He pulled her hands away and forced her to look at him. After several tense moments of eye contact, he said, “You forgot to add sated.”
A flush went from her chest to her neck to her face. “That, too,” she admitted softly.
He leaned over, kissed her, and smiled. “You didn’t ask me how I feel.”
“I can’t make light of this.”
“I’m not asking you to. I just don’t want you to make it into something it wasn’t.”
“Meaning?”
“I wanted—” He stopped. Why was he holding back? “I needed this just as much as you did.”
“I know this is hard to believe, but Ken was the only man I ever made love to. . . .” She put her head back and stared up at the ceiling. “Before you.”
“What makes you think that would be hard for me to believe?”
“The way I acted.”
“If it’s confession time, I suppose I should tell you that you’re the first woman since Shelly.”
She swung around to look at him, forgetting the shirt covering her breasts. “You’re kidding.”
“Why would I lie about something like that?”
“Because men don’t—” She didn’t finish.
“Don’t what, Julia?”
She shrugged. “They’re more free with their—It’s easier for them—”
“I can’t speak for the other men you know, but I’ve never thought of sex as a casual contact sport. I may have been as carried away as you were,” he said. “But I knew exactly what I was doing. I’ve wanted to make love to you almost from the first moment I saw you.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know if I can put it into words.”
“You’re a writer, Eric.”
“There are days I doubt even that.”
She listened for something disingenuous in his voice but heard only her own thoughts and feelings being expressed with an honesty that had been beyond her since Ken’s death. Her friends, the men and women who had become her advisers at the office, even her own family, refused to listen when she tried to express the fears and doubts that had plagued her this past year.
She took his hand. “I think I’d like that tea now.”
He brushed his lips against hers, grabbed his jeans and shirt, and slipped into them before going to the closet to get his robe for her to put on. Pointing to a door, he said, “The bathroom is in there. Use anything you want.”
She wound her arms into the plaid flannel, folded the excess material onto itself, and doubled the tie around her waist. “Including the toothbrush?”
“Including the toothbrush,” he repeated without hesitation.
Of course she had no intention of using his toothbrush. She’d been baiting him, curious to see what he would say. For some idiotic reason, his answer pleased her. “Oh, by the way . . .”
“Yes?”
“I like your mustache.”
Automatically his hand went to his lip. “I was thinking about shaving it off.”
“Don’t.”
He smiled. “All right.”
Not until she was alone in the bathroom did she realize the implication behind her request. What possible reason could she have for asking him to keep his mustache? When she left this time, she doubted they would ever see each other again.
Eric put a pot of water on the stove, then fixed a dish of food and water for Josi and took it to her at the other house.
She came running to the door expectantly when he opened it, her disappointment almost palpable when she saw who it was. He lowered himself to his haunches to pet her. She tolerated his touch for a few seconds, then went back to her perch on the windowsill.
The water was boiling when he returned. He took out two mugs, dropped in bags of Earl Grey, and brought them into the living room to steep. He was staring out the window at a red-and-yellow box kite floating across the gray sky when he sensed Julia come into the room.
She didn’t say anything as she moved to stand beside him, her silence more comfortable than anxious. He could smell her perfume and knew that the spicy scent would forever remind him of her. He would flash back to this moment and the kaleidoscope of emotions that had changed shape and intensity and color as they tumbled through his mind.
She stood next to him, and Eric was filled with a physical ache spawned by a deep-seated need to be touched, not sexually, but with affection. It seemed an eternity since he’d known the kind of intimacy that came from caring, the reassuring hand, the comforting hug, the kiss that said “I’m here.” He longed to have all of that in his life again.
And he wanted more—the inconsequential conversation in front of the fireplace, the cheese and crackers and bottle of wine shared on a hillside, the joke with the missed punch line that was funny because the clumsy telling was so familiar. He wanted to go to a party and look across the room and know there would be someone looking back.
“Can you do that?” Julia asked. “Fly a kite, I mean.”
Finally he looked at her. Rather than put her hair up again, she’d left it loose. Her attempts at finger combing had failed, leaving her appearance bed tousled and incredibly sexy, something he knew would appall her had she known.
“Blindfolded and with my hands tied behind my back.”
Cocking an eyebrow at him, she said, “I’d like to see that.”
He laughed. “So would I.”
“I should get dressed.”
“Why?”
She plainly hadn’t expected the question. “I don’t know—I guess I feel a little peculiar standing around in your bathrobe.” Actually, surprisingly, she didn’t. She was simply giving voice to something her conscience told her she should feel. In reality she felt perfectly comfortable—good, even. The robe was old and had been washed so many times that the flannel was as soft as down against her bare skin. “Besides, you’re dressed.”
He held out his arms. “It’s this or nothing.”
“So you’re a one robe kind of guy. I like that.”
