by Tina Beckett
“I would love to come. Tonight, was it?”
“What?” The word came out as a high-pitched squeal, her heart galloping out of control. She’d given him the perfect out, and he’d completely ignored it. Was he that dense? Or was he simply laughing at her discomfiture?
“I said I would love to come to dinner.”
Yep. That smug amusement was still there, coloring every word he spoke.
He was getting his jollies at her predicament, was he? A predicament he’d helped create.
“You’re sure you don’t have to work?” She was a little less subtle this time.
“Positive. I’m off duty. Free as a bird.”
Damn him.
“I guess that works perfectly, then. Six-ish?” She glanced toward her mother, who nodded before reaching for her father’s hand and gripping it tight, her own triumph evident.
Time to make Dean pay a little bit for not bowing out. “I’ll save the story of how we met, then, for tonight. I know how much you adore telling that funny bit about the lake. About how you fell in, and I had to rescue you.”
“Brat.”
“No more than you...honey.”
“I’ll see you tonight. I take it I have carte blanche on that story, then?”
She had a feeling that not only had the cat been let out of the bag, but the genie had just been released from the bottle. “I trust you to stick to the pertinent points.”
“Always. I need to go—I still have a few patients to see.” There was a pause, then he came back. “I guess I’ll see you tonight, sweetheart.”
Ack! Even though she knew he was just trying to make her fidget—and he was doing a good job of that—the words still made a funny little pinging happen in the center of her chest. She decided to ignore it. Especially since she was the one who’d started the whole endearment thing.
“See you tonight.” As she hurried to mash the button to cut off the call, she could have sworn it ended with Dean’s laughter.
* * *
Despite the way he’d teased her on the phone, Dean wasn’t all that sure about doing this dinner thing tonight. But he’d given his word. He pulled into the driveway of a small cottage, then checked the address again. This was the place.
The beige paint with its crisp white gingerbread trim reminded him so much of Jess that it made him smile. He couldn’t see the sister living in a minuscule place like this, but Jess? Absolutely. This fit her to a tee. And the image of coming home to something like this...of that sturdy wooden door opening and a couple of happy kids rushing down the walkway to greet him, made a pang go through his gut. It would be so very different from the loneliness and never-ending fear he’d experienced as a child.
As if by magic, the door did open. But it wasn’t children who stood there, but the woman he’d just been sitting here thinking about.
Jess. Dressed in jeans that were tucked into brown boots and a long beige sweater that hugged her curves, she looked homey and, oh, so different from the way she dressed for work. She was as quaint and welcoming as the cottage. Except for that nervous frown.
Over their little deception? His little deception. He was to blame for this entire thing, and he could see it wasn’t going to be without consequences.
He’d put Jess into an untenable position. No one wanted to lie to their parents. But her sister had pushed just the right buttons, and he’d instinctively stepped in between her and Jess in a figurative sense. If he’d had more time, he might have come up with something a little less drastic though.
Which brought up another point. Were Jess’s parents so unused to seeing her with a man that they assumed this was something special? From the way she’d acted about their bet a few days ago, maybe that was indeed the case.
Staring. He was staring.
Clicking open the door to his car, he exited, giving her a little salute as he retrieved something from the passenger seat. Two sets of flowers. One for Jess and one for her mum. No need to make anyone suspect things weren’t what they seemed in paradise.
He’d never bought a woman flowers in his life, not wanting anyone to think he planned on sticking around after a night or two.
But this was safe, right? Jess knew it was all a charade. Easily ended. Once her parents and her sister left, that would be that.
He made it up to the front door, making sure his eyes stayed glued to her face, no matter how much they might want to roam over that delectable figure. Once he arrived, though, and handed her one set of flowers, he glanced behind her and noted her mum was watching from a few yards behind Jess.
What better excuse to...?
He placed one hand on her shoulders and squeezed slightly, watching her eyes widen and her nostrils flare as he drew close and pressed his lips to hers, allowing his mouth to graze across them and then continue along her cheek.
She shivered as he reached her ear, and he couldn’t hold back a smile. “Relax,” he whispered. “Mum is watching.”
With that, he released her, waiting for her to step back. Which she did, but it was in a stumbling rush that had him reaching out to grip her wrist to steady her. He threaded his fingers through hers to keep her next to him. He had a feeling all she wanted to do was disappear into the inner depths of the house. Not something a woman in a serious relationship would do.
He tugged her closer as he turned his smile onto the woman who looked so much like her. “Mrs. Black. Thank you again for inviting me.” He held out the second bouquet, watching her smile as she accepted it with a look that might have been relief.
“Please call me Gloria. I can’t tell you how glad I am to hear that you and Jess are together.” Her smile reached her eyes this time. “I’ll just go put these in water. Would you like something to drink?”
“Just a glass of wine, please. Red, if you have it.”
Gloria looked confused for a second, then Jess cleared her throat. “I don’t keep alcohol in the house, Dean, remember?”
