Beyond Desire. Gwynne Forster

good, honest woman when you see one. How could you do that to her, when you know how badly she’s been hurt?”

      Marcus braced his elbow against the wall and supported his head with his hand. “Lay off, man.” He shook his head, perplexed. “No, I’m not proud of myself. I don’t understand why it’s so difficult for me to behave naturally with Amanda. I do know that I can’t let her establish any contact with Amy. If Amy starts to like her, she’ll be hurt when we go our separate ways—as you and I both know we will—and she’s already suffered too much. Having her mother reject her is enough.”

      “You go right ahead and fool yourself. Where do you keep the bedding? I’m going to turn in. Good night…Oh, Marcus.”

      “What?”

      “If you’d just try to be your normal self, this would be a peaceful, maybe even a happy home. Amanda is a terrific woman.”

      In the quiet house, only the wind could be heard bending the trees as the storm moved off the coast and out to the ocean. Marcus leaned his big muscular frame against the banister at the bottom step and looked up the stairs. How could he have done it, he asked himself. He felt protective toward her, had from the very first. Yet he’d deliberately hurt her when she was only expressing concern. You go right ahead and fool yourself, Luke had said. He wasn’t fooling himself, he argued to himself, he was protecting his child. And he didn’t want any involvement with Amanda or any other woman. He had taken care of Amy by himself since she was two years old, and he would continue to take care of her. “I should have asked him how he knew Amanda was a terrific woman after a mere half-hour conversation with her. Oh, hell. I know she probably is, and that’s the trouble,” he murmured, as he forced himself to climb the stairs.

      He saw the light shining beneath her door and paused. She’d been up there nearly three hours, he estimated, and was still awake. What had he done to her? Marcus struggled against his deeply ingrained ethics and lost the battle. He raised his hand, uncertain of his move and, for the first time, knocked on Amanda’s bedroom door. He did it not knowing what he would say. After he knocked several times, she opened it and looked up at him, her wide black eyes reddened by hours of tears. Marcus stared at her, the epitome of femininity in a lacy peach peignoir that covered her from her neck to her bare toes. He wanted her. And the knowledge shook him. He stood there speechless as desire washed through him with such stunning force that he would have left if she hadn’t spoken.

      “Marcus…” It was barely more than a sigh, falling off her tongue as if pulled by the force of gravity. His hypnotic gaze bore into her like a sharp drill. He exuded pure magnetism, and the female in her responded to his maleness. She gasped, remembering what she’d felt when she’d caught him watching her right after he and Luke walked in the house, and wrapped her arms around herself for protection as she shivered, rooted to the spot.

      “My God!” he muttered, stepping into the room and opening his arms to her. She went into them without a second of hesitation. Her thoughts centered on her need to be held, and when he pulled her to him and cradled her head against his broad shoulder, she moved into him. She relished the comfort of his hand roaming her back, shoulders and arms, caressing her. Zombie-like, she tiled her head back in order to look at him, and he lowered his head. He’s going to kiss me, she thought, and knew that she wanted it. Wanted him. But he stopped and drew back, shaking his head as if in wonder. At her puzzled expression, he pulled her closer and hugged her, then stepped back.

      Marcus took her hand and walked into her sitting room, away from that enticing bed. He hadn’t meant to make a move on Amanda, not then, not ever. But his body hadn’t taken his intentions into account. One look at her, red-eyed and miserable, her brown face open and unadorned, and he had wanted her at a gut-searing level. He sat there with both of her hands in his big one, not talking, hardly breathing. Recovering his equilibrium. That had been close.

      “I know it isn’t enough to say I’m sorry. We both know you didn’t deserve what I did. I…I hope you won’t hold it against me and that you’ll be able to forget it. I don’t ever remember being so unnecessarily unkind to anyone. It’s been a rough day, and that may account for it; I don’t know. Anyway, I wanted you to know that I regret being rude to you.”

      “But you meant it, Marcus. Maybe not so harshly, but you meant it.” He spread his legs, let his elbows rest on his knees and clasped his hands. He knew his response was important to her. But if he told the truth…he had to; he hated lying and liars.

      “Yes, I meant it. But I didn’t mean to appear vicious. I know you’re concerned about Amy, but we’ll separate, and that’s it. So I don’t want her to become attached to you.”

      Amanda let her hands fall into her lap. As an apology, it was one of the poorest she had ever witnessed.

      “And your telling me about her condition would attach her to me?” She was pushing him, but she didn’t care; he deserved it.

      “No. Hell, I don’t know. Talking it over with you seemed like the beginning of something that I don’t want.” It wasn’t much of an explanation, and she was tempted to tell him so, but Aunt Meredith had always said that you got more flies with honey than with vinegar.

      “It seemed like such a natural thing for you to do,” she said, softly, although she didn’t feel that she should apologize. Oh, the devil with sweetness, she decided, as her anger surfaced. “Any person who knew what that child went through today would be concerned, and you’re old enough to know that. I’m not going to apologize for showing an interest in her. You’re just paranoid, and it wouldn’t hurt you to take a good look at yourself. I was being friendly, Marcus, because I really want us to be friends, but I won’t give my blood for it.”

      She got up to dismiss him, then surprised herself by asking, “What happened to make you so wary of people?” That marriage, she thought, and sat back down. “Marcus, what was your wife like?”

      “You don’t want to know, believe me.”

      “Oh, yes I do.”

      “Why, for heaven’s sake? You don’t believe in giving a man one bit of privacy, do you?”

      Amanda wasn’t going to be put off. “She must have been exceptional to have driven you to such bitterness. Did you love her so much?”

      “I loved her.” He gave her the bare facts.

      “Is she beautiful?” Amanda wasn’t sure she wanted to know, because she thought herself plain, but she couldn’t force herself not to ask.

      She stared at him in amazement when he laughed, harshly. Nastily. “Beautiful? Helena? Oh, yes, she’s that, all right. Not many women can claim to be the top fashion model on two continents. Oh, yes. Not one processed, glossy strand is ever out of place. Why, the very thought of me seeing her without her famous face made up to perfection annoyed the hell out of her. I still wonder what made her disfigure herself enough to have Amy, and why it came as a surprise to me when she decided that she wasn’t doing it again, no matter how I felt, made certain of that and damned the consequences.” Amanda couldn’t hide her shock, nor her sadness at the obvious strength of his bitterness.

      She looked at him then, but spoke mostly to herself. “If I had been in her place, I would have cherished what I had. Some people have all the luck, blessings or whatever you want to call it. And how do they treat it? They practically laugh in God’s face.”

      Marcus was sitting beside her, and he had to turn so that he could see her face fully. Her words had touched him more than any statement of intended sympathy ever could have, but when he saw her tears, he had a sense of unease. “Don’t cry for me, Amanda.”

      She let the tears roll, as if she hadn’t heard him, but she looked him in the eye and told him, “I never realized that a person could find bitterness to be such a loving, congenial companion.” Then she left him sitting there and didn’t say good-night. But she couldn’t have gone far, he figured, maybe to the middle of her room, before she was back. He sat where she had left him, immobile, contemplating her parting words. The frown that he hoped would discourage