The bin was half filled with similarly discarded undergarments and stockings. As she piled the soiled sheets and pillowcases into the washing machine, Mary thought about the man for whom she was presently keeping house. He was a philanderer, a charming, charismatic millionaire musician whose poor wife had finally been driven off by the pain he had caused her with his constant infidelity. He was handsome and undeniably sexy, but no one seemed to mean very much to him, in Mary’s opinion. As far as she could see, John Lennon was a very shallow, uncaring, loudmouthed lout who deserved to be left all alone by his sweet wife.

She, Mary, would leave this house as well, but she really needed the money, and John paid her well and so far, although he had made his interest in her obvious, he had never tried to force her into anything. She didn’t mind working for the man, but any personal involvement with him was absolutely out of the question as far as she was concerned. He was definitely not her type. She closed the lid of the washer and went to straighten the kitchen and cook Mr. Lennon’s dinner; something that would be able to be reheated easily or eaten at room temperature was best, as she never knew when he would roll in. He might not be home until she was long gone for the night. He had been pressing her to take a bedroom in the cavernous house; God knew there were plenty, and most of them never used, but Mary didn’t really fancy being around when Lennon came stumbling in after midnight with his floozy du jour.

Mary slipped a beef roast into the oven; she would slice it thinly enough for sandwiches. That way, if her boss was not here by the time she was ready to leave for the night, she could put together some sandwiches for him before she went home. She sat down to peel some potatoes in case he came home early. She thought that she would make a nice gravy for him; he enjoyed that. Best of all, she had baked his favorite chocolate layer cake, and as soon as she had the potatoes on to boil, she would frost it. With any luck, he would come in a few minutes before she was to leave, and she would serve him his supper and go.

She was halfway through frosting the cake when she heard the door bang open in the living room. She heard John swearing as he wrestled something in through the door and let whatever it was fall to the floor; from the sound, it was a guitar or maybe more than one. The door closed and she heard the television set start up. A few moments later, John Lennon appeared in the kitchen doorway.

“Smells good in here, Mary, me gurrl,” John said happily. His speech was a little slurred, and his walk a bit unsteady as he made his way to a chair at the table and dropped into it with a soft grunt. “What’s t’eat, then?” he asked, smiling at her muzzily.

“I’ve made a roast, sir, and mashed potatoes; string beans and gravy, hot biscuits, and chocolate layer cake for dessert.”

John was obviously pleased. “That almost makes this day worth it,” he told her. Mary smiled and went to get his meal.

When she set the plate in front of him, John said, “Couldja stay a few minutes extra, Mary? I tore me jacket comin’ in with those fuckin’ guitars an’ all. I was hopin’ ye could mend it, like. Or ye could take it home, since ye won’t stay here; anyroad, couldja fix it up?”

“Certainly, sir. Just let me get my sewing kit and I’ll take care of that for you. I live by myself; no one is expecting me. It doesn’t matter if I’m a little late,” she replied, and off she went to get her sewing materials.

 When she returned, Mary asked if she might help him off with the jacket.

“I can’t very well mend it with you in it, sir,” she said, “I have to be able to get at the lining.”

He stood up and began to shrug the jacket off; Mary took hold of it, and as his arm came up, he brushed her breast lightly. She blushed and tried not to think about the pleasant shock it had given her. His back was straight and strong, and the scent that came off him as he removed the jacket was undeniably masculine, but pleasantly so.

Mary made her face blank when John turned and smiled at her.

“So, gurrl,” he said in a deep, smoldering whisper, “D’ye not like what ye see?” His eyes were dancing and his mouth twitched as though he were holding back a great big smile. Mary felt her face flushing furiously, and John threw his head back and laughed out loud.

“Y’do, I see that -- but ye won’t say a word -- that’s it, innit?” he said, handing her the jacket. She snatched it from his hand and spun on her heel, heading for the door. She grabbed her purse from the sofa and looked over her shoulder to see him leaning casually against the kitchen doorway, an amused grin upon his handsome face. He blew her a kiss.

“See ye tomorra, Mary,” he called, and when he said her name, his voice sounded like a caress. He was still chuckling when she left indignantly closed the door behind herself just short of a slam.

