The Monkey Jungle (The Bennt, Montana Series) Read online

Henry’s mouth pulled into a thin line. “He never said anything about you being sexy. He said a tired thirty! Maybe a shower will refresh you. And me,” he faked a sneeze, and rather badly, Mary Kathryn decided.

  Henry just couldn’t leave it alone. He needed to move out. And to another state. He needed a reality check.

  “Kids!” Mary Kathryn wanted to smack him...hard. “The holes they dig for themselves. I preferred your version, Garth. And I’ll see you later.” She glanced at her son, deciding if she were going to suffer, so would he. “Come along you pest, you have to sleep sometime.” As the cat came trotting up to them she shook her head, scooped up Pest, and said to Henry, “I was talking to you, Henry! Move it. Upstairs, now. Henry, you wanted Garth and Alison to have some together time, now is perfect. Night, Alison, later, Garth. Let’s go, Henry!”

  Henry gaped as Garth smothered a laugh.

  “Did she mean she would sneak down to see you later, Dad?” Alison asked shrilly as Henry wavered between following his mother or staying with them as Mary Kathryn headed for the stairs. “Henry!” Mary Kathryn called over her shoulder. “Go to bed.”

  Henry was beside himself, in the throes of some strange agony by the time he followed his mother up the stairs. He told her good night and waited until her bedroom door closed before going to his own room.

  Wanting to watch the news with Garth, Mary Kathryn stuck her head around her door and saw Henry’s door remained wide open. She exhaled sharply. He must have heard her. Or been waiting, because his head poked out of his room. He stared at her without expression. Exasperated, Mary Kathryn rolled her eyes and gave up, her door closing with a definitive snap.

  Her son had lost his mind. Disgusted, Mary Kathryn flounced to her bed and plopped on it. Wondering why Henry was acting so oddly made her insane so she focused on the object of her lust. If anyone was living in a Monkey Jungle, it was Henry dragging them into his own version of Garth’s amusing little jungle. Whatever snit Henry was in, he was determined Mary Kathryn and Garth never spend time together.

  But Garth’s jungle? She smiled at the ceiling. That delicious witty man. Poor Garth... Poor me, she sighed, really wanting to be downstairs. Mary Kathryn turned on her television, deciding that she was being stalked by a jungle wary, cynical panther. He was rather like that. A panther scarred, but healed and stronger for it. Always watching and never pouncing, but following and waiting, knowing a trap had been set but unable to help itself, starving for a taste of the bait. Garth’s attention on her was fully engaged.

  His kisses were exhilarating. Restlessness, knowing he was so close made her thump her pillow. She slumped back onto it. And he made her laugh when she didn’t want too. And he’d tried to ease her uncertainty, recognizing her wary nervousness when she’d tried to tell him about the money. He was more sensitive than he would acknowledge.

  Even when he was distracted, or occupied with something, if she wanted his attention, he stopped what he was doing and focused entirely on her. It showed something about him. He wasn’t doing it deliberately, she realized. It was just who he was. He was fully engaged. He’d done the same Monday night at the Brew Pub. Even though he’d talked and laughed with everyone, never once had he made her feel he wasn’t with her and only her.

  And every slight touch, every brush against him, every long look or glance he cast caused his expression to change. Sometimes he looked indulgently amused, sometimes heated, sometimes warmly flirtatious and even lusty. But never did he hide behind the detached aloofness he presented to others. When he looked at her, he really looked at her like—like a man who was beginning to care—who already cared—who wanted her beyond sex, even though he claimed otherwise. He wanted more—and he was proving it, rather than voicing empty words she might believe meant nothing.

  Good Lord, Mary Kathryn blinked as the epiphany came out of nowhere. He was wooing her! Courting her.

  He was seducing her and had never really touched her other than those brief, interrupted kisses. He intrigued and beguiled with innuendo and promises that teased, and were driving her mad. He was charming and charismatic, but not misleading her about who he was—a womanizing, ex-military officer with a tendency to be protective, probably overbearing if pushed too far.

  Monkey Jungle! She scoffed but had to smile. Garth Morley was a very sexual being. The man reeked of it. Women responded accordingly. He briefly told her about experiences he’d had, not to make her jealous, but so she would maybe understand him better, the lessons he had learned that made him who he now was.

