Just One Kiss

by Isabel Sharpe

  She looked nothing like the way she thought of herself, and she absolutely loved it. Jack had a real gift, an eye for coaxing out the best in his subjects. He was good in bed, too, though they never got serious enough to call theirs a relationship. After the initial passion was spent, they’d settled happily back where they belonged, as friends.

  Voices outside her store entrance made her jump and slide the picture under the register. She was not ready to share it. Jack had seen this side of her, but it wasn’t something she thought the others knew about, except Seth, of course. But she was not up for being teased about something that delighted her so much, and yes, the gentlemen’s clubs would have to wait, too.

  The voices neared and became recognizable. Seth’s lazy baritone, and the horrendous nasal squeak of the lovely and no doubt talented Alex-ahn-drah, who he’d apparently had up in his studio again today, and was now kissy-kissing goodbye. Afternoon delight maybe? How nice. Bonnie was happy for them.

  Super-duper happy.

  What a mistake to go out for drinks with Seth on Saturday night. They’d had such a good time together, been relaxed and happy, the way they used to be when it seemed as if the future existed only for them. At least that’s what she’d been thinking back then. His thoughts had probably been along the lines of sex, food, more sex, sleep, even more sex…

  She’d woken up Sunday morning feeling upbeat and energized for the first time in way too long. As soon as she’d realized why, her mood had turned leaden and cranky. Something had to get her out of this horrible lethargy. She’d worked hard to get over Seth, and had succeeded, she thought, enough to agree to be part of Come to Your Senses. But being in close proximity to him like this, day after day for the past year—too many of her feelings had threatened to return. The only way she’d ever get over Seth permanently was to fall for someone else. Maybe Angela was right, and she should try dating, because she was starting to feel as pathetic as she was.

  “Hey, Bonnie.”

  “Hi, Seth.” She made herself look sweet as honey, ready to sting like a honey bee. “Have a productive afternoon?”

  “We did a lot of good stuff, yes.”

  “Really.” She looked him over. “Must not have been that good. You can still walk.”

  “Walk?” He sauntered over to her counter, leaned on it. Too close. She stepped back. “What, you thought we’d been drinking?”

  “No, dear.” She fluttered her eyelashes at him. “I thought you’d been screwing.”

  “Well, well.” A slow grin spread over his sexy mouth. “You jealous?”

  She gave a derisive raspberry. “Of course not. Why would I be?”

  “I dunno, Bonnie.” He reached out before she could rear back, and his fingers gently brushed the corner of her mouth and down her chin before he took them back. “Why don’t you tell me?”

  Um…no.

  She scrubbed at the spot he’d touched, as if the contact had bothered her. Which it had, but not the way she wanted him to think. “Did I have a crumb on my face?”

  “Nope. You had a face on your face.”

  “I’ve had that for a while.”

  She waited for his next retort. To her surprise, he started looking around at her flowers as if he’d just realized he was in her shop, and the fact fascinated him. Bonnie held still, watching. Something had to be making Seth uncomfortable, for him to drop the teasing.

  “Hey, Bon…”

  She waited, waited some more, then prompted, “Ye-e-es?”

  “I dunno.”

  “Do you really like this woman?” The words rushed out before Bonnie could weigh the pros and cons of asking. Now that they had, she could see the ratio clearly: one hundred percent con. She dropped her eyes miserably to the counter. Maybe she’d convinced Seth she wasn’t jealous before, but this would sink her.

  “Alexandra? She’s okay.” He’d turned his head back; she could feel his gaze. His hand landed on her shoulder. Why was he touching her so much? “I’m not involved with her. I told you that. It’s the truth, Bonnie.”

  Relief, which she was immediately furious at herself for. Whether he was or wasn’t boinking the sexy squeaker shouldn’t matter to her at all. “You don’t owe me that.”

  “Maybe not. But I don’t want you thinking something about me that isn’t true.”

  “It was a natural assumption. Don’t forget, I know you. She’s over here all the time up in your apartment. You bought her those flowers.”

  Ugh. She sounded like a jealous girlfriend. Why couldn’t she act sanely around this man?

