Chapter 6
Folds of blankets wrapped about her. . .her aching head lay gently upon a pillow. . .a cold, jarring washcloth pressed upon her flushed cheeks and forehead. . .Mary Anne's eyes fluttered open to see Ira's face, eyes filled with tenderness and worry. In her daze of confusion and pain, she studied the strong line of his jaw. . .the yeilding shape of his lips. . .and how tantalizingly close his face was to hers. . .
In one movement, the inviting moment was gone. Ira pulled back and questioned gently, "Mary Anne, are you awake?"
Mary Anne groaned and nodded. "Did I faint?"
Ira confirmed her notion with a movement of his head, continuing to press the washcloth to her face. "Mary Anne," he pressed on, "you have got to tell me what's been going on."
She did not want to talk about it. Instead, she struggled to sit up, the fear of Logan waiting for her to return, the very real possibility of a reoccurence of what happened tonight fueling the overwhelming need to get Larissa and herself home. "Ira, I really must be going. . ."
Ira's face was stony. "No, Mary Anne," he told her in a final tone. "You aren't going anywhere until you tell me why Larissa is spending so much time here after Logan gets home from work. I want you to tell me why you were so upset tonight. And most of all, Mary Anne, I want you to tell me why you have that bruise on the side of your face."
Mary Anne's guard was falling with each soft-spoken word that came from Ira's lips, and the tears that so easily came to her were returning. As she came to the verge of sobbing, Ira held his arms out and she fell into them with vicious yearning, sobs escaping her lips, ragged breaths being drawn in, feeling so safe in the tender embrace that Ira offered, so different from Logan's, tired of being scared and vulnerable. Ira let her cry, let her tears stain his shirt as he rocked her gently. When he spoke, it was with quiet frustration. "So many times, Mary Anne, I've tried to get you to tell me what's going on. I want to know, I want to protect you, Mary Anne, I never want you to be hurt again. . ."
Her reply was muffled from being buried into his strong shoulder as she sobbed. "How do you do it?" she asked miserably.
"Do what?"
"Be a single father," she answered, tears starting anew. "How can you raise two daughters alone, with no one to satisfy that undying need to be loved and held and be told that you are beautiful. . .I could never do it. . I need Logan," she finished lamely, revolted and disgusted beyond bearing that she had become dependant on her abusive husband.
Ira's arms instinctively tightened. "Mary Anne, you do not need Logan! You do not deserve to be his personal punching bag. He has no right to hit you or make you feel horrible. . .I know how hard it is to get out of a bad marriage, Mary Anne. . .but there are other alternatives. . ."
A small, timid voice answered him. "But I'm so scared. . ."
Ira's form was racked with the need to protect her. "Mary Anne, I will never, ever let Logan hurt you, or Larissa, ever again. Do you understand? I am going to protect you. . ."
Mary Anne pulled away, her gleaming eyes staring deep into Ira's, searching. She wanted to believe that Ira would protect her. . .she wanted his arms to stay around her forever. . .
Ira couldn't help himself. She looked so lovely, her hair tousled, face flushed, setting off her gorgeous eyes. . and then his raging instinct to protect her and keep her from harm ravaged through him, and he leaned forward to take her parted lips with his. Mary Anne was tentative at first, but in the kiss she felt a yearning that burned deep within him, a yearning to love. . .and she wanted to be loved, to take all he had to give. She lost herself in the most delicious, soul-satisfying kiss that had ever touched her. . .and as they parted, she remained light-headed and faint. He just looked into her eyes, searching her soul, for a few more delectable moments. .. until the reality of what she had just done set in.
She shot off of the bed like a shot. "What am I DOING?" she asked herself hysterically. "I'm. . .I'm a married woman! You are a father! We shouldn't be doing this!" The finality of her tone kept Ira silent for awhile. Then Mary Anne started out the door. "I've got to go home. . ."
"Mary Anne, if you think I am going to let you go back to that. . demon's house, you have another thought coming!" Ira told her angrily. "I will not let you offer yourself to that. . .that son of a bitch!"
"He's my husband!" Mary Anne hissed.
"He doesn't love you," Ira told her lamely.
They stared at eachother, a silent standoff, when the doorbell rang.