Hurrying to her car, Mary sped out of the driveway and down the street.

***

“Damn him,” she said aloud. “He’s such a smug bastard -- and when he looks at me I could swear that he’s looking right through whatever I’m wearing, the filthy thing!” Just then, she caught a glimpse of her face in the rear view mirror. There were bright spots of pink in her cheeks, and her eyes were shining with angry tears. “Look at the state he’s got me in,” she muttered, nearly passing her own flat. “I’d quit in a minute if the pay wasn’t ridiculously good!”

Once she was inside her own home, Mary drew a warm bath and settled into it, closing her eyes as she leaned back. The water felt good, and the smell of the bath salts was soothing. The small radio on the table beside her head was playing quietly, and as she relaxed and put John Lennon out of her mind, she began to feel like herself again. The stress was just melting away...

Living is easy with eyes closed, misunderstanding all you see, sang a familiar voice on the radio. With a small cry of protest, Mary jumped up, wrapped herself in a towel, and snapped the radio off. She went into her bedroom, got into her warmest flannel nightgown and wrapped her hair in the towel. In the kitchen, she opened a can of soup and heated it in a small pan on the stove. She stood in front of the sink and ate the soup out of the pan, feeling sorry for herself. If that darn Lennon hadn’t made her leave so abruptly, she might be eating a piece of chocolate cake right now. That would probably make her feel a lot better than this insipid vegetable soup.

After she ate her soup, she washed the pan, set it on the drainboard, and went into the tiny sitting room. She got her sewing kit out and sat in her big rocking chair with John’s jacket in her lap. She turned the garment inside out, and his intoxicating man smell struck her once again. She got up, stalked into the kitchen, grabbed a can of air freshener, and sprayed it all over the lining of the jacket. Plopping back down into her chair, she snatched up the jacket once again and repaired it as best she could before going to bed.

Once she was settled in for the night, Mary reached to turn off the lamp on the table beside her bed. She could see the repaired jacket hanging over the knob of the bathroom door, and she shut her eyes and tried not to remember how his arm had brushed her breast as he shrugged out of it and the effect the slight contact had on her body.

Fortunately, she did not remember her dreams when she awoke.

***

One day a week later, when Mary arrived for work, John was in the shower. She went into the kitchen to fix his breakfast and was surprised to see that he had put everything neatly away and stacked the dishes in the sink. She was filling the sink when she heard his cheerful, “Good morning, Miss Mary!” from behind her. She smiled and turned to face him. To her horror, he was stark naked! She uttered a tiny scream and averted her eyes, her face flushing to the roots of her hair. He laughed at her and wrapped the towel he had been rubbing his hair with around his waist.

“Sorry, Miss Mary,” he said, his broad smile clear in his voice, “Ye c’n turn around now; I’ve made meself decent for ye. Have ye never seen a naked man before?”

She looked at him cautiously; seeing that he was covered, she felt better, but she found that she was angry with him all over again.

“Of course, I have!” she cried. “I just didn’t expect to see -- expect you to be -- I thought you would be dressed,” she finally finished.

“ I’ll try an’ be more careful around th’ house when yer about, Mary,” he said in a gentle voice that still bore the traces of his mirth. “I just din’t realize that y’were such a lady. I just naturally assumed that -- ”

“That what? That I went around looking at naked men? That I was used to fraternizing with fellows who go around with -- with their -- with their whole business showing? Just what is it about me, Mr. Lennon, that makes you think that I am the sort of girl who…” Mary paused; John was watching her tirade with evident amusement, his light brown eyes shining with delight, his mouth twitching . He was obviously doing his best not to break right out into laughter. She stomped her foot and yelled at him, “Just who the hell do you think you are, anyway?”

To her surprise, his smile faded and he said in a soft voice, “To tell th’ truth, sometimes of late, I just don’t know.”

He turned and walked down the hall towards his bedroom, and Mary watched him go, the anger draining from her. For just a moment, he had looked so much like a lost little boy that her heart went out to him. Once she realized that she was standing there watching after him, Mary stomped her foot again, but not quite so hard. How the bloody hell did he DO that? She was just innocently fixing his breakfast, and HE was the one who had come waltzing into the kitchen with his -- without his clothes on. Why was it that she was the one who was feeling guilty? Mary shook her head and returned to her work. When she had carried John’s breakfast to the table, she called down the hall to him.

