LOVE'S FUNNY THAT WAY

by Pamela Burford

  Brent leaned forward and touched his lips to hers. "A very comfortable bathtub," he murmured, and kissed her again, more firmly. "It fits two."

  His technique wasn't bad. Direct without being obnoxious. She smiled to soften the blow. "Even if I didn't have the early appointment, I couldn't," she said. "I wouldn't."

  He gave her a resigned smile. "I respect that."

  When she emerged from Brent's bedroom moments later, Hunter's eyes lit on the jacket she carried. Perhaps he'd expected her to decline his offer after having spent two minutes alone with his brother.

  Kirsten urged Raven to take the front passenger seat of Hunter's dark green Subaru Outback, since Kirsten would be dropped off first. Traffic was light, the roads clear and they chatted about the latest political scandal for the twenty minutes it took to get to Kirsten's apartment building.

  Raven waited as Hunter collected Kirsten's ski gear from the trunk and walked her to the front door. It was clear he intended to escort her directly to her apartment door, but Kirsten kissed him soundly, grabbed her skis and gear bag, and shooed him back to the car and his waiting passenger. Hunter stood by the driver's door, waiting until lights shone in Kirsten's third-floor windows, before he slid behind the wheel and pulled out.

  He continued their political discussion, and Raven was more than happy to have something to take her mind off things it had absolutely no business being on. By the time he pulled into the driveway of her home, they'd exhausted current events and were starting in on the weather.

  "This is a pretty big place for one person," Hunter said, as he eyed the big split-level house. "Do you have roommates?"

  "No, it's just me." Raven accompanied him to the rear of the Outback, where he opened the trunk and slid out her skis and gear bag. "This was my parents' home. My sister, Lenore, and I grew up here. Mom and Dad sold it to me—at very favorable terms, need I add—when they retired to Florida a few years ago. It is a little bit too much house for me, but it has a feature I need—a separate entrance for my business." She nodded toward the side door leading to her hypnotherapy office.

  Hunter insisted on carrying her skis to the house. Raven unlocked the front door and tried to relieve him of his burden, but he sidestepped hem and crossed the threshold into the vestibule. "Where do these go?"

  "Oh, you can leave them right here. I'll put them away later."

  He hesitated before placing the bag on the floor and leaning the skis against the wall. Raven had switched on the overhead lamp, casting his features in a harsh landscape of light and shadow.

  "Thanks so much for the ride, Hunter."

  He nodded stiffly. "My pleasure." After an awkward moment he said, "Well, good night." He started to leave, but turned back in the next breath. "You know, I think you could help me."

  "What?"

  He rubbed his jaw, bristly with the day's growth of whiskers. "The more I think about it, well, hypnosis might be just what I need."

  "Oh. What do you need help with?"

  "Fear of heights. I get, you know, real anxious in high places. Panicky. Do you handle that kind of problem?"

  "Of course," she said. "I've helped several clients with acrophobia."

  "Great. That's great. We'll do that, then. When?"

  "Um … I'll have to check my calendar. Why don't you call me tomorrow afternoon—I mean this afternoon—and we'll set up a time."

  Hunter grinned. "I'll do that. What's your number?"

  Raven produced a business card from her purse.

  He asked, "Think you can fit me in this week?"

  "I'm pretty sure I have a couple of openings."

  Hunter studied the card. "Listen, Raven, you won't mention this to Brent, will you?"

  "Not if you don't want me to."

  "It's just, uh, a little embarrassing, you know? He doesn't even know I have this hang-up. I'd rather we kept it between us."

  "No problem."

  "Thanks." He offered a jaunty salute with the card and let himself out of the house.

  * * *

  Chapter 4

  «^»

  "You seem a little nervous," Raven said. "That's perfectly natural the first time."

  It wasn't apprehension over being hypnotized that had Hunter on edge. During the half week he'd waited for his 10:00 a.m. Thursday appointment, all he'd thought about was seeing Raven again. The thrill of anticipation had warred with guilt over the blatant lie he'd concocted for no more worthy purpose than to steal some time alone with his brother's girlfriend.

