Three Little Words
Clark opened the door and stepped back to let Lois enter first. Despite his ongoing determination not to involve himself in any intimate relationship with any woman, he realized that he wanted her to like his home. He wanted her to think highly of him, to like him and to approve of what he’d done with the place.
He did not, however, stop to think about what that might mean.
She didn’t disappoint him. She stopped in the middle of the open living area and turned around slowly, taking in both the layout and the decor. “Clark, this is lovely. Really. I’m impressed.”
He grinned like a schoolboy trying to look good for his first date. “Wait until you taste what I have for you.”
She turned to face him and gave him a coy look. “Why, sir, whatever do you mean?”
He stopped in mid-stride and stuttered, “Uh, no, Lois, I meant – I was talking about lunch!”
Her face colored slightly and she smiled. “I knew that. I was just teasing. I’m sorry if I embarrassed you.”
“You didn’t.” He rolled his eyes at her and went to the kitchen, then grinned shyly. “Well – maybe a little. I’m not used to entertaining beautiful women here.”
She followed him to the kitchen doorway and leaned against the frame. “I see. So you usually invite ugly women to eat here with you?”
His eyes slid in her direction. “Very funny. You happen to be both the prettiest and ugliest woman who’s ever eaten here with me.” She almost giggled at him and he smiled warmly. “How do you like your chicken, hot and spicy or more mild?”
She grinned. “I feel like being adventurous today. Make it hot and spicy.”
“Coming up. I’ve got this great combination recipe with pasta and vegetables mixed in with the chicken.”
“Do your other dates like it?”
He rolled his eyes and shook his head. “For your information, Miss Smarty-Pants, the only other person I’ve ever made this dish for is my mother.”
“I assume you didn’t poison her. I mean, she is still around, isn’t she?”
A spirit of mischief entered his mind and he turned mournful eyes to her. “No – no, she’s not. She’s – in a much better place now.”
She was instantly contrite. “Oh, Clark! I’m so sorry! I’m such an idiot! I was just trying to joke around with – “
“Smallville.”
“ – you and I said – what?”
“She’s in Smallville.”
“Who is?”
“My mother. She and Dad live on a farm just outside of Smallville, Kansas.”
“B-but – you said – “
“I said she’s in a better place. Smallville is a much better place than Metropolis, especially for farmers.”
She stood still and open-mouthed for a moment, then irritation fought with amusement over control of her face and lost a close one. “Why you – you big faker!” She stepped closer. “I ought to whack you for that!”
“Hey! Careful, I have this big knife in my hand.”
She pushed him back against the counter and held him in place with both hands against his chest. “I don’t care! Somebody ought to teach you a lesson in manners!”
The knife clattered unattended on the counter. Somehow he both relaxed and tensed as she moved closer, their bodies almost touching. “Somebody like you?”
For some reason he forgot that he was cooking, forgot that he was on assignment for the Daily Planet, forgot that this woman was also Wanda Detroit, the mystery crime-fighter he’d been tasked to find. All he could see was her eyes. Oh, and her mouth was moving, too. She must have said something, he thought.
“What – did you say?”
Her eyes seemed to glaze over. “That – maybe I ought to – to teach you something – after all.”
He licked his lips and shifted his face closer to hers. “Like – like what?”
Something clicked in her eyes and she stepped back. “Oh – like – like how to chill wine quickly. Yeah, I can teach you how to do that.” She almost jumped to his refrigerator and yanked it open. “Oh, good, you have a bottle here. And it’s almost full. And it feels cold, too, which is good, because if it was warm you wouldn’t want to drink it. But if it was warm I could show you how to chill it quickly. See, all you have to do is pour it into a big sealable plastic bag and put it in a sink or a small tub with ice and water in it and swish it around for about fifteen minutes and then no one will ever know that you forgot to put it in the fridge or on ice and you can put the bottle in the freezer while you’re doing that so it will be cold but it won’t freeze in that time so when you pour the wine back in it won’t – what’s so funny?”
He stepped closer and took her face in his hands. “You. I don’t think you took a breath that entire time.”
