Part Four
Author: AD
Rating: R
Category: Romance/Humor/Angst (strange combo)
Pairing: Webb/Mac
Spoilers: Everything
Archived: http://www.geocities.com/eggy_weg/ADFics.html & http://groups.yahoo.com/group/webbmacfic2 & http://classified.ingrad.net
Disclaimer: Apologies to Viacom, Paramount & Belisarius Productions for borrowing some JAG characters and taking them in a really different direction. Okay, let�s be honest---JAG would never go in this direction.
Previously, in Chapter 3: Following the disclosure of Mac�s �delicate condition,� our favorite couple opted for lunch-time nuptials at the county courthouse. Unfortunately, one night of wedded bliss was all they enjoyed before an early-morning wake-up call demanded Webb�s attention.
Author's Note: I finally got one of these things beta�ed--- Thank You, Kevin. (I knew I could count on you!)
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FEBRUARY 3, 2004
JAG HEADQUARTERS
FALLS CHURCH, VIRGINIA
The world hadn�t come to stand-still; it just felt like it had. The array of news monitors lining the bullpen walls were focused on various angles of the same chaotic scene: the remains of an American embassy burning throughout the night, the fuselage of a 737 jetliner---unrecognizable but for its tail-wing---embedded in what was once a popular hotel, and the frenzied activity of rescue workers trying to save what and who they could. No matter where the news cameras panned, the bustling city of Lisbon looked like an apocalyptic war zone.
Mac lost count of the number of times she had paused before the monitors, a lump taking up permanent residence in her throat. Sometimes the entire bullpen would become silent when the words �this just in� were spoken by a correspondent. For the most part, however, they were a subdued workforce, united in their anger over yet another senseless act of terrorism.
Six o�clock rolled around slowly. Those who had families were eager to join them. Those who didn�t, lingered on, doing what they could do to ease the emptiness created by such tragic events.
Listlessly packing up her briefcase, Mac had just decided to skip dinner and start in on the nursery. Thinking that the large nook across from their bedroom would be ideal once she moved out Clay�s collection of framed artwork, she didn�t see Admiral Chegwidden standing in her doorway.
�Mac? Got a moment?�
Allowing a rueful smile to twist her lips, Mac thought about how a moment could be both the shortest and longest of times. �Yes, I believe I do. How�re you holding up, sir?�
AJ rubbed a hand over his mouth and jaw, considering the past eighteen hours. He absently tapped a padded envelope against his leg as he admitted, �I�m tired, Mac--- dead tired. It�s been a hulluva day.�
Mac sighed heavily and continued sorting through her case files. �Can�t disagree there, sir.�
AJ lingered in the doorway, uncertain how to proceed. Mac, unaware of his indecision, snapped her briefcase shut and leaned against the side of her desk. �On a day like this it�s hard to believe there�s any good left in the world,� she reflected.
�You really believe that, Mac?�
Mac looked up at him, unable hold back the wave of utter sadness she was experiencing. �Right now, I do.� Smoothing a swath of hair behind her ear, Mac stared at him with unseeing eyes.
�Mac?� AJ recalled her.
Mac started and offered him a brief grimace, �Sorry, sir.�
AJ waved off her apology and cleared his throat. �Mac,� he began again, �a message was relayed to me through one of our Ticonderoga-class cruisers about an hour ago. Alerted me to expect a level one clearance package.�
Mac glanced down at the padded envelope he was tapping against his thigh. AJ raised the package higher, acknowledging her unspoken question, �Just came off the transport.�
�Aren�t you going to open it?� Her obvious question was not lost on AJ.
�I was---until Coates pointed out the strangest damn thing. It�s directed to you. Care to shed some light on that?� He held out the package to her.
Mac accepted the thick brown envelope. Absently noting how light it was, she raised questioning eyes to the Admiral. After re-examining the anonymous block-lettering that designated her name and current assignment, he stepped back. Crossing his arms, he paced towards the file cabinet and turned around.
