Jennifer Greene - Ain’t Misbehaving

Kay opened one sleepy eye and groaned.

“The pancakes died,” he informed her. “I held the last rites over the garbage disposal. But scrambled eggs I could manage, and the cinnamon rolls are warm-at least on the outside.” Mitch set the tray down on her bedside table. Leaning over the bed, he forced the comforter out of her hand and gradually peeled it down to reveal her face. “Who would have guessed you’d turn out to be such an indolent hussy? We’re four hours late for our skating date.”

“What a terribly cold idea.”

“Open your eyes. Come on, you can do it.”

“I can’t.”

“Trust me, you can.” He waved the steaming cup of coffee in front of her nose to tantalize her nostrils. “You know the old proverb about early to bed and early to rise? I think we’ve blown it.”

“I think you’re right.”

“So much for health, wealth and wisdom.” He plumped up the pillow behind her, forced her limp frame up against it, set the tray on her lap and perched on the side of her bed, watching her with the air of the cat that caught the canary.

There was really a very silly grin on his face.

She expected there was an equally silly grin on hers. Every inch of her body felt utterly, thoroughly loved, and the look of him was enough to initiate another onslaught of wanton yearnings. Mitch had lost all traces of inhibition rather quickly. In fact, he had a talent for improvising variations on a theme like a jazz pianist.

The first time, yes, had been fast. What can you expect from a keg of dynamite? And just maybe there’d been a hint of awkwardness; Mitch had been far too concerned about hurting her, so very worried she would guess he was a virgin…

And she had loved every moment, savoring the man’s innate capacity for loving, his tenderness, the explosive richness he brought to intimacy. The second time she’d soared past ecstasy, but it was still the first time she would always remember.

For the rest, he was the fastest learner she’d ever met. A prodigy. And he was looking disgracefully proud of himself for producing an exhausted woman propped up against pillows, who undoubtedly was going to walk as if she’d spent the past five years riding a horse.

No one, by contrast, had the right to look that energetic and virile after a night without sleep. He’d showered; his hair was still damp. And he must have used her razor, because there was a tiny nick just below his chin.

She set down her cup and stared back at him. A wave a love filled her up, bubbled over. She shoved aside the tray, crawled over to Mitch on her knees and assaulted him. When he crashed flat on his back, she straddled his ribs and waggled a forefinger in front of his nose. “I’ll take you skating,” she said severely, “only if you take that silly smile of your face. Because if you don’t…”

“Ah. Here come the threats of a violent woman.”

“If you don’t, I’ll wipe it off myself.”

“You do that,” Mitch advised. Long brown fingers closed around her hips as he glanced down. “You know, this is a potentially very interesting position…”

“That’s it. Now you suffer.” She grabbed a pillow, mercilessly smothered him, and victoriously vaulted from the bed in the direction of the shower. Which would have worked out fine, except Mitch joined her.

***

They made it to the skating rink at a few minutes before five. It was a makeshift rink, set up in a field between two old houses. By the time they arrived, it was already dark, and anyone with any sense had already gone home. A nasty mixture of rain and snow pelted down helter-skelter, and a north wind whistled through treetops like a poltergeist.

Mitch was insistent. He was also fussy. “You know, I’ve been tying my own laces for a few years now,” she informed him.

“I saw how you tied them. You need support for your ankles, foolish one.” He wrapped the string around her skate yet another time and knotted it, leaning back on his haunches to survey his work. “Ready,” he pronounced.

“You’re sure there isn’t something else you want to criticize about the way I’m put together?” she said demurely.

He offered one of his slow, lazy grins. “Now, do you really want more trouble than you can handle?”

“I’ve already taken on more trouble than I can handle,” she said in the tone of the long-suffering, gave him a pointed glance and rapidly shoved off.

It took a moment to gain her balance. She’d skated every winter since she could remember, but the rink was pitted and scarred from a day of too many skaters. After a few minutes, she found the smooth spots, and a few minutes after that she tried out a little fancy legwork, just in case Mitch was looking.

Mitch was tying his skates. When he finished, he put his gloves back on, glanced up once to see Kay mightily showing off, and grinned as he carefully got to his feet.

“Mitch?” Kay gave him a funny look.