  Fear of heights. It was the first thing that had popped into his head.

  "Have a seat here." Raven gestured toward a brown leather recliner. They were in her office, a cozy room paneled in oak and decorated in earth tones. With the exception of the recliner, all of the furniture appeared to be antique. A massive rolltop desk stood against one wall, flanked by glass-fronted bookcases.

  Raven had drawn heavy drapes over the windows, blocking out the dismal gray winter sky. An amber-colored, stained-glass floor lamp spread its toasty glow throughout the room. The two of them were sequestered in this snug, inviting space for the next hour, cocooned against the outside world. It was easy to see how an intimate setting such as this could promote the sharing of one's deepest thoughts, fears and desires.

  Perhaps, Hunter reflected, as Raven pulled a rocking chair close to his recliner and sat in it, this wasn't such a great idea, after all. He began to wonder if he'd gotten in over his head. She was close enough that he could detect the scent she wore, a fresh, powdery fragrance—innocent and alluring at the same time. She wore a soft-looking beige turtleneck sweater, belted over a calf-length paisley skirt. Her feet were encased in brown suede half boots.

  Hunter leaned the recliner back into its flattest position. He linked his hands over his middle, then moved them to the armrests, before returning them to his waist. He squirmed. He sighed. "There. I'm comfortable," he announced. "Totally relaxed."

  She chuckled. "If you say so. Don't worry about it. You will be soon enough. Do you have any questions before we start?"

  She was leaning a little to one side in the rocker, with her legs crossed, idly tapping her pen on the small notebook on her lap. The warm lamp glow picked out glittering highlights in her hair. She looked lovely and serene and totally trusting. Hunter felt like a heel.

  He asked, "Will I remember what we talk about?"

  "Probably. As I said before, hypnosis is simply a state of relaxation. It can be as light as when you're engrossed in a movie or a good book—or as deep as the brink of sleep. Most people remember everything that happens, because it usually isn't that deep."

  Hunter had no intention of letting the "trance," or whatever it was called, get anywhere near that intense. He wasn't here to snooze.

  "Okay, well…" He spread his hands. "Let's get down to it."

  "First, I want you to close your eyes."

  "Do I have to?" He was staring at her.

  She smiled. "I'm the boss here. Close your eyes."

  He did.

  "I want you to think back to the most relaxing, soothing place you've ever experienced. It could be anywhere."

  "That's easy. The beach. Just vegging out, soaking up the rays. It's my favorite place."

  "Go there now, Hunter. Take yourself back to the last time you were at the beach. You're lying on a blanket—"

  "Towel."

  He heard the smile in her voice. "A towel. The sun is bright overhead, and hot, but not too hot. You've been in the water, and you can feel the droplets drying on your body."

  Raven's voice was tranquil, evenly modulated. Hunter could listen to it for hours.

  "The towel is soft and nubbly," she continued. "The sand underneath it conforms to your body perfectly. You hear the waves rolling up, as regular as clockwork. To you, it's always been the most soothing sound in the world."

  How could she know that? The sun's brilliant glow penetrated Hunter's closed eyelids. Waves rumbled ashore, foaming over the sand and r
eceding in a timeless cadence. He breathed deeply, filling his lungs with the mingled perfumes of salt spray and the intoxicating essence that was Raven's alone.

  "You feel the sun's heat on the top of your head," she said, "drying your hair, making your scalp tingle, making the underlying muscles relax completely as all the tension there evaporates with the water."

  "Mmm-hmm," he grunted, as waves of tension wafted from his scalp to dissipate like fog under the hot summer sun.

  Raven continued the process of physical relaxation, naming each part of him in turn, from his facial muscles on down. By the time she reached his toes, he was a formless sack of jelly, lying slack and boneless on his imaginary beach towel.

  Raven's mellow voice centered Hunter. Her words registered on a deeper level, as if they were his own thoughts. Never before had he experienced this sense of connectedness with another person.