  “The flowers were for her mom’s birthday. She paid me back.” He was looking at her intently now, hazel eyes somber. Very un-Seth-like. “I hired her to sing one of my songs.”

  “Ahh.” Bonnie tried to pretend she was interested in this from a purely musical standpoint. “I didn’t realize you’d written one for Minnie Mouse.”

  Meow.

  Seth cracked up, head hanging down, as if he were trying to hide the laughter. When they were dating, Bonnie would nuzzle under his neck, make him lift up to share the fun with her. She’d asked him about it once, but he’d only shrugged and said it was just what he did.

  “Something’s stuck under here.” He had his finger on a corner of her picture, which hadn’t disappeared all the way under the register.

  “Oh. No.” She jabbed her thumb down hard to pin the photo to the counter before he could pull it out. “That’s mine.”

  “Yeah?” He was grinning, and she knew right away she’d lose this battle. Seth was as determined to get what he wanted as she was. Plus he was stronger. “Show me.”

  “No, it’s private.”

  “Really.” He tipped his head. “Looks like a picture.”

  “It is a picture.”

  He frowned. “New boyfriend?”

  “Well, well.” She lifted an eyebrow, trying to grin the way he had been only a minute ago. “You jealous?”

  He imitated her responding raspberry perfectly. “Of course not. Why would I be?”

  They were both laughing now, Seth trying to pull the picture out, Bonnie hell-bent on keeping it hidden.

  Finally he grabbed her wrists, held them together in one hand and drew the sheet out with a flourish.

  “Ha! I win! I’ve—” He let go of Bonnie’s wrists. “Holy… Look at this.”

  “I’ve seen it.” She became suddenly involved in examining her fingernails, wishing she wasn’t secretly pleased he could see her like that, the way Jack saw her.

  “Look at you.”

  “Don’t need to. I was there.”

  “Did Jack take this?”

  “Yup.”

  He narrowed his eyes. “When?”

  “Last night.”

  Seth put the paper down. “You were with him last night?”

  “Yup. Stark naked. Nothing he hadn’t seen before. Though, hmm, back then I don’t think we ever did it in flowers.”

  He was furious. Growling. She loved it. Take that for parading Alex-ahn-dra around. See how it felt.

  Immediately she was ashamed of being so vindictive. Seth brought out her best and worst sides. And everything in between.

  But if he didn’t still care about her, he wouldn’t mind that she’d posed naked for Jack. Not to the point where his jaw was clenched tight enough to break his teeth, the way it was now, a sure sign he was trying very hard to keep a rein on his emotions.

  “Bonnie…”

  If she could only get hold of that rein, cut it through with one triumphant stroke.

  She lifted her chin. “Yes, Seth?”

  “Are you with Jack now? Again?”

  “No.” Her voice gentled as his had. They could only torture each other for so long. “Just posing for a shot he wanted.”

  “I bet he did.”

  “Oh, and you’ve never imagined Alexandra naked?”

  “Never!” He smacked his hand on the counter. “Never would I do such a thing.”

  The lie was so blat
ant he couldn’t possibly have expected her to believe it. Sure enough, he was staring maniacally, lips pursed, eyebrows up.

  She laughed again, loud and long. Even better, he joined her. Seth was too damn fun. And sexy. And utterly exasperating.

  He was looking around the shop again. She braced herself. “Hey.”

  “Hey, what, Seth?”

  “You ever notice we still act like a couple sometimes?”

  She couldn’t help the residual snort of laughter. “Gee, no. I’ve never, ever noticed that. Not at all.”

  “Yeah, me, neither.” He was grinning at her, and she was still grinning at him, and then both their grins faded at the same time, at the same rate, while something a lot less funny and a whole lot richer started to take its place.

  No. She was not letting him take her down this same damn road yet again.

  “Hey, Bon-bon.”

  “No.” The word came out more brusquely than she intended, but she didn’t soften it with any others.

  “Let’s go out tonight. Dancing or something. You and me.”

  “I’m busy.”

  “Tomorrow.”

  “Nope.”

  “Next day?” He tipped his head, doing the puppy-eye thing that used to work without fail. Today, it got him nothing.

