by Holly Jacobs
Paige's place wasn't dirty, just cluttered with stacks of newspaper, and books and magazines. And of course, her bright yellow walls and the deep red furniture only added to the frenzied feeling of the room. It was loud and nerve-racking. Riley preferred things more sedate and orderly.
"Sorry," she said, a hand over the phone, obviously noticing his seat dilemma. "I've been working on some research and the living room is the most comfortable place to work. Just move something and—"
Obviously someone finally picked up on the other end of the line because she started giving their order.
Riley lifted a stack of newspapers from the chair, set them on the floor and took the seat. Pugsley waddled up next to the chair and flopped at his feet.
Riley looked down at the dog, and the top section of the paper caught his eye. It was his column, and the paper was folded in such a way that he knew his column was up because Paige had been reading it.
Part of him wanted to ask what she thought about Get Real, but the bigger part of him wouldn't let that minority part do it. Other people's opinions didn't matter. He wouldn't let them. Not even Paige's opinion.
Especially not Paige's opinion.
Paige hung up, and pushed some magazines on the couch over to the side and sat down. "They said it would be here in a half hour, but it will probably be more like forty-five minutes or an hour. They're good, but they're not exactly fast."
Riley didn't respond since no response was necessary. He was going to just sit here, wait for the food and not prattle.
Silent or monosyllabic. That was the extent of his plan.
"So, about the interview," Paige said. "Why don't I tell you why you should do it, and then you tell me why you shouldn't. No interrupting, no fighting. Just clear logical reasoning."
"Sounds good." Two words. Two single-syllable words. Yep, he was back on track.
"Okay," Paige said. "Here goes. You are a hero. I'm not sure why that term bothers you, but you are. And doing an interview won't jeopardize your tough-guy image. John Wayne was the epitome of a tough guy, and he was a hero in his movies. The interview would be good for you, give you a little more balance in a public way. I mean, you come off as such a tough guy in your columns that it would be good for your readers to see that you have more to you than just strong opinions."
"Why does this mean so much to you?" he asked. Crap. An entire string of words. All single syllables, but still quite a lot of them. But worrying about syllables was suddenly fading as he thought about what she'd asked.
Why? This was the one question he needed an answer to. Why was she so intent on this interview?
It was also the one answer he wasn't sure he wanted to hear.
The conflicting emotions didn't make sense, but then nothing in Riley's life had made sense since he'd stumbled on Paige giving pseudo-birth in a parking lot. So he tried not to let the lack of sense bother him now.
"When we went out on that date," she said, "I'm ashamed to admit, I saw just what you wanted me to see. I didn't look deeper. If asked, I would have said you were an acerbic, cynical man who was more than a little abrasive. But as I've followed you around, I've seen another side, one that you keep hidden. Heroic and kind. You're a pushover for old ladies, kids and dogs. And I don't know why it matters to me that people know there's more to you than you let show, but it does. Maybe what I'm saying is, for some reason you matter to me."
She opened her mouth, as if she was going to say more, then snapped it shut, gave a tiny, almost imperceptible shake of her head and sucked in a deep breath. Then she said, "So, it's your turn. Why can't you let people see that side of you? A side you try to hide, but is so much a part of who you are."
"My father was a hero," Riley blurted out. He couldn't believe he'd said those words.
"Pardon?" Paige asked gently.
He wanted to shut up and not say another word, but there was something in Paige's eyes that didn't merely encourage him to continue, it insisted.
"The Major," he said. A mental image of his father, all spit and polish, regimented rules and pride. "That's how I think of him. The Major. Never father, and certainly not Dad. He was in the army and we lived our lives with structure and discipline. And he was a hero."
"In a war?"
He registered the question, but barely. He was suddenly plunged back into his childhood. Whenever he forayed into the past he was consumed by an almost overwhelming feeling of suffocation.
Forcing himself to breathe, he said, "No, not a war. That's what he always craved, but it never happened. His act of heroism happened at a burning house on the base. He saw it and got everyone out. He got a medal for it. He was a hero, they said. Not mine. That's not what I saw. I saw the Major. Boys play football, son. They don't edit the school paper. Boys go into the military. You don't need to go to Boston University, even with that scholarship. With your grades you can go into West Point and come out with a degree and be an officer. Boys—''
He cut himself off. He couldn't believe he'd said all that. "Sorry."
Why had he told Paige something he'd never told another living soul?
He wasn't sure. And that confused him even more.
"Anyway, I don't want to be like that. Like him. He was all show. The big hero. But he wasn't a hero, at least not at home. I always swore I'd be different from the Major. When I do something, I don't do it for the world to see, don't do it for pins and medals, I do it for me. Like Zac. I don't need recognition for hanging out with him. He's a great kid, and we get along really well, and that's enough for me."
He paused, a new thought hitting him. "But maybe I'm not as different from the Major as I think. You say I'm cynical? Maybe I am. Acerbic, abrasive? Yes. But I'm not going to paint over all that and call myself a hero because of one minor incident. I thought he was a hypocrite accepting all those accolades. And I won't do it. I might be a lot of things, but I'm never a hypocrite."