  "I want you to think back to a time when you felt safe," Raven said. "Safe and secure and confident."

  The first image to come to mind was a childhood memory of his family sitting around the dinner table. Family dinnertime was sacrosanct, the one point in their busy day when everyone got a chance to share, decompress, down around.

  Raven said, "When you feel safe and confident, nod your head."

  Hunter gave a little nod.

  "I'm going to touch your right hand," she said, and he felt her cool, delicate fingers on the back of his hand. In the next moment they were gone.

  "Think back to another time when you felt the same way," Raven said, "safe and protected and self-assured."

  Obediently Hunter delved into his memory banks, and again Raven touched his right hand. They repeated the process a few more times.

  Raven said, "Now I want you to think back to an unpleasant experience you've had with heights. An incident that made you panicky, apprehensive."

  She sounded so warmly sincere, so reassuring. Hunter felt immediately ashamed for his subterfuge. His mind obligingly provided him with a situation that had disconcerted him, though it had nothing to do with heights. He recalled last Friday night, in his club, Stitches, when his instant, animal attraction to his brother's date had whacked him over the head like a two-by-four.

  Family loyalty, duty and honor were a cornerstone of his life, and he knew the same was true for Brent. It was the way they'd been raised. Brent would cut off his right arm before he'd come on to a woman Hunter was seeing. Not that the guy didn't have his faults. Hell, Hunter was no angel, either. But you only had one family.

  What Hunter was doing was wrong. He vowed that after today, he'd stay the hell away from Raven.

  She asked, "Are you feeling it now, Hunter? The discomfort and anxiety? Nod if you are."

  He emitted a ragged sigh. He nodded.

  Her voice was heartbreakingly gentle. "This time I'm going to touch your left hand."

  He felt the light pressure on his left hand. They repeated the exercise several times, Raven asking him to dredge up an unpleasant incident involving fear of heights, followed by the touch on his left hand. Each time his mind filled in the blanks by translating fear of heights into fear of becoming the kind of bottom-feeding bastard who would sneak around behind his brother's back, making time with his woman.

  Again she instructed him to call up an uncomfortable memory, and again she said, "I'm going to touch your left hand." Only this time, she surprised him by touching his right hand instead.

  "You're feeling the security and comfort you've come to associate with my touching your right hand," she explained, "even though you're thinking about an experience that caused you anxiety."

  Hunter was astonished to realize it was true.

  Several more times she asked him to recall negative height-related memories, and each time she touched his right hand. He found that when he received this "good" touch while thinking about what a snake he was, he didn't feel like such a snake, after all.

  Hunter decided he liked not feeling like a snake. And had he really done anything so terrible? If Brent ever found out about this little charade, they'd probably have a good laugh together.

  That thought brought him instantly awake.

  The hell they would.

  Blinking, he looked at Raven. She tipped her head, with a little smile. "You came out of that pretty fast," she said.

  "I guess I'm just not used to this yet."

  "Did anything I say disturb you?"

  "No, I just…" Tell her you're not coming back. He looked at his watch. "Wow, our time's almost up."

  She leaned forward, looked at him earnestly. "What we did today was only one technique for helping you to overcome your problem—we can explore others if you decide to continue the therapy. Do you feel like you've made progress?"

  "Yes." I've decided, Raven. I can't come back here. He tried to make the words come as he tilted the recliner up, stood and prepared to leave.

  Raven stood, too, leaving her notebook and pen on her chair. "Do you want to schedule another session?"

  Say no. "Sure."

  "Same time next week?"

  "Why not?" He tugged his wallet out of his back pocket, extracted the check for her fee and handed it to her.

  Hunter was definitely in over his head, and willingly digging himself in deeper as he said, "Your first therapy session is scheduled for next Wednesday, 9:00 p.m."

  She looked delightfully baffled. "What's next Wednesday at nine?"

  "Open-mike night at Stitches."

  "Oh no!"

  "Oh yes, Raven. You're going to overcome your fear of public speaking. You have work to do, remember? That's how you put it."

