Love - From His Point Of View!: Meeting at Midnight. Maureen Child

be good for me, weak as I am right now.”

      “It wouldn’t be good for you if I were to trip you, either. Or poison your coffee. Or—or—dammit, if you don’t stop grinning at me in that obnoxious way, I’m going to do something we’ll both regret!”

      I was grinning, wasn’t I? Once she’d called attention to that, my grin widened. I was enjoying myself. A lot. Seely in a temper was something to see—eyes hot, cheeks flushed, those volatile eyebrows drawn down in a scowl. So, like the daredevil I’d never been, I plunged off the next cliff. “You are cute as hell when you’re mad, you know that?”

      Her mouth dropped open. It closed and opened a couple more times before she got some words out. “That knock on the head did more damage than the doctor realized.”

      “A lot like a kitten—hissing, scratching, growling. Cute.”

      “I am five feet, ten and a half inches tall in my stocking feet. I am not cute. And you are obviously mentally as well as physically handicapped, so I suppose I shouldn’t hit you too hard.”

      “Well, if you’re already planning on hitting me…” I said that, so on some level I must have known what I was about to do. But the thought never got up to the top of my brain where I could squash it. Something else was pulling my strings, as if some part of me I’d never known existed was suddenly in charge.

      I let the walking stick clatter to the floor, cupped the back of her head and kissed her.

      Her lips were soft. That wasn’t a surprise. She went rigid the second my mouth touched hers. No surprise there, either. But the kick of pleasure went deeper than I’d expected. The taste of her shot straight to the primitive part of my brain the way smells do, bypassing reason. I couldn’t have known that would happen. And there’s no way I could have predicted the funny little sound she made just before she melted up against me.

      One of us was still thinking, I guess, because she was careful of my shoulder, sliding one arm around me and letting her other hand rest on my waist. I hummed my approval against those soft lips, threaded my fingers through her hair and tilted her head so I could deepen the kiss. And she opened for me.

      Automatically I widened my stance so I could snug her up closer. The stupid sling was in the way and my knee protested, but the way her fingers kneaded my waist mattered a lot more.

      So did the warm, living feel of her beneath my hand. I loved the fact that I didn’t have to bend over much to explore the flavors inside her mouth, and the way she stroked her tongue along mine. The long muscles of her back invited me to sample the dip at her waist, the smooth curve of her bottom.

      She liked my body, too. Her hand left my waist to range up beneath my shirt and over my chest. Delight slid into need without a bump to mark the change.

      I slid my right leg between hers and pressed up. She shivered. I needed more, needed her skin, her sighs, the little bud of her nipple in my mouth…where? Where could I take her? The living room was close, and the couch there was long and roomy. I started easing us both that way without taking my mouth from hers.

      My foot slid out from under me.

      I yelled. Doofus yipped. Seely’s arm tightened around me, and somehow I managed not to fall on my stupid ass.

      Not literally, anyway. Appalled by my behavior, I yanked my hand away and stepped back. My heartbeat was doing the hundred-yard dash, my knee hurt, my shoulder hurt, and my foot was…wet. I glanced down.

      “Oh,” Seely said, one hand rising to her mouth to smother a giggle. She crouched to pet the droopy-eared puppy. “Oh, Doofus. You did try to go out, didn’t you, boy?”

      Saved from my own worst self by a puppy’s bladder. Mortified, I said stiffly, “I apologize. I said you wouldn’t have to deal with, uh, grabby hands, and then…all I can do is apologize, and promise it won’t happen again.”

      Her gaze took a lazy trip up me while she fondled the puppy’s ears. She made a tch-ing sound, shook her head and stood. “Didn’t your sister ever tell you? Never apologize to a woman for kissing her—not if she kissed you back.”

      My ears felt hot. The rest of me was sore, aroused, exhausted and bewildered. “The last employer who made a pass at you ended up wearing someone else’s dinner.”

      “Ben.” Her smile started in her eyes and glowed its way down to her mouth. She patted my cheek. “You’re not Vic, are you?”

      She turned away, picked up my walking stick and handed it to me. “What you should be apologizing for is interfering in my arrangements with the mechanic. I suppose your intentions were good, but it was intolerably high-handed. How much did the repairs cost?”

      “I don’t know yet, and it doesn’t matter.”

      “Probably not,” she agreed easily, turning away. “Since I doubt I’d be able to repay you. I’d better get something to clean up that puddle.”

      “You don’t have to repay me. I don’t want you to.”

      She headed for the kitchen. “As far as I’m concerned, the car is yours now. I’ll get the title switched over as soon as possible.”

      I frowned. Her threat about the car was annoying, but not a real problem. If she put it in my name, I’d just put it back in hers. A much bigger worry was my own behavior.

      My sister, Annie, has accused me of seeing everything in black-and-white. Maybe I do. But right and wrong have never seemed all that complicated, and if a man knows what’s right, that’s what he should do. Even when it’s hard. Maybe especially then.

      Kissing Seely was wrong. I knew that, even if she didn’t. She was an employee. She was also a warm, giving sort of woman who deserved better than hand-me-downs from a man in love with another woman.

      I knew that. So why had I kissed her?

      No answers floated up. I stood there, aware of a number of places that hurt, and the lingering hum of arousal that defied the pain. After a moment I sighed and limped for the bathroom.

      There was one bright spot. I’d stepped in the blasted puddle with my right foot, not my left. At least I could wash it myself.

      Five

      “Does it hurt a lot?” Zach asked.

      “Not anymore.”

      “How much does it hurt? This much?” He used his thumb and forefinger to take a tiny pinch of air. “Or this much?” He held out both hands broadly.

      “About like this.” I measured a couple of inches between my finger and thumb. “More at bedtime, because I’m tired.”

      He nodded seriously. “When I’m sick I hurt more at bedtime. How does this thing go on?” He pointed at my sling.

      We were sitting on the rear deck, enjoying what was probably one of the last warm afternoons of the year. Zach was perched on my right thigh. My left foot was propped up on a little table to keep the knee elevated. That had been Seely’s idea, keeping the knee elevated, and I guess it did help. The swelling had gone down some. Doofus lay nearby, panting hopefully.

      I showed Zach how my sling fastened, undoing one of the Velcro tapes and letting him restick it a few times. Velcro was one of Zach’s favorite things. He wanted to know if he could have the sling to play with after I was all better.

      I smiled. “Sure.” God only knew what he planned to do with it. That didn’t matter. The important thing was that he’d accepted I would be “all better” eventually.

      He told me Doofus was lonely and clambered down to play with his pup. I handed him his magnifying glass—another of his favorite things—and pup and boy ran off to look for bugs. My throat closed up as I watched them. I’d come so close to never having an afternoon like this again.

      On the other