Their eyes met and held for a long breath. He thought about pressing his lips to hers, but didn’t think he could stop there, and he didn’t know how she’d react. For that matter, he wasn’t sure if she’d even welcome that kind of attention. It was poor compensation, but he decided instead to kiss her briefly on the forehead. “Do you mind setting the table? I’ll be in the kitchen for another ten minutes or so.”
She let out a long breath. “Yeah. Set the table. I can do that.”
As she picked up plates and silverware and headed to the table, he said, “It sounds as if you don’t cook very often.”
The clink of plates against wood had the sound of normalcy and sanity to him. “I don’t, and it’s not just because I suck at it. Our bus has a little-bitty fridge we usually keep sandwich stuff and soft drinks, a freezer where we store ice and frozen dinners, and a small microwave, but no stove. Besides, it’s hard to keep pots and pans on a stove when you’re bouncing along on the interstate at seventy miles an hour. We eat a lot of pre-packaged stuff and hit lots of cheap diners, so this is a real treat for me.”
He put the chicken in the pan to simmer. “I’m glad you think so.”
“Oh, it is, in more ways than one.”
*****
She groaned silently at herself. ‘It’s a real treat for me in more ways than one?’ Duh! How could that be any cheesier? Or more provocative? How dumb could she act around him, and was she going for a personal worst here?
Get it together, Lois! she growled to herself. Don’t bait him! Don’t tease him! And for crying out loud, don’t let him put those delicious lips close to yours again!
The forehead kiss was both more and less than she’d wanted. On one hand, she’d wanted to rip open his shirt and run her palms over his marvelous pecs and his solid abs and drink in his manliness. On the other hand, she’d been desperate to escape the gravitational pull of his presence. It seemed as if the closer she came to him, the harder it was for her to think instead of react to him. And just being close to him totally destroyed her objectivity. She had been an eyelash from falling into his arms and giving herself up to the moment.
Clark Kent was the only person who knew she was also Wanda Detroit whom she hadn’t approached first with that information. He was the only one who’d deduced that knowledge on his own, and as far as she could tell he hadn’t done anything with it. No one had come hunting her with a gun or knife or club. No one had brought a newspaper front page to her while looking at her as if she’d suddenly turned orange and grown another head. So as far as her other identity was concerned, she believed she could trust him.
Whether or not she could trust him with her heart was another question altogether. And apparently it was one she was going to have to answer soon, or she wouldn’t be able to be near him without acting like a complete idiot and babbling on and on about something he probably already knew how to do and –
Shut up, you idiot! she told herself. It’s bad enough that you babbled at him, now you’re babbling at yourself!
She glanced up and saw him watching her from the kitchen with a bemused expression on his face. She struggled for a moment, then recalled the last thing she’d said. “I mean, it’s a treat to have a home-cooked meal, and a treat to be a guest in your home. I don’t often have the chance to relax in private.”
He tilted his head as if assessing her words, then smiled that blinding smile and said, “I don’t often have the chance to relax with another person, either. My lifestyle and schedule usually don’t allow me to cook for anyone besides myself.”
“Too bad. You seem to enjoy cooking.”
“I do. Oh, the wineglasses are up in this cabinet and the water glasses are next to them.”
She hesitated. Getting the glasses meant she had to go back into the kitchen where those wonderful odors originated, not all of them having to do with the food on the stove. Her mental alarms were warning her of eleven kinds of dangers associated with that kitchen and that man.
But she had little choice. So she bit the metaphorical bullet and stepped in front of the cabinet he’d indicated, waiting for his nearness to overwhelm her.
It didn’t, not quite. He stayed in front of the stove, doing something cooking-related to the chicken and the pasta. She grabbed the water and wine glasses and escaped to the dining area, then set them beside the plates.
She stepped back and realized that she’d put the place settings opposite each other on the round table. The table could seat four comfortably, but she knew if she put her plate beside his that she wouldn’t be comfortable being that close to him. And she knew that if she did, she wouldn’t be able to enjoy that wonderful meal he was preparing.
She didn’t stop to consider that Clark might not be all that comfortable, either.
*****
Lunch went well, thought Clark, with the conversation flowing easily – as long as he kept the table between them and the subject neutral. And the raspberry sorbet was a great finale. He probably could have dispensed with singing the chorus of the Prince song “Raspberry Beret” with “sorbet” as a substitute noun, even though Lois laughed harder than any two others who’d heard that lame joke.