  She mulled that for a few minutes. The story he’d told her about the woman who’d rejected him before he’d shaved. He considered his past diffidently? Yes, he did. It had no bearing on the present except as a tool to be utilized to find some degree of peace in his life, contentment...happiniess. He wanted her for those reasons. And wanted her to know without telling her, that he did. He was manipulating her emotional responses to him. Manipulating her physical responses. He was following the rules she’d set, staying within the boundaries of what she had told him about herself. Mary Kathryn sat up and swung her legs over her bed.

  That incredibly handsome cynic was in love with her?! The notion seemed insane, even dysfunctional, considering they hadn’t know each other long, and as such was worrisome, but he knew himself. He was no floundering socially inept man uncomfortable with people. He certainly had no lack of women who wanted him. He didn’t have to be single. He’d chosen to be, which meant... It was there. It was there! He was in love with her? Wide awake, Mary Kathryn stared at her door.

  Everything he was doing, saying, showed her something about him he wouldn’t say—said something he may never be able to express—because the words didn’t mean as much to him as the depth of what he felt. Having surely said them before, meaning them at the time for what they had been worth, with her, at his age, the words would feel somehow trite. And he knew she would think they were.

  Garth felt as she did. That love at first sight didn’t exist, that it was a dream conjured by the need to be loved, the hope of young romantics that it would come and sweep them away. But if they didn’t believe in love, then what was happening between them? Had happened.

  And he was accepting it, this thing between them. The energy had fairly sparked between them the first time they’d seen each other. He wasn’t avoiding it. He was embracing it. Even though he didn’t believe, he was actively taking a role to ensure whatever could be with her, came to fruition. He wasn’t going to allow this opportunity to escape his grasp; because he wanted to know if something so elusively imaginary—from his cynical perception—could even be remotely possible. It had captivated him—and if nothing did happen, he would leave—but, wary as he was, he was trying to take their relationship to the next level. If it weren’t for Henry...

  Her thoughts jumbled and flying this way and that, Mary Kathryn switched off her television.

  The shit head was waiting for her to make up her mind about sleeping with him. He was leaving the decision of where their relationship would go to her. He’d already made his mind. If she didn’t go to him, he would leave when he was supposed too, and probably think about her over the years and idly wondering about her, the one who might have been the one! Who was the one.

  The one who might have loved him despite of who he was, Monkey Jungle and all. Mary Kathryn pushed herself from her bed. How dysfunctional did it make her she was considering his unspoken offer. How crazy was it that she was madly passionate for a man she had only known less than a month?

  Just as mad as he was for hoping it would last, and knowing if they both wanted, it was a good foundation for two world weary adults to build a relationship on. The world-wary panther on her couch hadn’t been looking for a place to rest his weary head, but instinctively known he’d found it.

  But the decision was hers, and she knew. Mary Kathryn pondered their situation. But, how was the little jungle monkey going to catch the big cat? Show him she was willing to take their relation
ship to the next level—she laughed softly as it came to her—if she really wanted him, all she had to do was reach out and twitch his tail.

  But, Henry was a real problem.

  She crept to her door and opened it cautiously, half expecting to see him propped along the wall in the hall. Her jaw dropped when she found him instead, in a mummy bag laying on the floor at her feet. She opened the door wider, staring down at his tousled hair.

  He wouldn’t!

  But he had. Henry’s dark hair was visible against a blue flowered pillow case. She eased back and closed the door, then opened it again, thinking she might be hallucinating.

  But he was still there. All snug in his mummy bag.

  It wasn’t a dream. It was definitely her son. What on earth was he thinking?

  “I bet it’s the water!” she hissed, peering down at him. Those mummy bags were so efficient it might be possible to drag him down the stairs, toss him in the back of her SUV and take him for a long ride into the mountains... “If it’s not the water, it’s mad cow weed! My son is smoking mad cow weed.”

  “Go back to bed, Mom!” Henry’s head snapped up, his order sharp.