Mac could see that his patience, always in short supply these days, was quickly fading. �Colonel, why have I become your personal messenger?�
�I don�t know, sir.� Mac curiously fingered the package, but made no move to open it.
�Mac, open the damn thing!�
�Oh, right.� Finding the red pull-tab, Mac easily accessed the contents of the package. Inside, safely hidden from prying eyes, her first name was boldly written across a standard white envelope. Although she clearly heard the Admiral�s grunt of impatience, Mac couldn�t resist running her fingers across the familiar script.
�Well?� AJ prodded.
�It�s from Clayton,� she informed him. AJ nodded, but appeared to be waiting for something more.
�For me,� she added.
�Hell, I know that, Mac. What does he say? What intel was he able to get out? With a level one clearance, it�s bound to be important,� AJ reminded her.
Slightly irked to realize that she�d mistaken this for a personal message, Mac ripped open the envelope and handed the folded sheets of paper to her commanding officer.
AJ readily accepted the letter. Leaving him to scan the message on his own, Mac strolled around to the other side of her desk and sat down. It had been a long day and she was once again drained of all energy. Closing her eyes, she let her head fall back against the chair.
The sound of a loud cough barely registered. �Uh, Mac?�
�Sir?� she asked, not really caring that she was breaking protocol.
�I�m sorry Mac.� Contrite was not a good tone for the Admiral. Opening her eyes, she saw AJ hastily refold the letter and place it before her on the desk. �You were right---it�s for you.�
�It is?� Raising her brows, Mac was about to ask for an explanation when she noticed the Admiral�s distant expression. �Sir, is something--?�
Coming to some unvoiced decision, AJ nodded and interrupted her, �Mac, you should be home right now.�
Perplexed by this sudden concern, she sat up and shook off some of her lethargy. �Well, I was on my way home---.�
�Good, good,� be broke in, giving her the bum�s rush, �Call me when you get there so I won�t worry.�
�Call you when I---?� But AJ was already half-way across the bullpen and heading for his office.
Mac fell back against her chair again, exasperated. Picking up the discarded letter, she finally noticed the heading: �My Dearest Sarah.�
With a growing sense of delight, she crossed her legs and settled back into the chair. Deciphering the hastily scrawled words became a labor of love as she began to read an extremely personal message from her husband.
<<My Dearest Sarah,
Time is short & there�s so much to say. Most will have to wait �til later. Of major importance: noticed you were sick this AM----yes, I did! Don�t hide these things from me. I want to experience them with you. Know I haven�t been around much these past months. Give me time to change all that. I promise our baby will have two very involved parents loving him.>>
�Could be a Her,� Mac murmured.
<<Had access to wireless on transport & found this info on AM sickness. Attached sheet is print-out of helpful hints.>>
Mac glanced at the second sheet, recognizing the web address printed at the bottom.
<<Also, did I tell you I loved you this AM? Was thinking it. Was feeling it. Still think & feel it way too much. That comes first now, not the job. One day of marriage & already you have become my world.>>
Mac�s finger ran across his words, caressing them, �Oh, Clay�I love you, too.�
<<Don�t know how long this will take. SOP includes debrief after action. Am usually real bastard during debriefs. Don�t want you or baby experiencing fallout. Hope you understand.>>
A frown inched its way across Mac�s brow, �I can deal with the bastard, you protective idiot.�
<<Know you won�t---at least not yet. Have a lot to discover, you & me---together. I like the sound of that. Hope you do, too.
Already wishing for home,
Clay>>
�Me, too. Come home, soon,� Mac whispered.