He’d been apprehensive ever since she’d accepted his impromptu invitation, wondering if he was making a serious mistake by giving in to the desire to let her further into his life. On the one hand, she obviously hadn’t mentioned either his real name or his real occupation to anyone at the club, so he believed he could trust her that far. On the other hand, she had no idea that he was the Silent Vigilante, and there was no way he could predict how she might react to that information, not to mention any knowledge of his extra-terrestrial origins or abilities.
And he found that he cared what she thought of him. It made a difference to him how she viewed him and how she related to him. He reveled in the intimacy of their new friendship, and he held their few seemingly erotic moments close to his heart.
But it wasn’t fair to either of them to expect more than friendship from her. There was no way – absolutely no way – he would let her get that close to him, not with such a brief history between them. He couldn’t afford to be enraptured by her presence, and he was determined not to destroy their friendship by throwing himself at her.
Yet he yearned to touch her hands, her face, to enfold her in his embrace, to mold his mouth to hers and lose himself in her arms. The intensity of this new desire frightened him. He’d never reacted to any girl or woman in this way, either in Metropolis or Smallville. Linda King had thrown herself at him almost from the day they’d met, and he’d never even considered her as a romantic partner. In fact, the thought almost made him gag. Lana Lang had never generated such intensity in him, though most of what he knew about kissing women came from their teenaged experiments. Neither had he ever reacted to Rachel Harris this strongly, although he knew that while he liked Rachel a lot and considered her a close friend, he would never be in love with her.
The thought that he might actually be in love with Lois Lane, musician and deep undercover reporter, startled him, and he lost track of what Lois was saying.
He glanced up to see her looking at him as if expecting a response. “I – I’m sorry. I guess I zoned out for a few seconds. What did you just say?”
She smiled softly. “I said that it’s too bad we don’t have time to watch a movie. I noticed that you have a pretty good collection on your shelves, even if you lean towards the informative and dramatic rather than the romantic.”
“Yeah. Uh – “ For a moment, he wasn’t sure how to respond to that assessment, even if it was accurate. “I have a very good memory, so after I watch a movie I tend not to watch it again for a long time, unless I have a very good reason.”
She stood holding her wine glass and wandered to the couch. “You mean – like another person who saw it with you? And if you want to see it again with that person, it might be to revisit the experience of being together?”
He stood and followed her, then gestured for her to sit. “Something like that. We could talk about a movie we’ve both seen, if you’d like to.”
She sat at one end of the couch and he followed suit, making sure there was a cushion’s worth of distance between them. He knew if they were sitting beside each other he’d never be able to sustain an intelligent conversation.
“Have you ever seen The Princess Bride?” she asked.
He smiled warmly. “Yes, and I enjoyed it. Believe it or not, I was with my parents when I saw it. I was home during a break from college and we all went to the theater.”
She sipped her wine. “Did you take a date?”
The question surprised him. “A date?”
“Sure. Some pretty girl from your high school or a waitress from the local diner. Or maybe the mayor’s secretary. Or did you take one of your mother’s friends?”
He lifted his eyebrows. “Are you fishing for a compliment or something?”
She chuckled. “No. I just wanted to know if you had some major emotional attachment to the memory of seeing it for the first time.”
He shrugged and leaned back against the couch. “It wasn’t a real date, but Rachel Harris went with us and she sat with me and held my hand and cried and clapped and laughed in all the appropriate places. And before you ask, Rachel is now the sheriff of the town of Smallville and we still keep in touch, but only as friends. That’s all we ever were to each other.”
She chuckled again. “I’d bet you kept your hands to yourself that day, dating a future armed law enforcement person.”
“Well, her dad being the sheriff at the time helped, too.”
They shared this laugh. After a moment, Lois drained her glass and put it on the end table beside her. “Rehearsal starts in a little over half an hour. As much as I have enjoyed lunch with you, I don’t want either of us to be late.”
The degree of his disappointment surprised him, but he knew she was right. He stood and offered her his hand. “Neither do I. If you’ll help me put the dishes in the sink, I’ll rinse them and wash them properly the next time I come back.”
She took his hand and rose beside him. “Sounds like a plan to me.”