Folds of blankets wrapped about her. . .her aching head lay gently upon a pillow. . .a cold, jarring washcloth pressed upon her flushed cheeks and forehead. . .Mary Anne's eyes fluttered open to see Ira's face, eyes filled with tenderness and worry. In her daze of confusion and pain, she studied the strong line of his jaw. . .the yeilding shape of his lips. . .and how tantalizingly close his face was to hers. . .
In one movement, the inviting moment was gone. Ira pulled back and questioned gently, "Mary Anne, are you awake?"
Mary Anne groaned and nodded. "Did I faint?"
Ira confirmed her notion with a movement of his head, continuing to press the washcloth to her face. "Mary Anne," he pressed on, "you have got to tell me what's been going on."
She did not want to talk about it. Instead, she struggled to sit up, the fear of Logan waiting for her to return, the very real possibility of a reoccurence of what happened tonight fueling the overwhelming need to get Larissa and herself home. "Ira, I really must be going. . ."
Ira's face was stony. "No, Mary Anne," he told her in a final tone. "You aren't going anywhere until you tell me why Larissa is spending so much time here after Logan gets home from work. I want you to tell me why you were so upset tonight. And most of all, Mary Anne, I want you to tell me why you have that bruise on the side of your face."
Mary Anne's guard was falling with each soft-spoken word that came from Ira's lips, and the tears that so easily came to her were returning. As she came to the verge of sobbing, Ira held his arms out and she fell into them with vicious yearning, sobs escaping her lips, ragged breaths being drawn in, feeling so safe in the tender embrace that Ira offered, so different from Logan's, tired of being scared and vulnerable. Ira let her cry, let her tears stain his shirt as he rocked her gently. When he spoke, it was with quiet frustration. "So many times, Mary Anne, I've tried to get you to tell me what's going on. I want to know, I want to protect you, Mary Anne, I never want you to be hurt again. . ."
Her reply was muffled from being buried into his strong shoulder as she sobbed. "How do you do it?" she asked miserably.
"Do what?"
"Be a single father," she answered, tears starting anew. "How can you raise two daughters alone, with no one to satisfy that undying need to be loved and held and be told that you are beautiful. . .I could never do it. . I need Logan," she finished lamely, revolted and disgusted beyond bearing that she had become dependant on her abusive husband.
Ira's arms instinctively tightened. "Mary Anne, you do not need Logan! You do not deserve to be his personal punching bag. He has no right to hit you or make you feel horrible. . .I know how hard it is to get out of a bad marriage, Mary Anne. . .but there are other alternatives. . ."
A small, timid voice answered him. "But I'm so scared. . ."
Ira's form was racked with the need to protect her. "Mary Anne, I will never, ever let Logan hurt you, or Larissa, ever again. Do you understand? I am going to protect you. . ."
Mary Anne pulled away, her gleaming eyes staring deep into Ira's, searching. She wanted to believe that Ira would protect her. . .she wanted his arms to stay around her forever. . .
Ira couldn't help himself. She looked so lovely, her hair tousled, face flushed, setting off her gorgeous eyes. . and then his raging instinct to protect her and keep her from harm ravaged through him, and he leaned forward to take her parted lips with his. Mary Anne was tentative at first, but in the kiss she felt a yearning that burned deep within him, a yearning to love. . .and she wanted to be loved, to take all he had to give. She lost herself in the most delicious, soul-satisfying kiss that had ever touched her. . .and as they parted, she remained light-headed and faint. He just looked into her eyes, searching her soul, for a few more delectable moments. .. until the reality of what she had just done set in.
She shot off of the bed like a shot. "What am I DOING?" she asked herself hysterically. "I'm. . .I'm a married woman! You are a father! We shouldn't be doing this!" The finality of her tone kept Ira silent for awhile. Then Mary Anne started out the door. "I've got to go home. . ."
"Mary Anne, if you think I am going to let you go back to that. . demon's house, you have another thought coming!" Ira told her angrily. "I will not let you offer yourself to that. . .that son of a bitch!"
"He's my husband!" Mary Anne hissed.
"He doesn't love you," Ira told her lamely.
They stared at eachother, a silent standoff, when the doorbell rang.