Mr. Wrong (A Homespun Romance) Read online

  A vague memory surfaced and he got up. In the kitchen cupboard he found a large glass bottle filled with apple juice. Pouring the juice into a mixing bowl he placed it in Katie’s refrigerator, rinsing the bottle out carefully before filling it with really hot water from the kitchen faucet. In a drawer he found a kitchen towel and wrapped it around the bottle.

  “Here,” he said to Katie, “try this. It might help.”

  “What is it?” Kate asked opening her eyes, surprised to see him still there.

  “A makeshift hot water bottle.” Gently he laid it next to her and let her pull it against her stomach.

  Dragging an armchair in from the other room he sat down in it and began to rhythmically stroke her back.

  Katie awoke with the tremendous feeling of relief, freedom from pain brought in its wake. Glancing down at the bottle beside her, memories of the night before sharpened at the same time as she became aware of someone lying in bed with her holding her spoon fashion to his obviously male length.

  Not someone. Brady.

  Not daring to move she stared at the wall. Had he spent the whole night here? Her lips curved into a smile of sheer happiness. For the first time in Kate’s life she was aware of what the word cherished meant. She lay against Brady, content to play make believe for a little while longer.

  “Katie?” He came wide awake with a jerk and sprang off the bed. “Katie how are you? I didn’t mean to fall asleep like that.”

  “I’m fine, now. What do you mean you didn’t mean to fall asleep like that? What had you planned on doing instead?”

  “I was sitting there,” he glanced at the armchair, “rubbing your back. I just meant to take a brief nap.”

  “I see.” Katie stared at him.

  The black stubble cast hollow shadows on his cheeks and she could see the tiredness in his eyes from his vigil of the night before. Conscious of a sudden fierce desire to hold his head against her breast, Kate stood up.

  Immediately she realized her mistake. The tee shirt she was wearing barely came to mid-thigh and Brady’s eyes were sliding with unmistakable longing over her legs. The early morning breeze from the window was cool on her body and Kate was conscious of the stiffened points of her nipples through the thin material and of Brady’s gaze shifting to that part of her anatomy.

  Moving away on trembling legs she muttered, `Bathroom,’ and fled to lean against the door of that sanctuary weakly, wishing she was the kind of girl who could throw herself into a man’s arms and say, “Take me.”

  The mirror reflected a face that looked as if it had been made up for Halloween. The dark circles around her eyes would have done a monster credit. Her face was so pale she could have lost it in a bag of flour. Shrugging, Katie turned away and stepped into the shower. She emerged from the bathroom thirty minutes later, head wrapped in a towel feeling drained, her wobbly legs telling her she’d have to take it easy today.

  Brady was at the table, two steaming mugs of tea already on it. He looked at her face and frowned at her lack of color, the dryness of her lips, the barely gathered strength.

  “Are you sure you’re alright?”

  Kate swallowed two of her tablets before replying, “I’m fine. I don’t usually keel over like this. I just forgot to take my medicine.”

  “Dr. Peters...” Brady began only to be interrupted.

  “I have my own doctor,” said Kate firmly.

  “But a second opinion wouldn’t hurt it would it?” asked Brady reasonably, “I mean one doctor might spot something another has missed.”

  “Brady, shut up,” said Kate.

  She felt like the survivor of a shipwreck. The thought that he had stayed with her all through the night, when the going was toughest was making her insides quiver like birch leaves in a storm, stripping her of every defense she had ever put up against the man. Did he have to keep talking about taking her to a doctor? Couldn’t he just leave her alone? What right did he have to come into her life and take it over like a......like a......locust? If she wasn’t careful, he would devour her whole.

  At that moment she hated Brady. No, she didn’t. She looked at him sitting across from her and the truth hit her. She loved him. That was it. Kate and Katie had finally had the head on confrontation she’d been dreading and there was only one survivor. Katie McArthur. Who loved Brady.

  Katie burst into tears.

  “Honey I didn't mean to badger you,” he reached for her immediately but she avoided going into his arms well aware of what would happen if she did in her present state. “I’m really the biggest fool in the world. Just get back into bed and let me fix you some breakfast. I swear I won’t say another word about the doctor.”

  Katie went back to bed. At least she could hide from him there. Brady brought her some toast and tea and quietly went into the bathroom.

  Katie stared at her tea wishing it were a crystal ball.

  What would life with Brady be like? Absolutely glorious if one was content only to live for the day without any thought of the future and she couldn’t do that. No, in time her nagging would embitter him, turn him into another Rip Van Winkle and wreck everything. So back to square one. She loved Brady but she still had to find herself a rich husband.

  All day Katie drifted in and out of sleep sedated by the medicine she was taking, waking up for a drink of water or the soup Brady insisted she have at midday before she took another dose of her medicine. He was there every time her eyes opened, in her blue armchair, reading, watching, waiting.

  The little clock on her nightstand said five o’clock when Katie finally surfaced completely. Savoring the absolute bliss of feeling completely well again, she lay there quietly aware of the smell drifting from her little kitchen invoking a growling response from her stomach. There was no sign of Brady.

