A Kiss Remembered (16 page)
“Oh, for godsake,” Grant growled. “Let’s get out of here before I do something rash.”
The days went by quickly because they were both busy. Shelley attended her classes as usual and Grant had lectures to prepare and present. In his classroom, she maintained her seat near the back of the room, keeping a low profile.
They spent as many waking hours together as possible. Grant was only at his duplex long enough to pick up his mail and sleep away the remaining hours of the night after returning late from Shelley’s house.
“I don’t know why I’m paying rent,” he told her. “The guy who lives next door told me someone was there looking for me today. Package delivery or something.”
They had decided to sublet his apartment and live in her house until her graduation. “There’s more space in your house,” Grant said reasonably. “I can make that extra bedroom into an office.”
“What about an office for me?”
“We’ll share it.”
“There’s only room for one desk and chair.”
“You can sit on my lap.”
“No way.”
“Okay, then I’ll sit on your lap.”
She was trying desperately to keep a straight face. “I may start thinking of you only as a sex object.”
He grabbed her then, pulling her to him and molding her to a body that was ever hungry for her. “Every guy should be so lucky.”
Her parents were notified of the marriage and after the initial shock and a long, reassuring conversation with Grant, they promised to be in attendance Sunday afternoon.
Shelley was now completely confident in her decision to marry Grant. His loving thoughtfulness was nothing akin to Daryl’s self-centeredness. Though Grant had a recklessness to his nature, a rebellious bent, she admitted that that was part of his attractiveness. She knew, too, that she wasn’t harboring any adolescent infatuation. She was in love with the man, not with a fond memory of her youth. And they had even overcome the stigma attached to their relationship, if the silver tray sent by the board of directors as a wedding present were any indication.
Nothing could stand in the way of their happiness now.
“Oh, Grant!” she cried, stamping her foot.
He slumped against the doorframe, helpless with laughter.
“I thought you were my parents,” she said crossly.
“Do I look that much older than you?”
“Don’t be cute. You shouldn’t be here. You’re not supposed to see the bride before the wedding.” She was barring his entrance into her house, wearing only a nightshirt that came to the middle of her thighs. Her hair was in curlers and she had a thick mint-green mask on her face.
“That’s silly,” he said, shoving past her. He was carrying a carton of books and a suitcase. “I had to start moving some of this stuff over. I’m going to live here, remember?”
“I don’t know,” she said, still agitated. “I may change my mind.”
He only laughed. “I’ll put these books in the spare bedroom.”
“I’ll wash my face, even if it is five minutes early,” she grumbled, then called to him loudly: “Don’t blame me if my complexion isn’t radiant and blushing like a bride’s. It’ll be your fault.”
“Your skin is glowing all over,” he said awhile later. He had caught up with her in her bathroom after arranging his books in a bookcase they had set up for that purpose earlier in the week. She had rinsed her face and artfully applied her makeup. Now she was unwinding her hair from the curlers.
Catching sight of him in the mirror, she saw that he wasn’t looking at her face, but at the bare skin of her thighs. The heated yearning in his eyes burned into her, fanning the coals of her own desire. “Maybe you should go in the other room and wait for my parents and your brother to arrive.”
“I probably should,” he agreed without conviction, watching each motion of the hairbrush as she dragged it through the thick strands of dark hair. He wasn’t incognizant of the sway of her breasts under the nightshirt each time she moved her raised arms. “On the other hand, they’re not due to arrive until noon. We have awhile.”
She tore her eyes from his. It had been a week since they’d allowed themselves to make love, and if his hunger came anywhere near matching hers, it was gnawing at him like a ravenous monster. “You look nice,” she said lamely, lightly misting control on her hair with a pump spray bottle.
His dark suit, light blue shirt and conservative tie looked incongruously formal in the intimate atmosphere of the bathroom. “Thank you,” he said absently. He was studying her throat, counting each pulse that beat in the seductive hollow at its base. “So do you.”
“I … I’m not dressed yet,” she said breathlessly, turning around to face him.
“That’s what I mean.” His voice was rough with arousal. The pupils of his eyes were dilated so that they almost filled the irises. She saw herself mirrored in them, saw her arms lifting to encircle his neck.
“It’s getting late. I ought to dress.”
