Gwynne Forster - Sealed With a Kiss

He stripped and went to bed, but sleep eluded him. One thing was sure: if he didn’t have the boys, he’d be on his way to Bethesda, and the devil take the morrow.

Naomi unlocked her studio, threw her shoulder bag on her desk and opened the window a few inches. The sent of strong coffee wafted up from a nearby cafeteria, but she resisted retracing her steps to get some and settled for a cup of instant. She had barely slept the night before. Rufus had weighted the temptation of kissing her against the harm of doing it, and harm had won out. It wasn’t flattering no matter how you sliced it, especially since she had wanted that kiss. When had she last kissed a man, felt strong masculine arms around her? She knew she was being inconsistent, wanting Rufus while swearing never to get involved. Keeping the vow had been easy…until she’d first heard his voice. When she saw him, it was hopeless. She sipped the bland-tasting coffee slowly.

Images of him loving her and then walking away from her when he learned her secret had kept her tossing in bed all night. She’d finished reading his first book, The Family at Risk, and had been appalled at some of his conclusions: the family in American society had lost its usefulness as a source of nurturing, health care, education, and economic, social, and psychological support for the young. Spouses, he complained, had separate credit cards, separate bank accounts, and separate goals. Oneness was out of fashion. Homemaking as an occupation invited scorn, and women avoided it if they could. He claimed that the family lost its focal point when women went to work, and without them as its core, the family had no unity. She hadn’t realized how strongly he believed that women had a disproportionate responsibility for the country’s social ills. He wouldn’t accept her past, she knew, so she’d put him behind her.

She laughed at herself. She didn’t have such a big problem, just a simple matter of forgetting about Rufus. But what red-blooded woman would want to do that? It was useless to remain there staring at the stark white walls. “I’m going home and put on the most chic fall outfit in my closet,” she declared, “and then I’m going to lunch at the Willard Hotel.”

The maître d’ gave her a choice table with a clear view of the entrance. The low drone of voices and the posh room where lights flickered from dozens of crystal chandeliers offered the perfect setting for a trip into the past, but she savored her drink and resisted the temptation; wool gathering slowed down your life, she told herself. Suddenly, she felt the cool vintage wine halt its slow trickle down her throat, almost choking her, and heated tremors stole through her as Rufus walked toward her. But her excitement quickly dissolved into angst when his hand steadied the attractive woman who preceded him. He wasn’t alone.

The sight of the handsome couple deeply engrossed in serious conversation stung her, and she lowered her eyes to shield her reaction. She looked at the grilled salmon and green salad when the waiter brought it, and pushed it aside. She just wanted to get out of there. Aware that she had ruined the day for the little maître d’, she apologized, paid with her credit card, and stood to leave. A glance told her that Rufus was still there, still absorbed in his companion and their conversation. She took a deep breath, wrapped herself in dignity, and with her head high, marched past his table without looking his way.

The furious pace of her heartbeat alarmed her, and she decided it would be foolish to drive. Dinosaurs. This was a good time to see them. But on her way to the Smithsonian Institute, the crisp air and gentle wind lured her to the Tidal Basin, and she walked along the river, deep in thought. Why was she upset at seeing Rufus with another woman? There wasn’t anything between her and him, and there couldn’t be anything between them. Not ever. She took a few pieces of tissue from her purse, spread them out, and sat down. She could no longer deny that he was becoming important to her, so she braced her back against a tree and contemplated what to do about it.

“Even if you wanted to be alone, you didn’t have to pick such a deserted place. Are you looking for trouble?”

By the time Rufus ended the question, she was on her feet, trembling with feminine awareness at the unexpected sound of his voice. “Don’t you know you shouldn’t frighten a person like that?” she huffed, not in annoyance, but in pulsing anticipation. “It’s downright sadistic, the way you suddenly appear. Where did you leave your date?” She blanched, realizing that she had given herself away, but pretended aloofness. She didn’t want him to know that seeing him with an attractive woman had affected her.

He cocked an eyebrow. “I helped Miss Hunt get a taxi, and she went back to her office.”

“Why are you telling me that?” she asked, as if he hadn’t merely answered her question. “It isn’t my concern.”

“I didn’t suggest otherwise. Are you okay?”

“Of course, I’m okay,” she managed to reply, and turned her back so that her quivering lips wouldn’t betray her. “How did you get here?” It was barely a whisper.

“I followed you. When you passed my table immediately after your lunch was served, you seemed distressed. I wanted to be sure you were all right.”

He walked around her in order to face her. “I was surprised to see you lunching alone in that posh place. I only go there because Angela, my agent, loves to be seen there. She says it’s good for her image.”

Intense relief washed through her, and she gasped from the joy of it. Her mind told her to move back, to remember who she was and that she had reasons to avoid a deeper involvement with him, but her mind and heart were not in sync, she learned.

Oblivious to the squirrels that were busily hoarding for the winter, the blackbirds chirping around them, and the wind whistling through the trees, she stood with her gaze locked into his, shaken by her unbridled response to him. She was barely aware of the dry leaves swirling around them and the wind’s accelerated velocity as they continued to devour each other with the heat in their eyes, neither of them speaking or moving. Feeling chill-like tremors, she rubbed her arms briskly, letting her gaze shift to his lips.

His sharp intake of breath as he opened his arms thrilled her, and she walked into them, her body alive with hot anticipation. He had lost his war with himself, and she gloried in his defeat. She felt him sink slowly to the turf, clasping her tightly. He lay with her above him, protecting her from the hard ground. She knew, when he immediately helped her to her feet without even kissing her, that their environment alone had stopped him. Blatant desire still radiated from him. She didn’t remember ever having encountered such awesome self-control.

“Chicken sandwiches and ginger ale taste about the same as grilled salmon and salad,” she told him, when they finished.

“Something like that occurred to me, too.” He smiled.

They stood at the curb, near her parked car, neither speaking nor touching, just looking at each other. She hadn’t noticed that he’d shortened his sideburns or that he had a tiny brown mole beside his left ear. And in the sunlight, she could see for the first time that his fawnlike eyes were rimmed with a curious shade of brownish green. Beautiful. A lurch of excitement pitched wildly in her chest. Back off, girl, before you can’t! Without a word, she turned blindly toward her car, but he grabbed her hand, detaining her, and forced her to look at him. Then he brushed her cheek tenderly with the back of his closed fist and let her go.

She drove slowly. She could stay away from him, she thought, if he wasn’t so charismatic. So handsome. So sexy. So honorable. And oh, God, so tender and loving with his kids. He was a chauvinist, maybe—she was becoming less positive of that—had a trigger-fast temper, and was unreasonable sometimes. But he made her feel protected, and he was the epitome of man. Man! That was the only word for him and, if she were honest, she’d admit that she wanted everything he could give a woman—his consuming fire, his drugging power and heady masculine strength—just once in her life. But most of all, she wanted the tenderness of which she knew he was capable. Naomi laughed at herself. Who was she kidding? Well, her grandpa had always preached that thinking didn’t cost you anything; it was not thinking that was expensive. She mused over that as she drove, deciding that in her case, both could cost a lot. Once with him would never be enough, she conceded, wondering how he was handling their…encounter.