"If you wiggle like that in public, some guy might think you're issuing an invitation."
"Like you?"
"How many rejections will it take, Marissa, before you get it through your thick head that I don't want to sleep with you?" He slammed shut the fridge to punctuate his statement, then walked around her to get a glass from the cabinet.
"It appears I've hurt you in some way I'm unaware of and for that, I apologize. However, I wish you'd stop acting like an injured bear and just tell me why you're so upset."
Her quiet voice cut through his anger and made him realize how much he was acting like a big jerk. He couldn't share his feelings with her. He couldn't tell her that his resolve was weakening, that her body and her mind and her spirit were blinding his moral vision, that he wanted her more than any woman he'd ever met.
"I don't like that touchy-feely crap." He poured the orange juice, even though he'd lost interest in it. "Here's a little piece of advice. Don't nag men to share their thoughts or feelings or anything else. Guys don't like it. If they want to tell you, they'll tell you."
"I'll make a note of that, Dane."
The sarcasm in her voice surprised him. He was used to her sincerity and openness and honesty. He looked at her and saw those fabulous lips pressed together. Her gaze was flinty, and he realized he'd never seen her angry before.
"I'm not asking for an emotional commitment. I'm not nagging you to pour forth the complexity of your manly thoughts. I'm just asking what...what put the bug up your ass?"
Stunned at her less than hoity-toity language, Dane paused mid-drink. She left the kitchen and he watched her walk into the living room. She stood in front of the window, looking at the moon through the gap in the curtains, apparently too agitated to return to bed.
The anger drained from him. He didn't want her to be upset. He wanted the other Marissa, the one who was innocent and kind and naive. Dane sipped the orange juice. The acidic sweetness added to the bad taste formed in his mouth—the taste of his regret.
He strode into the living room and touched her shoulder. "I'm a class-A bastard."
"I've already come to that conclusion. Any other thoughts you want to share? Or do I need a crowbar to pry them from your mind?"
"I'm sorry I snapped at you."
"Apology accepted."
Dane stared at her back; it was stiff as a board. She wasn't going to make this easy.
"Would you turn around?"
She did. Hurt and anger still glittered in her eyes, but at least her lips were back to normal. One blonde brow rose as if to say, Well, moron, are you gonna stand around all night or what?
"I was jealous." The admission popped out of his mouth before he knew it. She looked as startled as he felt. Heat crept up his neck.
"Of Brent?"
"Yes."
She looked down at the floor. Dane followed her gaze and noticed all ten of her toes were wiggling.
"Dane, I have a confession."
He stopped looking at her twitching toes and met her gaze. He saw the familiar expression of vulnerability and determination, and crossed his arms. "This is a new thing on the list, isn't it?"
"No. You need to know that I don't plan to sleep with Brent. We thought if we pretended to be together, you would get jealous and you—well, you might change your mind about me." Her bottom lip trembled; she nibbled it then sighed. "I suddenly realized the only person I really want to make love to is you. And, well, you don't want me. It's a conundrum. I haven't quite figured out the answer. Other than keeping my virginity, of course."
She'd done it again. Gotten to him. Twisted his insides until he wasn't sure what he was feeling. She wasn't anything like Lorraine—damned sure not a poor, little, rich princess like his ex-wife. She was honest and kind-hearted and, if he wanted, she was his. He knew she'd open her body to him the same way she'd opened her heart and mind to those around her. It was a frightening responsibility.
Dane wanted her. He didn't want to think about the implications anymore. She was an adult and so was he. What was so wrong about making love to a beautiful woman? It wouldn't be the first time two lonely people had found solace in sharing their bodies.
Dane leaned forward and kissed her forehead. "We'll talk about this tomorrow."
He fisted his hands to keep from touching her, then turned and walked away.
* * *
MARISSA STARED AT the darkened hallway, unable to believe Dane had just disappeared through it without reacting to her confession. We'll talk about it tomorrow. She'd just ruined everything. He would probably quit or try to send her home or any number of things that did not include getting naked and sweaty with her. The ache crawling through her chest threatened to turn into a prolonged sobbing fit, so she distracted herself by turning off the kitchen light and counting the steps to the couch. She leaned down to fluff her pillow.