Absently wiping the moisture from her eyes with the back of one hand, she flipped to the next page and noticed where he�d made brief notations next to most of the entries:
1. Eat saltines, graham crackers (maybe with peanut butter), or any other type of bland cracker before sitting up in bed or with the onset of nausea. <<(2 new tins of water crackers in pantry---PB in fridge)>>
2. Eat a piece of plain wheat toast before sitting up in bed. <<(I know---my job!)>>
3. Drink 7-UP�, Sprite�, Ginger Ale or some sort of lemon-lime soda before sitting up in bed or when you start feeling sick. The lemon lime soda usually helps with acidic and upset stomachs. <<(small fridge arrives Thursday�wait for Al Carter to install in bedroom / several cases of ginger ale already in pantry)>>
4. Drink a hot cup of chamomile, peppermint, or mint tea either before sitting up in bed or when you start feeling sick. <<(Again�my job!)>>
5. Take your mornings slow and don't rush. Rushing and feeling stressed makes it worse. After you've eaten, take 20 minutes before sitting up in bed so it gives the food time to digest a little. <<(Have several ideas for going slow & relaxing---wait for me!)>>
6. Eat bland foods. Fatty, greasy and spicy foods are big no no's because they can cause an increase in stomach acid which can make morning sickness worse. <<(no comment---I want to live)>>
7. Take two TUMS� (no other antacid because they can be harmful) when you start feeling sick. TUMS� cuts down the stomach acid and is highly recommended by OB's. <<(Look in kitchen cabinet�full bottle of cherry ones)>>
8. Eat 6 small meals a day and make sure you eat often. Keeping something in your stomach keeps away acid build up and having an empty stomach causes twice as much nausea. <<(EAT!!!)>>
9. Eat more carbohydrates such as plain baked potato, white rice, pasta, cereals and fruits. White rice boiled with chicken broth instead of water tastes great and helps with morning sickness. <<(stocked in pantry if you want to try)>>
10. If you feel you can't keep solids down, then try broths, Jell-O� or Popsicles�. <<(Pops are in deep freeze---save me some orange ones)>>
11. Avoid foods with a strong smell if it bothers you. <<(there goes everything you like)>>
12. Sucking on hard candy may help some. <<(OK�dive into my stash of Lifesavers)>>
13. Some books recommend wearing what are called Sea Bond wrist bands. They are basically elastic bands that go around your wrist. Most use them for sea sickness. <<(up to you---thought they were for dentures)>>
14. Minimize stress in your life. <<(Try!)>>
Mac laughed out loud at a few of his comments and merely groaned at number fourteen. Carefully refolding both sheets, she tucked the letter back into its torn envelope and snapped open her briefcase. Slipping the letter into the protective flap of the lid, she patted it once before re-locking the case.
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FEBRUARY 27, 2004
CIA HEADQUARTERS
LANGLEY, VIRGINIA
�And how do you feel about that?� The questioner did not look up as he scratched out yet another note in the folder.
�Fine.�
The questioner looked up at the laconic reply. �I�m not certain I understand, Mr. Webb. You feel fine about what you have referred to as,� he flipped back in his notes to directly quote the enigmatic counter-intelligence director, �the senseless slaughter of 197 innocents?�
�Yes.�
�That�s it?� The questioner observed the hollow-eyed man turn away from the fifth-floor window. The relaxed body language had to be an act, but the questioner could never be certain. Deception was a highly prized skill among the members of this organization.
�Yes.�
Was there a slight edge to this last response? He watched Webb casually stroll towards the center of the room, slide both hands into his pockets, and rock back on his heels. He deliberately checked the time on the wall clock and waited for the next question.
�You feel fine about it?� the questioner prodded.
Dr. Reid Martin immediately sensed a shift in his patient�s mood. Silently praying that the man would finally release some of his closely guarded emotions, Martin absentmindedly tapped his pen on the arm of his chair. This was the part of the job that he both dreaded and desired: convincing these agents that their missions were over and that they could allow themselves to be human once more.
�How do you want me to feel, doctor?� Uh-oh, Martin thought, back to square one; he�s trying to turn it back on me again.
�That�s up to you. It�s okay to have feelings, you know. It�s time to let go of them, Mr. Webb. This isn�t your first debriefing; you know the drill.� Martin tried out his best I-can-wait-you out-as-long-as-I-have-to expression.