"You see rescuing me as one small aberration?" Paige asked. "Don't you see, being a hero is as much a part of your nature as being acerbic. There's me. There's Zac. Being a Big Brother is heroic. You volunteer your time to be there for a kid who needs you. That's a hero. There's Pugsley there. You saved him."
"You're misreading all—"
"No." She reached down and grabbed a small stack of newspapers. "Those all could be counted as minor blips. But then there's Get Real."
"That proves my case, not yours. It's hard news. There's nothing heroic about it."
"You think?" She picked up a paper and read, "Slumlords, fluoridation, The New Academy High School: a chance for public school kids to shine, tourism in Erie, and how about Belinda Byers."
Riley groaned. She would have to have read that particular column. "Now, wait a minute, I know what you're going to say, but that column doesn't make me a hero."
"Riley, the girl was accepted at Harvard and was going to have to say no because she didn't have the money—even with loans and her scholarship she couldn't have done it. Your column highlighted her plight, and the local donations and scholarships it generated got that girl to school. You're her hero."
Softly she said, "Don't you see? Being a hero isn't a blip, it's a trend. It's a fact. Riley, you are a hero."
"With Belinda, I was talking about the inequities in life," he said, desperate to make her understand. "That some people have it all and throw it away, and some people work so hard and are so deserving, but that doesn't matter. I'm—"
"A hero. And there's something I've wanted to do for. . . I don't know when it started, but it's here and me wanting to do it is growing. I. . ." She let the sentence trail off and stared at him. "Oh, what the heck."
Paige got up, walked the two steps it took to reach his chair and leaned over, pausing, her face right in front of his.
"What?" he said. There was something in her dark brown eyes that made him feel hunted. If he could have gotten any words past his constricted throat he'd have happily prattled.
"What?" he said again,
pleased that he'd managed even a monosyllabic question.
Paige didn't answer. She just leaned forward. . .and kissed him.
Riley saw it coming. He should have ducked. He could have pushed her away. Instead he simply waited. And when her lips reached him, it wasn't a slight peck on the cheek. Not even a platonic buss on the lips.
No. This was an all out, lip-locking, toe-curling kiss that rocked Riley's world.
PAIGE FOUND HERSELF tongue-tangled with Riley and couldn't help but wonder what she was doing. Her kiss was a hard, fast introduction that made her knees go weak and her blood pressure spike.
He smelled of something spicy.
Hot and spicy.
Her knees weren't just weak, they were giving out. So she let herself sink onto Riley's lap, feeling as if she could melt into him, become a part of him. She felt suddenly at home as she wrapped her arms around his neck and continued kissing him, learning every intimate contour of his mouth. Not wanting to stop—not ever.
Who would have guessed that Riley Calhoon was such a great kisser?
Well, Paige hadn't known until right now, but that hadn't stopped her from fantasizing about it for the past few nights. She'd thought those fantasies were hot, but the reality was hotter.
Much hotter.
"Wow," she said as she finally pulled back. She stared at him.
How had she missed so much last spring? She, who prided herself at seeing the best in the world around her, in the people who surrounded her, had only seen the facade Riley preferred the world to see. Gently, she traced the curve of his jaw with her forefinger.
"Wow," she said again.
Riley didn't say anything. He just looked dazed.
"Riley? Are you all right?" she asked, staring into his gray eyes.
Gray eyes that narrowed as he asked, "What the hell did you do that for?"
Paige scrambled off his lap, readying for a fight.
Riley was going to be difficult. But that was okay, she suddenly realized. It was expected. It was part of who he was. It was part of why she wanted him.
She wanted him with a deep and growing ferocity that surprised her, that tilted her world off balance. Well, she was ready to tilt his as well.
She wanted to continue to delve behind his facade, eager to discover what other treasures he hid determinedly behind his mask.
The battle lines were marked.
She moved back to the couch, regrouping. Let him think she was retreating as she prepared for an all-out frontal attack.
"I don't know what I did that for," she admitted. "I was sitting here listening to you, and I started wondering again what it would be like to kiss you, and then next thing I knew, I was kissing you. And I have to tell you, I thought it would be good, but you surpassed my wildest imaginations."
''Again. You said you started wondering again. So, you've been imagining kissing me? For how long?"
"Well, not after that date. I imagined many things about you after that date, and kissing wasn't one of them. Not even after you saved my life. I mean, I wanted to tell people about you, but I didn't wonder what it would be like to be with you. But lately, after I followed you around and got to know there was more to you than meets the eye, well, I'll confess, I've wondered. But optimistically, I never imagined it could be like this, I mean—"
She cut off her sentence as Riley stood, stepped over his dog and approached the couch.
"Riley?" she asked, unable to gauge his mood and suddenly feeling more than a little nervous. "I'll apologize for kissing you, if you like. I won't do it again."
That was a lie. But it was one she willingly made if only it would get that terribly intent expression off his face.
"Yes, you will," he said. His voice was a soft. . .
Could that be desire? She wondered about his tone and her heart was beating so fierce and fast she wondered that it didn't explode.
"I will?" she asked.
He kicked the rest of the papers off the couch and sat down next to her.
