It Started with a House... (16 page)

She had changed into a soft velour pajama/lounge set in a powder blue and was trying to convince herself to take out something from the freezer to nuke in the microwave when the doorbell rang. Since it was still daylight—barely—and she didn't put it past Riley to have grabbed a handful of Shirl's pot holders to bring over, she opened the door without hesitation. To her amazement, Marshall stood there instead.

Her first thought was,
He didn't use his key.

He was wearing a deep-blue sports jacket that matched his eyes, jeans and a gray crew-necked sweater and held the largest bouquet of white and red roses that she'd ever seen. But more memorable was the look on his face. She'd never seen so many emotions play on his face at one time before.

“Look who's back in town,” he said.

Not knowing what to say in reply, Genevieve stepped aside to let him in. She wasn't so confident about shutting the door behind him, but the fact that he was here merited something.

She accepted the bouquet with a murmured, “Thank you,” but the ache in the vicinity of her heart kept her from being able to smile. “It looks like you hit every florist in town.” There were four in total.

“Just about. The idea was to impress, not to wrench your back from the weight or stab you to death with the thorns.”

His corny humor almost succeeded in tugging at the
corners of her mouth. What helped was thinking that this might explain why it took so long for him to get here. “Have you been back long?”

“You know how long I've been back.”

Advantage, Sydney,
she thought, but she only shrugged to Marshall. “When I didn't hear from you day after day and through the weekend, I started to think I never would.”

“I was trying to give you the space you wanted—or make you miss me.”

Something nagged at her memory, but she shook her head at his reasoning. “When you left so abruptly, you hurt me.”

This time he indicated his confusion, his sweeping arm gesture looking more like a broken wing. “You made it clear that you wanted me to.”

“What are you talking about? After experiencing one of the most amazing nights of my life, you vanished without a note or anything. The next thing I knew you had to leave on a business trip when you hadn't mentioned business in all the time we'd been together, except for the ones you sold.”

“That started because of your mother. I had to tell her something to get her off the phone. She called as I was first packing and—”

“There! You see—you intended to leave even before talking to her.”

“You wanted me to.”

Genevieve's hold on the roses threatened to make them keel over in her grip. But if thorns were stabbing her, she didn't feel a thing. “Why do you keep saying
that? We made love all night long. Then my morning sickness came back with a vengeance.”

“No, you woke and the first thing you did was look at Adam's picture. I could tell you were so ashamed over what, to me, was the night of my life. You turned the photo facedown as though you couldn't bear to deal with the guilt of what we'd shared.” Marshall swallowed. “I'm not jealous of a dead man. Okay, scratch that. But I could understand how much you loved and missed him. This… It was seeing that you were sorry for what happened between us that was too much. I needed time to come to terms with the fact that I'll always be second to him.” Slowly, carefully, he took hold of her arms. “The fact remains—you're having my baby. Mine. And I love you. I've proven that I can make you want me, and I know you like me…at least when I'm not being a controlling jerk.” He released her only to reach into his jacket pocket and take out a small jewelry box. “If you give me the chance, one day I could make you love me back.”

Genevieve looked from the black velvet box to him and her eyes started to fill. “You don't know anything,” she said, her voice shaking.

He blinked.

“I looked at the photo, yes, and put it down, yes. I was saying goodbye.” She gestured to the room. “Look around. They're all gone. After our night together, I realized it was time. To be with
you,
I had to let him go.”

Marshall didn't look. He didn't take his eyes off her except to close them for a moment and swallow again. Harder this time. When he opened his eyes, a bright
smile lit his face that rivaled a sky full of rockets. “You love me?”

“Yes, and missing you was making me sicker than the morning sickness does.” When he stepped forward to sweep her into his arms, she cried, “Wait!”

“L
et me borrow your jacket for a second,” Genevieve told him.

Although perplexed, Marshall removed it and held it for her as she slipped it on, then he watching in disbelief as she pulled a white and red rose from the bouquet. Shoving them at him, she said, “Hold these a minute.”

Incredulous, he watched her run next door and knock, then call inside to her neighbors, the Butlers. As adorable as she looked swallowed up in his clothing, to him it took longer than potholes to be filled before old Riley opened up. The man shouted in delight and accepted the roses and her hug.

By the time she returned, Marshall had the two remaining roses in a bud vase he'd located in a kitchen cabinet. Once she locked up and met him breathless but grinning in the kitchen, he snatched up the black box
from the counter, pretending that he suspected she was about to take off with it, too.

“Absolutely not. Gifting the roses was touching, but you are not giving this away.”

He pretty much failed at his debut in acting. He couldn't come close to mimicking “stern” when he was finally able to breathe again without feeling as if a razor was turning his insides into mincemeat.

“No,” Genevieve said, stepping into his arms. “That and you, I would very much like to keep.”

At last, he thought as he drew her against him. It was true. The photos were gone. She wanted a life with him. He'd driven close to a thousand circuitous miles, sat for countless hours trying to think of a way to brainwash, bribe and even blackmail her into marrying him, but just now she'd given him her heart without ever opening the box he had brought her.

