What a Man's Gotta Do (15 page)

“I'm almost afraid to touch you.”

“They're not bubbles. They won't burst. Promise.”

He let out a startled laugh, then kissed her again. And apparently her reassurance had done the trick, because he touched, too. And, oh, how he touched, with a tenderness that scared her half to death. Then his mouth strayed down to join the party and she heard whimpers and moans come out of her throat because he was so incredibly good at what he was doing and she was so incredibly glad he'd decided to stay. A draft skittered across her heated skin as he tugged down the pajama bottoms, and he palmed her soft belly and sighed again and said something about her being a helluva woman, which earned him a good twenty, thirty Brownie points right there. And the knot—we all remember the knot, right?—got deliciously hotter and tighter and sweeter until she thought, on a giggle, “I'm ready for my orgasm now, Mr. King.” Except she stopped giggling when his fingers dipped inside her, touching her in all the best places.

She murmured something about this not seeming fair, to
which he said, simply, “Shut up and let me do this,” and she thought,
oh, okay
as she clung to him, the wall solid and cool against her back, idly thinking of all the puns she could now make using the word
entryway
and how she'd never be able to look at the one where she now stood the same way again. And wasn't it odd that she didn't feel the least bit strange, letting this man do these things to her, when she wasn't at all the kind of woman who normally let men do what Eddie was doing?

Then that thought said
“See ya,”
leaving a glorious, dizzying joy in its place as that which she had so long awaited swept through her.

And swept through her.

And…swept…through…her….

And, boy oh boy, was she glad they were alone in the house and that it was winter and the windows were closed, because—probably since it'd been three years and all—she truly outdid herself in the scream department.

Eddie held her for a long time afterward—which was a damn good thing because she would have crumpled to the floor otherwise—stroking her bottom, her back, kissing her hair as she nestled against all that gentle solidness, listening to his heartbeat thundering in his chest. Then he pulled her pajama bottoms back up, letting them snap gently against the small of her back, and cradled her jaw in his palm, his thumb whispering over her cheek. And the longing and wonder in his expression scared her all over again, because that might mean this was more than sex, and if that was the case, she was in big trouble.

Then she heard a key turn in the lock and
knew
she was in big trouble.

H
is brain still half fogged, Eddie couldn't at first figure out why Mala had jumped away from him, frantically trying to button up her pajama top, or why the dog, who'd been conspicuously absent for the past few minutes, was suddenly yapping and scratching at the—

“Door!” Mala rasped, bug-eyed, and it finally clicked that they were about to have company and that, whoever it was, they probably were going to be shocked at discovering him there with her in her pajamas looking suspiciously like a woman who'd made a recent trip to Shangri-La.

A second later, Mala's mother burst into the house, hand-in-hand with a very unhappy Carrie wearing her nightgown underneath her purple parka, followed by a heavy-set, gray-haired man with an even unhappier Lucas in his arms.

“Ma! Pop! What—? Ohmigod—” Just that fast, the woman whose cries of pleasure had twisted him inside out crammed on her Mama hat, as Mala dropped to her knees in front of her about-to-cry daughter, palming her little face and trying to elbow the dog out of her way. “Criminy, sweetie, you're burning up!”

“I don't feel good…”

“Swear to God,” her mother said, “they were both fine when we put them to bed at eight-thirty.”

“Then this one wakes up cryin' and pukin' his guts out,” said the man holding Lucas—Mala's father, obviously. “Must be this damn flu goin' around.”

“Marty, for godssake, watch your language. Anyway, we would've kept them, you know that, but they both said they wanted to come home, so there wasn't a whole lot we could say. And why is it so dark in here?” Bev finished, reaching for the switch to the overhead.

“No, Ma…it's okay—”

Light flooded the entryway; Eddie cringed as understanding streaked across both parents' faces. Yeah, Mala'd gotten herself pulled back together, but she was wearing pajamas, she wasn't wearing a bra, and her face and neck were positively ablaze with beard burns.

“Mommy,” Carrie said. “I think I'm gonna throw up.”

Mala scooped her up and whisked her down the hall, while Bev, after a very pointed glance in Eddie's direction, carted off Lucas to his bedroom.

Leaving Eddie with Mala's father and consequently wishing he were dead.

A big man, Mala's father. Early sixties, maybe. Tall as Eddie, a good deal heavier. Not somebody you'd want to mess with. Especially, Eddie figured, when it came to his daughter.

The two men stood in the hallway, Marty with his arms crossed, Eddie with his fingers jammed in his back pockets, both of them staring after the women. From the bathroom came faint, frantic, barfing sounds.

“Poor little guys,” Marty said, and Eddie said, “Yeah, it's tough,” probably too quickly.