  Okay, not nothing, but she was staying strong. “Next day lots of stuff happening, too.”

  “The weekend.”

  “Even more.”

  “You don’t want to go dancing with me.”

  She sighed and took back the naked picture, opened her drawer and shoved it inside.

  That was the trouble. She desperately wanted to go dancing with him. But then what? There were three completely predictable possibilities—one, they’d drink, dance and have a great time, but the evening would end up being completely platonic, and she’d be perversely and painfully disappointed. Two, they’d drink, dance and have a great time, he’d make a move, and she’d rebuff him and go to bed frustrated and upset. Three, they’d drink, dance, have a great time, he’d make a move and she’d give in, then hate herself afterward for weeks.

  See? Not a good plan.

  “No, Seth. I don’t want to go dancing with you.”

  “Okay.” He tapped smartly on the counter and turned away, but just before he did, she got a glimpse of real disappointment on his handsome face. A glimpse of disappointment and of pain.

  11

  ANGELA FOLLOWED Daniel, risking her very life biking behind him because she kept being distracted by his rather gorgeous butt, muscles she knew to be very strong and very solid, working to power his cycle down Pine Street. They were on their way to the Seattle Art Museum to hang out in the wacky sculpture garden, then maybe get some ice cream.

  Daniel was clearly honoring his word to take their relationship slowly. An after-work bike ride during which it was downright dangerous to get any closer than about three feet? Decidedly platonic. Sculpture was cerebral. Ice cream, with no alcohol to decrease inhibitions? Lamb-innocent.

  So. He’d respected her concerns and she was safe.

  Yes, sir. Safe as a snowball in Antarctica. A raindrop in the Amazon. A fireball in hell.

  Wonderful. Ju-u-st wonderful.

  Left onto Second Avenue, right onto Union, left on First. Daniel pulled up next to the rack closest to the museum, where they secured their bikes and walked around the building to the Olympic Sculpture Park, built on waterfront property reclaimed from industrial use, a green area for strolling and viewing art. The park was peaceful and surprisingly quiet, given its downtown location.

  They strolled down the grassy steps of the Bill and Melinda Gates Amphitheater and wandered around and through a series of undulating metal sections of wall comprising a sculpture called Wake. Angela stopped between two of the massive shapes, gazing up at the sky outlined between them. She had to keep her gaze on the sky because after about three seconds of vainly trying to lose herself in a sculptural experience, a warm, male body had come up behind her. Close behind her. Painfully, wonderfully, magnetically close.

  “I’m not really art-savvy.” His voice was low and too near for comfort, but plenty near enough to make her want to lean back into him, feel his arms sliding around her, encasing her in his warm strength, to savor the gentle pressure of his lips against her neck. “But I love this sculpture. It’s awe-inspiring, both in size and concept.”

  “Yuh.” She barely managed that brilliant analysis without choking on it. Her shoulders had pressed into his firm chest for one brief moment. Had he swayed forward or had she swayed back?

  How was Angela supposed to keep power on her side when around this man she turned instantly and rather pathetically slavish? Was she genetically doomed to being a simpering doormat? Yes, she’d rejected further intimacy with Daniel, a powerful choice, but what good did that do her if she spent every second in his presence craving it? Maybe it had been a mistake to say slow down. Maybe she should have said stop.

  And yet…

  Even the idea of not seeing Daniel again sent a blade of pain through her.

  His hand landed on the small of her back, then slid away, the tips of his fingers barely brushing across her bottom. “Let’s move on.”

  No, stay. Put your hand back where it—

  Yes. Move on.

  They toured the rest of the garden, sweet air drifting in from Puget Sound, the temperature truly springlike for the first time that year. Sun would be nice, but Seattle’s residents knew better than to hope for miracles too often. It made those miracles all the more special when they happened.

  “I think this one’s my favorite.” He pointed to what looked like a bizarre rubbery pink unicycle wheel, except where the seat should have been, a wiry bunch of bristles shot up, like an old-fashioned twig broom turned upside down. “My grandfather had one of those.”

  “Typewriter eraser or giant sculpture of one?”