He kissed her because he had no words that could surpass showing her what that meant and what he felt. He'd missed her so badly, he fully expected to end up in E.R. somewhere from some kind of hemorrhage. But as she kissed him back, the healing began.

“Don't ever go away like that again,” she entreated, gasping for breath.

“Never.”

“I missed you so.”

“Believe me, I missed you more.”

She pressed her cheek against his shoulder. “Where did you go?”

“Around. All over East Texas.” He had missed this goddess hair, the way she instinctively curved into him as though whatever part of them wasn't touching left her
bereft. “While I was trying to figure out how to win your heart, I figured I might as well look for a boat.”

“A boat…that was your business trip?”

“Love, you know there was no business trip. As I began driving, I thought about that boathouse and dock and figured there should be a boat.”

“You've traveled back and forth from Dallas for how long, most of the time driving by Lake Ray Hubbard, and you didn't figure out there are plenty of boat dealers within an hour of here?”

“Yes, and one of them is delivering my choice next week.” Marshall didn't want to talk about that. He couldn't believe that she wasn't grabbing for the box. “Aren't you even interested in seeing this ring?”

“Marshall, if you like it, I know I will, too.”

This woman, he thought. He knew she would forever mystify yet enchant him.

“I have a story,” he began. “Sydney will love this.”

“Leave Sydney out of it.”

“I happened upon an estate sale,” he said, determined to get it said. “There was a story to
that,
but it can wait. Suffice it to say I spotted a ring that was handed down for generations, but now there were no heirs. The last woman who wore it was one of the first prominent real estate brokers in the region. That and its elegance convinced me that it was the perfect ring for you.” He released her only to open the box.

Genevieve gasped. “Oh, it's beautiful!”

And fit perfectly, Marshall thought with no small satisfaction. Somehow he knew it would.

The ring was a three-carat square diamond surrounded by twelve smaller diamonds set in platinum. Admiring
the way it sparkled as it reflected the kitchen lights, she said, “Marshall, it's too much.”

“No, it's nothing less than you deserve.” He lifted her hand to his lips. “Whatever vows we take before others, this is for your ears alone. Genevieve Marie Gale…I've never loved like this. I know with a certainty, I never will again.”

Genevieve caressed his cheek. “You were so unexpected. I thought this wasn't possible.”

It thrilled him to hear her confession, particularly after her resistance to him and those painful denials. Those memories would fade quickly and he knew exactly how he wanted to help obliterate them.

“Make love with me,” he said, easing the jacket off her and drawing her into his arms again. While it wasn't that chilly outside yet, he had soon understood, and had already seen, why she'd needed to cover up—she wasn't wearing anything beneath that top. He couldn't wait any longer to remove it, too.

“Yes,” she whispered.

As she wrapped her arms around his neck, he lifted her into his arms and carried her to her bedroom. With the closed blinds and heavy drapes, the room was almost dark, but he could see her serene smile. The night-light in the bathroom lit golden lights in her eyes that out-sparkled her ring. Her hair shimmered like spun silk. He stroked it before cupping her face within his hands and kissing her with aching tenderness.

They undressed each other with the same care and leisure, lingering to worship and explore. There was all the time in the world now. What was more, he loved the creamy smoothness of her skin and the way it warmed
under his hands and mouth. Before the night was over, he wanted to make her burn for him. But slow and thorough was already enough for him to heat to fever pitch for her. Of course, her touch had a part in that. If he'd needed reassurance of her adoration, she proved it with every sweep of her fingers and caress of her lips.

When they were finally in bed, even though he was hard and aching to be inside her, he started his exploration and worship all over again because he loved hearing her soft sighs of pleasure, tiny whimpers of hunger, and the way she stretched, arched and pressed closer to get everything that he offered. It was when he lingered on her breasts that she actually trembled.

“It should be impossible for you to get any more sensitive there,” he murmured, inciting, then soothing with his mouth.

“I'll never be able to wear an unpadded bra again,” she confessed. “All I have to do is think of you and anyone with eyes can tell what's happening to me.”

“And what happens when I look at you?” he teased, sliding his hand between her thighs.

A brief whimper broke past her lips. “You know.”

“I know…and that's going to make it damned near impossible to walk around in public. Jeez, you're small there. How on earth are you going to deliver a baby?”

“The same way I can accept you,” she said, a smile in her voice.

Rising above her, he felt his hard length seek and find her warm and moist center. “Then we'd better practice a lot of stretching.”

Marshall groaned as he eased into her. He knew he could climax in two strokes; it seemed a month since
that night they'd shared. To delay that, he thought of the beginning at his house. “Confess—I hurt you our first time?”

“You soon made me forget it.”

“Did I?”

She tightened her muscles around him. “Yes.”

Sucking in a sharp breath, he thrust deeper. “What can I do for you now?”

“Just don't stop,” she said, her voice growing thinner.

Ah,
he thought. He had come full circle.

The playfulness ending, Marshall kissed her, claiming her mouth as he did her body and, cupping her hips, he led them both to a place that was theirs alone. The tighter she wrapped herself around him, the more forceful his thrusts became.

