Grounds For Marriage. Daphne Clair
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such a nice man!’ she told him gratefully.
He chuckled, drawing her closer and rubbing his cheek gently against her temple. ‘Thank you. I’m very glad you think so. I hope your daughter will come to the same conclusion. I want to get to know her properly.’ His mouth touched her cheek, and wandered, seeking her lips.
Lacey returned his kiss, and let him push open her jacket and stroke her body, liking the pleasurable, tingling feelings he aroused.
After a few minutes Julian drew back, breathing heavily. ‘I’m too old for necking in a car,’ he said humorously. ‘Are you going to invite me in, Lacey?’
He must have noticed her hesitation, and she felt him begin to move away.
‘Yes,’ she said, ‘if you like. But—’
‘I’m not trying to rush you into bed,’ he assured her. ‘I absolutely respect your views. When you have a daughter it’s important to live by the values you try to impart to her.’
‘I’ll make coffee,’ she offered, groping for the door handle.
When he left half an hour later, she washed up the coffee cups and told herself that her feeling of flatness and dissatisfaction was caused by physical frustration.
She’d been repressing her sexuality for years, quite deliberately and not without difficulty. If occasionally a stirring of desire had made itself felt she had ruthlessly quelled it. She had a child who was her first priority, and a close relationship with a man would only cause unnecessary complications in her life. She’d concentrated on keeping herself too busy to be bothered. Apart from looking after Emma, she had taken courses in computer keyboarding and office procedures so that she could work from home, and then embarked on a part-time degree course in business administration which she’d now nearly completed.
Tully had been intrigued by her choice and her determination, and she’d been grateful for his help, freely offered from his own experience of both university study and running his own business. The one thing she wouldn’t do was work for his firm, feeling that it smacked too much of either charity or a form of nepotism.
Tully was the only man she had room for in her life, and that was strictly on a platonic basis. Anything else would be courting disaster and heartbreak. For Emma’s sake as well as her own, she wouldn’t risk that.
She had occasionally been the recipient of advances from other men. Some rather obviously felt they were doing her a favour, and had been astonished when she rebuffed them. But on first meeting Julian she was totally unaware of any sexual overtones. She’d found him easy to talk to, friendly and sincere, and they’d had something in common, both being solo parents.
Despite his successful legal practice his manner was rather diffident, and she’d been surprised when she learned his age, because his smooth, pleasant face and the fine, straight brown hair combed back from a high forehead, combined with the slightness of his tall frame, gave him a youthful air.
She’d known him casually for almost a year before he asked her out, and he had courted her with gentleness and sensitivity, always ready to back off if she was hesitant about going too fast.
Like tonight, she thought as she pulled a shapeless brushed-cotton nightgown over her head. He hadn’t even touched her after they’d got inside, unless she counted the quick hug and kiss he’d given her before he left. He’d sat at the table with a finger threaded through the handle of his cup as he drank his coffee, and talked companionably about the show they’d seen, about the latest headline news, and for quite a long time about his daughter who, to his considerable concern, had acquired a boyfriend whom Julian suspected of having a delinquent past.
She had found herself picturing Tully sitting across from her instead, remembering the way he always curled his entire hand about his cup and firmly held it. And then for some reason she’d remembered the sure, compelling pressure of his lips on hers, not at all like Julian’s tender, carefully inquiring kisses.
She’d felt a sudden irritation as Julian went on worrying aloud about Desma. Brushing it aside, she chided herself for selfishness and tried to concentrate and make helpful comments. She knew how anxiety about a much-loved child could oust everything else from a parent’s mind.
Just before he left she’d suppressed an impulse to suggest they move to the sofa in the living room. Her need to be held, to feel close to someone for a while, for the comfort of a masculine shoulder to lean on temporarily, might be interpreted as an invitation to go further than she intended. And it would hardly be fair to Julian to raise expectations she didn’t mean to fulfil.
Climbing into bed, Lacey sighed. She would fulfil those expectations eventually, of course. She’d promised to marry Julian—when their respective daughters had accepted the idea. Sex with Julian would be... nice. She was sure of it.
Lacey had suggested that Julian come round for an evening meal the next time Tully had Emma for the day. That way, she thought, Emma would see that Tully didn’t object to her mother having a male friend, and the men would have a chance to get to know each other after Emma had gone to bed.
Julian arrived quite early. When Tully and Emma came in he was sitting at the kitchen table. Dressed in grey slacks and a soft yellow pullover over a spotless paler yellow shirt, he’d been drinking white wine while Lacey stirred a sauce on the stove.
Pushing her hair back from a face warmed by the heat of the stove, Lacey removed the sauce from the glowing ring and introduced the two men. ‘Julian, this is Tully Cleaver.’
Julian got to his feet and extended his hand. ‘I’m very pleased to meet Emma’s father,’ he said.
Tully., ripping open the zip of his jacket, subjected the other man to a piercing appraisal, then nodded and briefly shook hands. His dark hair had tiny rain-beads on it and he carried the clean, fresh scent of the outdoors with him.
The cat, a large, fluffy black animal with a white ruff, bib and paws, had followed Emma inside. She scooped it up into her arms, and Tully reached over and absently scratched behind the velvety black ears, his eyes hardly moving from Julian, who had resumed his seat at the table. The cat set up a loud, rattling purr.
‘You can feed Ruffles now, Emma, before you take off your jacket,’ Lacey suggested. ‘Tully, can I get you a drink?’
‘I’ll do it,’ he said easily, casting a glance at Julian’s half-empty glass. ‘Can I pour some more for you?’ he asked. ‘What have you got?’
‘Dry white, thank you.’
‘It’s in the fridge,’ Lacey told him. ‘I’ll have one, too.’ She opened the oven for a quick check on the roast.
Tully hung his coat over a chair and took a wineglass from the cupboard. He filled it from the chilled bottle in the refrigerator and handed it to Lacey, then topped up Julian’s glass and poured himself a whisky from the supply that Lacey kept for him.
‘Why don’t we go into the other room?’ Lacey said. The kitchen seemed overcrowded now, although Emma had taken the cat food and a spoon and gone outside to feed Ruffles.
In the living room she had lit a fire. Julian went to one of the chairs set at right angles to the fireplace, and Fully stood near the other as Lacey sank down on the sofa. But when Julian had taken his seat, to Lacey’s surprise Tully moved and came to share the sofa with her, lounging in the corner with his arm lying along the back.
She looked down into her wineglass, and heard Tully say to Julian, ‘Lacey tells me you’re a solicitor. That means you don’t do court work, doesn’t it?’
‘It’s not my field, no.’ Julian’s light, precise voice was pleasant and even. ‘I do quite a lot of conveyancing. Property transfers, you know.’
‘Yes,’ Tully said. ‘I do know.’
‘Lace hasn’t told me what you do.’
Hearing