A bitter laugh slipped through Webb�s rigid control as he impatiently glanced at the clock again. �Look, I�ve been answering your questions for two days now. I�m okay with what I�ve been through. I�ve been through worse. I�ve lived to see another day and will most likely live to see a few more. While I don�t *feel* like facing another disaster within the next 48 hours, I�m handling it. Now, clear me so that I can go home.�
�I�m sorry Mr. Webb. I can�t do that.� He really did regret refusing this man. Putting an operative through additional stress was not his idea of a fun Friday, but it was dangerous not to complete the debriefing. Martin knew Mr. Webb was not withholding on purpose; some ops just needed more time than others.
�Why the hell not?� Okay, that was definitely a break in the laid-back fa�ade. Martin made a mental note of Webb�s preoccupation with time and hastily assembled a rationale for detaining him for a few more hours. He was certain this man could be �de-programmed� before the day was out.
�Mr. Webb,� the doctor took a calming breath, �nothing you�ve told me indicates that you are successfully handling the ordeal you�ve been through. Simply put, you are---by turns---hostile, evasive, sarcastic, and passive aggressive.�
�Oh, yeah? Those are some of my better qualities.�
The doctor merely raised his brows and waited.
�Look, doc, if you�re expecting me to bare my soul here, it�s not going to happen. You have my debrief, you have my after action, and you have my personal narrative.�
�Do I?� Martin internally winced at his own vacuous retort. Surely that would trigger this man�s anger, if nothing else. In fact, anger was a good place to start.
�Are you even listening? Pay attention, please, Dr. Martin; I do not intend to repeat myself. By the time I arrived in Lisbon, it was merely a matter of bagging and tagging the bodies. Of contacting the families. Of waiting to see which psycho group would take the credit. I never even had to un-holster my Sauer.�
�There must have been a lot of bodies to identify, Mr. Webb.�
�Yes. One hundred and ninety-seven, to be exact.�
�Women and children?� Martin had studied Webb�s sleep pattern reports from the previous night. Although it was considered a last-resort technique, Martin was resigned to exploiting Mr. Webb�s impaired response hostility mechanism.
�Yes.�
The terse and slightly hissed response was edging closer.
�Elderly victims?�
�Yes, yes. The whole gamut. Bombs do not discriminate, doctor.�
Patronizing sarcasm was good, too.
�Don�t they?�
Webb took his hands out of his pockets and narrowed his eyes on the doctor, �Excuse me?�
�Oh, I know how it is out there, Mr. Webb. Don�t forget---doctors go through rigorous training, too. ER time is part and parcel of our rotations. It�s a real eye-opener. One moment you�re trying to save everyone, the next you�re just hoping to save the closest one. Someone always winds up making decisions that affect who lives and who dies. That�s one of the unspoken laws of triage. I�m sure you often have to make similar decisions.�
A brusque nod was accompanied by the clenching of Webb�s jaw.
�How about in Lisbon?�
Webb�s jaw unclenched and a slight smile covered whatever he might have been feeling, �That�s classified, Dr. Martin.�
�Convenient---that would make you the OCA on this one, then?� Martin willed the man to sit down and let it out, but Webb just picked up his suit jacket, preparing to leave. Martin stood up and called out the CI director�s name.
�Did you play God over there in Lisbon, Mr. Webb? Is that what you�re afraid of revealing? Or was it that you liked playing God?� Martin was grasping at straws and Webb knew it.
Opening the door, Webb pulled out his car keys. �I�m not going to relive Lisbon with you.�
Tired of the cat-and-mouse game he had played and lost, Martin allowed his own frustration to surface. �If not with me, then who? How long can you cope with the sleepless nights and self-doubts? I�ve got your file, Mr. Webb. I know your reaction patterns following a stressful mission.�
He saw Webb pause. Carefully re-closing the door, he pocketed his keys and waited for the doctor to continue. �Mr. Webb, you�d never allow one of your operatives to leave this facility without a complete debriefing. You�re aware of what can happen. Something or someone might inadvertently say or do something that triggers a reaction. Something that might unleash all the violent emotions you can�t bear them to see.�
Eyeing the doctor as though he was some insect he�d like to crush, Webb leaned against the door and crossed his arms.