Bloody hell. That was something he should know. “Of course. I should have brought a bottle with me. How thoughtless.”
“It’s fine.” If anything, Jess’s voice was even tighter. “It’s better for Daddy not to have it sitting at the table, anyway.”
A chill went through him. Jess’s dad was an alcoholic?
Memories of his own father’s battle went through his head. Only his fight hadn’t just been against the bottle. It had been against his wife and son once he’d slugged down his nightly quota and lost sight of his soul, or whatever it was that had kept the hounds of hell at bay.
Once released, they’d slashed and torn at everything within reach.
Had Jess experienced any of that horror?
From the look on her face, that would be a no. So her dad wasn’t a mean drunk.
“My grandfather,” she said in a low voice as her mum turned to go back into the kitchen. “He abused my dad and his other kids until he died of cirrhosis. Daddy doesn’t want anything to do with alcohol, so none of us drink in front of him.”
That was funny because Dean allowed himself the occasional drink for the exact opposite reason: to prove he could control his usage when his father hadn’t been able to.
Speaking of control...
“Your grandfather never hurt you, did he?” There was a tension in Dean’s jaw that he didn’t like. Images running through his head that he liked even less.
“He died before I was born.” She touched his arm. “Daddy’s nothing like him. Please don’t mention any of this.”
Not a chance. He never talked about his own parents. To anyone. He’d buried that part of him so deep it rarely ever came to the surface anymore. Except at times like this. Unlike Jess’s grandfather, his dad was still very much alive. At least he thought he was. He hadn’t spoken to the man since the day he went to pri
son. In fact, he hadn’t heard from his mum in a long time either. This was the first time he’d thought of either of them in years.
Damn.
A mixture of churning emotions boiled up from somewhere inside, threatening to reach the surface.
The sooner he got out of there, the better. He didn’t want to accidentally say something at the table that might bring back painful memories. For Jess’s dad. For himself.
Her dad came out of the kitchen wearing a ruffled apron that could only belong to his daughter. The queasy sensation stalled, and then subsided.
“Sorry for the frilly gear,” the other man said. “I’ve been telling Jess she needs to buy some gender-neutral things if I’m to do much cooking.”
Dean brushed the words aside with a smile, reaching out to shake her father’s hand. His grip was solid, putting Dean at ease almost immediately. He wasn’t the alcoholic. But he had experienced what it was like to be at one’s mercy.
They had something in common. And he got the feeling that Jess’s father would have kept his family safe from anyone or anything that threatened it.
“Norman Black. Nice to meet you.”
“You as well. I’m Dean Edwards.”
Jess made a little sound in her throat, hands gripped tightly together. “So what are we having?”
“Shepherd’s pie, remember? Your mum did the majority of the work tonight. I simply made the salad.”
Shrugging out of his coat when Jess reached toward it, Dean let her hang it up by the front door, where several others were—one he recognized as the coat she’d worn to the Indian restaurant and to the pub. With a quick flick she draped his over the top of that very one.
A peculiar flash of awareness crept up his spine. He shot her a glance to see if she’d done that on purpose, but she was already moving farther into the room, laughing at something her dad had said. He threw another look at the winter gear and then shrugged. They were just coats. Not a metaphor for anything else.
“I think Mum is ready.” She was back at his side. “I hope you like shepherd’s pie.” There was an uncertainty to her voice that made him take a closer look.
“Adore it. My mum didn’t seem to...”
He’d almost said that his mother didn’t like to cook, unless she knew her husband was on his way home. And that was only because she knew what would happen if dinner wasn’t on the table when he arrived.
“She didn’t seem to...?”
“Nothing. She was just never keen on fixing things that didn’t come from a tin.”
“Did she work?”
He shook his head, blasting himself for even going there. And he wasn’t sure why he had. There was just something about Jess that invited confidences, shared secrets...and aroused his protective instincts, evidently.
Besides, hadn’t she just finished sharing a pretty big secret of her own—about her grandfather’s drinking? It was human nature to want to mirror what someone else did.
He wasn’t quite satisfied with that explanation, but, since they were now in Jess’s minuscule dining room, he didn’t have time to formulate any other theories.
And his growling stomach reminded him that he’d skipped lunch. Something smelled delicious.
Right on cue, Gloria hurried out of the kitchen. “Jess, would you put some ice in the glasses and get the drinks ready please?”
“Is there anything I can help with?” he asked.
She waved him away. “No, just have a seat. I’ve put you to the left of where Jess normally sits.”
Another thing he didn’t know about her. Before he had to guess, Jess went around the table and picked up a glass. “What would you like to drink? Something fizzy?”
Okay, so that was where he was to sit. Thank you, Jess.
“Just give me whatever you’re having.”
Soon they were all situated around the table. Needing a drink of something stronger than the water he’d been served, he sucked down a mouthful, only to have bubbles assault his throat. He swallowed in a hurry, fighting the need to cough. Losing.
