by Amy Knupp
He was sprawled on his belly, giving her all the time in the world to admire the way his black cargos fit over his perfect butt. Even more distracting was his lack of a shirt. Her mouth went desert-dry as she studied the bulge of biceps disappearing beneath the pillow—her pillow—and the ridges and valleys of endless, beautiful back muscles.
So much for not thinking about kissing him. The temperature seemed to climb twenty degrees and a small part of her wanted nothing more than to shed her clothes and climb in next to him. Maybe in a different lifetime…if she was a different person.
ALEX KNEW THE SECOND Taylor entered the room. He’d been sleeping but he never slept deeply, especially when he was not in his own bed.
He hadn’t intended to drift off in here but his PT session yesterday had been harsh and he’d busted his butt getting the deck repaired today in spite of screaming muscles. The coolness of the air-conditioned house and particularly her bedroom, as well as the hint of Taylor’s scent, had lulled him to sleep.
Damn her sweet scent of apples and innocence. She’d been in his dreams the whole time, preventing him from getting any true rest. Consequently, he was rock-hard and uncomfortable as hell. He debated rolling over and allowing her to see just what she’d done to him. Best to keep it to himself, though…he couldn’t promise what would happen if he got any more turned on.
He opened his eyes and looked over his shoulder. Taylor had her back to him as she took her earrings off and set them in the jewelry box on her dresser. His eyes widened. Her pants were…sexy, outlining her body. Her clothes had never done that in the past. Same with her shirt. Instead of her usual frumpy blouse, suitable for a senior citizen, the shirt hugged her, showed off her slenderness. And her hair…the boring ponytail was gone. Instead, silky locks hung freely, just like his brain had conjured her in his steamy dreams.
“You’re home early,” he said, his voice gravelly.
She startled and whipped around toward him. Stared at him for a moment as if lost in thought, and he realized she’d done away with the glasses, as well. “It’s interesting to come home and find Goldilocks still in my bed.”
“Not bad,” he said. “Kind of flirty.”
Her eyes got big and darted to the nightstand by his head. Mortification washed over her face as she realized he’d found her Flirting Basics book.
“Your secret’s safe with me, Scarlet.”
“Why are you in my room?”
He pointed at the new closet doors. “Just doing my job, ma’am.”
Her shoulders relaxed and she walked to the closet. Opened and closed the accordion-style doors a few times. “So much better. Thank you.”
“At your service.” He finally rolled over and sat up. “You look…different.”
She headed back to the dresser and rearranged the already organized things on top of it. Okay. Apparently that topic was off-limits.
“What brings you home so early?” he asked, massaging his left thigh.
“Let’s see, how would you put this? Vienna and I went ‘trolling for geeks’ at the local Geeks’ Anonymous meeting.”
He looked down at the floor. “I come across like a bastard, don’t I?”
“Those aren’t the exact words I’d choose…”
Alex shook his head, half grinning at her attempt to soften the truth. “I’m sorry.” He stood and walked over to her. “Here’s the thing, Scarlet. I want you to be happy.”
“If that’s true, then you’ll be thrilled to hear that I met someone this evening. He asked me out.”
He wasn’t thrilled.
He beat down the jealous jerk that reared its head like a rutting caveman. Reminded himself he was not the man for Taylor. He was attracted to her, yes. He wanted to go to bed with her. But he was not her long-term man, not her list guy.
He lived with demons that prevented him from being the man who could let himself love her.
“What’s he like? Is he a decent guy?”
She stared at him, narrowed her eyes. “I think what you mean is, ‘That’s great, Taylor. I’m happy for you.’”
“I’m happy for you as long as he doesn’t turn out to be a douche bag.”
She smiled. Sort of. “That’s almost sweet of you. He seems perfect for me so far. He’s the IT manager at Kohl Enterprises. Enjoys the History Channel, photography and baseball. No video-game obsessions, and yes, I asked.”
Alex nodded, biting his tongue on anything negative. She was right. This guy could be the one for her. It was a long shot but he’d give him a chance. His decision must not have shown on his face, though.
“I know you don’t have any concept of what it’s like to have trouble getting a date.”
“That’s not true—”
“Stop.” She shook her head resolutely. “You have no idea what it’s like to come home to an empty house every single night. To go to movies by yourself just to get away from the mocking quiet…” She glanced at the tidy stack of mail on the dresser behind her. “To always be the single, dateless girl at every office party, every business function.” She picked up the top item from the pile. “This wedding? One of my coworkers? Maybe I’ll have a date. I’m sure that sounds like no big sappy deal to you, but just once I’d like to have someone to sit with. Someone to dance with.”
Her hair had fallen across her cheek during her impassioned minispeech and he checked himself from brushing it out of the way. “Fair enough. I hope this guy works out.”
“Thank you.” Her words were forceful, still carrying the momentum of her diatribe.
“You don’t seem so nervous around me anymore.”
She opened her mouth then looked away. Her cheeks reddened and he held back a smile.
“As much as you’ve been hanging around, it took too much energy,” she finally said with a hint of defiance.
That made him laugh. “When are you going out with List Guy?”
