by Ginna Gray
The trouble was, she wanted him to seduce her. She wanted desperately to make love with Mike. She had for weeks. Just the thought of doing so made her warm all over.
“Good. You won’t regret it.”
His mood seemed to change instantly from serious to lighthearted. As he started to open his door, he stopped with his hand on the handle and winked at her. “I’m a great cook.”
Mike was irresistible. Even though Leah was worried and filled with dread, a weak smile tugged at her mouth. “Modest, too.”
He leaned back across the seat and kissed her on the lips. For all its briefness, the kiss was firm and full of passion, taking Leah’s breath away and sending a delicious quiver all the way to her toes, which curled inside her Italian pumps.
When he raised his head his eyes were smoldering, but after giving her a searing look from under those dark eyebrows, he winked. “Hey, what can I say? When you’re good, you’re good.” The gleam in his eyes told her he was talking about more than cooking. Another delicious shiver quaked through her.
As they walked up the brick path to his front door, Leah looked around and realized that they were in a sort of commons at the end of a cul-de-sac formed by three rows of large, two-story town homes of varying sizes and architectural styles. Each home had a patch of lawn in front that boasted several trees and masses of flower beds. In the center of the parklike commons was a small, lit fountain with benches all around.
“This is lovely. I had no idea these town houses were tucked away back here.”
“Thanks. My dad’s company built them. I like it here. My place is roomy and comfortable and I don’t have to mow the lawn. Best of all, it’s just nine minutes from the hospital during peak traffic hours. During a middle-of-the-night emergency, I can make it in three.” Mike unlocked the door, reached inside and flipped on the lights, then stepped back to let her precede him.
“I know what you mean. My house on Sunset Boulevard has six bedrooms and Cleo has her own apartment off the kitchen. It’s a charming old place with lots of character, but it’s way too big for just Quinton and me. The main reason I bought it was its proximity to the hospital.”
When she stepped through the doorway, Leah found herself in a spacious foyer with a marble floor, misty-green-and-cream silk wallpaper and a graceful walnut staircase following the curve of the wall to the second floor. Nestled against the stairs was an antique gossip bench, and against the opposite wall stood a majestic grandfather clock, ticking with each ponderous swing of the brass pendulum.
“This is lovely.”
Amusement danced in Mike’s eyes. “Would you like to look around?”
Without waiting for an answer, he led her into the living room. Leah walked to the middle of the Oriental rug and turned in a slow circle.
She had expected Mike’s home to be the typical bachelor dwelling, barren of decoration and containing only a sparse amount of leather-upholstered pieces, perhaps a recliner or two and gooseneck lamps. Definitely there would be a TV-VCR and maybe a coffee table made of a piece of glass on stacked cinder blocks with two or three remote controls lying on top.
What she found, instead, was a warm, cozy home, tastefully decorated with a charming mix of new and antique furnishings, in a color scheme of pale green and cream with touches of deep wine. There was nothing fussy or feminine about it, nor was it overtly masculine; merely homey and inviting.
“I’m impressed, Mike.”
“You sound surprised. What kind of home did you think I’d have? A bare bones place to flop? Or maybe a passion pit?”
“No. No, of course not,” she denied, but the description was so close to the truth that she blushed. The twinkle in Mike’s eyes told her he knew he’d been right.
It occurred to Leah that few men had the taste or the interest to put together a place like this. Nor did it have that sterile look that usually marked a professional decorator’s work. She immediately experienced a flare of jealousy at the thought of another woman helping Mike furnish his home.
Unknowingly, he alleviated her fears with his next comment as he led the way to the kitchen at the back of the house.
“I’ve never been a fan of the bachelor grunge look. I wanted the same kind of hominess that I grew up with after Tess came into our lives, so I got her to help me with the decorating. She has the knack for turning a barren space into an oasis where you want to kick off your shoes and relax.”
That was an understatement, Leah thought, still craning her neck to look around as she followed him through a swinging door.