  Cautiously Katie slipped her feet into mules and checked out the bathroom. He wasn’t there. A sharp pang of disappointment speared her and the next minute she told herself to stop being so ridiculous. He couldn’t be expected to maintain his role of Florence Nightingale forever.

  Lured into her kitchen she lifted the lid of her crockpot carefully and breathed deeply as the aroma of a stew rose up to greet her. On the counter was a pie. Her favorite. Apple. So Nan had stopped off some time during the day. What had her friend thought of Brady in the role of male nurse, Katie wondered. Her eyes fell on the note. He had used a dry cleaning receipt, propping it up between the pie and the toaster, next to the plant he had given her, but it had slid down.

  “Back in a little while....Brady.”

  A fierce irrational gladness flowed into Katie and she grabbed clean clothes and hurried into the bathroom.

  He was there when she came out and for a moment Katie’s heart leapt into her throat. He had bought a cloth for her little table. It was one size too big but her blue and white Corelleware looked elegant against the red background. Crusty rolls nestled in a little basket and two candles stood tall in crystal holders like serene sentinels awaiting the opportunity to do their duty.

  Katie’s eyes went to Brady and her heart stopped for a second. He had showered and shaved. The white slacks and yellow tee-shirt he was wearing made him look very desirable, very male.

  “Hi!” he said and then stood quietly as emotion wrapped them both in ever widening concentric circles till it engulfed the whole apartment and neither of them could breathe.

  “This is so nice,” said Katie, smiling nervously, looking at the table.

  Brady turned back to the counter and when she saw what he held in his hands, Katie’s heart took off for the moon.

  The small vase held flowers, not the cool elegance of roses but a wildflower mix, it’s delicate gaiety strumming chords deep within Katie.

  “They’re beautiful,” Katie said softly, speculating that at this rate it wasn’t going to take her long to give a good imitation of the kind of woman she had been wishing she was earlier that day.

  “They remind me of you,” said Brady quietly.

 
Sinking into one of the chairs she watched as Brady brought the stew to the table.

  “That smells delicious.”

  He didn’t say anything, barely smiled and sat down himself.

  A hand raked her soft curls. Katie felt the need to babble, “I’m feeling fine now. Thank you for staying with me. Did Nan come by? I saw the pie on the table. Did I tell you she makes the best pies in the county? Her pies have won prizes at the County Fair.”

  Brady had served them both and now he looked up at her. “Mrs. Kettle said she’d stop by tomorrow,” was all he said before he began to eat.

  Katie stared at her plate quietly following suit. What was wrong? Was Brady mad with her? When he had looked at her just then he hadn’t met her eyes and he’d spoken tersely now as if the words were an effort. Was he regretting his self-imposed nursemaiding duties? Was he finally tiring of her? Sick with fear Katie began to eat.

  Brady wondered how the stew could taste exactly like old shoe leather when it smelled so good. He had asked Nan Kettle what Katie might like to have when she woke up and she had suggested a stew and told him how to make it.

  Coming back tonight hadn’t been such a good idea, but then he was driven as always by a force inside him to be with Katie. Watching her as she’d slept and now when she’d come out of the bathroom, he knew he couldn’t go on like this much longer. Be close to her and not touch her, talk to her and not give in to the desire to hold her, watch her and not go to bed with her.

  Katie quietly retraced events from the time she had opened her door to Brady last night. What had she said? What had she done? She wished he had left her alone as she’d asked.

  Something bothered her and she searched the avenues of her memory for it, till she found what it was.

  “You changed my clothes last night,” Katie accused. She had found another tee shirt by her bed earlier and recognized it for the one she had dragged on yesterday evening before getting into bed.

  Brady’s head swiveled to look at her.

  “Yes,” he said noncommittal, “you were drenched with sweat and very uncomfortable.”

  Katie glared at him and he could see the anger in her eyes mixed with embarrassment.

  “You were as helpless as a babe last night Katie,” Brady said quietly, “and I’m no voyeur. I just wanted to make you feel better.”

  “Oh!” Katie stared at her plate.

  If he said anything else she would have to find a stone to crawl under. Why had he done it? It couldn’t have been much fun sitting there all night rubbing her back, mopping her face, giving her drinks of water. And then to go through it all again today.

  Katie had never sat beside anyone watching them while they slept and she doubted if she could do it a whole day either. When her mother had been ill she hadn’t been able to spare the time from her double shift to sit with her. Her mother wouldn’t have wanted it either.

  But Brady had sat with her for the last twenty four hours. And cooked dinner. And bought her flowers, a new tablecloth, crystal candlesticks and beautiful candles.

  The candles!

  “We didn’t light them,” said Katie regretfully.

  “No,” said Brady shortly.

  He didn’t need anything to help this gale force hurricane in his body along.

  Katie picked up their plates and turned away to the sink. Quietly she began to run the water.

  “I’ll do the dishes,” said Brady.

  “No,” her back told its own story. His curtness had finally got through to her. “You’ve done more than enough as it is. Go home Brady.”

  Brady carried a dish towards her.

  “Katie..” he began. Maybe if he explained things to her she would...

  She took the dish out of his hands and slid it into the sink, “Just go home Brady. I want to be alone.”