“Mr. Lennon? Sir? Your breakfast is on!”

“Right along, Miss Mary-- but please stop callin’ me “sir” an’ “Mr.”, if ye please,” he called back. He appeared at the end of the hall and came towards her. He paused and smiled at her before he took his seat.

“Me name is John,” he said. “Just call me that, if ye would. Yer makin’ me feel fuckin’ old.”

“Yes, sir -- ” she replied, caught herself, and corrected. “Yes, John.”

She turned and went to put away the things she had used to prepare his breakfast. It had felt strange to say his name like that, but it hadn’t felt bad...Mary liked the way the name felt upon her tongue.

But she was being foolish. She continued her work as he ate and looked at the papers. Everything seemed a little different, somehow, but Mary did not really understand why. All she knew was that her heart felt a little lighter when John finished his meal and dashed out the door to the car that had come to take him to the studio.

***

She walked about the house for the rest of the afternoon, picking things up and setting them to right, and she made the big bed as she always did, replacing the tangled sheets with crisp, new ones. When she got to the living room, she noticed that the guitars (there were three of them) that John had dropped on the floor the week before were still there. She wondered if he didn’t need them at the studio. On an impulse, she gathered them up and carried them out to her car. It wasn’t far, and she knew the way. She would just leave them there and not disturb him while he was working.

When Mary walked into the office at the recording studio, the woman behind the reception desk looked up.

“I just want to leave these here...they belong to John Lennon,” Mary said. “He left them at home this afternoon, and I think he may be needing them...who should I give them to?”

“Please sit over there,” the woman said in a clipped, precise voice. “I will get someone to see to it.”

Mary sat as she had been directed, and in a few moments, John bounded off the elevator and crossed the office to stand before her.

“Ta, Miss Mary,” he said happily. “I was gonna call ye an’ ask about these; ye saved me th’ trouble.” He gathered his equipment up and nodded to her. “C’mon up a minute,” he said, “Meet th’ lads an’ see where I work, why dontcher.”

Mary got up and followed him obediently. Had she been asked, she would have to admit to being a bit excited to meet the rest of the famous Beatles. She was no teenybopper; Mary was as old as John was himself, and although she enjoyed their music and found them all to be very attractive, she was not the star-struck type. Just the same, her stomach seemed to be filled with butterflies as she followed John into the studio and saw the rest of the group assembled there.

They looked up as the two of them entered the room, and the other three men looked curiously at her.

“Who’s the talent, John?” asked Paul, eyeing Mary appreciatively.

“Be civil, whydontcher,” said John in an irritated voice. “This is Miss Mary Flanagan, who keeps me house an’ takes care of me, like, now that I’m on me own. She’s not a common girl like th’ ones YOU might be used to, Paulie. She’s more of a lady, y’know.”

“Oh, sorry.” Paul didn’t appear fazed by John’s irritation at all. “How d’ya do, Miss Mary? Pleased to meet you, I’m sure. In case you didn’t know,” he further supplied, “My own mother was named the same as you.”

“Nice to meet you too,” replied Mary. She smiled shyly at Paul; he was even cuter in person.

“Hello, Mary,” said George. “Nice that you could visit.” His earnest face made Mary think of her younger brother, who was currently back in Ireland, running her grandfather’s farm.

“Hello, George,” she replied. “You make me think of my brother.”

“Mores the pity,” said George, and he returned his attention to tuning his guitar.

Ringo smiled at her, and she smiled shyly back. “Nice to have you here, Mary,” he said. “Will you be stayin’?”

“Well,” she began, looking at John to see what he would say. To her surprise, his face wore a dark look, and he was looking pointedly at Paul, who was smiling innocently.

“Maybe another time,” Mary replied. “I have so much yet to do back at the house. I have to fix Mr…John’s supper yet, and wash the floor in the kitchen. And I have laundry waiting as well. I’d better be getting on, but it was nice to meet all of you.”

“My pleasure,” purred Paul, and the others nodded to her and returned to their work.

John shot another look at Paul, then took Mary aside and asked her to please wait for him and not leave until he got home that night.

