For His Little Girl. Lucy Gordon
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was lovely until she invited him to a family wedding. Big mistake. He only called her once more and that was to tell her he had to do a lot of overtime, so they’d better cool it.”
Ears flapping, Pippa listened to all the gossip and made mental notes of what not to do. Deciding what to do was harder.
He never actually asked her out, but their shifts were roughly the same, and whoever finished first would wait for the other. Then they would stroll home, his arm about her shoulders, while Luke talked like a crazy man and Pippa tried not to be too aware of how badly she wanted him to stop talking and start kissing.
She decided to be subtle about it. Instead of Luke always doing the cooking, she would prepare an intimate supper, at his place, candlelight, soft music, and one thing would lead to another.
It was a disaster.
It might have worked with any other man, but Luke was constitutionally unable to sit quiet while somebody else cooked for him. With the best will in the world he couldn’t refrain from suggesting that she turn the gas down and give this dish or that just a little more time.
In the end she stormed out. It was that or throw the lot over him.
Next day he was waiting for her with a posy and a heartfelt apology.
“I did you an injustice, didn’t I?” he said humbly. “You weren’t really going to do the crème caramel like that.”
The quarrel that resulted from this remark took three days to heal. But nobody could quarrel for long with a man as sweet tempered as Luke. When he realized she wasn’t going to make the first move he waited for her to leave the hotel and approached her with a finger pressed over his mouth.
“Good evening,” she said frostily.
He made no sound, but pointed to the silencing finger with his other hand.
“I’m going home now,” she declared.
But it was impossible. Whichever direction she took he was there before her, blocking off her exit, herding her toward the boarding house like a sheepdog with an awkward lamb.
“I don’t know what you think you’re playing at,” she said exasperated.
From his pocket he took a small notebook on which he’d already written, “Every time I open my mouth you get mad at me.”
“Oh, stop it!” she said, trying not to laugh, and completely failing.
“I’m sorry, Pippa,” he said, meekly. “I just can’t help it. Some people can’t travel in a car as a passenger. They just have to drive. I can’t be a passenger in a kitchen. I get hung up about how I’d do it and…” Catching her eye, he said hastily, “Let’s drop the subject. Come home with me and I’ll do the supper.”
She slid her arms about him, looking up into his face. “Hope it chokes you,” she said happily.
“You can sit and glare at me and make sure it does.”
They laughed. He kissed the end of her nose, and they strolled the rest of the way in perfect accord, their arms about each other’s waists.
What had they been arguing about? She’d forgotten before they reached home. All that was left was the joy of being in harmony with him again. That joy lifted her up so that she seemed to float on air. He existed. The world was a perfect place.
The supper was just as she had planned, soft lights, a rose beside her plate. But this time it was his doing. Afterward they sat on the sofa and he poured wine bought specially for the occasion.
“Forgive me?” he asked, lifting his glass to her.
“For what?”
“For being an insufferable know-it-all who can’t stop sticking his oar in where it isn’t wanted.”
“Oh, that,” she said airily. “I’m used to that. In fact, I’d better forgive you now for all the future occasions, too. Think how much time I’ll save.”
They laughed together. It was the perfect moment. She was sure of it. She leaned forward and very deliberately placed her lips against his.
She hadn’t gotten it wrong, she thought eagerly. She could feel the tremor in him that was the mirror image of her own. She pressed closer, kissing him more insistently until his response leaped up like fire, and his hands were on her arms, holding her tight.
But in the same moment she felt him gently pushing her away and separating his lips from hers. Pink with embarrassment and disappointment she glared at him.
“Is there something wrong with me?” she demanded, aggressive to hide her anguish.
“No,” he said gently, “there’s nothing wrong with you at all.”
She glared suspiciously. “You’re not gay, are you?”
He grinned and shook his head. “Word of honor.”
“Then why won’t you kiss me, you rotten swine?”
“Because I wouldn’t want to stop at kissing, and you—well, you’re young and—”
“Are you accusing me of being a virgin?” Pippa demanded hotly.
“It’s not an accusation—”
“Oh, no! It’s only like telling me that I’m a backward infant. In this day and age—”
“I suppose there are still virgins in this day and age,” he observed. He was looking tenderly into her face, and his lips were twitching.
“Not in London,” she said idiotically. She knew she was crazy, but she couldn’t stop herself.
“It’s just that there’s something about you—something very sweet and young—that made me think—oh, hell!” Now it was his turn to be embarrassed, and Pippa seized her chance to regain the initiative.
“You know your trouble, Luke? You think too much. What a lot of fuss you make over something that’s no big deal. The world is full of ships that pass in the night, and if…if people like each other…”
In later years, reliving that conversation, she’d heard the childish bravado and known that Luke must have heard it, too. He hadn’t been fooled—of course not. But whatever defenses he’d rallied against her had collapsed in a heap. Suddenly she was in his arms, his fingers were working urgently on her buttons, and everything was happening as she had dreamed.
When he released her breasts she was almost ashamed of them. They were so proudly peaked, the nipples already firm, the aureoles dark, telling their own tale of the desire she’d been trying to hold back. What had happened to maidenly modesty?
Then he laid his lips gently against one, teasing it with his tongue, and she thought, when she could manage to think at all, to hell with maidenly modesty!
As his tongue nudged the nipple softly back and forth she thought she might go out of her mind. How could anything feel like this, and how had she spent so long not knowing? So much time wasted! It was a conspiracy.
She took a long, trembling breath and dug her fingers into him as his lips and tongue continued their tormenting work. With every rasp the world shivered into glittering fragments, blinded her, faded, began again.
He undressed her slowly, removing garments as though there was plenty of time. Only his quickened breathing and the way his fingers shook as he eased off her jeans hinted at how frantically he was controlling himself until the right moment. Then her panty hose slid away, and at last she was naked.
He removed his own clothes in a hurry and chucked them on the floor without taking his eyes from Pippa.
“Hello,” he said, smiling.
“Hello.” She sounded breathless.
She’d never shown her body off to a man before, but she knew she could be proud of its slim, youthful