Danielle Steel - Lightning

“Brock …what are we doing …” she asked, barely able to think, and in another minute, she knew she wouldn't. “What are we …what …ohhh …” she moaned softly, as he unzipped her pants, and slid a hand into them, and then pulled them down slowly. Without thinking, she stepped out of them, and his hands began to explore her legs, her hips, her thighs, and further. And as he did, she took off his clothes, and in a few minutes they stood naked in the cozy house he had brought her to for the second time, and he laid her on the couch in front of the blazing fire, and touched every inch of her with his lips. He kissed her breast, and then her scar, and then let his tongue travel slowly south as she arched beneath his touch, and he pressed himself against her. “Oh Brock … oh Brock …” She couldn't believe what was happening. How could they be doing this? He was her friend. But suddenly he was so much more. He was a part of her world, her life, her body, as he entered her, and they each let out a long, soft moan of endless desire and anticipation. They moved together for a long time, as the fire blazed, and the sparks flew from time to time, and then suddenly he gave an astounding shout, and she gave an astonishing shudder as they came together. And then they lay silent and stunned in each other's arms. He had wanted her for so long, and she had never realized any of what he'd been feeling. They had grown slowly together like two trees, their leaves entwined, their roots slowly becoming one, until they were separate no longer.

“Oh, my God, what happened?” She smiled lazily at him, as he kissed her again, and then pulled her closer to him, as he lay still inside her.

“Would you like me to explain?” he asked. “You don't know, you will never know, how I have longed for this. You will never know how much I have loved you, and prayed for this moment to come, if you'll pardon the pun.” He was beaming.

“Where was I when all this was going on?” she said, looking amazed, and blissfully happy. She had never been happier than at that moment. He was sensitive and kind and incredibly sexy. And they had been friends for so long that it was easy to love him now. The transition had been gentle and strong, and now she felt bound to him forever. “How did I miss what you were feeling?” she asked again, feeling very stupid.

“You were too busy throwing up.”

“Apparently.” She smiled at him again. “I'm glad I did something as subtle as take my clothes off.” She laughed suddenly at how naive she'd been. She'd never thought for a moment that it would come to this, but she was glad it had. She couldn't believe that she had made love to him, with her “deformity” and her scar, without even trying to hide it from him. And now he gently slipped off her wig and tossed it aside too. They needed no artifice between them. “I guess this means I don't get reconstructive surgery. I got the younger guy instead. Wasn't that the choice?” she smiled, and then she began to worry. “Do you realize how old I am, you young fool? I'm ten years older than you. I'm practically old enough to be your mother.”

“Bullshit. You act like you're twelve. You'd be a mess without me,” he said honestly, without arrogance or pretension.

“That happens to be true. But I'm still older than you are.”

“I'm not impressed.”

“You should be. When you're ninety, I'll be a hundred.”

“I'll close my eyes when we make love,” he assured her.

“I'll lend you my wig.”

“Good.” He grabbed it then and put it on, and she laughed as he kissed her again, and she felt him rise again. And suddenly there was an urgency to his kisses, an insistence that nothing would satisfy except her body. They made love again, lying by the fire, and afterwards, afraid of exhausting her, he went and got a blanket from his bed and covered her, and they lay together as she slept in his arms. He was a happy man. And he knew he would never let her go now. He had waited too long for her to come to him, and she had drifted into his arms naked and without guile, and now he would do anything he had to, to keep her. At last, she was his now, and no longer Sam's. And Brock had every intention of holding on to her forever.

Chapter 17

Brock went to chemotherapy with her the week after they'd been to Vermont, and he sat quietly with her during the examination, followed by the intravenous treatment. All of her X rays and scans had been coming up clear, and she only had seven more weeks now. Dr. Webber was very pleased with her, and included Brock in their discussions about the treatment. She treated them very much as a couple.

“This is weird.” Alex smiled shyly at him as they took a cab back to the office. She was leaning against him and feeling the first waves of nausea begin, but she was very relaxed with him. There was no embarrassment between them.

“What's weird?” he asked, watching her to make sure she was as all right as she could be.

“We are.” Alex smiled, adjusting her wig, which had gotten crooked. “People treat us like we're married. Did you ever notice that? Yesterday in Sugarbush, the guy in the grocery store thought you were my husband. And Dr. Webber acts like You've been coming in all along. Doesn't anyone realize I'm almost old enough to be your mother?” She was surprised at how easy it all was. They had only been physically involved for three days, and it already seemed completely natural, not only to them, but to those around them.

“I guess they don't notice,” he said, kissing her nose. “That blows that, doesn't it, Ma?”

“You should be out playing with fourteen-year-olds. Healthy fourteen-year-olds.”

“Mind your own business, Counselor.” The only thing they both knew they had to do was keep it a secret at work. Partners and associates were not allowed to “fraternize,” or get married, or involved, or one of them would have to leave the firm. It was a pretty standard rule in law firms, and as the junior person to her, Brock would have lost his job, if anyone knew they were dating.

They chatted as they drove, and eventually, they got stuck in traffic. It took too long for them to get back, and the effects of the chemotherapy overcame her three blocks from their destination. They had to pull over and Brock held her gently as she vomited into the gutter on Park Avenue in front of dozens of people standing on the curb. It was terrible, and she was mortified, but she couldn't stop. Even the cab-driver felt sorry for her. It was obvious she wasn't drunk, but really sick. Brock told him to wait, and leave the meter running. It was half an hour before she could drive on again. Brock wanted to take her home, but she insisted on going back to the office with him.

“Stop being stupid, for heaven's sake. You need to go home and rest.”

“I have work to do.” And then she smiled through her misery. “Don't think you can push me around now because I'm in love with you.”

“That would be too easy.”

He paid the cab, and took her upstairs. He had to support her as she walked, but no one who saw her thought of anything except that he was helping her. All the partners who knew them knew that Brock was her associate, and that she had been sick for months. People still felt very sorry for her.

Liz went to get her a cup of tea, and she spent another hour on the bathroom floor, with Brock alternately holding her and keeping her company. And when she felt a little better, she would talk to him about one of her cases.

“This is sick,” she said finally. “We do more business in this bathroom than we do at my desk.”

“Not for much longer,” he reminded her, and it had been worth it. According to Dr. Webber, the cancer was gone, hopefully forever.