Jennifer Greene - Wintergreen

“I’m not going to behave myself,” she told him.

He chuckled again, lurched out of bed and disappeared into the dark hall. She was still smiling sleepily when he returned with a single glass of Pinot Noir for her from the kitchen. “This will cure your insomnia,” he remarked. “We can’t have you needing a book to put you to sleep every night.”

“Actually, I don’t think I’ll have that problem tonight.”

“The last thing I want to do is get up and leave you, Misha.”

But he was going to. He had to; she understood that. He had to go to work in the morning, and she had one small boy who would be popping back in at seven o’clock for breakfast.

Still, he put the glass on the nightstand, shifted the covers, crawled back beside her and lifted her so that she was cradled between his thighs, her head resting against his chest. She lifted her head long enough to take a single sip of wine and then set the glass down again. Absently, his hand nestled beneath the weight of one breast, his thumb stroking, as he kissed the top of her head. “What are you doing with a single bed, lady?” he whispered.

“Twin beds are cheaper.” She tilted her head back to look at him again. She liked looking at him. He had beautiful eyes. His hair was disheveled, all silvery at the sideburns. “You have a king-size, I’ll bet.”

“Don’t jump to conclusions. And no, I’m not going to tell you, Misha. You’ll have to find out for yourself.”

She decided she was uncomfortable and turned over so she was lying on her stomach, her breasts nestled against his chest. “Am I too heavy?” she murmured, and knew exactly why he’d shifted just a little.

“I think you know exactly what you are and what you’re doing,” he murmured back.

The pot calling the kettle black, she thought idly. His hands were lazily concentrating on the soft hollow at the small of her back as hers were reawakening the sensitive spot she’d discovered when her lips touched right over his heartbeat.

It was shameful, really. This wanton behavior… She didn’t want him to leave. When he was with her, she felt safe in a way she had never felt safe in her life, cherished, protected, drawn into the cocoon that was Matthew’s strength. She saw so many uncertainties in their relationship, so many reasons why she should want to move slowly and cautiously and sensibly, but when he was with her, her heart was full; she felt secure about the future, about love, about trust. He was the one man who seemed capable of healing all the bitter wounds from the past.

His body tensed responsively beneath her, and she slowly shifted her weight, moving her legs to make him more comfortable. His dark eyes locked with her pewter ones, which were peering out from beneath heavy lashes to assess his reaction. “So…” he whispered, his finger brushing a tender caress on her bottom lip. “This is how you want to make love this time?”

“I don’t know,” she whispered back, closing her eyes as she felt a dozen new little flames lick at her consciousness, reawakening a desire almost more intense than before. His touch was so exquisite. “Maybe,” she breathed. “With advice?”

“The last thing you need is advice,” Matthew said huskily, as he tossed the pillow from behind him on the floor. “You need nothing, Misha, to make you a more beautiful lover.” He drew her down so that her hair spun a curtain around their faces, sealing them in a very private world where they could see only each other. “And I love you for that,” he murmured. “But not just for that, Misha. I love you for so many reasons…”

Through half-closed lids, she watched him put on his clothes in the darkness. He had turned off the bedside lamp, but was faintly bathed in the brightness from the bathroom light. She knew he thought she was sleeping. He hadn’t made a move to go until he thought she was asleep, and she understood that Matthew objected to getting out of bed and deserting her after making love, that it was not the way he wanted to treat a woman he cared for.

Yet she had only pretended to sleep, knowing he was tired and, perhaps, simply wanting to watch him as she was now doing. He pulled the heavy fisherman’s sweater over his head, then absently smoothed back his ruffled hair. He cast one look at her blanketed form, at her hair spread out over the pale pillowcase, then shut off the bathroom light and walked softly from the room.

He had to put his shoes on yet, his coat. She knew he was still in the house, yet that instant of dark loneliness hit her like a bullet wound, shadowing the softer emotions that had colored her whole evening. Her eyes blinked open, and a sick feeling of dread threaded through her. Suddenly, her body tensed, and she threw off the covers and snatched up a robe. She belted the white robe as she hurried down the hall, finding Matthew just as he was putting on his coat. She approached no closer than the back of the couch by the hall, clenching the warm robe with whitened hands.

He turned, already aware of her. “I could have sworn you were asleep, you little-What’s wrong?” Even in the shadows, his perceptive eyes had taken in her sudden tension.

“Nothing. Matthew…” Her throat was suddenly dry, yet she knew what she had to say. Already it had gone too far; already she had fallen too hard and too deeply. “We have to finish that discussion,” she said lightly. He looked perplexed yet half-amused. “My faults, Matthew. Insomnia, losing socks. I have a few serious ones as well, things you should know about.” She took a breath. His eyes were tender on hers as he started to take a step forward. She shook her head, and he stopped. “I’ve got no claims to perfection, but unfaithfulness has never been one of my faults. No, don’t say anything.”

She knew he’d been about to speak. His face was like granite. He looked impatient; his smile was gone.

“I know what you said, Matthew, that you understood, that it was a long time ago, that you didn’t know or care now. Unfortunately, it matters too much to me. It wouldn’t be so important if I hadn’t started falling in love with you…”

“Misha.”

“I was not unfaithful to your brother. I never slept with anyone else.” She shrugged a little, trying without complete success to shake off the tremulous feeling of tearfulness, the shaky quality of her voice. “That’s all. In my heart, I know we have nowhere to go if you can’t take my word for truth. I could never believe you trusted me unless you know the kind of person I am. I know how it all looked-I know exactly.

“But I’m asking you, Matthew. I have to ask you, and as hard as this is to say, if you can’t believe me…”

Don’t see me again. Don’t make me fall in love any harder, any deeper. The words remained unsaid, but she knew he understood. He stood as still as a statue, staring at her, his face shrouded in darkness. “You’re so damned sure I won’t believe you, Misha.” His voice came out low and vibrant, almost angry.

She shook her head. “I want you to…think about it. A week, Matthew. No less. Please, I…”

“All right, a week,” he agreed quietly. “But then the ghosts are going to be buried, Misha. Or there just isn’t a future, is there?”

That was exactly what she was too terrified to say. He said nothing else when she turned and went swiftly back down the dark hall. She hesitated before going into the bedroom, until she heard the latch of the front door. She winced at the sound, with tears in her eyes.

The horse tossed its mane and whinnied in sheer frisky pleasure at the cold day. Lorna grinned, watching Johnny astride him. The child’s smile was so huge that every one of his teeth should have been cold.

“He’s a fine boy, Lorna,” Stan said next to her.