*****
As Clark rinsed the plates and silverware, she leaned against the cabinet next to him without touching him. “Clark?” she ventured. “Do you ever think about having a normal life?”
He glanced her way, then rinsed another plate. “What’s ‘normal’ mean in this context?”
Her teasing mood was gone, and she didn’t rise to the bait. “Oh, a wife and two-point-three kids, house in the suburbs, white picket fence, that kind of thing.”
He turned off the water and turned to face her without closing the slight distance between them. “Sometimes, yes. But I don’t know if I’ll ever have anything like that.”
She leaned closer. “Why not?”
He hesitated and licked his lips. He looked at her face but not into her eyes. “Because – because I’m not like other guys. And I don’t know if there’s a woman anywhere near my age who’d be willing to deal with just how different I am.” He took a breath and let it out slowly. “Besides, my job is so crazy sometimes I don’t know if she’d want to deal with it.”
“I know.” Almost of its own accord, her hands found his and she ducked her head to keep from being drawn into the depths of those wonderful chocolate eyes. “It’s the same way for me – for all of us. In the Mountaintops, I mean. Ramona was seeing a really nice guy a couple of years ago, but he wanted her to quit the road and the band and be a housewife. She told him no way and he told her to find another guy. And Connie’s been through the same kind of thing twice that I know of, having to choose between a romantic relationship and the band she’s already given her life to.” Her forehead touched his chest and she let out a tiny sob she didn’t know she’d been holding in. “I want someone to love me – I really do – but I’ve never met a guy who could deal with me being on the road with the band for nine months out of the year, not to mention my work as Wanda. That’s a – a major deal-breaker right there.”
“Yeah,” he breathed. “That would be hard.”
“I couldn’t be with a guy who’d force me to change who I am. That’s not love, that’s control. I couldn’t take that.”
She heard him clear his throat. “Believe it or not, I understand what you mean. You deserve someone who’ll respect who you are and what you do as something significant and meaningful. You should have someone who loves you as you are, not as he wants you to be.”
“Hard to find a guy like that. Not many guys like that around.”
“No. Not many – anywhere.”
Despite knowing that getting involved with him would be a bad idea, she leaned closer. “The road – it gets lonely sometimes.”
She could feel his heart beating under his shirt. “Lois – I don’t – I wish – “
She couldn’t take it any more. She pulled away and turned around to hide the dampness in her eyes. “I wish something too, Clark, and I don’t know if it’s the same thing you wish, but I – I don’t know if I – “
Suddenly his arms slipped around her from behind and she heard her name softly whispered in her ear. Her normal response to a guy holding her that way was to kick him in the shins and turn to knee him in the groin. She hated being held still, hated feeling trapped, hated being helpless in some man’s grip.
But when she felt Clark’s arms around her, it felt right somehow. So she did nothing except to lean back into him. This wasn’t a controlling hold or an attempt to grope her. His embrace warmed her, gave her a feeling of security, and communicated something to her she’d almost given up on.
She felt loved.
And something in her heart broke loose from its restraints.
*****
He hadn’t meant to put his arms around her. He hadn’t intended to pull her to his chest and lean his head down and gently whisper her name in her ear. And he hadn’t anticipated that she’d turn around and capture his lips with hers.
But it happened. Gloriously, incredibly, deliciously, it happened. And before he realized it, her arms were around his neck, pulling his face towards hers and kissing him like there was no tomorrow. He didn’t think about where he was supposed to be or what he was supposed to be doing or what the consequences of this moment might be. He just melted into her and her kiss.
A few seconds – or hours or days, he couldn’t possibly have measured the time – her embrace eased and she backed away just far enough to speak his name. “Clark?”
He could barely breathe, and he had to remind himself that she’d spoken his name. He kissed her eyes, her nose, her chin, and said, “Yes, Lois?”
She pressed her lips against his for another long moment that was too short. “There’s a – a connection between us, isn’t there?”
He held her closer and captured her unresisting mouth again, then turned his head and muttered, “Connection?”
“Ye – yes. Connection.” She took a step backwards and pulled him along, then stopped. “Don’t you feel it?”
He pulled back far enough to look into her eyes. “Connection. Yes. A connection.”
He leaned close again but found the palm of her hand instead of her lips. “Clark – wait. I want to make – ohh – make sure you feel this too.”