Jess laughed. “I wondered why you wanted tonic water. You normally hate it.”
He jerked around to stare at her before realizing she’d simply hazarded a guess. She didn’t know he hated it. Or why. There was no way she could know that when his father had sat at the dinner table guzzling whatever his liquor du jour had been, a too young Dean—wanting to be like his dad—had begged his mum for whatever his father was drinking. She’d served him tonic water, instead, and pretended it was the real thing. By the time he’d been old enough to know what was going on and to equate the drinking with the abuse, he’d hated his “grown up” drink.
He was not about to admit that now, though. So he took another sip, albeit a more cautious one this time, forcing the cold fizzy liquid to sit in his mouth for a second before swallowing it down in a rush. “Just trying to develop a taste for it, that’s all.”
Something that was never going to happen.
Gloria reached for his plate and placed a generous portion of the meat pie on it. “Well, isn’t that sweet? That’s true love for you. I can’t tell you the number of things that Norm has learned to like for me.”
Another pang went through Dean’s chest. This was what love was supposed to be like. Unfortunately, it didn’t usually work out that way. Look at his folks. Or even Jess’s sister and her husband, for that matter. Fighting and bickering seemed to come with the territory. As did problems like drinking and abuse and jealousy.
No, thanks. He was glad he’d steered clear of all that. His life was fine just the way it was.
Jess took his plate from her mum and put it in front of him. Then she covered his hand with hers. “Dean does all kinds of nice things for me. Don’t you, honey?”
He almost choked again, but not because he had anything in his mouth. It was because of the image that suddenly went through his head. He could do all kinds of nice things for her, if she let him.
Not going to happen.
Not in this lifetime. And not in the next. Besides, he’d tried to take her home for a fun-filled night of sex, only to have her turn him down flat. Something Dean wasn’t used to. It still stung to remember the way her eyes had sparkled with anger as she’d turned and walked away from him.
Although as she started to withdraw her hand her fingers slid along his in a way that made his skin heat and caused certain muscles to tighten in warning. Had she done that on purpose?
Before he could think it through, he turned his hand over and stopped her fingers from leaving his, smiling when he heard her soft intake of breath.
She wanted to play games, did she? She had no idea who she was dealing with. He was a tactical expert when it came to this kind of war. “I love doing things for you.” He put a wealth of meaning into those words, smiling when sudden color flared along her cheekbones and slid into her hairline.
Her mum’s brows went up. She’d certainly gotten it.
“I have to admit, Jess, I’d almost given up hope. I’m so glad you’ve decided that work isn’t all there is to life.” She handed a plate to Norman. “They’re almost as cheeky as we were at their age.”
Cheeky wasn’t exactly the word he would use. Lustful. Needy. Wanting. Those were all terms that described him right now.
He wanted her. In spite of the fact that she didn’t seem to want him in return.
They were simply playing a part. A part that would end the second her family went home to London.
But that didn’t stop him from wishing he could take her back to his place and see just how far they could take this little charade.
“We were, weren’t we?” her dad said.
Jess tugged at her hand, and this time he let her go. Besides her mum was now dishing out the rest of their food and making sure everyon
e had what they needed.
Not by a long shot. But this was the hand he’d been dealt. And from where he was standing, it looked as if two things needed to happen. One, he needed to get laid. Two, Jess needed a whopping dose of self-confidence. Maybe they should both head back to the pub and grab the first available partner to satisfy those needs. Except they’d already tried that and it hadn’t worked. He was actually lucky she’d turned him down, because Dean didn’t date people from work. Ever. Too messy. Too complicated. He preferred things simple and to the point.
Jess was neither.
So yeah, his moment of weakness that night at the pub could have turned into a major disaster.
Digging into his food to take his mind off Jess, he wasn’t surprised at how good it tasted. What did surprise him, though, was how comfortable her father seemed to be in the kitchen. None of this expecting one person to get everything to the table while the other slouched on the sofa doing nothing.
“Delicious. Thank you so much for inviting me.”
“I just wish Jess would have told us about you sooner.” Gloria sent her daughter a look of reproof.
“Nothing to tell.” Jess half muttered the words.
Her mother either didn’t hear her or was ignoring her. “So tell us a little about yourself, Dean.”
This time it was Dean who stiffened. He’d expected to be asked about the “falling into the lake” story Jess had threatened him with over the phone. Not something about himself personally. “What would you like to know?”
“Are you as fixated on your job as Jess is?”
“Mum, please.” Jess sounded miserable.
Hoping to defuse the situation, he said, “I think most medical professionals are pretty dedicated.”
Norman covered his wife’s hand with his own. “Of course they are. When did you realize you wanted to be a doctor?”
When? The day he decided he wanted to help fix people instead of breaking them. But he wasn’t about to say that. “I think it’s every child’s dream at some point. With me, it just seemed to stick.”