Martin assumed an air of superiority he didn�t feel. He wasn�t sure how Webb would react when antagonized. �Let�s see, who could it be? Your secretary? She is a bit green isn�t she? Then again, it could be a good learning experience.�
No response. �What about the next car that cuts you off on the parkway?�
Webb uncrossed his arms and stood up straighter. Knowing that everyone got cut off at one time or another on the parkway, Martin tried another tack. �Maybe it�ll be a friend who asks an innocent question or cares enough to make you feel something?�
Again, there was no response. Swallowing hard, Martin took a calculated risk, �What about your wife, Mr. Webb? I understand you recently married a JAG lawyer.�
It happened so quickly, Martin never stood a chance. Barely aware of dropping his pen and folder, the doctor struggled to grasp the muscled arm wrapped so tightly around his neck. �Mr. Webb!� he choked out.
Martin felt himself being slowly lowered back to the chair. Webb�s voice was eerily calm as it echoed in his ears, �We�re going to leave my wife out of this, doctor. Now, what exactly do you want to know? I find that I�m suddenly in a sharing mood.�
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MARCH 12, 2004
WEBB RESIDENCE
ALEXANDRIA, VIRGINIA
Mac rushed home, acutely aware only two more days remained before they reported back to work. Her brakes squealed slightly as she pulled into the wide parking garage that housed their cars. Right on cue, Clay opened the door, motioning for her to hurry.
Locking the door behind her, he looked down at the container she carried, �Did you get the right kind?�
Exasperated but amused by his concern, Mac laughed. �Yes!�
Clay gestured with his hands, indicating the container, �With the�?�
Mac stopped in the middle of the living room and rounded on him, �Think about it Clay! Who�re you asking here?�
Clay nodded his head and nudged her towards the kitchen. �Right.�
Mac edged out of his reach and nearly dropped the container. �So? What do I do with it?� Readjusting her hold on the ice-cold plastic, she looked around for a likely resting place.
Seeing her head towards the black bench where he�d been relaxing earlier, he unthinkingly warned, �No! Not on the piano, Sarah.�
Sitting down on the piano bench, Mac rolled her eyes. �Clay, what do you take me for? An idiot? Watch it or you�re going solo on this project.� Settling the heavy container on her lap, she innocently studied the black and white keys.
Clay flipped the dish towel over his shoulder and reached out for the container. �You�re the one who begged me to��
Mac balanced the container on her thighs and slapped his hands away, �Asked! Asked, Clay. There�s a difference.�
�Semantics,� he muttered, draping the dish towel over the piano keys.
�All right, that was it. You�re on your own.� Mac slammed the container down on the towel, wincing at the discordant noise the piano emitted. Webb barely had time to catch the wobbling container when she hopped up from the bench and headed for the stairs.
�Wait, Sarah. That wasn�t a---wait, damnit. I�m sorry, okay?� Flinging the towel back over his shoulder, he rushed after her.
Mac stopped on the first step and turned around, leaning against the banister. �For what?�
Webb simply stared at her, shifting the cold container to his other arm. �What am I sorry for?�
�Uh-huh,� Mac nodded her head, a wide grin spreading across her face. Webb sensed another verbal trap approaching.
�Being an idiot?� he quoted, playing it safe.
