat up,
covering herself with the blanket.  “I should make you dinner.  It’s your day.”

“I insist.  Here’s a t-shirt for
you.  I’ll go make the sandwiches.  Meet me downstairs when you’re ready.”  He
kissed her forehead again.

She buried her nose in the t-shirt
he had given her, hoping it would smell like him.  She put on her bra and
panties.  She slipped on the t-shirt.  She picked up their clothes and folded
them on his dresser.  She lined up their shoes by the bed.  She pushed and
pulled the bedclothes until they looked presentable.  She fluffed the pillows
and picked up the afghan.  His t-shirt covered her thighs, but not as much of
her legs as she would have liked.

As she went downstairs, she wrapped
the afghan around her shoulders.  In the kitchen, he was busy preparing the
sandwiches.  He didn’t notice her in the doorway.  She hopped up onto one of
the bar stools at the kitchen counter.  He turned to see her sitting there,
smiling at him.  She was wrapped in Brenda’s afghan.  He corrected himself. 
Brenda had crocheted it, but it belonged to him.  Now it belonged to Meara.

“Did the t-shirt fit?” he asked.

“It hugs the right spots.  The
afghan helps,” she blushed, opening the afghan to let him see.

He inhaled and exhaled deeply.  “Do
you know those magazines we get at the library listing ways to drive your man
wild?  Wearing his clothes has to be on that list.  It’s definitely working.”

She giggled.  His face went blank. 
He put down the knife he was holding.  He caressed her dimple and ran his
fingers through her hair.  He pushed in between her legs and slipped his arm
around her waist.

“I thought you were going to feed
me,” she said.

“Are you hungry?” he whispered.

“I’m not sure we’re talking about
the same thing,” she cooed.

“I think you’re right.  We do need
some sustenance.  I promised a third pillow fight.  I’m a man of my word.  It’s
hard not to grab you and have my way with you on that stool.”

“And waste those good sandwiches
you’re making?  I don’t think so, Sir Duncan.”

“Lady Meara, I will summon all my
knightly willpower and feed you.” He went back to making sandwiches.  “Go
through the fridge and the cabinets.  Put whatever you want on the table.”

“Can I put that on the table?” she
asked innocently, slapping him on the butt.

“Woman, you’re evil,” he said,
trying to control himself.

“Why, yes.  Yes, I am,” she
giggled.

Pulling her into an embrace, he nuzzled
her neck.  “You have two choices.  The stool or the table.”

Her ears turned red.  “Ah…”

The telephone rang.  He ignored it,
but she shook her head.  He rolled his eyes.

“Saved by the phone.  You should
answer.  It could be important.”  She grinned.

He checked.  “It’s Andrew. 
Probably calling for my birthday.  It can go to voicemail.”

“No way!  Answer it!  Remember we
have all weekend.”

He sighed.  “You win.  For now. 
I’ll take it in the other room.  Hello, Andrew! How are you?  Fine, fine, thank
you.”

He spoke with Andrew for a few
minutes.  Before finishing the call, he reaffirmed plans for Thanksgiving.  As
he said goodbye, he found a staff emergency contact list on the dining room
table.  Diana’s number was next to Meara’s name.  He quickly dialed Diana’s
phone number.  Anne answered on the second ring.  He said hello and asked for
Diana.

“Hi, Diana.  Yes, Meara’s fine. 
No, I don’t want to get rid of her.  Diana, I need to ask a favor.”  He
explained what he had planned for the weekend.  “She doesn’t like surprises? 
Yes, I’m taking my life into my own hands, but your sister is worth it.  Thank
you, Diana.”

He was going to enjoy this weekend
very much, as long as Meara didn’t kill him.  If she did, it would be a very
short weekend.  His library would need a new director.  Smiling, he returned to
the kitchen.  There was something baking in the oven.

“What’s that?” he asked, curious.

“I found cake mix and frosting in
your cabinets.  I’m making you a birthday cake.”

They enjoyed a quiet dinner of turkey
sandwiches and potato chips.  He gave her soda to drink and waited for her to
bounce off the walls, but she didn’t.  He was relieved and she giggled.  They
curled up on the couch to watch the screwball comedy “My Man Godfrey.”  It was
one of his favorites and she loved it.  Once the cake was ready, she called him
to the kitchen.

She had two candles on the cake. 
“One candle represents the number of years and the other is for good luck. 
Last year, Anne put all the candles on my cake.  Not a pretty sight.”

She sang him for him.  He wrapped
his arms around her.  It was the sweetest thing anyone had done for him in a
very long time.  His heart was full of love for her.

“Make three wishes,” she said
softly.

Without letting her go, he blew out
the candles.  “Thank you for everything.”

“Anything for you, Duncan my love,”
she whispered.

“I’m going to hold you to that,” he
said cryptically.  “No questions right now.”

He cut two slices of cake.  They
headed back to the couch where she covered them with the afghan.  Snuggling
close, they ate the cake.  He set the empty plates on the coffee table and they
curled up under the afghan to watch late night news.  Holding her in his
embrace, he felt her relax.

He kissed her forehead.  “I love
you, Meara.  Thank you for the best birthday ever.”

“I love you.  I’ll never get tired
of saying that.  You’re welcome.  Thank you for a wonderful day too,” she
whispered sleepily.

He silently prayed she would still
love him after she learned of his surprise plans for the weekend.  He kissed
the top of her head and listened to her breathing.  She was fast asleep.  As he
closed his eyes, he wondered about the pillow fight he had promised for the wee
hours of the morning.  She was the first to wake up.  She extricated herself
from his embrace and padded to the bathroom.  When she came back, she gently
nudged him.