“You get the door,” her mother suggested, “and I’ll take care of the tea.”
It was Grey. He’d changed out of his pin-striped suit and into slacks and a sweater. He stood in front of her, holding a large book at his side.
“Before you get upset,” he said, “I want you to know something.”
Meghan’s fingers curled around the doorknob. “You should know something, too,” she returned.
“What?”
“I have got a man in my apartment—a handsome one who openly admits he loves me. This guy’s crazy about me. Would you care to meet him?”
Anger flickered in Grey’s eyes, and his mouth narrowed.
“Meghan?” her mother called out from behind her. “Who is that at the door?”
Reluctantly, Meghan stepped aside. “Mom and Dad, I’d like you both to meet Professor Grey Carlyle. He teaches English literature at Friends University.”
Grey stepped into the apartment, but his gaze centered on Meghan. “Your father?” he whispered.
She gave him a saucy grin.
“Professor Carlyle, how pleased we are to meet you,” Colleen O’Day greeted, looking absolutely delighted to make his acquaintance.
Her father rose awkwardly to his feet and held out his hand to Grey, who shook it. “It seems my daughter was stuck in some hot water,” Pat joked, “and had to call on her old man to rescue her.”
“We were just about to have some tea, Professor. Please join us?”
Grey turned to Meghan, who didn’t give him any indication she cared one way or the other. Actually, her heart was pounding so hard it was a wonder he couldn’t see it beating against her sweatshirt.
“Thank you,” he said, smiling up at Meghan’s mother. “I’d enjoy a cup of tea.”
“Pat?” Colleen asked, while Meghan brought cups down from the cupboard.
“Please.” His reply was muffled, as he was back under the sink.
“Can I do anything to help?” Grey asked, setting the book on the tabletop.
For the first time, Meghan could see the title, and when she did, she regretted her earlier display of anger. Grey had gone out and bought a book on plumbing repairs. Her insides went all soft at the thought that he should care so much.
“I’m almost finished here,” her father told him. “I’ll be with you in a couple of minutes. You sit down and I’ll be there once I get this blasted fitting secure.”
Her mother was busy pouring tea, which Meghan delivered to the small round table.
“I hope you’re still hungry,” Grey said when she approached him.
Her gaze shot to him and she blinked, not sure she understood.
“I’ve got two Chinese dinners in my car.”
“I—”
“Why, that’s thoughtful, isn’t it, Meghan?” her mother interrupted. “Pat, don’t you think we should be heading home? Danny needs to be picked up from the theater soon.”
“I was going to have tea,” he objected, and then hesitated, apparently reading his wife’s expression. “Right,” he said evenly. “I forgot Danny. Now that your pipe’s fixed, Meghan, I guess I’ll be leaving.” Her father picked up the pliers and the other tools he’d been using and placed them inside his toolbox.
“Speaking of dinner,” Colleen O’Day said, “why don’t you come over to our house tomorrow for Sunday dinner, Professor? We’ve hardly had a chance to get to know you, and that way you could meet Meghan’s three younger brothers.”
Meghan’s sip of tea moved halfway down her throat and refused to go any farther. It took several attempts to swallow it. Meghan didn’t know what her mother could be thinking. Grey didn’t want to meet her family. Why should he? He and Meghan barely knew each other, and every time they even tried to date, the evening ended in disaster.
“Thank you, Mrs. O’Day, I’d be honored.”
Meghan realized his acceptance was only an excuse to be polite. After her parents left, she would let Grey know he shouldn’t feel obligated.
“Okay, princess, everything seems to be working.” To prove his point, Pat O’Day turned on the kitchen faucet, and after a few sputters the water gushed out normally.
“Thanks, Dad,” she told him, kissing him on the cheek.
“It was a pleasure to have met you both,” Grey said, in what Meghan was sure was his most courteous voice.
“You, too.”
“We’ll see you tomorrow at three, then,” her mother prompted.
“I’ll be there.”
“Now, you two young folks try to enjoy the rest of your evening,” Colleen O’Day suggested.
“We’ll do that,” Grey promised, his gaze reaching out and capturing Meghan’s.
Five
Meghan braced her feet on the chair beside her, her knees raised as she held the small white box of spicy diced chicken directly below her chin. Grey might be accustomed to eating with chopsticks, but she wasn’t.
“You’re doing great.”
She smiled lamely. “Right! I’ve got five different kinds of sauces smeared over the front of my sweatshirt and soy sauce dribbling down my chin.” The piece of chicken that was balanced precariously on the end of her chopstick fell and landed in her lap, proving her point.
“Here.” Grey handed her a paper napkin.
“Thanks.”
Grey set aside the white container and reached for a small bag. “Are you ready for your fortune cookie?”
“Sure.” She held out her hand, eager to discover her fate.
Grey gave her one and then promptly opened his first.
Meghan giggled at his shocked expression. “What does it say?”
“Ver-r-y inter-r-esting,” he said. “It says professors must beware of waitresses who read Shakespeare.”
“Very funny,” she returned, having a difficult time holding in her laughter. Setting aside the take-out container, Meghan ceremonially split open her own fortune cookie.
“Well?” Grey prompted.