"Marissa?"
Dane's quiet voice startled her. She turned and found him standing behind her. A thin stream of moonlight highlighted the seriousness of his features. For some odd reason, her heart began to pound furiously.
"Yes, Dane?"
"I forgot something."
"What?"
"This."
He kissed her, just a whisper of his lips against hers. His hands cupped her face and he deepened his possession of her mouth. She thought she'd faint from the sensations he created by the simple movement of his mouth against hers. She felt like he was paying homage to her lips.
Then he pulled back. Moonlight slashed across his face and his eyes glittered with what she could only describe as lust. The air felt thick around her—she felt like she might stop breathing any minute.
"Good night, Marissa."
She couldn't get any words out. A grin tugged the corners of his mouth, as if he was amused by the reason for her silence, then he disappeared—again—into the dark hallway.
* * *
"WHAT ARE WE doing here?" Marissa lifted the Styrofoam cup to her lips and sipped the convenience-store cappuccino. A headache threatened. Her head felt like it'd been stuffed with cotton when Dane had shaken her awake a mere hour ago. She'd been unable to sleep and it irked her to see Dane looking so rested.
Fresh from a shower, he'd hovered over her, tempting pectorals just out of reach, the woodsy scent of his cologne torturing her senses...it would have been much more fun to see him had he followed through with the promise of last night's kiss.
Dane parked the car in front of a dingy white building surrounded by a monstrous chain-link fence. Big black letters spelled SPCA on a crude wooden sign hanging crookedly above the screen door.
"C'mon," said Dane in an eager voice.
She put the cup on the dash and got out of the car. To her surprise, Dane clasped her hand. She instantly loved the feel of his warm, calloused palm against hers. Her headache faded, too. Dane led her through the gate, up the cracked sidewalk, and into the building.
A bell jangled as they entered a small room as dingy as the outside of the building. Piled haphazardly all over the room were bags and bags of dog and cat food. A rickety table and two mismatched plastic chairs occupied one corner. Marissa noticed a long table filled with flyers and pamphlets. To the left of the table, she saw another doorway.
"Whew," she said. "It smells like wet dogs and spoiled lima beans."
"Just remember that when you become a pet owner, okay?"
"Pet owner?"
He tugged her forward, leading her through the doorway. To the right was a long counter and behind it, a mish mash of desks, file cabinets, a lone ancient computer, and more bags of food. An older woman was on the phone, but she smiled and gestured for them to wait. Her long gray hair was pulled back into a ponytail and she wore a tie-dye T-shirt and jeans. Marissa examined the rest of the room. There were four more doors, two in front of her, one behind her, and another on the right. More rickety chairs offered places to sit. Pictures of dogs and cats along with a number of newspaper articles were pinned to the grayish wa
lls. The muffled sounds of barking dogs and people's voices filtered into the room.
"Is this whole place depressing?" ask Marissa.
"We don't think so."
Marissa turned and saw the woman leaning on the counter. Heat seared her cheeks. "I'm sorry. My comment was rude." "It's okay. Any money we get goes to the animals. We'd rather care for them than paint walls or buy new furniture. Besides, the animals don't mind." The woman held out her hand. "My name's Peggy."
Marissa offered her free hand to Peggy, the other she kept in Dane's solid grip. "I'm Marissa and this is Dane."
"Nice to meet ya." She pursed her lips and appeared to size them up. "What kind of animal do you want to adopt?"
"Adopt?" Marissa looked at Dane. "We're adopting? An animal?"
"Any hairball you want."
"Oh, thank you, Dane!" She threw her arms around his neck and hugged him. He squeezed back then let her go. Joy surged through her. She'd always wanted her own pet—she'd even put it on the list. After the way Dane threw out Sophocles last night...she nibbled her lip. Dane was probably doing this out of guilt. It didn't really matter, did it? She looked at Peggy. "I want to see all of them."
