Wanna Be Yours Read online

  Tonight, she poured herself a generous glass of a new brand that had rapidly become a favorite. Apothic Inferno, aged in whiskey barrels. The red blend had the smoky, rich taste of whiskey as an undertone, and she could handle no more than a single glass of it. Well, unless she wanted to become intoxicated, and Madeline rarely ever allowed herself that indulgence. She didn’t like the loss of control that came along with drunkenness, no surprise there. For now, she sipped at the wine as she settled into her rocking chair by the window.

  Rain tick-ticked against the glass, and she lifted her head to the far-off rumble of thunder. A faint flash of lightning lit the window a minute or so later. The storm had been threatening all day. It sounded as though it were moving closer. Well, that was all right. What could be better than a stormy night, a glass of wine, and a good book?

  Someone to share them all with, Madeline thought. She was alone, and she felt it. Unexpectedly, for the first time since long before she’d finally given in to dear Alex’s persistent nattering about moving here, she was lonely, and that was entirely different than being alone.

  Madeline closed her eyes and allowed her head to fall back against the chair. Her feet nudged the floor, setting the chair to rocking gently. Without opening her eyes, she sipped the wine, letting the smoky flavor linger on her tongue before swallowing the liquid. She tried, although not very hard, not to think about Eric.

  She had not been looking for him, but he was the one she’d found.

  He would have an explanation for his behavior, of course. Perhaps an apology she might be able to accept. It wouldn’t change how terrible it had been to go from sweet lovemaking to being ignored, made of so little importance that he couldn’t even tell her what he was doing or where he was going. He could say he was sorry, he could even mean it, but it had tipped the balance of their burgeoning relationship, and she wasn’t getting over it as easily as she wished she could.

  It might be over before it began, she thought, and tried to tell herself that would be all right.

  With a sigh, Madeline sipped again and opened her eyes to stare out into the night’s storm. More flashing lightning. More rolling thunder. The window glass shimmered from the rain, and unable to sit any longer, Madeline got to her feet so she could stare outside. Storms had always left her excited, but tonight she felt more melancholy than aroused.

  Outside on the sidewalk in front of her house, a dark figure stood staring up at her window. She blinked and immediately shrank back, too aware that with the lights on behind her and the dark outside that she would be clearly visible. She laughed at herself. Paranoid. Certainly whatever fool was standing in the storm would be moving on at once, not looking for her. She peeked out again. The figure was still there.

  “Oh,” she breathed after a moment.

  It was Eric.

  She fumbled with the window latch, spilling her wine. She thought certainly he would start off running again, or at the very least he’d get out of the weather by going onto her front porch. No, he stood looking up as she sloshed more wine over the back of her hand. Disgruntled with her clumsiness, Madeline put the glass on the bookcase next to the window and used both hands to unlatch the window and shove it upward. Immediately, wind and rain blew in, the air cold enough to send a shudder all through her.

  “What are you doing?” she cried.

  The wind took her words, whisked them away. The rain tasted like tears. She swallowed the bitterness and leaned out with both her hands gripping the sill. He wore a hooded sweatshirt, his hands shoved into the pockets. His face was in shadow, but she caught the glint of his eyes.

  “Get in here out of the rain! Are you mad?” When he neither answered nor moved, she growled under her breath and shut the window.

  Was he making some sort of grand romantic gesture?

  Would she let him, if he was?

  Five minutes later she flung open the front door and went onto the front porch to find him there. Dripping. Shivering. He’d pushed back the hood and his dark hair clung to his forehead in wet strands.

  “You’re soaked,” she scolded. “What on earth are you thinking?”

  “I don’t want to think about anything. That’s why I was running.”

  Madeline had no words, but she discovered she needed none. She simply opened her arms and he went into them, pulling her close against his sopping clothes. The feverish heat of him warmed her even through the chill dampness. He put his arms around her, tight. She hugged him back, even harder, but only for a few seconds before stepping away from his embrace to take him by the hand.

  “Inside, now. You’re going to catch your death. Come, now. Come inside with me, sweetheart.” The endearment that slipped from her lips felt as natural as breathing.

  He followed obediently. Madeline closed the door behind him. The soft patter of water dripping from his clothes onto her hardwood floor sounded very loud in the house’s silence.

  “Upstairs,” she told him. “I’ll draw you a hot bath.”

  In her bathroom, she bent to start the water running in the clawfoot tub that had been a huge part of the reason she’d bought this old house. When she stood and turned to find him still dressed, his teeth now chattering, she stripped him efficiently and urged him into the water. Eric sank into it with a hiss, perhaps at the heat. His long legs filled almost the entire length of the tub, and he drew up his knees. Bent his head and wrapped his arms around them.

  Madeline ran her hand over his hair, finger-combing the tangles. She knelt, grateful for the soft mat cushioning her knees. She took up the washcloth and dipped it into the hot water over and over, running it down his back to warm him.

  Eric turned his face toward her. “I’m sorry.”

  It was instinctive to tell him he didn’t have to be, but she bit back those words. He did need to be sorry. What he’d done was not all right. She did not, however mean to withhold her forgiveness from him.

  “Eric, when we decided we were going to try and see what this might become, that meant being there for each other when something bad happens. I want to help you. To be there for you, whatever it is,” she told him.

  He sighed heavily and closed his eyes. “I should have thought about that. About you. I just…it’s complicated.”

  “Most things are, when emotions are involved.” She dipped more hot water and warmed him with it. His shivering had eased.

  Minutes passed in silence. She didn’t press him to explain. That would come later, or perhaps it would not. Right now, she was going to make sure he was taken care of. Later, she could scold or discipline him, depending on what seemed necessary. Later, they could work this out, maybe even with shouts and accusations and another apology she would feel compelled to accept even if she was no longer sure she could trust him.

  “Come to bed,” she told him.

  Seventeen

  The entire story poured out of him once they were both tucked into Madeline’s crisp, clean sheets. How he and Harriett had met. What she had meant to him. How she had helped him grow. Her illness. The quarrels with Karen. Finally, his fears of losing her.

  “We haven’t been together in a long time, and really, it wasn’t…we had a great relationship, but it wasn’t all that sexual,” Eric said quietly.

  “But you loved her.”

  “Yes. I did. We loved each other,” he said. “And she’s going to die.”

  Madeline pulled his head to her breast and stroked her fingers through his hair, over and over. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. It must be terrible.”

  “I should have told you sooner,” Eric said.

  Her body tensed. Relaxed. Her fingers paused in their combing for a moment before starting again. “You told me when you were ready. But don’t do that again. Make me feel as though I’m not important, that I don’t matter unless I’m handling your cock.”

  “Oh. No. Jesus.” Horrified, he sat to face her. “No, no, I would never. I’m sorry if you thought that.”

  She’d been leaning against the