His arms went around her and he buried his face in the side of her neck. “Yes. By all means go dress. Don’t let me keep you from doing something you ought to do.”
All the while he was talking, his hands were lifting the hem of the nightshirt. First his fingers, then the palms of his hands glided under the waistband of her panties to cup her hips and draw her against his hardness.
Feverishly her mouth sought his and fused with it. As he pressed she rotated her hips over him, begging him to put an end to the craving that threatened to destroy her.
He lifted her and carried her to the bedroom, setting her down beside the bed. She wrestled with the buckle of his slender lizard belt until it came free, then unzipped his trousers. With trembling hands, she rid herself of the wispy swath of sheer nylon that had done little to deter his caress.
He loosened the knot of his tie and whipped it over his head after dropping his suit coat unceremoniously onto the floor. He stepped out of his pants, eased off his shoes and peeled off his socks, his eyes never leaving her as she lay back on the carpet and unbuttoned the nightshirt. He had only managed to undo half the buttons on his shirt when he collapsed to his knees.
Draping her thighs over his, he worshiped her first with his eyes, then with his touch, then with his lips. All the love he felt for her was made manifest in the sweet supplication of his mouth.
Endearments poured from two sets of lips in harmony, like a rehearsed chant. He knew the moment she could take no more and covered her with his hard chest, burying himself in her receptive body. Each thrust was a love song composed by his body for hers. His passion exploded at the moment she hurtled over the edge of the universe and their cries spiraled above them in a crescendo.
Replete, he slid down her length to rest his head on her breasts. Cradling it, she traced with adoring fingertips the planes of his face.
He raised himself enough to kiss her breast, gently sucking her nipple in a tribute to all that made her a woman. Then he looked up at her. The same lassitude he felt within himself was reflected in her slumbrous eyes, shining with love’s completion.
His fingertip outlined the pouting fullness of her lower lip and touched her dimples. “I don’t know what to expect of the wedding,” he whispered. “But the honeymoon is going to be terrific.”
Shelley clipped on her pearl earrings as she hastened down the hall into the living room. Grant was already there greeting her parents. He shook hands with her father and spoke politely to her mother.
He had been retying his necktie when the doorbell chimed. He’d met her eyes in the mirror, which he was using over her shoulder. “One more kiss and we’d never have made it,” he said teasingly. As he drew on his coat he kissed her fleetingly on the cheek. “You’ve got a smudge of mascara just beneath your left eye.”
“And you’ve got a piece of carpet lint on your right lapel,” she called to him in a stage whisper. He dusted it off as he raced across the bedroom.
She’d repaired the smudge, smoothed her hair, checked to see that she hadn’t forgotten an essential garment in her haste, and then rushed to join them.
There was a flurry of activity and conversation as Shelley was embraced lovingly by both parents, complimented on her oyster silk suit with its teal blouse and presented with an armload of presents sent by home-town folks.
“Bill, that’s my brother, is obviously running late,” Grant said. “He and his wife are driving in from Tulsa.”
Shelley was grateful for her parents’ ready acceptance of her husband-to-be and the instant rapport among the three of them. “Would you like coffee?” she offered.
“Sounds good after that drive,” her father said.
The doorbell and the telephone rang at the same time.
“I’ll get the telephone and the coffee,” Grant said. “You get the door. It’s probably Bill, so introduce yourself.” He hugged Shelley briefly, then rushed toward the kitchen.
When Shelley swung the door wide, her welcoming smile changed to an inquiring one. “Yes?” she asked the uniformed man standing on the covered porch.
“Is Mr. Grant Chapman here?”
“Yes. You are—”
“Sheriff’s Deputy Carter, ma’am. May I see Mr. Chapman please?”
“That was Bill,” Grant said, returning to the living room. “They’re running late … What’s this?”
“Mr. Chapman?” the deputy asked.
“Yes.”
He placed a subpoena in Grant’s hand. “What is this?” Grant repeated.
“A subpoena. You’re to appear in civil court at ten o’clock Friday morning. There’s been a suit filed against you.”
“Court … suit?” Grant stammered. “What kind of suit?”
