Molly smiled sweetly. She knew what she looked like in the dress, and nothing was going to make her take it off. Nothing short of Patrick’s strong, clever hands. “I don’t think my father would mind,” she said coolly. “Now, if you’re all finished your drinks you might go into the dining room and I’ll bring dinner in.”
“Don’t you want a drink first, dear?” Uncle Willy spoke up suddenly from his seat in the corner, his voice surprisingly clear for someone in his usual state of inebriation. “Some of your cranberry juice? You’ve been working hard all day, I should think you’d deserve a break.”
Patrick’s eyes met Molly’s for a pregnant moment, then he let out a deep breath. “Molly’s only drinking Diet Coke nowadays. Uncle Willy,” be answered smoothly. “She’s been putting on weight.”
She considered hitting him, then thought better of it. She glared at him, only to find the expression in his dark blue gaze to be curiously tender. And suddenly she felt sixteen again, in love with the man who always teased her unmercifully. The unbidden memory was like a sharp pain, one that vanished almost as swiftly as it came.
She was in the midst of the tedious job of cleaning up after dinner when Patrick appeared in the doorway. Aunt Ermy and old friend Willy had retired with full stomachs to the living room without offering to help, and she’d somehow managed to use just about every pot and pan in the well-equipped kitchen. The place was a disaster area, and it took her a moment to realize she was no longer alone. She looked at him questioningly, up to her elbows in grease and soap.
He put his hands on her waist and pulled her gently away from the sink. At his touch she stiffened, then willed herself to relax. She wondered idly whether he was going to kiss her, but after a moment he released her, and she had no choice but to step back.
“You put the dishes in the dishwasher,” he said quietly, “and I’ll finish these.”
She stood motionless for a moment, watching him as he started to work. Then she began clearing the table, slowly, so as to savor every moment of this odd harmony between them. She would brush her body against his as she bent to load the dishwasher, and each time she did so she could feel the little quiver that ran through his body. At least, she thought with satisfaction, she was having the same effect on him that he was having on her.
It was an odd, ritualistic sort of dance they did, their hands touching as they both reached for things at the same time, his body glancing against hers as he moved around the kitchen. The tension in the room built, slowly at first, and the air grew warmer, tighter, darker, until her bands were trembling with pain and love and desire and hurt all rolled into one mass of emotions, the foremost of which was desire. She didn’t want to think about what she felt for him. She wasn’t ready to admit that she loved him completely and forever, the way a woman should love a man. She didn’t know him well enough in this new life to make any such rash statement. But the more she edged away from such a commitment, the more she knew deep down that it was true. Had always been true, since the first moment she’d seen him, back in the forgotten past.
Together they cleaned everything in that kitchen: the toaster, the stove top, the counters, the cupboard doors, the sink, the floor, anything to put off the moment when they had to face each other. And then it was spotless, and there was nothing left to do, no way they could postpone acknowledging each other’s presence.
They were standing close together, too close, and Molly finally looked up into his eyes, and what she saw there, beneath all the hostility and hurt she had dealt him over the past, was the man she had fallen in love with seven years ago when she was sixteen and he had just come back from his self-imposed exile. The look in his eyes was as hungry and yearning as the feeling in the pit of her stomach, and she wanted, needed him to touch her. To take her. The moment stretched and held.
And then he broke it. “I’m going to work on accounts,” he said abruptly, turning from her.
She felt a slap of total despair and rejection. How could he ignore what was between them? “You do that,” she said tonelessly. “I think I’ll just go up to bed and read a bit. I’m very tired.”
“That sounds like a good idea,” he said absently. “The weather report said we might have thundershowers tonight. You’d better be prepared—maybe you should take one of Ermy’s sleeping pills.”
“Why?”
“You’re terrified of thunder and lightning,” he answered shortly. “I want you to promise me you’ll take a sleeping pill. You need a good night’s sleep.”
She stared at him, wondering about his insistence. Perhaps if she was knocked out then she wouldn’t be a temptation to him. That was the last thing she had in mind.
“No, I don’t like to take pills,” she answered calmly. “Especially not someone else’s. I’ll be all right It seems like such a silly thing to be frightened of.”
He hesitated a moment, and she wanted to throw herself into his arms, wantonly, shamelessly. She waited for a sign, a weakening. There was none.
“Well, good night, then,” he said after a moment.
“Good night,” she answered, not moving. He stood there for a second longer, torn between conflicting emotions. She knew, she just knew, he wanted her. But apparently his control over his desires and emotions was much better than hers. He turned and resolutely walked out of the kitchen.
Molly couldn’t get to sleep. For a moment she contemplated taking one of Ermy’s proffered sleeping pills, then shut the thought out of her mind. She had to be awake tonight, she thought grimly. He would come to her tonight, she was sure of it. She lay in the wide bed, the light off, listening for footsteps.
Aunt Ermy came up first, her heavy, determined tread unmistakable on the old oak flooring. She paused for a moment beside the door, and Molly could hear her heavy breathing.
“Molly?” Her voice called out softly.
“Yes?”
There was a surprised pause. “Are you sure you wouldn’t like a pill? I don’t like the sound of that wind.”
“I’m sure.”
Her footsteps moved on, and a short while later Uncle Willy’s tired, slightly unsteady feet followed hers down the hallway. He didn’t bother to stop along the way—he made his way to his bed with single-minded enthusiasm. She lay there in the dark, listening to the ominous sound of the strong April wind rushing through the trees.
And then came the sound she had waited so long for. Patrick’s footsteps, firm and resolute, climbing the twisty stairway slowly, reluctantly, perhaps. She lay perfectly still, breathless, waiting, as she fingered the soft white nightgown she wore. She could hear his footsteps coming closer, closer. And then he too stopped outside her door, and her heart stopped beating for a second, then slammed into action again, faster now. Before she could call out he left, continuing down the hall back to his own bedroom. Molly turned and wept silently into the pillow.
She must have dozed off. There was a flash of lightning in the room, an enormous crack of thunder, and she was sitting bolt upright, trembling with an instinctive fear. She had to stay calm, she told herself shakily. There’s no place to run to this time.