“I’ve somethin’ to discuss with yer,” he said softly. “Please wait.”

She promised that she would, and went back out into the hall and into the elevator. As she rode back down to the lobby, she wondered what he could possibly want. She had been working for him and taking care of his house and his meals and laundry, doing his shopping and paying his bills, for about a month now, and this was the first time that he had ever asked her to wait for him in case he got home late.

Mary stopped at the market to do some shopping; as she perused the meat counter, an old Beatles song came over the PA system, and she found herself smiling and humming along with the record. By the time she had arrived back at the house, she was in a very good mood without really knowing why.

***

Mary put the groceries away and did the laundry, then she made John’s supper and sat down to wait for him to arrive. She had a lap full of socks that needed mending, and she was engrossed in the task when he came quietly into the room. At some point she paused from her work and looked across the room to see what time it was getting to be, and she was surprised to see him, lounging in the doorway, his shoulder against the doorjamb, arms folded across his chest and a smile upon his handsome face.

Mary set her work aside and started to stand up.

“No, stay there, no need t’ jump up right away. I’ll just sit here beside yer an’ we cn’ have a nice talk.”

John perched upon the arm of Mary’s chair and smiled down at her.

“I wanted to tell yer,” he said quietly, “That I really am sorry about this mornin’. I dint mean t’offend, y’understand. I just wasn’t thinkin’, I guess. I wouldn’t do anythin’ t’offend yer on purpose, seein’ as ye’ve always been so good an’ kind t’me. Ye take pains, y’know, that aren’t really part o’ yer job, ter make things a bit nicer for me; like this yer doin’ here... I notice. I want ye t’know that I notice.”

Mary blushed and looked down again; he was looking at her in that way that made her feel as if he knew what she looked like naked again. The memory of his nakedness in the kitchen that morning flashed in her mind, and her color deepened. She started to duck her head, and he gently put his hand on the back of her head and drew her face close to his. He kissed her lips gently, then let her go and stood up. He walked down the hall towards his bedroom and left her sitting there, wondering what in the hell had just happened. Once she finally closed her mouth, her lips curved into a smile, and she got up and went to the kitchen to get his supper on the table.

***

“Mr….John,” she called, “Your supper is ready, or would you like me to hold it for you?”

He appeared at the end of the hall and came towards her. He had showered and was dressed in a pair of very tight jeans and a white t-shirt. He was barefoot and he toweled his hair as he approached.

“Just John,” he reminded her. “No Mr. Please.”

“John,” she whispered, and his name felt good in her mouth. He stepped closer to her and drew her gently to himself. She did not resist, but let him hold her. He lifted her chin, cupping it in the fingers of his right hand, and placed his left hand on her cheek. He trailed his fingers down her cheek and kissed her again, tentatively, gently, without any demand whatsoever. She lifted her arms and wrapped them around his neck, pulling him down to kiss her once more. He parted her lips with his tongue and she started to draw back; she had not been kissed that way since -- -no, Mary told herself, I won’t think about that. That was a long time ago, and that was not John.

“Relax,” he whispered, leaning in close to her once more, “I’ll stop if ye want me to, but...”

“I don’t want you to stop,” replied Mary, “I want you to kiss me. Please; kiss me again.”

John uttered a soft groan and claimed her mouth again. She was nervous, and shaking.

“S’okay, Mary, gurrl,” he whispered huskily. “Just let me lead. Open yer mouth a little more, and just let me take ye along. C’mon, let’s try that again, alright?”

Mary did her best to go loose and relax; after a moment, she felt herself responding to his kisses; he was an excellent kisser, and by the time he released her, Mary’s head was spinning and she leaned against him, breathing heavily. He held her tight against himself, not quite sure what was happening. Mary felt him throbbing against her belly, heard his breath coming in harsh gasps, felt his heart pounding in his chest beneath her cheek.

“Mary,” he whispered. He released her tumble of deep brown hair from the clip she habitually wore to hold it back and tangled his hands in its silky thickness. “Mary,” he whispered again, and once more he bent his head to kiss her. The girl was swept away with the passion of the kiss; she no longer felt aware of the room in which they stood or the world around her in general. John’s tongue was exploring her mouth urgently, and while one hand remained entangled in her hair, the other traveled down to cup her bottom and pull her closer to his raging hardness. There was a catch in his throat when he finally paused to breathe again, and he emitted a silky growl that sounded vaguely like her name.