The tide of desire receded slightly and his brain came back on-line. “Of course I feel it. And it’s not just animal attraction. There’s – there’s something inside me that reaches something inside you.”
She smiled and slid her hand around his head again. “Yes! Yes, that’s what I meant! It’s as if we – we were two – ohh, that’s so – two halves of the same whole.”
“Yes,” he agreed. “We – mmm – we complete each other.”
“Like bacon and eggs.”
“Cheese and crackers.”
“Bread and butter.”
“Chocolate and peanut butter.”
“Laurel and Hardy.”
He laughed softly against her lips and muttered, “That’s it exactly.” They kissed again, and this time Clark guided her back to where he knew the couch was.
Then he heard something else in her voice, something that sounded like a serious question. “Clark? Is this right?”
“What?” he murmured against her neck.
“Please,” she almost begged. “Do we – do we really want to do this?”
Some part of his brain managed to catch her question and use it to slap the rest of his mind down long enough for him to think rationally. “What – what ‘this’ are we talking about?”
She pulled back a little farther, but not so far as to be out of reach of his lips. “This. The kissing and – and the part that usually comes after the kissing.”
“The – the what?”
“Clark! We’ve only known each other for a few days. Do we really want to – to make love to each other? Now? Like this?”
Now she had his attention. “Oh. I – I see what you mean.” He pulled back almost to arm’s length. “I’m – I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking about – I didn’t mean to put any pressure on you.”
She took a deep breath and let it out slowly, then spoke in a more rational tone. “You didn’t force yourself on me, Clark. This was my choice just as much as it was yours. The question is – what do we do now?”
Humor. He had to make a joke and stop this runaway train before it completely jumped off the track and got them both in more trouble than they could handle. “You mean, do we want to skip rehearsal and get some more sorbet?”
She pushed back out of his embrace. “Yeah, that’s it exactly, I’m talking about dessert. Seriously, Clark! I don’t know what I – no, scratch that, I knew exactly what I was doing. And I knew why I was doing it.” She turned and took another step away from him and towards the front door. “And I’m pretty sure you knew it too.”
“Well, yeah, I knew, but for a minute there I wasn’t thinking very clearly.”
She shook her head and spoke softly. “I guess I wasn’t thinking clearly either.” She turned back to face him. “Look, Clark, I think this could be a very good thing if we let it – a very, very good thing – but right now may not be the best time for – for us to be a couple. I’m not leaving the band, even for you.” She took a deep breath and continued, “And I doubt that you’d leave the Daily Planet for any woman, me included.”
He felt the smile on his face freeze and fall away. Her words might as well have been liquid nitrogen poured on his heart. “No. You’re right, this isn’t a good time for either of us to be involved with each other.” He stepped back and put his hands in his pockets. “Even if I thought that we could – could build something permanent and life-long out of it.”
Her voice caught as she repeated, “P-permanent and – and life-long?”
“Yes. That’s what I’d want out of any relationship. I’m not into one-night stands or short flings. I won’t cheapen any woman’s affection for me that way.”
She nodded. “Yeah. I – I feel the same way. I wouldn’t want to start anything I knew was going to be short-term either.”
He crossed his arms in front of his chest, knowing that the move would look as if he were pushing her away. “That’s just how I am. Permanent and life-long or nothing.”
“Me too.” She blinked and touched her eye as if wiping away a tear. “Then – then we agree that we don’t need for this to go any farther.”
He hated what he was about to say. He hated it because he knew she was right, that this couldn’t go any farther than it already had. “Yes,” he forced out. “This is as far as this goes.”
She nodded without looking at him. “Good. We’re in agreement, then.” He didn’t answer. “Then – then I’ll see you at rehearsal.” She turned and walked to the door and opened it, but before she pulled it shut behind her, she turned and said, “Thank you for the lunch, Clark. I don’t think I’ll ever forget it.”
Then she shut the door. He listened to her footsteps as she walked down the steps to the street, heard her hail a cab, and heard the door slam.
He listened to the distinctive rumble of the taxi’s motor until it was lost in the wash of city sounds.
Then he sat down on the couch and tried to decide if he was more noble than Lancelot or the biggest idiot since Adam took the apple from Eve.