“I love you,” he rasped, feeling the end coming. And before she could reply, he locked his mouth to hers again, claiming her cry of ecstasy just as she consumed his.

 

It was almost midnight when Genevieve lay with her head on Marshall's chest, her ring brilliant against the dark hair there. They had dozed after their first reunion and had just made love again. Replete for the moment, she couldn't help but smile.

“What?”

It filled her with wonder that he was already so sensitive to her smallest reactions. “I was thinking about what you were like in high school and college. I'll bet you had girls flirting with you from every side and making it hard for you to study.”

“You'd be wrong,” he replied, stroking her hair. “I
was a serious kid, more worried about disappointing my father with my grades than collecting a harem like some of the sports jocks. My father was a corporate banker and felt I had the same acumen. As an only child, it was always expected that I would follow in his footsteps. He nearly disowned me when I got interested in the restaurant business.”

“Did he come around eventually? You did well with them and your commercial real estate holdings.”

“Some of his abilities couldn't help but rub off, I guess, considering that he bombarded me with enough lectures and lessons. But not well enough to play in the high-stakes games—and that's fine with me. I like to sleep at night.”

“I knew you didn't have any siblings,” Genevieve said, “but I didn't realize that about your father. You wanted a dad and you got a CEO for a parent. Is he still alive?”

“No, my father died three years ago. My mother last year.”

Genevieve shifted onto her tummy to gaze at him. “I'm sorry. With Cynthia being so ill, that must have been an enormously stressful time for you.”

“It gave me some strong insights into who and what I didn't want to be.” He shifted so he could press his ear to her tummy. “Still pretty quiet in there.” When he raised his head, his expression was beseeching. “If my hunch is right and we have a son, please don't ask for us to make him a junior? Marshall was my father's middle name—Edmund Marshall Roark, and I don't want our son to be saddled with unnecessary pressure and expectaions.”

It took Genevieve several seconds to recover from
the spasm of pain she felt for the lonely boy he'd been. “What did you have in mind?”

“The name of an old teacher of mine. He was everything I thought a parent should be. He passed away last year. His name was Robert.”

“Robert Roark. I like it. And if it's a girl?”

He gave her an apologetic smile. “Sweetheart, the Roarks tend to produce males.” Caressing her swollen lower lip with his thumb, he said, “Are you going to run screaming from this bed if I confess that I was serious about having another child someday? Preferably three. If this delivery is too difficult, we could look into adoption.”

This revelation and emotional hunger touched Genevieve deeply. “You
are
serious about wanting to be a family man.” She loved that realization just as she adored him for being so concerned about her ability to deliver a child safely. “Really, Marshall, regardless of my parents' inability to conceive after me or what you incorrectly see as a lacking in my build—”

“Darling, your body is exquisite,” he said, running his hand over her bottom, then easily settling her between his thighs. “I'm trying to ensure that it's around for several more decades. Genevieve, the idea of you suffering when it's not entirely necessary—”

“But I'm beginning to like the idea of challenging you to add on rooms to this property without taking from the children's play areas.”

Once he caught on, he grinned. “Is that revenge for jumping ahead of things and drafting plans for you to work from home more?”

Genevieve chuckled. “It might be the last chance I get
considering how busy you plan to keep me.” Feeling him stir against her abdomen, she sat up and straddled him.

Narrowing his eyes, his mouth curving with appreciation, Marshall ran his hands up her sleek thighs and gripped her hips. But rather than settling her where he wanted her, he murmured, “You are so beautiful,” and drew her back to his side. “We can't, darling. You have to be sore. At the very least, the baby is getting seasick.”

Although she laughed softly, she had to admit she was a little tender. But that didn't stop her from wanting to touch and be touched by him. She reached below the blankets to caress him, drawing a short hiss.

“Genevieve, haven't you figured out yet that my will's not that strong where you're concerned?”

“Same here. So let me enjoy myself. Besides, my conscience is kicking in for giving away most of your flowers,” she added, kissing her way down his chest. “I'm deeply sorry,” she crooned, then with her tongue she circled his navel, and slid downward. “Deeply…deeply.”

And then there were no words, just a woman welcoming her soul mate home and a weary but hopeful man grateful to have found his way back to her.

 

The next morning as Marshall considerately went off to make himself something to eat in Genevieve's kitchen to save her too many aromas, she dealt with her disruptive tummy and dressed. To her relief, as unwelcome as the nausea continued to be, it was a fraction as bad as on previous days.

By the time she joined him, he had ingested his omelet and managed to vent most of the food aroma from the
house. What was more, he had set a place for her with a cup of yogurt and dry toast. Those two roses in the bud vase magically had moved from her nightstand to sit at the corner of her placemat.

Planting a kiss over her bemused smile, he said, “That's soy yogurt. It's even more soothing for your tummy and the toast is whole grain.”

“How do you know about soy yogurt? More important, where did it come from?”

“Answer to question one—I have a computer and lots of time on my hands. Answer to question two—I have a car and used it while you were indelicately indisposed. Sit.” He added a nuzzle to the side of her neck and murmured in appreciation. “I swear you smell and taste so good, I could have gobbled you up with my omelet.”