Mary was limp and shaking, and John swept her up off her feet and carried her purposefully to his bedroom. Her arms were still around his neck, and she buried her nose in the hollow of his throat, feeling his warmth and pulse there, smelling the now familiar scent of his skin, damp from the shower. As he lay her back on his bed and stretched himself out beside her, half covering her with his warm, insistent body, she drew his head close for another kiss. She felt a bit confused, still -- she never expected anything like this to happen -- but here she was, feeling lost in the embrace of a man whom she never considered as a possible match for herself. She knew he had been an unfaithful husband, and she could not bear the thought that he would probably break her heart as he had broken the heart of his quiet, gentle wife; still, she found him impossible to resist.

She wanted him so badly; needed him, as she had never needed any man before in all of her life. There had been one before whom Mary thought that she had loved, but he had used her and discarded her without a second thought. Since then, she had kept to herself, protecting her fragile, half-mended heart by staying at home every night alone, politely declining every offer from every man who asked her out. She had taken the job as John Lennon’s housekeeper because out of all the men she had ever known, either by association or reputation, he seemed to her to be the worst. He was arrogant, cynical, domineering, and self-absorbed -- all of the things that Mary hated most in that long-ago man from her past, and she had been certain that proximity with him would only serve to strengthen her resolve to stay alone. Yes, he was handsome, and undeniably sexy, and God knew he was intelligent and talented, but he was such a rogue, such a bastard, such a selfish, uncaring cad; there was no possible way that Mary would ever be able to feel anything romantically towards a man like…

“John,” she whispered, nestling as close to him as was humanly possible. She could no longer think; she could barely remember to breathe. He was loosening her blouse, kissing the curve of her throat, the swell of her breast -- Mary gasped in shock and pleasure as his lips closed around one of her nipples; the other he was rubbing gently in small circles. Mary arched against him, and he raised his head to claim her mouth again. His hands fumbled with the hem of her skirt and he pulled it up, feverish fingers hooking into the waistband of her panties. Suddenly, Mary found herself struggling; she felt as if she were in one of those dreams where she was drowning, and trying to break through the surface of the water.

“No!” she cried. “John, please -- no!”

“What?” he asked, sounding alarmed. “Have I hurt you? What’s wrong? I thought you wanted me to…”

He was kneeling on the bed, straddling her, his face still flushed with desire, his eyes wide and dark. He looked as if he didn’t know what to do, and Mary’s heart went out to him even now, when she was so frightened and confused.

“I did, I do, I just can’t -- ” she paused, trying to find the words to explain. Suddenly it was all too much for her, and Mary broke down and began to cry.

John was horrified, and he gathered her close and whispered into her hair, “Sssh, baby, what is it, tell me, what’s wrong?”

His gentle concern made her weep all the harder, and she wrapped her arms more tightly about his neck and let it all out, her body shaking, her breath coming in harsh, ragged gasps. John was at a loss, and he stroked her hair, holding her close against his body as she cried. He was terribly uncomfortable, and fervently wished that there was some way that he could stop her choking sobs. When at last her shaking subsided and her sobs were reduced to sniffles, he kissed her hair, took a deep breath, and began to speak quietly.

“Mary, love, tell me what’s wrong. Did I do summat t’upset ye? I dint mean it, if I did. Why’re ye so fuckin’ scared? It’s just me, ye know me; ye ‘ve gotta know that I don’t mean y’any harm.”

“It’s not you,” she told him, pulling her head back to look into his worried eyes. “It’s nothing you did. There was someone else once; it was a long time ago. I thought I was over it after all these years, but I guess I’m not. When you -- when you were trying to -- undress me, I felt like it was happening all over again, and I just got scared, is all.”

John’s eyes narrowed.

“Who was it hurt ye, Mary? Is he still about? I swear, if I get me hands on him, I’ll fuckin’…” his arms tightened about her protectively and she touched his lips with the tips of two fingers. He quieted and she smiled weakly.