  Startled, Mary Kathryn yelped as she jumped, her heart leaping inside her chest. “You go to bed, you crazy little shit!” she screeched, “You scared the daylights out of me!”

  “Alison is opening the pizza parlor early tomorrow,” Henry’s aggrieved voice was muffled. “Please go to bed, Mom. I really need to get some rest.” He rolled over in his sleeping bag, shifting around, apparently burrowing in for the night—blocking her door!

  “Try sleeping in a bed. In YOUR BEDROOM!” Mary Kathryn slammed her door with a frustrated bang, hoping the noise gave him a headache. It was time to face the facts, painful as they were. Her son needed help. He was suffering some sort of mental illness.

  * * * * *

  The next afternoon, with Alison dogging her father, and Henry stalking his mother like a worried, neurotic lap dog, giving their parents no opportunity to be alone together, Garth finally slipped away from Alison. He managed to catch Mary Kathryn in the garage while Henry was using the bathroom.

  Without warning he dragged her behind the door of the boot room, laughing quietly. “We’ve lost them!”

  He pulled her into his arms, catching her mouth with his.

  A strangled cough interrupted them only a second later. “There you are, Dad!” Alison, with a reddening face, bounded from the garage, approaching them with wide, innocent eyes. Garth set Mary Kathryn from him as his daughter slipped between them, her arms enveloping them both.

  “Group hug!” she declared loudly, embracing them.

  Mary Kathryn gritted her teeth. Resisting the urge to strangle the younger woman, she shrugged Alison’s arm from around her shoulder. “The entire world has lost its marbles!”

  She stalked from the boot room into the garage, yanked a fishing pole from the wall and headed for the door.

  “What’s the matter with her?” Alison worried her lip as she stood next to her father while Mary Kathryn’s SUV left the garage.

  “Nothing fishing won’t cure,” Garth retorted dryly, stalking off in the opposite direction. “I just wish I had a lake to throw you in.”

  “Daddy, what’s wrong? Come back,” Alison pleaded, following her father as he walked through the living room toward the front door. “Where are you going?”

  “To drown myself. Without you.”

  “Alison, what’s wrong?” Henry asked from the living room as Alison watched her father drive off.

  “I think they suspect something,” she stared woefully after her father’s car.

  “Not a chance,” Henry scoffed dismissively. “We’ve been brilliant.” He gave her a quick kiss. “Why don’t you straighten up the kitchen and bathroom while I watch my favorite team kick butt. And there’s dirty laundry in the washer. Think you could turn it on for me, you know how confused I get.”

  “Oh, Henry,” Alison sighed. “You’re helpless.”

  “Helplessly infatuated with you,” he kissed her until she was breathless. “Come on,” he grabbed her bottom. “I’ll fix you a lunch while you clean the bathroom. You can hit the shower when you’re finished if you eat while you’re tidying the kitchen.” He nuzzled her neck.

  “Oh goodie, a snack,” she said sarcastically, shrugging him off. “Peanut butter and jelly crackers again.”

  * * * * *

  After a frustrating two days of catch and release Mary Kathryn was dusting the painting above the mantel in her living room when Garth entered the room. He stopped short, glancing over his shoulder when Henry literally bumped into him.

  “Sorry,” Henry muttered. “I didn’t see you.”

  Like that was possible, Garth snorted disgustedly as he approached Mary Kathryn, Henry on his heels.

  She heaved a longing sigh, unable to tear her gaze away from his as he sat himself in the easy chair she didn’t use. “Maybe it’s the water,” she offered helplessly. “Or something they ate.”

  “Wrong state. ‘It’s the water’, is a different state entirely.” He eyed the energetic Henry with a jaundiced gaze as Henry fingered some magazines on the coffee table before moving the coasters and then fidgeting the TV remote.

  “Well,” Mary Kathryn said to Garth with good humor, “at least we got a group hug out of it.”

  “Yippee.” His irritated grumble caused her to laugh.

  “What are you to whispering about?” Henry demanded, flopping on the couch and turning on the television.