Mac giggled and patted his cheek. �Okay, that works, too.� Descending the single step she had climbed, Mac walked around Clay and headed for the kitchen. �Wanna try this again?�
�Not in this lifetime,� Clay grumbled. He opened the container and grimaced. �Look, Sarah, in about five more minutes it won�t matter anyway.�
Mac retraced her steps and glanced into the container, wrinkling her nose. �You�re giving up? After sending me on that wild prawn chase?�
Clay shook his head and entered the kitchen. Placing the container on the marble countertop, he reached over to cut down the water he�d been boiling and dumped in the prawns. �No, they�re giving up. See?�
Mac hopped up on the counter and pulled out one of the prawns with her thumb and forefinger. Flicking the ugly creature back into the boiling pot and widening her eyes in mock horror, she pouted, �The legs are still attached, Clay. You promised me a taste sensation. A delicate aphrodisiac beyond all others. A meal only a true gourmand could execute.�
He ignored her mockery of his culinary talents and snorted. �They�re executed all right.� Sighing in resignation, he filled a clear glass bowl with cool water and a few ice cubes. Pulling out some tongs, he transferred the prawns to the glass bowl and searched around for the platter he�d laid out.
Mac handed him the platter and watched in fascination as he removed the legs from the underside of the prawns and peeled them. �Anything I can do to help?�
�Can you pick the peeled ones out of the water and spread them out on that seasoned platter?�
Mac did as he asked and held up one of the prawns to study. �Aren�t you going to chop the tails off?�
Clay shook his head at her and used a forearm to push the hair back on his forehead. Peeling the last prawn, he placed it on the platter and washed his hands. Grabbing up the platter and tongs, he looked over to where Mac was now leaning over a large bowl on the counter. �Sarah? Want to grab that butter dish with the barbeque brush and follow me out to the deck? Grilled�s not as good,� he looked over to where she was still picking the pine nuts out of the salad he�d prepared, �but I don�t think you�ll notice.�
�Hey, I am eating for two, you know.� She flipped over a slice of cucumber before seeking out more pine nuts. Crunching on a handful of nuts, she picked up the butter dish and long cooking brush.
Clay placed his burdens on the deck table and smiled indulgently. �So I�ve noticed. You sure there�s only one in there?� Removing the cover from the gas grill, he wiped it down before firing it up.
Mac stopped in front of the French doors and examined her reflection. One hand pressing slightly on her still-flat abdomen, she called out, �Why? Am I starting to show?�
Clay looked up from adjusting the flames, �Not from any angle I can see.�
�Then stop with the jokes,� she lightly warned. Walking up behind him, she wrapped her arms around his waist and reminded him, �You�re the one who got me this way.�
Reaching back with one arm, he pulled her to his side and gave her ass an appreciative squeeze, �I�d gladly do it again, too.�
�Typical man,� she complained while burrowing into the warmth of his chest. �Next you�ll want me barefoot, too�
He studied the grill before glancing down at her new running shoes. Retrieving the butter dish and brush from her grasp, he laid them on the grill�s wooden shelf and picked up the platter of prawns. Using the tongs to lay them out over the low flames, he kissed the top of her head, but made no further comment.
�What?� she asked.
�Too easy,� he grinned.
�What?� she repeated, stepping slightly aside. �Tell me,� she ordered.
�I�m going to regret this,� he murmured. The louder, �Well, if the shoe doesn�t fit, Sarah---.� He headed back to the kitchen after voicing the old euphemism.
Hurrying to keep up with him, she blocked his access the refrigerator and planted her hands on her hips. �What do you mean? Normally, I DO wear a size seven.�
Clay reached around her and opened the door. �Eight,� he corrected before pulling out two limes.
Following him over to the butcher block, she plucked a few more pine nuts from the salad bowl and munched on them. �My feet were swollen,� Mac mumbled around bites.
Whisking the lime juice in with some Tabasco� and diced tomatoes, he offered her a taste. �I�m sure they were after trying to shove them into those sevens.�
Pursing her lips at the tart flavor of the dipping sauce, she nodded her approval, �Hmmm, I can think of a better place to shove my foot right now.�
�Now, now. Threats give me indigestion,� he smirked before going out to the deck to turn the prawns.
Mac stood at the French door and watched him tend to the grill before calling out, �Want some of my Tums�?�
�Are those helping?� he called back. Clay expertly removed the prawns from the low flames and shut off the grill. Hefting the platter in one hand, he picked up the butter dish and brush with the other and headed back to the house. Mac held open the door so that he could enter the kitchen.