The deputy’s eyes darted around the room. He took in the pretty young woman, the man looking every bit a bridegroom in his dark suit. There was a wedding present wrapped in paper sitting on the coffee table beside a florist’s box with an orchid corsage inside its cellophane top.
He couldn’t quite meet Grant’s eyes when he said with a mixture of embarrassment and pity, “A paternity suit.”
P
-paternity suit!” Grant sputtered on a short laugh. “Is this a joke? Say, did the guys from the racketball club put you up to this?” He turned around to Shelley, smiling widely. “Those guys are—”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Chapman,” Deputy Carter interrupted. “This is no joke.”
Grant studied the deputy for a moment, then shook out the folds of the subpoena. His eyes scanned it rapidly, but its validity was quickly ascertained.
“Zimmerman,” he ground out. “That conniving little bitch.” His words were softly spoken, but they seemed to reverberate off the walls of the silent room.
“It’s short notice, but we haven’t been able to reach you to serve the subpoena. I’ve been by your house several times. You’re advised to contact an attorney—”
“I’ll represent myself. Ten o’clock Friday?” The deputy nodded. “Forgive me if I don’t say thanks.”
“I’m sorry,” the deputy said to Grant. Touching the brim of his hat, he nodded to Shelley and muttered, “Ma’am,” before turning away and walking briskly down the sidewalk toward the official car parked at the curb.
Grant closed the door and released his breath in a long, weary sigh. “Helluva wedding present,” he said bitterly as he turned. “God, Shelley, I’m—”
Seeing the stricken expression on her face was like being hit on the head with a sledgehammer. Her eyes were wide and vacant. The radiant complexion he had complimented her on only an hour earlier had blanched to a deathly white. A fine chalky line defined her lips, making the glossy coral lipstick look clownishly garish. She stood ramrod straight, but she was trembling, as though only her skin were holding her together, keeping her from flying into a million fragmented pieces.
“Shelley.” His voice had a ragged edge. “Tell me you don’t think … Tell me you don’t believe I got that girl pregnant.”
As though in a trance she shook her head, slowly at first, then more vigorously. “No,” she said quickly, too quickly. “No.” Her eyes blinked several times, then journeyed around the room aimlessly, focusing on nothing.
He took two long strides toward her and closed his hands around her shoulders. “Look at me,” he demanded. She was held in his iron grip like a lifeless doll. “I didn’t have anything to do with that girl.” He pushed the words past clenched teeth. “Do you believe that?” He shook her slightly. Her arms flopped loosely at her sides, but her glazed eyes never wavered from his tight, furious face.
She wanted so badly to believe him. Of course he hadn’t had anything to do with Pru Zimmerman, but … She’d been a young girl, too, the first time he’d kissed her… . And Missy Lancaster … Pregnant. He’d said Missy’s baby wasn’t his, that he hadn’t been her lover. He wasn’t lying. Couldn’t be. He loved her.
Her
, Shelley. Still …
He took his hands off her shoulders, releasing her so quickly she nearly dropped to the floor. For a moment he stared at her averted face, disgust and heartache battling for supremacy. Shelley was never sure which was the victor.
He turned away from her and said to her father, “Bill was going to meet us at the chapel. I’ll head him off there and cancel the ceremony.”
When he turned back to her, she couldn’t meet his eyes. At that moment she didn’t feel anything. No anger, no pain, no disappointment, no despair. She was cata-tonic, completely void of feeling. Her spirit had deserted her, leaving behind a vast wasteland that once had been her heart.
When he left, Grant didn’t slam the door. But the quiet click of its closing couldn’t have sounded more final.
“Shelley, dear.” Her mother was the first to break the funereal silence in the room. Shelley didn’t know how long she’d been standing there, staring at the closed door. Her mother repeated her name.
Shelley lifted her head and saw that her parents were looking at her cautiously. Did they expect her to fly into a rage, gnash her teeth, tear at her hair, bang her head against the wall? Their wariness was justified. She felt capable of such acts. “I guess you drove down here for nothing.” She laughed harshly. “It doesn’t look like there’s going to be a wedding.”
Her parents stared back at her in sympathy. She couldn’t stand their pitying expressions. It was like a reenactment of the days immediately following her divorce. “I think I’ll lie down for … for a while.” She began edging toward the hall, and by the time she left the room she was running.