“Next Tuesday.” She regretted telling him. He could see it on her face the second she got the words out. “That’s all you need to know.”
“Always did catch on quick.”
Showing up on her date again would be too much. He wouldn’t blame her for blowing up at him if he did that. He’d have to do his recon some other way, because he fully intended to make sure the guy would pass a brother’s approval.
Brother’s.
He looked across the narrow hallway to the bedroom that had been Quinn’s. Ugly black curtains that Quinn had chosen during his high-school tough-guy phase still hung at the window, blocking out the last traces of evening sun.
Alex let the pain hit him. Forced himself to stand there and stare at the familiar room where Taylor’s brother would never set foot again. Didn’t try to brush it to the side or ignore it.
Grief closed his throat, nearly blocked his airway. Throbbed in his chest and made every breath hurt as his half-destroyed leg never had.
This was what he deserved. Not something as good as Taylor.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
ALEX MADE RECORD time running home from Taylor’s. He could tell even before he looked at his watch—his muscles were screaming at him. Sure enough, his best post-accident time yet. And he was closing in on where he’d been pre-injury. He winced at the stab of pain through his leg, allowing it to drown out everything else in his mind.
His muscles shook as he let himself in the house through the garage entrance. He’d hoped to come in unnoticed, grab a bag of chips and disappear upstairs to his room, but, of course, that was too much to ask in this house, at least when the two females were home.
“Army guy’s home,” Vienna called out as he shut the door. “Just in time for Mom’s spaghetti.”
Damn. He couldn’t resist his mom’s spaghetti even on a full stomach. As it was, it’d been hours since he’d eaten lunch. He didn’t stand a chance. He took a right turn into the kitchen instead of going left toward the stairs and his refuge.
“Look who it is,” his mom said.
“Smell who it
is.” Vienna wrinkled her nose. “Why didn’t you call for a ride?”
“Didn’t want a ride.” He said it more harshly than he’d intended but he really wasn’t in the mood for the feel-good feminine yammer. “Where’s Marshall?”
“I wish I knew,” their mom said, sounding concerned. “He hasn’t been home since yesterday afternoon as far as I can tell.”
“He’s a big boy,” he said automatically. A big boy going down a bad road. Alex was starting to suspect alcohol was the easy way out from a shitty place.
“Your leg must be doing pretty well as much as you’re exercising lately,” his mom said.
“Yeah, how’s therapy going?” Vienna asked as she poured milk for all of them.
“Making progress.”
Not fast enough for his taste but Helen refused to let him increase PT to four times a week. She insisted he was doing extraordinarily well. Admitted he’d surpassed her expectations.
“You’re still determined to go back to the army, huh?” his mom asked quietly. She spooned the garlic-laden sauce into a serving bowl then carried it to the table.
“It’s my career, Mom. I’m going back to it.” He finished washing his hands and caught the concern in his mother’s eyes. “I’ll miss you and your cooking, of course.”
“Nice catch,” Vienna said. She meant well, he was sure, but the cheeriness grated on his nerves tonight.
He took the bowl of pasta from his mom and set it on a trivet.
“This is it, kids,” their mom said. “Let’s eat.”
The three of them sat in the places they’d claimed years ago—Cheryl closest to the stove, Vienna to her left and Alex across from her. They passed the food around, the clinking of silverware on dishes the only sound.
“Were you at Taylor’s all this time?” Vienna never had done well with quiet.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Did she tell you the good news?”
He grunted as he shoved a fork full of pasta in his mouth.
“What good news is that?” their mom asked.
“Operation Checklist was a success tonight!”
“You’ve got to be kidding me.” Alex’s food went down wrong and he nearly choked. “Operation Checklist? You have a name for the nonsense?”
“Maybe not as far-reaching as Operation Enduring Freedom or whatever the heck the current war is called, but pretty exciting for Taylor, nonetheless.”
“Good for her,” their mom said. “She deserves a nice man. She’s been through so much lately.”
“You know you’re just setting her up to get hurt with this ridiculous list thing, don’t you?” he said to Vienna. “Maybe not today or next week but sometime.”
“Aren’t you Mr. Positive?”
“Really, Alex, when did you become such a nay-sayer?” their mom asked.
“You try to force this whole dating thing, measure every guy up to that damn list, it’s going to end badly. It’s not realistic and relationships aren’t nice and neat like that.”
“Maybe,” Vienna said, taking another bite. “Maybe not. Why are you so concerned?”
It was a damn good question. Maybe he wasn’t that concerned after all. Maybe he was just in a foul mood and needed to take it out on the closest cheerful person.
Vienna dropped her fork on her plate and stared at him, her mouth open. “Oh, my God.”
Alex made the mistake of eye contact and immediately looked back down.
“You want her for yourself,” Vienna said.
Without looking up, he sensed that his mom was staring at him, too, her fork halfway to her mouth.
“That’s not true.” Not exactly.
“It explains why you’re doing all that work for her. Why you’re over there so much…”
“She’s paying me for the work.”
“Alex, do you think that’s wise?” Their mom finally lowered her fork. “You’re leaving in the near future. I would hate to see her get hurt…”
“Mom. I’m fixing up her house. She’s paying me. End of story.”