�Actually, they are. Next time you�re out, can you pick up those new spearmint-flavored ones? Maybe they won�t be as chalky as the fruity ones.� Stacking two plates with forks and napkins on the counter, she pointed towards the doorway. �In here or the dining room?� she asked with a wink.
Seeing that she�d already set the dipping sauce and salad on the small kitchen table, he placed the platter and butter dish in the middle of the table before approaching the counter. A rakish grin curved his lips as he pulled her to him. �So soon, Sarah? I haven�t even had my salad yet.�
Sliding one hand up his neck to cradle the back of his head, Mac pulled the long cooking brush from his hand and dipped it into the remaining butter. �And I haven�t had my appetizer yet,� she countered, delicately licking a drop of butter from the brush before laying it aside.
Leaning down, Clay took her bottom lip between his own and murmured, �Enough garlic?�
�Hmmm,� Mac agreed, shoving both hands into his hair and deepening their kiss. �You�re definitely a good cook.�
Clay slid his tongue over hers, massaging the roof of her mouth before retreating and kissing his way to her ear. �Just good?� he murmured roughly. Blindly pulling out a chair with his foot, he sat down and eased her onto his lap. Looking into her eyes for permission, he found hers already glittering with passion. His smile grew brighter when she giggled in delight.
Straddling his thighs, Mac pulled his head in closer, her nails lightly scraping up through his hair as her elbows settled on his shoulders. �Well, I never did get a taste of the main course,� she teasingly complained.
Clay cupped her ass in his hands, closing his eyes as he placed a possessive kiss between her breasts and nestling there for a moment. �Oh, that. It�s delicious. Definitely tart, but not too sweet,� he whispered. Nuzzling lower and stretching the low-cut vee of her shirt, he nipped the side of her breast. �Rare and perfect,� he concluded.
Mac held her head back, arching her neck. The hot kisses were melting any coherent thought she might have. The fingers kneading her ass traveled up her spine and flicked open the catch of her bra. Her breath hitched slightly as she felt his growing desire push against her own wet core. Shifting on his lap, she urgently pulled his head back. Glittering eyes met her own when she told him, �I like mine well done.�
�Really?� he asked, lifting her shirt over her head and peeling the bra half-way down her arms. Both fell to the floor in a colorful pool of fabric. Mac tugged him back into her arms and rested her cheek on top of his head. His expressive hands smoothed up and down her spine, while his lips caressed the hollow of her neck. When she moved to unbutton his shirt, his mouth sought out a turgid nipple. Mac ripped open his shirt as she shifted jerkily on his thighs. �Sorry. Buy you a new one,� she moaned.
Clay laughed and released his own moan as she raked her nails down his bare back. �Don�t bother. Just keep on doing what you�re doing.�
Mac lightly bit his shoulder and soothed it with her tongue. �You mean this?� she teased, lowering her hands to the buckle of his belt. Clay caught her hands and held them to his chest. Carefully easing her off of his lap, he stood up and winced. With a self-deprecating laugh, he gazed down at her full breasts and told her, �That and more.� Looking up he huskily asked, �Mind if we finish this in the bedroom?�
She slid her hand across his flat belly and grabbed his belt. Pulling him behind her, Mac�s low voice didn�t register until they were in front of the fireplace, �Yes, I do.�
Stopping mid-step, he lightly grasped her wrist and pulled her hand off of his belt. �Sarah?�
She turned around at the odd note in his voice and quickly kissed his chin. Still confused, he gripped her upper arms as he studied her expression. Undaunted, she steadily moved toward him as he tried to keep his distance. She grinned at the puzzled look on his face, and giggled hysterically when he backed right on to the leather couch behind him. As he was trying to regain his balance, Mac climbed on top of him, pushing his shoulders down to the seat cushion, �Do I have to spell it out, Clay?�
Clay crossed his arms under his head and looked up at her, just enjoying the view. Needing to hear her say exactly what she meant for a change, he nodded his head and waited patiently. Blowing out an exasperated breath, Mac settled down on his chest, cushioning her head on his shoulder. Clay lowered one arm to rest across her back and rubbed his jaw against the top of her head.