“No, he’s gone, he’s been gone for ages now. He went to America right after it happened, nearly ten years it’s been. I really thought that I’d managed to put it well behind me, but when you…well, all of a sudden it all came rushing back, and it scared me. I didn’t mean to lead you on or tease you, honestly.”

“Ahr, not t’worry,” he said gruffly. “As long as yer okay, that’s all as matters. Why don’t we go warm up that good supper ye made an’ relax a bit?”

“I’m not really hungry,” said Mary, adjusting her clothing and running a hand through her tousled hair. “I’ll sit and keep you company while you eat, though, if you’d like.”

He smiled and offered her his hand, pulling her to her feet.

“I would like that,” he replied, kissing her lightly.

***

After John had eaten, he and Mary sat on the sofa in the living room. He lit a fire in the cavernous fireplace, and the two pulled the sofa across the room so that they could sit in its cheerful glow and begin to get to really know one another. John spoke of his childhood and the loss of his mother, and when his voice broke and the tears began to fall, Mary cradled his head against her breast and stroked his hair, allowing him to purge himself of the terrible pain and profound sadness of that first horrible loss. Mary had lost her mother when she was twelve, and she told him about the confusion she had suffered while enduring her teenage years more caring for than being cared for by a sad, alcoholic father.

“Mary,” John said quietly after a while, “tell me about what happened to ye t’make ye cry like that when we -- when I -- ”

“I was nineteen,” she said slowly. “It was a very long time ago. His name was Matt, and I had been keeping company with him for about a year. Of course he was always trying to get me to let him -- you know, sleep with me, but I didn’t feel that I was ready, so every time he asked, I said ‘no.’” She sighed and snuggled back into John’s arms; he was reclining on the couch and she was resting spoon style in front of him; he had one arm wrapped around her, and he was toying with her long, brown hair with the other hand.

“One night while we were at Matt’s flat, I was doing the dishes after dinner. He came up behind me and put his arms around me. I turned in his arms, and he kissed me. We had done that plenty of times before; I just had not gone any farther than that before, ever, with anybody.” She shifted a bit and paused, remembering that night so long ago.

“I was enjoying the kissing,” she finally went on. “Matt started getting very…passionate, and he made it clear that he wanted more. I said no, but he had been drinking and he...forced himself on me.” As she said this last, her voice quavered, and John’s arms tightened around her. She felt his body tense and she knew that he was angry.

“Fuckin’ bastard,” he growled, and he hugged her fiercely.

“After it was over, I left and managed to get home,” Mary continued. “I took a bath, but I could not make myself feel clean. Finally I managed to fall asleep, and the next day he didn’t call me, which was unusual, but I didn’t think that much about it at first. I figured that he felt guilty about what he’d done and so he was making himself scarce.

When he didn’t call the next day either, I was a little more concerned, so I called him. I believed that I loved him, you see, even though he had hurt me.”

John was silent, but his eyes had gone all soft and gentle, and they were brimming with sympathy.

“I rang his number, and a woman answered. I asked her who she was, and she told me that she was Matt’s girlfriend. It had only been two days, mind.”

John didn’t want to comment on Matt’s infidelity; God knew that he had been guilty of that plenty of times himself, and he really had no room to talk on that score; he made a sympathetic sound and waited for her to continue.

“I ran into him a couple of days later on the street. He said that he was done with me; we were supposed to be married, but he said that I was no good for that anymore as I was. He said that I was...soiled, and that he wanted to marry a girl who hadn’t...done anything like what I had done with him. I could have argued that he had forced himself on me, and that if it had been left up to me, I wouldn’t have done it at all, but I didn’t say anything. I figured that I was well rid of him, and I was just that determined not to become involved with anyone else...ever. I was doing well, too -- until you came along.” She turned in his arms to face him.

“I didn’t like you at all, you know,” she told him. “I thought you were quite the nastiest man I had ever met, and you did little to convince me otherwise -- at first.”

John looked at her with amusement, his eyes shining. “Well, then, Miss Mary,” he said, twisting a bit of her hair around his fingers, “Why’d ye stay?”

“Well, you pay really well,” she replied. “If I was going to work at housekeeping anyway, why not work for a millionaire who is seldom home and doesn’t hang about telling me what to do?”