“Except it’s not,” Vienna said. “That’s why you showed up at Ian’s when she was there on a blind date. And why you’re so grumpy tonight. It all makes sense now.”
Every muscle in his body, depleted or not, coiled with the need to jump out of the chair and protest. He fought it hard, knowing full well that would convince his busybody sister she was right. Anything he said right now to set her straight would have that effect.
“Think what you want but I have no intention of getting involved with Taylor. Or anyone else, for that matter.”
His sister stared at him, deep in thought. He hated that look.
“I can’t help but think she could do a lot worse,” Vienna said.
He couldn’t help but disagree completely, but he was done with this conversation. He shoved back from the table.
“I’m taking your car, Mom. Going out to find Marshall.”
And if he found him keeping company with a bottle, Alex was giving serious thought to joining him.
“YOU’RE DOING WHAT?” Karen Fleming, the receptionist in Taylor’s office, uttered the question loudly enough that surely everyone in the nearby cubicles and offices could hear.
“I’m leaving for the day,” Taylor said softly, strongly considering returning the wedding gift she’d bought for this woman whom she’d liked up until this very moment.
“It’s quarter till five, Taylor. Isn’t that about when you usually break for lunch?”
Maury Peterson walked toward the mail room. “What’s the occasion, Taylor?” he asked as he passed.
“I have an appointment to plan Karen’s funeral,” Taylor muttered, her face undoubtedly bright pink. Thank goodness she hadn’t confided to anyone here about her date. She’d never hear the end of it, and that was saying a lot for an office full of relatively antisocial computer geeks.
“You’re not going to tell me what’s going on, are you?” Karen said at a more reasonable volume.
“You’re perceptive.” Taylor smiled and slid her magnet to Out on the big white status board. “Have a good evening.”
“Oh, you, too, Taylor.” Karen’s voice overflowed with conspiratorial excitement. “I’ll expect details tomorrow, whatever it is.”
“Goodbye,” Taylor singsonged as she escaped.
Most people with a dinner date would leave work fifteen minutes early in order to go home and take their time getting ready for the outing. Taylor’s reasoning had more to do with A) avoiding vomiting in the workplace, and B) giving herself time to defrag before Joel showed up so she wouldn’t embarrass herself more than usual on a social outing.
She hurried out of the building and across the parking lot to her car. Once inside, she started the engine, blasted the cool air and noticed she was shaking. Over an hour to go before Joel had said he’d pick her up and she was already at this advanced stage of panic.
She’d never make it at this rate.
Practical matters, she coached herself. Focus on practical matters. She pulled out her phone and clicked on the pre-date to-do/consider list she’d made. Setting her phone on her thigh, she backed up and headed home, making a conscious effort to breathe slowly, deeply.
Number one: choose outfit. Check. Thanks one hundred percent to Vienna, she planned to wear her long black dress with the empire waist. She was going conservative on her shoes with simple black three-inch heeled sandals—one of her favorite pairs. Security, in a twisted way, and lord knew she needed security of some kind.
Number two: jewelry. Check, again due to Vienna’s assistance. Or rather, Vienna’s doing. She’d picked out a delicate silver chain with a dangling purple stone and silver earrings that coordinated.
Number three: conversation topics. Sub-lists for car ride, dinner and waiting for the symphony to begin. Check…
As she turned down her street, the nausea had subsided marginally.
When she pulled into her driveway and saw Alex through the window—shirtles
s—painting her living-room walls, the intense need to hurl increased tenfold.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
A DATE WITH MR. WONDERFUL must be the only thing that could get Taylor home before five.
Alex was relieved to hear her car in the driveway, though. Both she and his sister had been tight-lipped about the details of tonight’s date, so his only option was to stay late himself and see if the guy picked her up at home.
The back door closed. The shyer cat, who’d been watching him suspiciously from the doorway all afternoon, darted in to greet its mistress, and Alex heard Taylor set her bags down on the table as she always did. He dipped his roller in the pan and sloshed more paint on the wall. Waited.
And waited.
He stopped rolling paint to listen for a clue as to what she was doing.
Nothing.
Thinking maybe she’d gone back outside or down to the basement for something, he added one more roller-full of paint to the wall. When the roller was empty, he’d still heard nothing so he set it down on the edge of the pan and went to the kitchen doorway.
Taylor’s back was to him. She leaned on the counter, supporting her weight with her elbows, her hands over her face, feline at her feet.
“Taylor? Are you okay?”
She shook her head.
Alex shot forward. “What’s wrong?” He leaned over the counter next to her, his hand on her back.
She expelled a long, shaky breath. Straightened, but avoided looking at him. “I’m not going. I can’t do this.”
And here he’d been expecting her to march inside and rake him over the coals for hanging around. She’d done so well at keeping her insecurities hidden lately, he hadn’t anticipated this at all.
He’d done his best to harden himself toward her when he’d gone out last Friday night. He’d attempted to purge her from his system with help from his three-sheets-to-the-wind brother and a bottle of bourbon. He’d steeled himself to watch her walk off with the geek of her choosing tonight.
Reality found him floundering in the face of her vulnerable side.