“Just let me wash my hands, and I’ll get started. Have a seat.” He waved toward the high stools lined up along the bar that separated the kitchen from the breakfast room, and disappeared into a small powder room off the kitchen.
“May I help?”
“Nope. Just relax,” he called out over the rush of running water. “I did most of the prep work this morning before I left for the hospital.”
Thank goodness. The offer had been made out of politeness. Cooking was not Leah’s forte. The most she could manage was to nuke something in a microwave now and then, and even that usually resulted in disaster.
Nerves jittering, Leah clasped her hands and looked around at the kitchen. Done in blue and white with copper accents, the well-lit room was a model of efficient design and equipped with what appeared to be every conceivable modern appliance.
She herself wouldn’t know a rotisserie from a wok, but she had a feeling that Cleo would think Mike’s kitchen was heaven.
White, glass-fronted cabinets held cobalt-blue glassware and gleaming white-and-blue china. The cook island in the middle of the room was topped with white granite and held a range and a small sink.
Decorative blue-and-white tiles featuring French cooking terms and names of spices dotted the white-tiled backsplash above the countertops, which were also of white granite. Pots of every shape and size, mostly copper, hung from the rack suspended from the ceiling beneath a giant skylight that would flood the space with cheery light in the daytime.
Country scenes in blue and white covered the wallpaper. Baskets, hand-thrown pottery, wooden bowls and mugs and copper containers filled with trailing ivy occupied the shelf that circled the room a foot or so below the nine-foot ceiling.
In the adjoining breakfast room a copper pot filled with dried flowers sat in the middle of the table. Several more containing live plants lined the shelves of the wroughtiron baker’s rack against the inside wall. The flooring in both rooms was pegged oak, polished to a high sheen.
Guilt niggled at Leah. She loved her rambling old house, but it had been built around the turn of the century. The kitchen was old-fashioned and inefficient and probably put an undue burden on Cleo. She had asked Leah to have the room remodeled when Leah had bought the place three years ago.
She had meant to, but shortly after moving in, Quinton had been diagnosed with leukemia. After that, domestic projects had fallen far down her list of priorities. Between her busy practice and looking after her brother, she hadn’t give the matter another thought.
Actually, though structurally sound, the whole house could use a face-lift, she supposed. Certainly her stepmother had complained often enough about the outdated decor and antiquated bathrooms.
Leah turned in time to see Mike tie a dish towel around his narrow middle. He had taken off his coat and tie and the top three buttons of his shirt were undone; the sleeves were rolled up almost to his elbows. A dusting of short dark hair covered his forearms and more peeked out the open collar. Leah’s pulse fluttered. He smelled of soap and looked outrageously relaxed and sexy.
“How about a glass of wine?” Without waiting for an answer, he pulled a bottle from the wine rack and filled two glasses with Bordeaux.
Handing one to her, he raised his own. “To us.”
Leah’s heart tripped. Us? Would there even be an “us” by this time tomorrow?
Somehow she managed a smile for Mike and repeated the toast Their
glasses clinked, and he tipped his head to brush her mouth with his in a lingering kiss.
Fighting back tears, Leah closed her eyes and savored the warm feel of his lips, the exquisite tenderness. She needed this. Oh, how she needed this. She needed Mike.
It wasn’t fair. Things had been going so well. Why? Why did her father have to visit Quinton tonight?
Why did Mike have to be Julia’s son?
Despair shuddered through Leah even as the kiss stirred her soul.
Mike raised his head and smiled, dropped another quick kiss on the tip of her nose, then stepped back and unhooked pans from the rack overhead.
“Make yourself at home. This won’t take long.”
Sipping her wine and feeling inept, Leah watched him move around the kitchen with an easy confidence and panache that she could only admire. With a minimum of fuss, he started a pot of rice cooking, then dumped a glug of oil into a heating, odd-shaped pan.
“I hope you like stir-fry.” He removed several bowls from the refrigerator, took the lid off one, dumped finely cut strips of beef into the pan and stirred expertly as they sizzled and popped. “It’s a favorite of mine. Plus, it’s easy to prepare.”