“D’ye like that I’m rich an’ famous?” he asked, idly toying with her hair, his voice quiet.

“I like that you’re you,” she answered, snuggling close against his chest. “I wouldn’t care if you didn’t have two pennies to rub together and no one had ever heard of you. I worked for you because you are rich, but I love you because you’re John.”

He jumped a bit at that. “How’s that? What’d ye say, Mary? Didja just now tell me that ye love me?”

She smiled and leaned her head back to look up into his face.

“I believe I did,” she told him. “And that’s all right, because I do.”

“I have t’ tell ye, Mary, I’m that surprised,” he replied after a few seconds. “I thought it’d take ye less time t’feel it an’ more time t’say it.”

She opened her mouth to protest, then saw the sparkle in his warm, brown eyes and kissed him instead. He wrapped his arms more tightly around her and returned her kiss with rising passion. When at last he broke the kiss to catch his breath, he said in a husky voice, “I feel th’ same way. I can’t imagine me life without ye now, Miss Mary. Now tell me somethin’. I’ve asked ye and asked ye t’pack yer stuff an’ move in here, and ye’ve refused every time I bring it up. Have ye changed yer mind at all? I’ve got all these rooms, an’ it’s only me here by meself. It’s a real waste, Mary, gurrl...come on, move in, whydontcher.”

“I don’t know if I can,” she replied. “I do love you, but there are things about you that would just have to change.”

“Gimmee a ‘such as,’ Miss Mary,” he said with a smile. “Women always wanna change a bloke an’ here I am hopin’ that nothin’ about a sweet gurl as yerself will ever change. So tell me; just what is it that’d need t’change?”

“Well, the most important thing is that you, er, bring an awful lot of women home with you. You wouldn’t be able to do that anymore and have me here as well.”

“Is that all? Easily mended; I’ll bring home fewer of ‘em.”

“You couldn’t bring home ANY other women, John. You know that’s what I mean.”

“So I’d hafta take ‘em elsewhere?” he asked innocently.

“So you’d have to let them be,” she replied firmly. “You’d have to be faithful.”

“Faithful, huh,” he said, looking quite serious. “I s’pose I could try that, but...”

Mary looked so crestfallen that he gave in and smiled to show her that it was just a joke. “I’m just jokin’ ye, gurrl,” he said gently. “Ye’ll have t’get used t’ that, y’know. Really, don’t be daft. If I had ye here with me, I wouldn’t need t’be bringin’ those types home with me. Even if it takes ye a while t’be ready t’...t’sleep in th’ same bed with me, it’d be enough just t’have ye near me. D’ye understand what I’m sayin’ to ye,Mary -- - I’m tellin’ ye that I love ye, gurrl.”

Mary felt as if everything around her had receded into oblivion, and nothing existed in the world at all except for the man who held her in his warm, strong arms. Then he was kissing her again, and she knew that, this time, she would not stop him. She answered his kiss with passion, pressing her body close to his, grinding against him with an urgency that easily matched his own. After several minutes of this, John groaned and broke the kiss abruptly.

“Hist, gurrl, take it easy,” he said huskily. “I’m not made o’ stone, y’know. I’m only a man, an’ yer...well, let’s just say yer pushin’ th’ limits of me self control an’ leave it at that.”

Mary’s eyes were feverishly bright, and there were bright pink spots on her cheeks. She was breathing heavily, and her heart felt too big for her chest; it was beating wildly just at the base of her throat.

“I don’t want you to stop,” she whispered, reaching for him again. “I feel ready now. Please, John,” she continued, tightening her arms about his neck, “I want you now.”

Without a word, he unwound her arms from around his neck, stood up, and lifted her into his arms. She laid her head against his shoulder and held on to him tightly as he carried her down the hall to his bedroom.

***

The light from the hallway was pouring through the open bedroom door, and Mary could see John’s face clearly as he lay her gently on the big bed. He unbuttoned her blouse and pushed it back off her shoulders, kissing the hollow of her throat. Mary undid his shirt buttons with feverish fingers, and he shrugged the shirt off and unfastened his belt. Pausing, he asked, “Are ye quite sure yer ready for this, gurrl?”