“It says I should beware of man who insists women eat with chopsticks.”
Grey grinned. “I guess I asked for that.”
“You most certainly did,” she chided. “I don’t suppose you want to hear my views on Shakespeare, do you?”
“Dear heavens, no. When it comes to literature, we can’t seem to agree on anything.”
“Literature,” she echoed, “and just about everything else.” That could very well be true, but when he was looking at her like this, his blue eyes warm and filled with humor, every argument she’d ever presented him with turned into melted ice cream. She was forced to pull her gaze away for fear of what he would read in her eyes.
“You’ll be pleasantly surprised to know I’m crazy about Willie boy,” she announced, popping half the fortune cookie into her mouth.
“Willie boy?”
“William Shakespeare.”
“My faith in you has been restored,” he said solemnly, dipping his head slightly.
“Oh come now, Grey. Who couldn’t like Shakespeare?”
“The same person who finds fault with Edmund Spenser is questioning my reserve toward another English great?” he asked, his eyes as round as paper plates. “I’d like to keep the peace as long as possible, if I can.”
“Okay, okay. Forget I asked that.” Still smiling, she stood and started to deposit the empty cartons into the garbage can.
Grey helped her. “Are you willing to discuss something else?” he asked.
He was so casual that Meghan assumed he was about to pitch another joke her way. “Now, that all depends,” she replied, and tossed a wadded paper sack from behind her back. Her throw was a dead ringer, landing in the garbage can as though it were impossible for her to ever miss. Stunned, her mouth sagged open. “Did you see that?”
“Meghan, I’m serious.”
She dropped her hands to her sides and turned to face him. “I know,” she teased, laughter bubbling up inside her, “but I’m hoping once you get to know me, you’ll lighten u
p a little.”
His responding smile was feeble at best. “Meghan, would you please listen to me?”
The smile drained from her eyes when she realized that something was indeed bothering him. “Yes, of course.”
He buried his hands in his pockets and walked over to the sink, staring at it for a couple seconds before turning to face her. “Earlier, when I met your parents …”
“Yes?”
“I saw your face when your mother invited me to Sunday dinner. You weren’t pleased. The fact is, you don’t want me there, do you?”
Her first thought was to confirm his suspicion, but she realized it wasn’t entirely true. She did long for him to meet her family, but she feared the outcome. “You’re more than welcome,” she said blithely, hoping to casually dismiss any reserve he’d sensed. “It’s just that …”
“What?”
“I don’t want you to feel obligated. Mom’s one of those warm, wonderful people who insists on sweeping everyone she meets under her wing. I’m afraid you might feel pressured into joining my family just because my mother issued the invitation. If the plumber had been here, she probably would have asked him, too,” Meghan said, making light of her parent’s offer. “It’s just Mom’s way.”
“I see.”
From the stiff tone of his voice, it was clear Grey obviously didn’t. “You have to understand,” Meghan hurried to add, “my brothers would love nothing better than to get you involved in a hot little contest of touch football. And knowing Dad, he’d corner you the minute you walk in the door. He loves chess—anyone visiting is fair game. My dad’s a wonderful man, but he tends to be something of a poor loser.” Meghan realized she was rambling, but she was frantically trying to make him believe that she had his best interests at heart.
She didn’t even mention the ribbing her three brothers would likely give him. The annoyed look Grey gave her had told her she was apparently doing a poor job of explaining the situation.
“But what it really boils down to is that I wouldn’t fit in with your family,” he announced starkly. “That’s what you’re really trying to say.”
“Not entirely.” It was, but she hadn’t fully realized it. “You’re welcome to come if that’s what you want,” she finished, feeling both frustrated and confused.
“You mean your mother’s welcome is sincere, but yours isn’t?”
“Oh Grey, why do you have to complicate this? I told you the reasons I have my doubts, but whether you decide to come or not is entirely up to you.”
“I see.”
Meghan slapped her hands noisily against the sides of her legs. “I wish you would stop saying that.”
“What?”
“I see, in that pitiful voice, as though I’d insulted you.” Earlier they’d sat and joked and teased each other like longtime friends, and now they were snapping at each other like cantankerous turtles. In the short time since they’d met, they’d muddled their way through several disputes. The last thing Meghan wanted was another one.
“I see,” Grey said, in exactly the tone she’d been talking about.
Meghan burst out laughing. She couldn’t help herself, although it was clear that this reaction was the last thing Grey had expected of her.
“Professor Grey Carlyle, come here.”
“Why?” With his brows arched suspiciously, he studied her, clearly not trusting her.
“Never mind, I’ll come to you.” She did so, but the few short steps that separated them seemed more like miles. By the time she stood directly in front of him, Meghan had nearly lost her nerve. Boldly, she slipped her arms around his neck, tilted back her head, and looked squarely into his eyes.
Grey held himself stiff, with his hands hanging loosely at his sides, his brow puckered. “Kindly explain what you’re doing!”
“You mean to tell me you don’t know?” she asked softly. His mouth was scant inches from her own. Their soft, short breaths mingled and merged.
Very slowly, Meghan raised her lips to his and graced him with the briefest of kisses.