“I love stir-fry.”
“Great.” He sent her a smile over his shoulder, dumped a bowl of chopped vegetables into the skillet and proceeded to add various seasonings—a pinch of this and a dab of that, a splash of wine and another of soy sauce—with the confidence and flair of a gourmet chef. Soon, a wonderful aroma filled the air.
In a surprisingly short time they were seated at the glass-topped table in the breakfast nook.
“Mmm, this is delicious,” Leah said after the first forkful. “I had no idea you could cook.”
“Honey, you ain’t seen nothing yet. I have all kinds of talents you haven’t sampled.” Smiling, Mike took a sip of wine and gave her a sleepy-eyed look that was pure seduction. “But you will.”
A thrill shivered through Leah, even while sadness squeezed her heart. She would give almost anything if only that were true.
To cover her reaction, she reached for her wineglass and took a sip. She was being ridiculous. From the beginning she had known that she and Mike had no future together. But somewhere along the way she had let down her guard, and without her realizing it, hope had begun to blossom. Now the thought of losing him brought pain like a knife twisting in her chest.
The practical side of Leah’s nature was appalled that things had gotten to this point, that she had allowed her foolish heart to get involved.
Leah tried to relax and enjoy the evening, but in the back of her mind was the frantic awareness that in all likelihood, this would be the last one she would spend with Mike.
Despite her hunger, she was too heartbroken and on edge to eat. Her stomach felt as though it were tied in a knot. The most she could do was toy with her food, moving it around on the plate with her fork and nibbling a bite now and then for appearance’s sake. She smiled and kept up her side of the dinner conversation. What she said she had no idea, but at least she managed to keep her misery from Mike.
After dinner, he seemed surprised when Leah insisted on helping with the dishes.
“Have you ever loaded a dishwasher before?” he asked with a teasing grin, filling the sink with soapy water. “Or put those pretty hands into dishwater?”
“Of course I have.” Leah tied a towel around her waist and began to fill the dishwasher’s cutlery basket. She might not know how to cook, mainly because during the early years her mother had done all the cooking and in her father’s home that was Cleo’s job, but she’d done her share of dishes. As a teenager, she had felt more comfortable with the housekeeper than her father and stepmother, and you didn’t hang out in Cleo’s kitchen for long without being put to work. “I’m not useless, you know,” she replied huffily, and stuffed a serving bowl into the bottom rack.
Mike scooped up a mound of soapsuds and deposited it on the end of her nose. “Sweetheart, I never thought for a minute that you were.”
“Sorry.” She wiped the end of her nose and gave him a rueful look. “I guess I’m supersensitive about coming from a monied background.”
“Sugar, you may have money, but no one can accuse you of being one of the idle rich.” Mike leaned over and gave her a quick kiss. “I think you’ve more than proven yourself. In fact, your dedication to your patients, and to Quinton, is one of the things I love most about you.”
“Thank you.” Embarrassed, she ducked her head and busied herself loading glasses into the top rack.
They had barely finished cleaning up when Mike’s beeper sounded. While he checked in with his answering service, Leah turned off the lights and wandered over to the two glass walls that formed the outer corner of the breakfast nook, to look out at the moon-drenched courtyard at the back of the town house.
An ancient oak tree dominated the small space, its branches spreading over almost the entire courtyard. Mike’s father had obviously designed the house around the tree, rather than chop it down, as most local builders would have done.
A large bed of hosta and bleeding hearts and various other shade-loving plants circled the base of the tree’s enormous trunk. The perimeter stone wall surrounding the courtyard was bordered with rosebushes and petunias in riotous bloom. Between the base of the tree and the flower beds was a postage-stamp lawn.
More of Tess’s work, Leah thought. From what she’d seen so far, Mike’s stepmother was a woman whom she would like to get to know better.
Unfortunately, that was unlikely to happen.