  “We weren’t whispering.” Garth grabbed Mary Kathryn’s hand as she walked past him. He tugged until she landed in his lap. Henry howled and fell from the couch onto the floor, bounding to his feet. “I’m okay! I’m okay. There was a flea on me! Mom, you need to bomb Pest—Jes that sounds wrong! Who names a cat Pest? Don’t you want to watch the game, Garth? I thought you wanted to watch the game, Garth. Come on, Garth, I need somebody to watch it with. You said you would, Garth!”

  Garth groaned, saying quietly to Mary Kathryn, “You realize he has to die?”

  “Make it painless,” she nodded sadly, tugging her hand away and rising. “After all, he is my son. At least I think he is.”

  “What you two talking about?” Henry made a production of looking for the remote he’d had only a moment ago.

  “Yoga,” Mary Kathryn answered as she watched him rummage under the couch cushions. He came up triumphantly a moment later, flopped back onto the couch and began channel surfing.

  “Yoga is good. At your age, you should stay healthy, Mom.” Henry hit the volume button on the remote until the baseball game he wanted was so loud it drove any attempt of conversation out of her head. Garth rose as, exasperated, Mary Kathryn headed for the door.

  “Garth, where you going? Mom?” Muting the television, Henry tossed the remote aside, galvanized into action when it appeared Garth intended to follow his mother.

  Mary Kathryn whirled in the doorway. “To get a shovel!”

  “We planting a tree?” Henry beamed enthusiastically, nodding his approval. “Wait for me, I’ll get my boots. Where are my boots, Mom?”

  Mary Kathryn appealed to Garth for help, her palms wide.

  He shrugged helplessly. “Come on, Henry,” he said into the drawing silence, his green eyes holding promises for Mary Kathryn. “We might as well watch that game.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  TWO NIGHTS LATER, slipping stealthily over the snoring, mummy-bagged, diligent to his own cause Henry, Mary Kathryn made her way silently down the stairs. She knelt on the floor beside the couch, leaning against Garth. Kissing his mouth softly, her fingers slid under his tee-shirt. She smoothed her palms flat, dragging her fingers through his chest hair, marveling at the breadth and width of muscle as she pressed soft kisses against his mouth until he began to respond.

  The hands that reached for her were almost painful in their need as his head twisted so his mouth could meet hers.

  She managed
to ditch Henry and come to him. Finally! Garth shifted, his arms going around her as he deepened the kiss. He pulled her from the floor until she lay on top of him, warm and feminine. His blanket tangled between them, his mouth never left hers.

  Languorous slow waves of passion rose as Mary Kathryn tugged between them, trying to free the cloth obstacles blocking her goal. She wanted to feel hot, masculine bare skin against hers. Garth lifted her up again, the muscles in his arms bulging as he rearranged her legs on either side of his waist, his fingers slipping under the edge of her lacy red panties. He slid his hands under her long t-shirt, his mouth never breaking contact. He marveled when she slowly arched her back, pushing her breasts against his searching hands, appearing to revel, to wallow, in sensation as she returned his kiss, both ravenous.

  Even so, they took their time. Exploring slowly, learning, reveling in the conflagration rising between them, but not rushing it. Rising from his waist, Garth lifted her night shirt, his mouth on her breast as he pulled the garment over her head. He took her nipple gently between his teeth then released it, his mouth drawing deeply. Her response was instant. She jerked and moaned quietly, her forehead falling against his shoulder, her hands clutching, pressing his head closer.

  She writhed against his body, sliding sinuously against his erection. Garth growled deep in his throat. His mouth left her breast to slide up over her collar bone, to her neck; where he lingered and tasted, played, his hands cupping her breasts, his thumbs tweaking her nipples. Her breath hitched as sharp almost painful threads of passion tightened, knotted.

  The slow heady tempo disappeared. Garth rolled them onto the floor, the blanket tangled between them as he came over her. Mary Kathryn moaned as his mouth sucked on her neck. She writhed up, tearing frustrated at his t-shirt, dragged ineffectually to get the blanket from between them. Garth tried to help, neither wanting to break contact, their mouths clinging. As she became more demanding, he responded, kissing her deeply; further enthralled to find she found kissing sensual, could make it erotic all on its own. Their tongues were dueling, their breaths one when a sharp exhalation caused Garth’s attention to fracture.