Idly pulling at one of his chest hairs, she smoothed it out and cleared her throat. �You---I do love you, you know.� She paused for a few seconds but he didn�t say anything. She knew what he wanted. �Okay, okay! I love your hands on me---all over me. They feel good. They give me hot chills, damnit. So do your kisses. For God�s sake, I want you as much as you want me. The sex is great---the best I�ve ever had. Okay? Are you satisfied? Clay?�
She could feel his heart accelerating and his breathing was slightly uneven, but he still didn�t say a word. Slapping his chest in frustration, she wasn�t surprised when his other hand came down to manacle her wrist. �All right,� she said in a small voice, �I didn�t want to wait for the bedroom. This couch seemed so much closer�.� As her voice trailed off, she could feel his chest shaking. Suspicious, she tried to sit up, but his arms held her in place.
�You�d better not be laughing, you arrogant jerk,� she warned.
�Was that really so hard, Sarah?� he chuckled. �After all, I feel the same way about you.�
�I know, but you take advantage of every little�,� Mac�s voice trailed off as she realized what she was telling him.
Clay slowly rolled towards the back of the couch, effectively trapping her between himself and the cushions. Looking deeply into her eyes, that sad smile of his made an appearance. �Is that what I do, Sarah? Do you really feel that way?�
She reached up with one hand to cup his face, but he flinched back out of her reach. He kept his back to her as he sat up on the edge of the couch. �Don�t do this, Clay. That�s not what I meant. I don�t even know what I meant.�
Clay looked over his shoulder at her and stood up. �Let me know when you figure it out, Sarah.� On his way to the kitchen, Clay�s fist hit the mantle with enough force to rattle the entire wall of pictures. �For the record, I want you, too. Kissing you and touching you, hell, loving you, gives me what little happiness there is in this world. I am absolutely ecstatic that you�re carrying our child. But, damnit Sarah, I�m not the only one who needs to try a little harder here.�
Mac sat up on the couch and hugged one of the cushions to her chest. He�d neither raised his voice nor turned around to look at her. Somehow, that made it even more painful to hear. Getting to her feet, she walked towards the kitchen, not willing to let this go on any longer. Before she could reach the door it opened.
Clay had put his shirt back on, the lack of buttons a reminder of how hungry they�d been for one another. He tugged the cushion from her and tossed it aside. Calmly slipping the cotton tee over her head, he pulled first one, then another arm through each sleeve as she stood there in numb amazement. Pulling down the hem of her shirt once he�d stepped back, she automatically asked, �My bra?�
He gave her a brief enigmatic stare before returning to the kitchen. Following him into the kitchen, she glanced around at the floor before sitting down at the table. Clay had already poured himself a small glass of white wine and was biting into a cold prawn. Mac picked up her glass of decaffeinated iced tea and took a sip. �Clay, where�s my bra?�
He lifted the linen napkin from his lap and patted the corner of his mouth. Replacing the napkin, Clay picked up his wine glass. �You look more comfortable without it,� he claimed, looking her over before sipping his wine.
Mac blushed but sat up straighter. �Chauvinist,� she retorted.
A slight grin curved one side of his mouth. �Appreciative husband,� he corrected.
Mac looked over at him and willed him to believe her, �I do love you, Clay.�
Clay picked up another prawn and dipped it into the sauce he�d prepared, �I know.�
~~~~~~~~~~TO BE CONTINUED�..
**For those of you who really want to try out a great prawn recipe, try this link: http://www.therecipebox.com/members/box/seafood/sea0112.htm
***Also, the romantic legend of the prawn can be found at: http://fiji.to/legends/redprawn.htm