All Our Yesterdays by Robert B. Parker Page B

window. He grinned at himself. He started back through the hot kitchen with a glass in each hand, and she met him there, near the unfinished oil painting. She put both her arms wordlessly around him and tilted her head back. Holding the glasses carefully he bent his head forward and kissed her softly. She pressed her lips hard against his kiss and held it and slowly opened her mouth. Behind her back he shifted the two drinks into his right hand, holding the glasses by the rim, and squeezed her tight against him with his left arm. Her tongue touched his and withdrew and then touched his again and then thrust fully into his mouth. He bent her slightly backwards and reached out and putthe two glasses on the table. Then he put both arms around her, and they kissed fiercely. Her mouth widened as they kissed and she arched her back a little and thrust her hips against him. She was gasping for breath, rubbing her hands up and down his back. He maneuvered her gently to the daybed and eased both of them down onto it.
    “Conn,” she said hoarsely, “we mustn’t.” She was rubbing her cheek against his as she said it, and her hands still moved up and down his back.
    “Shhh.”
    Conn stroked her shoulder and arm. He moved to her breast. She stiffened momentarily, and then put her hand on top of his and pressed it harder against her. With his free hand Conn carefully unbuttoned her blouse. He slid his hand inside her blouse and then inside her brassiere.
    “No,” she whispered, “Conn, darling, we can’t.”
    Conn kissed her and held the kiss. He could feel her heart pounding behind her breasts. She held his head with both her hands, kissing him harder. He put his hand under her skirt. She groaned and arched her pelvis.
    “Conn,” she gasped. “Oh, God, Conn. Darling. No.”
    He moved his hand gently, she moaned and then put both hands flat against him and pushed, wrenching herself away, and lay with her back half turned to him, her blouse unbuttoned, her breasts exposed, her skirt tangled around her hips.
    “We can’t,” she said. “We can’t…. We can’t.”
    She spoke in choking gasps. Her shoulders heaved. She was shivering in the hot darkness as if it werecold. Conn sat up on the edge of the daybed without touching her. He was silent. She began to cry.
    “I’m sorry,” she said between sobs. “I’m sorry, Conn.”
    “Sure,” he said.
    “If we were married,” Mellen said, tears tracing down her face. “We have to wait until we’re married.”
    Conn didn’t say anything. He stood and began to straighten out his clothes.
    “This is too hard on a man,” he said. “I’ll have to go.”
    “No,” Mellen said. She turned from her side onto her back. She seemed unaware of her undress. “Please, Conn.”
    “It’s too much,” Conn said. “You want to, I want to. You respond. I respond. You pull back. It’s too much for me.”
    Mellen was crying hard, full body crying that exhausted her.
    “Conn, please. I can’t. We’re both Catholic. You must understand. I promised God.”
    He stared down at her in the half-light. Her breasts spilled out of her brassiere. He had pulled her underpants down. She was naked to him. Her pale thighs entirely vulnerable.
    “A man can’t go through this,” Conn said softly. “You’ll have to choose. Me or God.”
    He waited for a moment. She was crying too hard to speak. Then he shrugged and turned and picked up his straw hat and walked toward the front door. He was in the den when she called after him in a strangled voice.
    “Conn.”
    He had his hat on and his hand on the doorknob when she called after him again, her voice shaking.
    “I will, Conn. I will.”
    In the dark hot den, Conn smiled to himself. He took the straw hat off and set it carefully on the deal coffee table and turned and walked slowly back into the kitchen.
    “So it’s me?” Conn said.
    She lay as he had left; her, on the couch.
    “God forgive me,” she said.
    He helped her strip naked on