“Yes,” she said softly, sitting up and reaching for the waistband of his jeans. “Oh, yes.” She tugged at the jeans and slid them down; he wasn’t wearing anything under them, and his own readiness was plain to see. He looked impossibly huge to Mary, and she had a brief flash of panic, but then she looked up at his face and her fear subsided. She lifted her hips, and he slid her skirt and panties down together. She turned a bit and undid her bra, then slipped it off and reached for him.

“A moment,” he whispered. “Just give me that long to only look at you. God, Mary gurrl,” he added, “Yer so perfect...just beautiful. I can’t remember when I’ve wanted a woman this much, nor when I’ve waited for one for so long. I’ve thought about this happenin’ so often; it’s hard to believe that it’s finally comin’ true.”

Mary knew just what he meant; she had dreamed of this moment often during the last few days. She was about to tell him this when he lay down beside her and took her into his arms again and made the world disappear once more. His kisses were urgent and demanding; Mary could no longer think of anything outside of this biological imperative.

John’s hands were stroking and kneading her flesh now, and the room was filled with the sounds of their breathless moans. Just when she was sure that she would go mad with her aching for him, John raised himself up and straddled her. She reached up and held him about the neck, her fingers entangling themselves in his thick, russet hair, which was by now damp with sweat. He lifted her bottom in his strong, feverish hands and in one motion, slid his full, throbbing length into her eager and receptive body. She gasped with the shock of pleasure when he entered her, and he paused briefly to ask if she was all right.

“I’m not hurtin’ yer, am I, love?” he managed to say between gasps as he tried to catch his breath, “D’ye need me t’stop? Please say no.”

“God, no, don’t stop, baby, I need you. Just hold me and love me; John, I want you,” she cried, and with a low moan, he began to move again.

Mary could not believe how good he felt; he moved deliberately, long, slow strokes driving her crazy with pleasure as his hot, beautiful hands started little fires of passion everywhere they touched her.

Mary arched to meet him stroke for stroke, her breath coming in harsh, shallow gasps, her legs clasped around his waist, her hands clutching him convulsively, going out of her mind as they both approached the point of no return. She did not know what she was straining to reach, but it seemed very important that she get to that point heretofore unknown to her. Something was happening; she did not know what it was, but it seemed more necessary and important with every stroke, with every second, with every breath. He was moving within her more quickly now, and with renewed urgency. She pulled her head back from his shoulder and looked up into his face; his eyes met hers, and he breathlessly whispered that he loved her. His soul was in his eyes, bare -- no, blatantly naked -- beautiful and shining. The cool, impassive mask of his public face had slipped away for the moment, leaving his usually so carefully and jealously guarded self exposed and vulnerable. Mary thought that he had never looked so beautiful.

Then he was telling her that he was coming, and she felt a great wave of indescribable pleasure wash over and through her; she arched against him convulsively, involuntarily, with a cry of utter joy that joined with his satisfied groan and hung in the air afterwards like a palpable thing as smaller, less intense spasms clutched and released, clutched and released, and gradually ebbed away.

For a while they simply clung to one another and breathed raggedly, dazed and unable to move.

“Am I still alive?” she asked in a whisper once she found her voice again.

“More than ever,” replied John with a gentle smile. “D’ye mean t’say that ye’ve never...”

“No,” breathed Mary, “Not like that. There was only that one time, with Matt, and it was nothing like what just happened with you.”

“Well, then,” he replied, obviously pleased, “Now ye know what all th’ fuss is about, me gurrl.”

“I think it was only so good because I was with you,” she told him, wrapping herself all around him and hugging him fiercely. “Nobody else can do what you can do.”

He took her hands in his and kissed them each in turn.

“I could say exactly th’ same thing about you, Miss Mary, me gurrl,” he said softly, and she pulled her hands gently free and wound her arms about his neck once more. She pulled his head down towards her, and he kissed her gently, stroking her hair with his graceful fingers, his lazy, smoldering eyes gazing into hers, his smile warm and tender. What a difference this was from the man she had imagined him to be; he had always seemed so casual and indifferent, cynical, cold, and uncaring. She had thought of him as a selfish and altogether arrogant bastard; what a surprise to see what was underneath when the cool, impassive mask slipped and fell away!

Go Read Part Two!

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