Eight
BRENT OPENED THE door and looked down at the little ball of black kitten fluff in Dane's arms. His gaze traveled to Marissa, who held a tiny, shaggy creature of indeterminate breed. Four pairs of eyes were trained on him.
"We need a favor," said Dane. "You have plenty of room—" Realization dawned and Brent shook his head. "No. No way. This is my brand new, just-built house. With white carpet. And leather furniture."
"And two acres."
"No, Dane. This is my dream bachelor pad. No kids. No animals. No way."
"Please, Brent," said Marissa in a soft, vulnerable voice. "I can't bear to take them back. We had to fib—a little—about Dane's living arrangements so we could adopt the maximum number."
Brent's eyes bulged. "You mean there's more?"
"Four dogs and four cats."
"You left them in your car?"
Dane grimaced. "Actually...can we borrow your truck?"
"What?"
"The Great Dane wouldn't fit," offered Marissa.
Brent's brows rose. "Dane bought a Dane?"
"Adopted. He only has three legs," said Marissa. "And this little guy here—" She pointed to the kitten. "—is blind. We couldn't leave them there. They need us."
"Let me get this straight. Dane, who'd rather jump naked into a rattlesnake pit than own a dog, adopted eight animals?"
"She adopted eight animals. Your place is only a temporary home until Marissa can find one of her own."
Brent laughed. He laughed so hard Dane thought his friend would bust a gut.
He clenched his teeth. "Look, are you going to help us out or what?"
Wiping the tears from his eyes, Brent opened the door to let them in. "Sure. Bring that new, furry family of yours right on in."
* * *
MARISSA AND DANE returned to the shelter with Brent's truck and six newly purchased animal carriers along with various cords to keep the creatures from sliding around in the truck bed. Dane realized he was just plain crazy. He'd never been fond of animals. His mother had been too tight-assed to even consider having a pet in her perfect home. She was obsessed with vacuuming and dusting.
Hell, he wasn't allowed to even sit on the pristine living-room couch. The living room was for guests. Her guests. When he was four, she left. He and Dad had gotten along just fine—they'd sold that damned couch—but getting a pet had always been the least of their worries. If it hadn't been for his dad, he might have ended up like one of the kids at the TeenCenter.
His mother, a debutante who'd fallen in love with a bartender and gotten pregnant, made no secret about how much she hated her blue-collar life and how much she wanted back her blue-blooded one. Dane knew that if his father had given in to her demands to live on her parents' money, she might not have grown so bitter and bitchy. She might even have stayed.
But Dad had wanted to support his family his way. So Mom finally left, married a wealthy man, had other children, and promptly forgotten about her terribly uncouth existence with Bernie and Dane Sinclair.
Then he had to go and repeat his father's mistake by marrying Lorraine Whittaker. At least they'd come to their senses before children entered the picture.
"Are we going in?"
Dane started. He realized Marissa had been staring at him. He shook off old memories and opened the door to the truck. Marissa got out, too. They met at the gate and she touched his arm. "Is everything all right?"
"Yep."
She frowned and a cute little V formed between her brows. He tapped her nose. "Don't worry about me, prin—uh, Marissa. I'm just trying to figure out if I'm crazy or not for letting you talk me into this."
"You are crazy." She smiled. "But I love you for it."
His heart leapt in his chest. His rational mind knew her words were just the same as one of those empty phrases people say when they're grateful, like "you're the best," "that was nice of you," "wow, what a fantastic guy you are," yet his mind discarded all the words around the I love you.
Surprise fluttered through him, followed quickly by a thick coating of cold fear. He wanted her to say the words for real. To look up at him with her tempting mouth and innocent eyes and say, "I love you, Dane."
Panic clawed at him. He didn't want another needy, aloof, rich woman twisting his insides and emasculating him. His physical attraction, his painful physical attraction, to Marissa had fried his brain. Yeah. He didn't want her love...he wanted her body. To bury himself in her sweet, luscious, beautiful body.
Today was Thursday. If he could last until Saturday, the day Marissa promised to walk out of his life forever, he would be fine. He'd find a Marissa look-alike and slake his lust. He grimaced. You penis-for-brains. You can't do that. Use a woman? No. Never. He would never use a woman, just like he would never trust a woman. Women connived. Women lied. Women abandoned.
