A Season of Angels Page 0,65

she'd experienced in all her twenty-five years.

"I better leave," he whispered.

"Not yet." She ran her tongue along the underside of his jaw, loving the taste of him; the scent of rum-and-spice aftershave enveloped her. She burrowed more completely into his embrace. For a moment she thought he intended to push her away, but instead he released a long, slow sigh and held her tightly against him.

"Monica . . . Stop," he muttered between clenched teeth, "otherwise I won't be held responsible for what happens."

Monica smiled to herself, knowing he'd never do anything to hurt her. Where the assurance came from she couldn't be sure, but she felt it as strongly as she did his arms around her.

"I knew it would be a mistake to come," he mumbled, seemingly to himself.

Monica continued to move her mouth over his throat. Her tongue made small circular movements against his jaw and over his ear.

"You're playing with fire," he said, his voice stiff with resolve.

"I know," she assured him.

"A man can only take so much of this." The words were barely audible.

"I know that too."

"I didn't mean for things to go so far," he whispered. He rolled away from her and changed their positions so that they were lying on their sides, facing each other.

Monica's head was cradled in his upper arm, their mouths separated by scant inches. Their breath merged and mingled. Her thigh met his. She was happier than she could remember being in a good long while. Monica would have been utterly content to stay exactly like this for the next hundred years.

Being here with Chet like this forced her to acknowledge how incredibly lonely she'd been in the last few years. Her mother had died and her friends, the only two she considered good friends, had both married and moved away. Funny she hadn't realized how empty and pointless her life had become. Nor had she realized what poor company she was to herself and others.

"What are you thinking?" he asked.

Their eyes met and she found him openly studying her. She quickly averted her gaze. "I didn't realize how downright good a man could feel."

He laughed softly and kissed the tip of her nose. "That's very honest of you."

"I couldn't very well deny it."

"You could, and have," he said. His fingertips grazed her temple, softly caressing her face. "I'll be honest too. You feel damn good in my arms. Tonight," he whispered, "while you were with Michael, I was like a caged animal."

"He doesn't mean anything to me," she rushed to explain.

He closed his eyes and nodded. "I know, but it didn't make any difference. There was this band around my chest that tightened every time I thought about the two of you together. Yet I know in my heart Michael's a better man than I'll ever be."

"Don't say that," she pleaded, feeling the panic rising in her voice. His next suggestion might be that they not see each other again and she couldn't bear that.

"Monica, listen - "

"No. No, don't say it. I have an idea." The words rushed out on top of each other.

"An idea for us?"

She nodded and bent forward and kissed him, using her tongue in all the ways he'd taught her until they were both panting and clinging to each other.

"As you said," she whispered, her chest heaving, "we seem to get along fabulously well on the physical level."

He chuckled. "That, my dear, is putting it mildly."

"It seems to me that we could learn to communicate on other levels as well."

He went still and raised his gaze to hers. She swallowed and forced herself to smile. His eyes narrowed.

"I was thinking that, well, if we feel so strongly about one another then we should . . ."

"Should what?" he prodded.

Monica gathered her courage and blurted it all out at once. "That we should get married."

"Leah," Andrew whispered in the darkened theater.

Leah's gaze reluctantly left the screen, where a Walt Disney animation film was playing.

Her husband pointed to Scotty, who was curled up in his lap. The toddler was sound asleep. Husband and wife shared a meaningful smile. Andrew reached over and stole a handful of popcorn from her box.

"Do you want to leave?"

She shook her head, surprised he'd ask. "This is the very best part. Besides, Scotty will want to know what he missed."

The older grandmotherly type in the row in front of them turned around and glared pointedly at Andrew.

"My husband apologizes for disrupting the show," Leah whispered.

"So does my wife," Andrew added.

The woman