  “The hell you do.”

  Brady yanked her into his arms and his mouth came down on Katie’s. It’s hungry demands increased as she stoked the fire in him with her own kisses, taking as much as giving, straining for more.

  When they both came up for air, she leaned against him breathless, reveling in the thud of his heart beneath her ear. But she only rested there a minute and then she raised her face again, sliding her arms around the solid column of his neck, reaching up for his mouth.

  “Brady,” she whispered during their second recess, “I want you.”

  “Oh Katie,” he crushed her to him and Katie felt a great weight lifting from her as if expressing the truth had released her from cast iron shackles.

  “Brady,” she groaned against his mouth, restless with desire that swept through her like a brush fire.

  Suddenly her upper arms were grasped and she was held at arm’s length.

  “No Katie,” Brady said firmly. “You’ve been ill and don’t know what you’re saying. I have to leave now. I’ll see you soon.”

  Katie stared at the front door long after it had closed behind Brady, not quite believing he had left.

  One thought was uppermost in her mind. There were men in this world who thought they knew everything. The I-know- what’s-best-for both-of us variety. Every single one of them ought to be taken out and shot at dawn. Including Brady.

  Katie stared about her satisfied. The red tablecloth, now suitably shortened was on her table as were the candlesticks. She had set the table with her usual care. Crisp salads awaited them in the refrigerator. The main course, marinated pork and red cabbage with its subtle flavoring of spices was perfect for an evening meal on a warm day. Tonight Katie would light the silver gray candles. Tonight she would ravish and be ravished.

  She’d only seen Brady for half an hour in the middle of the week when he’d stopped by the school. He’d suggested dinner but she’d refused. Exams were upon her and she had to study. Her illness had stolen two days, she couldn’t afford to lose any more. Not the type who could memorize a page just by looking at it, Kate found sheer hard work and concentration her only recourse.

  By Friday, she’d told Brady, everything would be over and would he like to have dinner with her then? Neither of them had mentioned their last dinner together and he’d hesitated but accepted.

  “Tonight,” Katie told the candles, “tonight I’m not tired or ill or anything. Tonight there are no excuses.”

  She trembled, alternating between fear at what she was doing and a heady excitement such as she had never known before. Kate had been buried. Katie’s breath fluttered in her throat as it entered and left her lungs. She had thought of him all week.

  At odd moments he had turned up to tease her. His face had looked up at her from her psychology paper, winked at her from her textbooks. His breath had stirred her hair while she took her exams and his arms held her in bed. All week the fever that was Brady had mounted in her and Katie knew she couldn’t deny herself any longer.

  Three raps on the door, Brady’s signature tune, heralded his arrival. Katie squared her shoulders and took a deep breath.

  “This is it,” she told herself as her legs carried her automatically to the door.

  “Hi!” She held on to the door for sheer support after she had opened it.

  The fresh soap smell of him mixed with a subtle cologne drifted to her, a drugging combination that increased the tremors of her body. The litheness of his body in the blue summer slacks and open necked shirt issued its own invitation. The strong column of his neck demanded the salute of her lips.

  “I missed you Katie.” The words were almost her undoing.

  Why didn’t History show any record of women slugging men and carrying them off to have their wicked way with them? Surely she wasn’t the first?

  “Please, come in.”

  Brady took the bottle of wine Katie handed him to open gratefully. The chilled container felt good in his hands. For a moment there he had thought he’d have to excuse himself, go into the bathroom and have another cold shower.

  Katie looked beautiful tonight. Her white dress clung to her in all the right places, dra
ping the proud thrust of her breasts and the soft curve of her hips, as if it had been designed for her alone. The soft whisper of the fabric, the crushed rose fragrance emanating from her, the sight of those gorgeous knees all combined to lower whatever resistance he had banked this last week and when the look in her eyes hinted she felt the same way he could barely manage to extract the cork from this damned bottle.

  All through dinner their emotions escalated. They were like two people engaging in some strange mating dance. The candlelight lit their features mysteriously as they talked of everything except what was uppermost in both their minds, even while their eyes carried on their own intensely private conversation. It was as if they were two other beings, not themselves, enmeshed in the web of their desire.

  Brady had drawn his chair close to Katie’s when she had risen to serve a dessert neither of them touched. Now, his hand closed over her fingers where they rested on the stem of the wine goblet and he lowered it to the table.

  “Katie,” he said and she turned into his arms.

  Their starving lips met as they slaked their hunger at each other’s mouth.

  Then Brady stood, pulling Katie out of her chair, against the hard male warmth of him. Katie couldn’t get close enough to him. Standing on her toes she pressed herself against him. Brady’s hands on her back moved continuously molding her to him and at her response his hands circled her waist then slowly caressed her ribcage.

  For one heart stopping moment they stilled. Katie whimpered a protest, then Brady’s hands were cupping her breasts and her heart threatened to burst out of its bonds. He cupped them for a while as if savoring the feel of them in his hands. It seemed like an age before his thumbs began to move in caressing circles, till he could feel the tormented, stiffened peaks through her dress.

  “Katie,” he groaned, dragging his lips from her mouth and burying it in the curve of her fragrant neck.