He shoved his hands into his jeans pockets, watching Marissa open the door to the shelter. She turned and looked over her shoulder at him and he lost his breath. Her hair, honey blond and soft, glistened in the morning sunshine. Her dewy lips parted with expectation and her eyes sparkled with excitement.
He wanted her underneath him, naked and wanting, and wearing only that expression.
"Dane," she said, her voice breathy and low, "are you coming?"
Not yet, damn it. And not with you.
"Yeah. Let's get this over with."
* * *
MARISSA HADN'T EXPECTED Brent to react the way he did. When they arrived with the animals, Brent had his suitcase ready to go. He looked at Dane, who was trying to restrain the three-legged Dane he'd just released from the truck. "Two days, buddy, then I'm coming back and claiming what's mine. Where's the key to your apartment?"
"What?"
The Dane sat on its haunches not seeming to mind it only had one back leg. Marissa admired the graceful way it leaned forward on its front legs.
Brent frowned at the dog. "How does he scratch his ears?"
"He won't have to," said Marissa. "I'll scratch them every day."
"Men will always have itches to scratch." Brent was speaking to her, but his stare was directed at Dane. "Just remember that, will you?"
She had called Brent at the first opportunity and told him that their ruse would not work because she'd confessed their intentions to Dane. She had no idea if the two men had spoken, but in the peculiar way men had, she supposed they wouldn't talk about it at all. Yet, they'd be okay with it. This sort of silent man ritual left her with mixed feelings of admiration and confusion.
"Look, Brent, I appreciate you taking the animals in, but it won't be for long. And...well..."
Marissa looked at Dane. He'd looked desperate. Out of his element. She found it quite stimulating to observe his reactions to Brent's decision to switch living arrangements. She suspected Dane didn't
want to be left alone with her. She smiled in satisfaction.
He wanted her.
All she had to do was convince him to follow through on those wonderful, intoxicating kisses.
"I will let you use my home as a kennel," said Brent. "But I'm not babysitting those mongrels. The blind kitten you left here keeps running into the walls. It creeps me out." Marissa put down the carrier that housed cat No. 3. "He shouldn't run into the walls. His other senses are very developed. He has whiskers—which are navigational tools for felines."
"The kitten is very young. He's barely weaned if the way he keeps trying to lick my armpit is any indication. He hops like a bunny and smacks into furniture and it's just too pitiful to watch. I'm not made of stone, you know." Brent picked up his suitcase then extended his hand.
Dane grimaced, took his keys from his jean pocket, and handed them to Brent. "It's the gold one with the blue rubber ring on it." He turned to Marissa. "We're going home hunting today, princess."
"Yes, my liege. As soon as we pick up Tuesday." Dane rolled his eyes. "Whatever."
* * *
BRENT WHISTLED as he entered the pool area. The one thing his new digs didn't have—yet—was a pool. About the only advantage of living in Dane's hovel was the access to a body of water. He tossed his towel on a turquoise-and-peach lounge chair, placed the cooler of canned soda next to it, and turned toward the pool. That's when he realized he wasn't alone.
A goddess emerged from the water.
Watching her step out of the pool was like watching one of those health-club commercials where an impossibly beautiful woman touts the benefits of buying summer memberships at the gym. Rivulets of water sluiced down a perfect pair of tanned breasts, held snug by the copper bikini top, dripped enticingly down a pair of long legs, and splashed across the deep-brown nail polish of her toes. A silver toe ring glittered on the second toe of her left foot. Wow. She had great feet. Brent's gaze wandered around the lush curves as the woman swung her honey-brown hair to the side and squeezed out the excess water. Then she straightened, and the wet hair swung in a perfect arc before coming to rest against her back. Brent looked at her face, then, and his heart stopped beating. He hadn't been mistaken. She was a goddess. Her face looked somehow familiar: heart-shaped with long cheekbones, a pert nose, and eyes the color of brandy. Maybe she was a model. An actress he'd seen on a commercial.
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