The night was warm, but a chill rippled over Leah. She folded her arms over her midriff and rubbed her elbows. Closing her eyes, she pressed her lips together to keep them from trembling. She was going to lose Mike. Time had run out. She had to tell him the truth, tonight, before Julia descended on him in a rage.
Dear Lord, how would she bear it? She loved him so.
Hands settled on Leah’s shoulders, making her start.
“Hey, take it easy. It’s just me.” Using his thumbs in a rotating motion, Mike massaged the tense muscles around her shoulder blades. “You want to tell me what’s bothering you?”
“Nothing. I’m fine.”
“C’mon, Leah. You’ve been as edgy as a caged cat all evening. You hardly ate a bite of your dinner. What’s wrong, sweetheart?”
So much for thinking her bright chatter had fooled him. “Really, nothing’s wrong. I’m just a little tired, that’s all.”
His hands stilled on her shoulders. Several seconds ticked by. The taut quality of the silence told her he didn’t believe her. She waited, braced, trembling inside, her body rigid beneath his hands.
After a moment, Mike’s arms slipped around her waist and pulled her back against him. At the feel of his lips nibbling the side of her neck, some of the tension seeped out of her. With a sigh, she relaxed against his chest, grateful that he hadn’t pressed. Perhaps it was foolish, but she wanted—needed—just a while longer with him before she told him the truth.
She laid her arms over his and gripped his wrists. Smiling, she closed her eyes and reveled in the feel of crisp hair tickling the tender undersides of her arms, the warmth and solidness of his body.
“How was your patient?”
“Fine. It was nothing serious. Just a new mother worried because her infant has colic.”
“Did you prescribe something?”
His teeth grazed her neck, then he nuzzled his face in her hair. “Nope. Even better, I gave her my dad’s remedy.”
A nip on her earlobe sent a delicious shiver rippling down Leah’s spine. Her heart took off at a gallop, and she tightened her hold on his wrists. “Wh-which is?”
“The same thing he did whenever any of his children had colic. He’d unbutton his shirt and the baby’s sleeper and cuddle him or her, bare tummy to bare chest, and walk the floor.”
Mike’s tongue explored the swirls in her ear. Leah caught her breath as pleasure speared through her.
Mike’s hands flattened against her midriff and began to move in slow circles. When his thumbs grazed the undersides of her breasts, Leah’s brain fogged over. Coherent speech required intense concentration. “Y-your father sounds like a wonderful dad.”
“He is.” Silence returned as Mike’s hands explored and his lips feasted on tender skin. “Speaking of fathers,” he mumbled, using his nose and mouth to nudge aside the collar of her blouse, “I enjoyed meeting yours tonight.”
The reminder was like pouring ice water over Leah’s head. The erotic sensations coursing through her body froze instantly, painfully, as the tension came rushing back. Her fingers unconsciously dug into Mike’s wrists.
“D-did you?”
“Mmm. You have his eyes.”
“Yes. I know.”
“But other than that, I can’t see any resemblance. You must look like your mother,” he murmured against the top of her shoulder an instant before his teeth nipped the smooth skin.
Leah nerves were stretched so tight she didn’t feel the tiny pain. “That’s right, I do.”
She sensed the change in Mike, the sudden stillness, the wary intensity, as though he were trying to pick his way through a minefield. She chewed her bottom lip and waited.
Finally he raised his head. “Is there some problem between the two of you? Something you’d like to talk about?”
“No. Of course not.”
“I know you told me you weren’t close to your dad, but earlier you actually seemed upset when we walked into Quinton’s room and found him there. Did you two have an argument or something?”
“No. My father and I never argue.” There wasn’t enough emotion between them for that. “I was just surprised to see him there at that time, that’s all. He and Julia usually visit in the afternoons.”
“I see. Speaking of Quinton’s mother, I’m looking forward to meeting her, too, sometime.”
For a moment Leah couldn’t breathe. She stared blindly out at the tiny courtyard garden, while her heart did an erratic little dance in her chest.