Right next to her.
He leaned close, and his breath caressed her neck as he practically whispered, "Oh, yeah, you will if I have my way."
"Oh."
He pulled her into his arms. Paige found herself completely wrapped in Riley. It was an amazingly good feeling. He slowly ran his fingers through her short hair and a small shiver ran down her spine.
She'd expected something hard and fast, instead he seemed content to just hold her, to simply touch her hair.
"Riley?" she asked, unsure what her question was.
"You know this is going to lead to more than just kissing, right?"
She nodded.
"I need to be sure we're clear that it's not. . .I mean, I like you."
She snorted. She wasn't sure like was the right description for their relationship, at least not Riley's end of it.
He laughed. "Yeah, it surprised me, too. But I do. I'm not the kind of man who is going to wax poetic and tell you that your eyes are dark pools that I could easily lose myself in. I won't tell you that. And though I might complain about your sweetness, I'm finding it addictive. I won't. . ."
He paused and finally said, "I'll just tell you that I want to be with you. But I don't want to hurt you, Paige. I don't want you to put on those rose-colored glasses in your Pollyanna world and think this means more than two people who like each other, who are attracted to each other, being together this once."
She concentrated on the thought of being with him, and refused to think about his this once disclaimer because the idea of him leaving cut at her in a totally unexpected way.
She forced herself to be as casual as he seemed to want. "I wasn't looking for a proposal, Calhoon. And I'm not looking for talk. I understand what you're saying, and I think the time for talking is over."
Her understanding was all he'd obviously been waiting for, because he kissed her then. It was as hard and hot as she'd expected.
Kissing Riley went on forever. There was no time, just sensation. When his hand moved beneath her shirt and cupped her breast through her thin silk bra, Paige thought she'd died and this was her reward.
"Calhoon," she gasped. She wanted to strip off her clothes, strip off his. She didn't want any barriers to stand between them. She tugged at his shirt and was ready to pull it up over his head when there was a knock at the door.
"Who could that be?" Riley asked breathlessly, as if he'd just finished part of a marathon.
She'd done that to him. She was affecting him.
The thought was a heady one. He might say differently, but she was getting to tough-guy Riley Calhoon, at least in this elemental, physical way.
"It's probably the food. Leave it to them to be prompt this once. More than prompt, early." She stood, adjusted her clothing and ran a finger through her rumpled hair. "I'll take care of it."
She grabbed a twenty from her purse on the coat tree and opened the door.
"Hi, Paige," said Les, the delivery boy.
"Hey. You were fast tonight." Too fast, darn it. Would Riley get cold feet and remember how much he didn't like her now that he'd had a chance to think?
The thought of the desire that was beating hot and furious in her blood going unfulfilled made her want to groan.
"It's a slow night," the boy said, handing her the bag. "It's cold enough to snow."
"Bite your tongue. It's way too early in the season to think about snow." She gave him the twenty. "Keep the change."
"You know Erie, snow in October isn't unheard of. Thanks for the tip." He waved as he started down the hall.
Paige shut the door, turned and went back into the living room. She stood awkwardly, suddenly unsure of herself, waiting for Riley to make some move. "Uh, dinner's here. Did you want to eat it now?"
"That's one option," he said.
"Or?" Paige prompted, her voice little more than a whisper.
"Or, you could put it in the fridge, and you and I could go into the bedroom."
"I think I l
ike plan B better. I wasn't sure you'd want to. . .I mean, I know you don't like me most of the time, and I was afraid you'd remember and—"
He closed the distance between them, not quite touching her, but so close she could feel the heat radiating from his body, warming her, tempting her closer. He silenced her with a finger against her lips. "Shh. You're wrong, you know."
"Wrong?"
"I like you. I've always liked you. I watch WMAC news every night, just to watch you."
"Because my segments annoy you."
She annoyed him. He annoyed her. That's the way it worked, and it was important she remember that. Riley claimed his heroism was a blip in the surliness of his life, but this. . . She had to remember this attraction was a blip in the annoyance they tended to cause each other.
"What annoyed me," he said softly, "was that I only got to see you on TV. Just watching a two-dimensional you wasn't enough to satisfy me. I wanted more."
"But you never called after our date."
"We agreed it wouldn't work out, so I couldn't and. . ."
"You could have," she said softly. "No matter what I said, I. . .well, you could have."
They stood facing each other, looking, but not touching. The reality of what they were going to do—because there was no longer any doubt about what they were going to do—sank in.
Paige wanted this man with a force that took her breath away.
Primal. Fierce.
She wanted to touch him and yet didn't want to break the moment, this endless moment of exquisite anticipation. Of knowing that she would have him, would learn his every contour, would have his body.
But not his soul.
Where had that thought come from?
Having Riley's body was more than enough for her. She knew they were too different for more than this. And she was willing to take this.
"The food," Riley said. "Maybe we should start by putting it in the fridge?"
"Yes," Paige said, realizing she still held the bag of Chinese food in her hand, and thankful to have something to do, to break the moment. She wasn't sure what had just happened, but she didn't want to stop and analyze it. All she wanted was Riley.