  “Ha. Eraser.” He shifted and his hand bumped hers; she had to stuff her fingers into her jeans pocket to keep from grabbing it and holding on. “Imagine having to erase.”

  “Imagine.” She was imagining something very different. Namely, what it would feel like to make love to Daniel outdoors, with a lovely sea breeze caressing their bodies.

  This was nearly hopeless.

  “Were you close to your grandfather?”

  “I barely knew him.” His arm made contact, stayed pressed against her shoulder for a split second, then he took a step away. It was all she could do not to follow. “He died when I was ten, we didn’t visit often.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry.” At least Angela could stop lusting long enough for genuine sympathy. When she imagined Daniel as a child, he was always sad, quiet and alone, which put fault lines in her heart. When she pictured her own childhood, she was always centered in a giant clump of loving—and loud—relatives.

  “How about you?” He touched her forearm. “Wait, I know this one. Big Fat Greek Wedding. Yes, you were close to everyone.”

  “Figuratively and literally. Parents, brothers, grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins, nieces, nephews…”

  “I envy that.”

  She turned to him, shading her eyes from the sun setting behind him, lighting strands of his hair gold. “You were lonely.”

  “I guess, yeah. For family anyway.” The words came out hoarsely, a difficult confession. Automatically Angela’s hand began to extend toward him, and she had to push it back to her side.

  “How about now?”

  “Right now?” His hand had no compunction about completing its journey across the small space between them; it pushed aside a lock of hair breeze had sent tumbling across her forehead. His fingers lingered, slid down the side of her cheek.

  Angela nearly stopped breathing. “No. I meant. In general. Do you see your mom and dad? How about Kate’s family?”

  His ex-fiancée’s name had the intended effect. Daniel turned and started out of the park, toward sculptress Louise Bourgeois’s father-son fountain on the cor
ner of Alaskan Way and Broad Street.

  “Not really and not really. My parents are my parents, and I think it was too hard for Kate’s family to keep me around. But when you grow up without something, not having it feels like more of the same, not a big hole.”

  They stood for a minute by the fountain, watching the jets of water covering first the statue of father, then son. Angela felt a deep longing to go back in time and give child-Daniel what he didn’t have.

  Oh, Angela. Bad enough she couldn’t stop wanting another taste of his body. Now she wanted responsibility for his whole psyche, too?

  “I never asked if you had brothers and sisters. I’m guessing not?”

  “Not.” He took a few steps away to view the fountain from a different angle. Angela managed to hold her ground for about five seconds before she followed him like a puppy. “How did you get along with your brothers?”

  “Well, for the most part.” She laughed, thinking of the four of them, Alex, Chris, Nick and Stephan, all older by five years or more. “They actually morphed from being my biggest tormentors to my biggest champions and protectors. We’re in touch, very loving, but I wouldn’t say we’re extremely close anymore. They have their own lives, all married. Alex is in Portland, Chris is in Chicago, Nick and Stephan stayed in Iowa.”

  “Any of them bakers?’

  “Hardly. Two farmers, a stockbroker and an insurance agent.”

  “Would you care to sit on an eyeball?”

  “Why I’d love to, thank you.” She sank on the seat extending from the back of one of the oddly disturbing pair of giant stone eyeballs on the sidewalk. Daniel sat on the one next to her, crossing his long legs. She wished he’d move farther away. Or much closer. She didn’t seem to be doing so well with this middle ground.

  “I’m curious.” He extended his arm along the back of his eyeball. “Why expand your offerings at the bakery when the goods you’re selling now seem to be doing really well?”

  She gathered her lusting thoughts into platonic cohesion. It was very important Daniel understand.

  “I told you about the high-end European bakeries I fell in love with on our honeymoon. Walking into a place like that is like stepping into another world. As if you’ve left the ordinary part of yourself and your life behind, and you’re part of something beautiful, special and exclusive, where there are no pesky annoyances or mishaps or conflicts.” She glanced at him, awkward and vulnerable, sharing what probably sounded like a completely over-the-top reaction to a place selling flour, fat and sugar. “I’d like to give people that experience. And hell, I’d like to live there part of every day, too.”