“So.” Marty swiveled his large head, his eyes narrowed. “You the new tenant?”

“Yes, sir, I am.” He stuck out his hand. “Eddie King.”

The handshake was short and strong. “Marty Koleski. Bev and me, we was up to
Galen's
a few weeks ago. You're one helluva chef, boy.”

“Thank you.”

“Break my daughter's heart and you're dead meat.”

“Yes, sir, I'll be sure to keep that in mind.”

Marty nodded, just once, then said, “So. You follow football?”

 

They got the kids tucked into bed, although Mala imagined she'd be up most of the night with them. She didn't like to give them medicine unless it was absolutely necessary, so she'd have to keep an eye on the fevers. But Galen's stepdaughter Wendy had just had it, and she was fine within twenty-four hours, so maybe this wouldn't be too bad.

“God, I'm sorry, baby,” Bev whispered.

Tucking Carrie's sheets around her shoulders, she darted a glance at her mother. “About?”

“It was so late, Marty and me thought we'd just slip in instead of ringing the bell. I was even gonna spend the night and not wake you….”

Mala threw her mother a “shut up” look, then kissed her fretfully dozing daughter on the cheek before ushering her mother from the room.

“I mean,” Bev continued sotto voce the instant they were in the hall, never mind that Marty and Eddie—wherever they were—could probably hear everything she was saying, “I never even imagined you and he would be…you know.”

“Ma! Please!” In the silence that followed, they could hear voices coming from the living room, so Bev grabbed Mala by the arm and hauled her into the kitchen.

“You think I don't know what was going on?” Bev said the instant the door closed behind them. “For godssake, you're not even buttoned up right. Not to mention the beard burns.”

“Oh, geez, Ma…”

“Not that I'm embarrassed or nothing. Hell, I'm thrilled. It's not healthy, refusing to let a man get near you. Here's a newsflash for you, baby—there's life after Scott.”

Mala sank down on one of the kitchen chairs, her face buried in her hands. Terrific. Now her mother was going to think she and Eddie had something going—as in, something
real
—since
there was no way in hell she was going to tell her mother they were just…just…

Oh, hell…the woman had had a hard enough time dealing with Mala's divorce; finding out her daughter was just in it for the sex would probably send her over the edge.

“Mama!”

Mala pushed herself up from the table, half thought about rebuttoning her top, immediately dismissed the idea. “Thanks for taking care of the kids and bringing them home, but you can go away now.”

“And now you're mad, right?”

“No, Ma,” she said wearily. “Why would I be mad? Because you brought my sick kids home so their own mother could take care of them?”

“No. Because—”

“Ma-maaaa!”

Mala was already out the door, heading off Lucas in the hall just in time to push him into the bathroom before he upchucked all over the hall runner. “Go home,” she called over her shoulder to her mother. “Please.”

“How'm I gonna leave you with this—?”

“Ma!”

“Okay, Miss Stubborn. But you call me if you need me, got it?”

When Mala herded her whimpering son out the bathroom a few minutes later, the house was blissfully parent-free. She tucked Lucas back in, stroked his prickly hair for a second before he asked for something to drink. On her way to the kitchen to get some ginger ale, she heard voices from Carrie's room. She peered into the dimly lit room, saw Eddie standing at the foot of her daughter's bed, his hands tucked in his back pockets as usual. For some reason, it hadn't occurred to her he'd still be there. When she found her voice, she said to Carrie, “I'm going to get Lucas some ginger ale, sweetie. Would you like some?”

Carrie nodded. Eddie followed Mala down the hall.

“And why are
you
still here?” she said, yanking open the refrigerator door.

“You think I'm gonna leave you to take care of two sick kids all by yourself all night, you're crazy,” he said quietly, taking the bottle from her hands and pouring out two cups of soda.

She stood with her arms crossed for a moment, trying to fit this into her brain. “Eddie, for crying out loud, you're half dead on your feet—”

“And you're not?”

“They're my kids. It comes with the territory. And I can tell you from experience, this isn't going to be fun.”

He stood less than a foot in front of her, his hands clamped around the cups. “I kinda figured that much.”

“Eddie, I wouldn't even let my
mother
stay.”

“I'm not your mother. And I'm not leaving. So deal with it.”

Then he walked out of the kitchen, leaving Mala wondering if this was what getting caught in quicksand felt like. Because if he kept doing stuff like this, it was going to be real hard to keep from getting attached to the man.

If…oh, dear God…she wasn't already.

 

Eddie woke up with a start, momentarily disoriented until he figured out where he was. He lay half-sprawled on Mala's sofa, one foot on the floor, a puny afghan covering his chest. Irritatingly cheerful sunlight knifed through a gap in the drapes, which meant it was morning.

