Gwynne Forster - Passion's Price

He set her on her feet, adjusted her blouse and caressed her cheek.

“I can’t believe I went crazy like that, Mike. I’ve never in my whole life felt like that. I’m—”

“When were you thinking of me? Just before you met me on the steps,” he whispered.

She could lie or she could get mad at him. She did neither. “A few minutes before you met me on the stairs. How did you know?”

“Because your face blushed with color, and you wouldn’t look me in the eye. What do you mean you never felt that way before?”

“I haven’t.”

“I see. Is there a man in your life now?”

She buried her face in the curve of his neck. “No one.”

“There’s a strong physical attraction between us, Darlene, and I think we ought to see where it takes us. What about it?”

“I don’t know. I live in Maryland, and you’re here. Besides, I’m not sure I want a guy who can make me do what I just did.”

He stepped back and stared at her. “I hope you’re kidding. You want to be with a man who can’t fire your passion? That makes no sense to me.”

“Come on,” she said. “Let’s go downstairs before Boyd decides we’re up to something. Besides, won’t he sneak out?”

“No. He’s afraid to do that. You never answered my question.”

“But we don’t know each other, Mike.”

“Right. And I’m asking that you give us a chance to get to know each other. I want to know what makes you happy, what ticks you off, angers you, saddens you, your hobbies, your joys, secrets, likes and dislikes. Are you a Republican or a Democrat?”

“Don’t insult me by even suggesting that I could be a Republican.”

“At least I know that much.” He put an arm around her. “Our food should be here any minute. Come on.”

He paid for the food, and she neither objected nor questioned him about it. The three of them ate before sitting down to watch a movie. At about nine o’clock, Boyd announced that he was going to bed.

“You take the guest room, Darlene, and Mike—” said Boyd.

“I’m sleeping down here on the sofa.”

“Sure,” Boyd said. “The sofa opens into a double bed. See you tomorrow morning. Good night, Darlene. I’m sorry you have to be here, but in a way, I’m glad you came. You brighten the place.”

Darlene watched as he climbed the stairs—almost jauntily, she thought.

“He seems happy,” Darlene said to Mike when they were alone.

“I think he is. He likes you a lot. You’re gracious and…well, gentle with him.”

“So are you.”

“I’m just being myself. A woman expresses gentleness quite differently than a man. Besides, he doesn’t want me fussing over him, but your little pats on his arms and his shoulders make him feel cherished.”

She walked over to Mike and gave his shoulder a soft caress. “Did that make you feel cherished?”

His eyes darkened, and his nostrils flared. “Unless you want to spend the night on this sofa with me, get up those stairs.”

She cocked her head to the side and exhaled deeply. “Nobody orders me around, Mike. I’ll go up the stairs when I get ready.”

“If you’re trying to see what I’m made of, you’re moving in the right direction. I want to make love to you, and if you don’t get up those stairs now, I will.”

“Don’t be so sure.”

“I know the music that makes you dance, and I’m skilled at playing it.” He walked toward her, but she stepped backward until her back touched the arm of the sofa. The next minute she was lying on her back, and he was standing over her. “What will it be, Darlene? This isn’t a time for teasing.”

She raised her right hand to him. “Please help me up. I want to kiss you good-night, but I’m scared to.”

He helped her up and wrapped her in his arms, but before she could return the caress, he pressed a quick kiss to her lips and released her. “Sleep well, baby. By the way, I forgot to give you this travel-size toiletry pack. I bought it at the supermarket.”

Her arms went around him. “You’re so sweet. It’s just what I needed. Thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” he said, his voice rough and shaky. “Now, go on upstairs.”

She parted her lips over his and took his tongue into her mouth. “Night.” She ran up the stairs. He didn’t know it, but, as mad as he made her sometimes, she didn’t see herself ever forgetting about him.

Mike opened the sofa bed and smiled. He had expected to have a miserable night’s sleep on a sofa with his feet hanging off it, but the large mattress guaranteed comfort. He took a shower and headed back downstairs as quickly as possible, carefully avoiding the room in which Darlene slept. For whatever reason the woman was temptation personified. But not even the thoughts of her soft and willing body tight in his arms was going to make him violate his official oath—to serve and protect. Bad enough that he’d kissed her while on duty, but he was not going further than that.

He checked the front and back doors, turned off the lights and slipped between the sheets, irritated that for modesty’s sake, and in the event of an emergency, he had to sleep in pajama bottoms. He loved the feel of his naked flesh against cool, clean sheets. He closed his eyes and told himself to sleep—a routine that usually guaranteed he’d doze off quickly. But instead of sleeping, he spent the next two hours tossing and turning, half-awake. Exhausted, he sat up and turned on a light. He knew the symptoms had to do with Darlene and his sexual frustration. What had caused him to think such a thing? After drinking a glass of warm milk, he got back in bed and was soon asleep.

He awakened, groggy and tired. “Wake up, Mike. I brought you a cup of coffee,” Boyd said. “It’s not as good as yours, but it will wake you up.”

“Thanks, Boyd. What time is it?”

“Seven-thirty, and I just heard Darlene upstairs, so you’d better get dressed.”

He sipped the coffee. “You’re improving. This is good.” He got up, dressed, made the bed, closed the sofa bed and drank the remainder of the coffee. What had Boyd Farmer been like before his life was turned upside down by the witness protection program? The question had begun to bother him. Boyd was no different than any other person minding their own business only to have their life turned upside down after witnessing a murder. After washing up, Mike walked into the kitchen, where Boyd stood peeling a pineapple.

“Mind if I ask you a question or two, Boyd?”

“Nope. I may not answer, though,” he replied, continuing to cut the fruit.

“Who are your close relatives—for example, people you would want to be contacted if you got sick?”

Boyd stopped peeling the pineapple and looked directly at Mike. “I have two nieces, a nephew and a cousin, and I don’t want any of those vultures near me.”

Mike’s mouth dropped. “What? But—”

“Surprised you, didn’t I?”

“Absolutely. You mean if you died, you wouldn’t want your relatives to know?”

“Right. They wouldn’t care. Do you know how to make pancakes?”

“Yeah. I take ’em out of the box and pop ’em in a toaster.”

He hadn’t heard Boyd laugh before, and the sound of it surprised him. “I was hoping for some homemade.”

“I wondered where you two were. Good morning,” Darlene said.

“Good morning,” Mike responded. “Did you sleep well?”

“You bet I did. That bed is pure luxury. How’d you sleep down here?”

I fought the sheets half the night trying to deal with my passion for you, he said to himself. “Fine,” he said, and made himself grin.

“Have you ever made pancakes, Darlene?” Boyd asked. “I’d love to have some.”

Darlene rolled up the sleeves of her blouse. “Give me flour, baking powder, eggs, milk, salt, butter and fifteen minutes.”