Private Lives. Gwynne Forster

patted Dudley’s shoulder. “If you practice and study, you’ll play better than that.” She regarded her son’s eyes, his expressions of awe and happiness and thought about how much she owed Brock. She looked steadily then at the man who was digging a place for himself inside her heart and knew with certainty that he was a part of her destiny. She reached toward him, but he must have read her mind and pointed to the tray.

      “Are you planning to give me some of those rolls before they get cold?”

      Embarrassed that she’d forgotten her son’s presence, she pushed the tray toward Brock. “Help yourself.”

      He bit into the roll and closed his eyes. “I could eat every one you cooked if you didn’t have to photograph them. By the way, when do you want the photographer?”

      “Monday will be fine. For the first run, I’m baking things that can be photographed after they’re days old.”

      He seemed in deep thought for a minute before he said, “Will you and Dudley go out to dinner with me tomorrow evening? For the boy’s sake, we can eat around seven, if you like. If we go down to North Creek, we should be back by nine-thirty.”

      “I’d love to,” she said.

      “I’m going, too?” Dudley asked when Brock told him. “I always had to stay with a sitter when Mommie went somewhere.”

      “Not this time,” Brock said.

      She wanted to hug him, but she didn’t dare. His eyes told her that he wanted the same and more. Holding Jack’s leash, he walked to the door. She stepped outside before him, closed the door behind him and, sheltered by the darkness, he pulled her into his arms and she parted her lips for his kiss. With his tongue deep in her mouth, he leaned against the house, gripped her buttocks with both hands and sent frissons of heat plowing through her. She’d never wanted anything or anyone as she wanted the feel of him deep inside of her at the minute. As if he knew how she longed for him, he loosened his grip on her, caressed and hugged her with such gentleness that she blinked back tears.

      Maybe she shouldn’t ask questions but should just “take the money and run.” Her common sense told her she’d be a fool to pass up her first chance at genuine lovemaking. Because if Brock Lightner wasn’t a tender and considerate lover, surely no man could be.

      She fussed for an hour the next afternoon about what to wear and when Dudley asked if he could wear his white pants, she readily agreed because that gave her an excuse to wear a pale green, sleeveless sheath of cotton voile. And when she opened the door to Brock and saw that he wore a beige linen suit and a tie, she gave silent thanks for Dudley’s vanity. The boy loved clothes and, for once, he’d steered her correctly.

      “Mommie, can I wear my jacket? Mr. Lightner’s wearing one.”

      She said nothing, but went into the boy’s room, got the jacket that matched his pants and handed it to him.

      “You look lovely,” Brock said and handed her two day lilies that he’d picked from his garden. She thanked him and put the lilies in a vase with water. This Brock Lightner was far and away a different man from the one who walked around in T-shirt, sneakers and Bermuda shorts. She’d thought him handsome and the personification of sexiness, but the man before her had a commanding presence with which she was unfamiliar. He was a man who knew who he was.

      “Where’s Jack?” Dudley wanted to know.

      “He’s taking care of the house. Jack doesn’t go to restaurants.”

      She stared up at him. “There are certainly no flies on you, Brock. You look…” She thought it best to leave it unsaid. “Let’s go.”

      He drove them to a restaurant just past North Creek that she knew hosted weddings and other important celebrations. Their reservation was for a small, intimate dining room in which four other tables were occupied. As they ate, she noticed that Dudley copied Brock’s every move and it occurred to her that she may not be able to reverse the relationship even if she wanted to. Dudley had accepted Brock as a part of his life and she realized that her son needed the man.

      “I’d better tell you now that I’ll be away for a week or two and I’ll start Dudley’s guitar lessons when I get back.”

      “Where are you going?” she blurted out and immediately wished she hadn’t.

      “My brother lives and works in Washington, D.C., and he asked me to come down and help him with a problem he’s having. Jason’s my closest friend as well as my brother and it didn’t occur to me to turn him down. Ross Hopkins, the photographer, will call you tomorrow and make an appointment to start photographing your recipes. I can assure you that he is completely trustworthy in every respect. If he wasn’t, I wouldn’t recommend him to you. I’ll call you from Washington. What’s the matter?”