He sat up with a groan, which got the pup to jumping all over the place in his split to go outside. Last Eddie remembered, he'd gotten Lucas settled back in bed after at least the kid's sixth trip to the john to throw up, then gone out to the living room to just sit for a spell, rest his eyes.

Grateful
yarped
at him, butt in air, wagging his stubby little tail. Eddie dragged himself off the sofa and into the kitchen to let the blasted beast out.

When he was fully awake, he was going to have to take a real serious look at what he was getting himself into here. Why was it, everytime he turned around, it seemed this woman and/or her kids needed something, and he seemed to be the one
picked to take care of whatever it was they needed? Not that he minded, but then, that was the problem, his
not
minding. In fact, other than the fact that he might never walk straight again, he thought, rubbing his lower back as he went to check up on the other human beings in the house, he wasn't minding being a part of this at all.

Which was just plain stupid, and he damn well knew it. Sex was one thing; taking care of a pair of sick kids because he wasn't the kind of man who could just go off and leave it all to their mama, well, there was nothing wrong about that, either. But there was no sense letting anybody get used to this. What had happened over the past few days wasn't anything but a set of extenuating circumstances. Didn't mean he was going to allow himself to get sucked into thinking he was anything but what he was—a man who didn't really belong anyplace.

A man who couldn't love anybody the way these people deserved to be loved.

He peered into Lucas's room; the kid was sound asleep, clutching that pitiful-looking bear of his, his breathing normal. Well, good. He'd felt sorry for the kid, sure, being sick and all, but Eddie just naturally felt bad when somebody was hurting. It didn't mean anything out-of-the-ordinary. Besides, it would take a real special person to be able to put up with the kid's whining the way his mother did. That much patience, Eddie didn't have.

Then he looked in on Carrie, who was also dead to the world, those red curls of hers sprawled all over her pillow. Like this, she almost looked like a sweet kid, Eddie thought wryly, only then noticing that Mala was on the other side of her daughter's bed, asleep sitting up, half-draped across the bed beside her little girl. And he got to thinking about how much she loved these two little pills, and his heart got all twisted up inside him, especially when he thought about her response to his touch last night. Which, considering everything that had transpired right after, he hadn't been able to do much about. Then something knotted in his gut, right below the twisted heart, and he thought, shoot—at this rate, his insides were going to look like they had been set upon by manic Boy Scouts.

The woman made him feel good, he realized. And not just physically, although he had no doubt, if they ever actually got around to doing what they were supposed to have done last night, she would be no slouch in that department. But
good,
good. Like he mattered. Like she gave a damn what he thought, what he was feeling. When he talked to her, she'd get this little frown of concentration on her face, like she was determined to absorb every word. He liked that. Hell, he could get a woman to sleep with, anytime, even if he didn't always take advantage of every opportunity that tried to crawl into his lap. But having someone to talk to—well, that was a new experience for him. He couldn't remember ever liking a woman the way he liked Mala Koleski, and that's why he knew this could be really bad news, if he didn't watch his step.

He considered leaving her be, then thought, no, she couldn't possibly be comfortable like that.

Mala jerked awake at his touch on her shoulder, confusion heavy in her eyes when she looked up at him. Her hair was a mess, and her cheek was all creased from sleeping on the rumpled sheet. But she looked even softer than she usually did, and when she frowned as she laid a hand on Carrie's cheek to feel her temperature, all those knots inside him got pulled another notch tighter.

She awkwardly pulled herself to her feet, swiping her hair out of her face when they got to the hall.

“What time is it?” she whispered on a yawn, picking up speed as she got closer to her room.

“About eight. They both look down for the count, you should go get some sleep yourself—”

“Can't. I've got two appointments I can't cancel. God, I hope my mother can come sit for a couple hours.” She scooted inside her room, called out from inside, “And don't you dare volunteer.”

“Not to worry.” Eddie leaned against the doorway, figuring considering where he'd touched and all last night, peeking into her bedroom wasn't exactly a violation of her privacy. “Far as I'm concerned, it's definitely time for the next shift.”

Shoo-eee, that bed looked good. For more reasons than one.
That nice, soft comforter and all those pillows… And it would smell all pretty and sweet, he bet. Just like Mala.

Who paused in the middle of fighting her way into a very unsexy, white terry cloth robe and shot him a funny look, like she could hear his thoughts.

Then she swept past him, her slippers shooshing against the hall runner as she ducked into the bathroom, began fussing around with towels and things.

“Did you get any rest?” she asked.

“Some, I guess, since I came to on your sofa. Which, by the way, leaves a lot to be desired as a place to sleep.” He watched as she squirted some minty-smelling goop into the toilet, swished around the johnny mop. “Mala, honey, I think your mama would understand if the place wasn't spanking clean.”