Paying no attention, he shoved off. Exultation had been singing in his bloodstream for hours; it refused to stop. Sweet, cold air rushed into his lungs; the wind whipped his face and snow blinded him. He didn’t care. Energy desperately needed to be expended; he had oceans of the commodity. He hadn’t slept and couldn’t imagine feeling tired; he’d barely eaten and couldn’t imagine feeling hungry.

Kay was the source of all that manic energy.

He saw a perfectly ridiculous look of concern on her face before one skate went out from under him, and ice-probably the hardest substance in the universe-came up in a crashing hurry to meet his rear end.

In a rush, she skated over to him and crouched down. “Darn it. Are you all right?”

“I may never sit again, but yes.”

She reached out a hand to help him, but he just waved it away and got up, trying to coax his skates underneath him again. At best, his motions lacked…grace. Kay, finally certain that he wasn’t seriously hurt, shook her head at him ruefully. “You know, I only suggested we go skating because it’s that time of year. You didn’t have to take me up on it.”

“I promised you a week ago that we’d go. I don’t break promises. Just give me a minute.” He wobbled tentatively to her side. “Heck. Hockey used to be my game. This is ridiculous.”

“But how long has it been since your hockey days?” Kay asked bewilderedly.

“About thirteen years.” He took one long glide and then another, and turned to face her with a triumphant grin.

“Mitch!”

One of his hands wildly flailed the air, then the other, but he stayed on his feet by some miracle. “Now all I need is a hockey stick and a puck.”

That man, Kay thought wildly, needed a keeper.

She glanced around once, then twice, but there was no one else volunteering.

“Mitch, I am not going to catch pneumonia. For heaven’s sake-”

Paying no attention whatsoever to her grumblings, Mitch finished wrapping Kay in his robe, grabbed her damp pants and socks and the rest of her clothes, and pointed a scolding finger at her. “Now you just stay there,” he ordered, before deserting the living room.

She muttered darkly to herself and took her freezing bare toes abruptly over to the fire, trying to turn up the cuffs of the navy robe she was swaddled in so she could at least see her hands. Honestly.

Not that Kay had any appreciation for bossy, overbearing men, but there was a cheeky smile on her face as she curled up on one of the huge pillows by the hearth. Mitch’s living room was a wonderful place to be on a frigid evening. The white stone fireplace took up one entire wall, and the massive fire he’d just built was roaring away. Who needed furniture? Dancing shadows played on the richly painted walls and cathedral ceiling, sparking endless imaginative fantasies…knights in their drafty old castles, deserted haunted houses, princesses locked in towers…

Mitch pushed open the door with his foot, carrying two steaming mugs. “Are you warm?”

“If you put a few stones on the floor, we could probably have a sauna in here,” Kay said mildly.

“If you think I’m ever going to listen to you again, you have another thought coming. ‘Just one more hour, Mitch,’ said the lady with the frozen toes. If I’d known…” Mitch handed her the mug of hot cider and bent over to place yet another log on the fire. Tongues of flame shot up the chimney, sending a fresh wave of shadows on the walls.

“You were pretty good, once you got your skating legs back,” Kay remarked, not wanting to go overboard lest the praise should go to his head. Mitch had been doing flips and jumps within two hours.

“It’ll take more than one time on the ice.” Mitch pushed several more pillows behind her back. “Used to be a forward on a neighborhood hockey team. At the time, I thought I was pretty hot stuff… Now you look comfortable.”

She shot him an amused grin. Finally, he was satisfied, now that she was languishing back on the pillows like a sultan. Or sultaness. Most sultanesses, on the other hand, weren’t buried in oversized navy blue robes, folded over three times at the cuffs.

He settled down next to her, wrapped a hand around her bare foot to ensure that it had reached the boiling point, and took a sip of the well-aged cider.

So did Kay. The warm, tangy liquid slid down her throat, adding to a feeling of incredibly lazy well-being. The fire’s heat had long since thawed her freezing limbs. Mitch was overdoing the caretaking role a bit, but she knew it would pass. A little overprotectiveness was natural to males of the species, particularly when they first claimed their own territory. And Kay felt very claimed, relishing the way Mitch’s dark eyes checked in every second or two, as if he needed to be certain she was still there.