In response, Grey cleared his throat and moved his head farther away from hers, yet he didn’t disentangle her arms from his neck or make any move to slip her out of his arms.
If he expected to thwart her with a scowl, it wouldn’t work. Meghan stood on the tips of her toes and leisurely passed her mouth over his in a soft, almost chaste kiss.
This time neither moved, neither breathed. Kissing Grey the first time should have been warning enough. The second brief sampling only whetted Meghan’s appetite for more.
His, too, it seemed.
Grey lowered his head until his lips barely touched hers. He held himself completely immobile for a long moment, brushing his mouth back and forth over hers, savoring the velvet texture of her lips. The tip of his tongue outlined first her upper lip and then her bottom one until she felt her knees would buckle if he didn’t give her a more complete taste. She moaned softly, and he slipped his mouth over hers with a fierce kind of tenderness, molding her mouth to his own.
His fingers were planted on the curves of her shoulders when he gently pushed her away. His breathing was deep and ragged. Meghan’s own wasn’t any more controlled.
She’d meant to entice him, to take his mind off her mother’s invitation to Sunday dinner and the problem it had created between them. Instead, Meghan’s plan had backfired.
Everything went stock-still. She swallowed uncomfortably and lowered her eyes. She couldn’t have met his look had the defense of Mother Earth depended on it.
“Meghan?”
“I … I shouldn’t have done that.”
“Yes,” he murmured, “you should have.” He lifted his hand to her nape, urging her back into his arms. Without any argument, she went. This wasn’t a game any longer. She was trembling, with both excitement and need.
Grey kissed her again, using his tongue to coax her lips farther apart, sending a wild jolt of elation through her.
By the time Grey’s lips moved from hers and he buried his face in the curve of her neck, Meghan had no strength left in her bones.
“All right,” he whispered into her hair. “I’ll conveniently forget the dinner tomorrow. You needn’t worry I’ll show up—I’ll find some excuse to give your mother later.”
Meghan tightened her arms around his neck. “I want you there. Only please remember what I said.”
He laughed softly. “Meghan, it was obvious from the first that you didn’t.”
“I changed my mind,” she said, more forcefully this time. “Just be prepared for … my family.”
“I suppose you’re going to suggest I throw a game of chess, as well.”
“That would be nice, but not necessary. It’s time Dad owned up to the fact his strategy stinks.”
A long moment passed in which Meghan felt they did nothing more than enjoy the feel of each other.
When her legs felt as if they could support her, she stepped away from him, but her heart was pounding like a charging locomotive. And yet she felt as weak as a newborn kitten.
“Please come,” she said, in as firm a voice as she could manage, and wrote down her parents’ address.
“You’re sure about this?”
She pressed her forehead against his chest. “Yes.”
“Then I’ll be there.”
***
Meghan was in the kitchen with her mother, peeling a huge pile of potatoes, when the doorbell chimed in the background. Ripping the apron from the front of her dress, she heaved in a calming breath to regain her composure and hurried into the living room.
Her parents’ home was an older style built in the late 1920s, with a huge drawing room. An old brick fireplace with a mantel was situated at one end, and bookcases along the other. A sofa, a recliner, and two matching chairs with ottomans filled the rectangular area and were positioned around the television, where her father and brothers were watching a football game.
“That’s probably Grey,” she announced dram
atically, standing in front of the TV It was the only way to completely gain their attention. “Now, please remember what I said,” she cautioned, eyeing them severely.
“Oh Meghan,” thirteen-year-old Danny cried. “You make it sound like we’re going to hurt him. He mustn’t be much of a man if he can’t hold his own in a little game of touch football.”
“We’ve already been through this once, Daniel O’Day. You’re not going to ask him to play football with you. Understand?”
“You sweet on this guy, Sis?” Brian asked, eyeing her with sparkling blue eyes and a mischievous grin.
“That’s none of your business.” As a high-school senior, Brian should know better than to ask. Meghan expected a little more understanding from her oldest brother. It was obvious, however, that she wasn’t going to get it. Her mistake had been revealing to her younger siblings how much she did care about Grey.
“Dad … No chess, please.”
“Princess, are you going to open the door or not? You’re leaving the poor man to freeze to death on the front porch while you give everyone instructions on how to act around him.”
“Grey’s important to me.”
“Oh gee,” fifteen-year-old Chad said, and hit his forehead with the palm of his hand. “We hadn’t figured that one out, Sis.”
Meghan stood in front of the door, sighed inwardly, and smoothed her hands down the front of her dress. At the last moment, she twirled around and faced her father and brothers once more. “Please.”
“Meghan, for heaven’s sake, would you kindly answer the door?”
She did as her father requested, her smile forced. “Hello, Grey,” she said, greeting him with a wide smile and opening the screen door for him. “I’m pleased you could make it.”
Grey stepped into the family home, carrying a bouquet of red rosebuds. He was dressed in a suit and tie, looking as dignified and professional as ever.
Meghan looped her arm around his elbow so they faced the O’Day men as a united force. “You remember my dad from last night?”
“Of course.” Grey stepped forward and the two men shook hands.
Brian stood with his father, and Meghan introduced him.