  "I can't. I won't," she said, as she backed up, folding her arms across her chest. "It's out of the question."

  Hunter laughed. "Raven, it's not that terrifying."

  "For you, perhaps. Hunter, you saw me the other night, when you were inviting me up onstage. Don't tell me you don't know how much this whole thing wigs me out."

  "I thought you were the expert on getting over things that wig you out."

  Her mulish expression became more mulish. He'd hit a nerve.

  "You help people overcome their phobias all the time," he said. "Shouldn't you be able to—"

  "I don't want to talk about it."

  "Raven." He closed the distance between them. She looked stunning in the golden lamplight, soft and vulnerable and much too kissable for his peace of mind. Hunter struggled to keep from touching her. God only knew where one touch would lead.

  "Listen to me." He jammed his hands in his jeans pockets. "I know the idea terrifies you. But that's why you have to do it. To prove to yourself that you can. To gain control over this senseless fear that keeps you from giving professional presentations and talking to the schoolkids and all that."

  "I know you mean well, but I just can't."

  Her eyes pleaded with him. She was hugging herself. Clearly, even the thought of getting up on that stage made her weak in the knees. But Hunter discerned an inner strength in Raven that he doubted she recognized in herself. She had so much to offer—and so much to gain—if she could put a leash on this baseless phobia.

  He took a step closer, until mere inches separated them. His gaze locked on to hers. "Ill be there," he said, quietly. "I'll be right there the whole time. I won't let anything bad happen to you, Raven."

  For several dangerous, exhilarating moments, as he stared down into her wide, unblinking eyes, the two of them connected on a plane neither wanted to admit existed. The certainty of their mutual desire arced between them like electricity, until the very air seemed charged with it.

  Raven dragged her gaze away first. She pulled in a deep breath. Hunter took a step back.

  "You only have to come up with about three to five minutes of material," he said. "I put a lot of people on during open-mike night, sometimes a couple of dozen. You get up there, throw out a few lines, you're off the stage before you know it."

  Raven made an exasperated sound. "I've seen amateur acts. The
audience is really critical. I mean, you put a big name up there, the guy could read a shopping list and he'll get the laughs. Put a nobody like me onstage, it'll be like sharks scenting blood."

  "Look, I'm not going to lie to you. It's rough going up there, especially the first couple of times. But nothing is gained in life if you don't take risks."

  Raven had half turned away. Hunter leaned to one side to peek at her face. A surly glare was his reward.

  "I'll let you practice your routine on me," he offered, "although I don't think you'll need much help. You're naturally funny, Raven. You have a good sense of timing. You cracked us all up at dinner the other night talking about your friend Sunny who's hooked on the home-shopping channels."

  Her lips quirked in a reluctant smile. "Truth is stranger than fiction."

  "That's exactly it. Work from real life. Embellish on your experiences. Just get up there and tell a story."

  She made that funny sound again.

  "And I'll tell you something. The reason I know you'll do great, the reason you're naturally funny, is the way you say things. It isn't what you say, it's the delivery. The timing. You have a gift for it."

  "I'll think about it."

  "You're just trying to placate me, and it won't work. I'm scheduling you for next Wednesday."

  "No! Not yet. Let me—let me think about it."

  That was what she said, but the undiluted panic on her face told him she'd crossed the threshold. She'd decided to do it.

  Hunter lifted his dark green down vest from the antique coat rack and slipped it on over his frayed gray sweatshirt. "You won't regret it, Raven. Remember, I'll be right there with you. If they start pelting you with rotten fruit, I'll get the hook and yank you offstage."

  She scowled. "That is so not funny."

  Hunter grinned, high on the thrill of victory. "It'll be great, you'll see. When it's over, you'll wonder what you were so scared of." He grabbed her notebook from the rocker and jotted his phone number on the cardboard cover. "Work up some material, then give me a call and we'll get together to go over it."

  On his way out the door, Hunter gave her a quick kiss on the cheek. "Think funny thoughts."