Turning serious, he said, “I’m a one woman kind of guy, too.” Seeing how uncomfortable the statement had made her, Eric let it go. He reached for the blue mug and handed it to her.
Julia pinched the excess water out of the teabag and dropped it onto an empty saucer beside Eric’s computer before she took a sip. “Perfect.” She wrapped her hands around the mug, warming them. “I can’t believe how cold it is for July. Has it been like this long?”
“A couple of days.” He added his teabag to hers, then set down his mug. “I’ll be right back.” When he returned from the bedroom, he handed her a rolled-up pair of socks. “Put these on.”
She sat on the sofa, slipped the socks over her feet, and tucked her legs up under her. “What are you going to do with Josi?”
He shook his head. “I’m still working on that. I’ve considered keeping her myself, but I’ve never owned a cat. I don’t know the first thing about them.”
“Me either. I had a goldfish once. The guy I was going with at the time won it for me at a traveling carnival.” She curled deeper into the corner of the sofa, as if settling in for a long stay. “The poor thing only lasted a week.” Looking up at him over the rim of her mug, she added, “Which, as I recall, was about three days longer than the boyfriend.”
Eric sat in the chair opposite her, propping up his bare feet on the weathered wood coffee table. He tried not to stare at Julia or let himself believe she was more than she was—someone who’d come into his life who had no intention of staying. “How did you and Ken meet?”
“At a computer trade show. I was taking care of a booth for a friend. Ken came by and started asking questions, and I stupidly tried to make him think I knew what I was talking about. We were married three months later.”
“Maggie said she’d never seen two people more in love.”
“She told me that, too.” A tear appeared at the corner of her eye, and she blinked several times before going on. “I know why Joe did what he did,�
�� she said softly. “If I weren’t such a coward, I would have done the same thing.”
The statement horrified Eric. “You can’t be serious. Joe was eighty-eight, you’re barely past thirty.”
“Age has nothing to do with it.”
“The hell it doesn’t. Do you honestly think Joe would have done the same thing at your age?”
“You have no idea what it’s like to face the rest of your life alone.”
“Look around you, Julia.”
She stared into the dark liquid in her mug. “You have your kids.”
“For two days every other week, for as long as it doesn’t interfere with one of their friends’ birthday parties or a game of soccer or a hot date when they get older.”
“But you and Shelly—”
“What? Didn’t love each other as much as you and Ken? What if I screwed up the greatest love story of the century with my self-indulgence? Does that mean I can never hope for a second chance?”
“Ken was special.”
“And I’m not?” It was as close to revealing how he felt as he could get.
“I didn’t mean it that way. What I’m trying to tell you is that we were special together.”
Her words knocked the fight out of him. “I know—Maggie told me.” A knock on the door saved him from having to say anything more.
The tow truck had come for Joe and Maggie’s car. It was to be taken back to San Jose and sold along with the house.
When Eric returned, Julia was dressed and waiting for him. She’d even fixed her hair in the same tight twist at the back of her head. Their mugs and the spent teabags were gone, and he had a feeling that if he went into the bedroom, he would find the bedspread had been smoothed over and his robe hung up in the closet. Fleetingly he wondered what she’d done with the socks. He used the washing machine for a hamper and was willing to bet she hadn’t looked for it there.
“I have to get back, Eric. There’s a board meeting tomorrow that I really can’t miss.”
“I don’t need an explanation, Julia. If you feel you have to go, then go.”
She adjusted the front of her jacket, smoothing a nonexistent wrinkle. “There’s a housecleaning service in Santa Cruz that I’ve used several times over the years. I’ll call them to come and take care of things. They have a key, so they won’t have to bother you for yours.”
“That’s not necessary. You won’t find a speck of dirt anywhere in that house. Joe took care of everything before he died.”
The news left her visibly upset. Stumbling over the words, she asked, “What about the bed?”
“They didn’t use your bedroom, Julia.” She hadn’t asked, but it was clear she was haunted by the thought. “They died in the back bedroom, the one with the double bed, and they used a plastic sheet.”
She flinched and turned away.
He’d intended sparing her the details, but it was obvious she needed to hear them. “After the coroner left I took care of everything that Joe couldn’t.”
When she looked at him again, her eyes were glistening with unshed tears. “I have to go now.”
“I’ll walk you out to your car.”
She was inside her Mercedes and about to drive away when she stopped and lowered the window. “I’m not sorry I came, Eric. And I’m not sorry about what happened between us.”
It was more than he’d expected, less than he’d hoped.
But then he was a patient man—patient and determined. He would give Julia the time she needed, weeks, months, even a year. Three hundred and sixty-five days was nothing put up against a lifetime together.
Chapter 12
The next day Eric had just walked in from his third attempt to coax Josi into coming back with him when the telephone rang. It was Julia, and she sounded as if she’d been crying.
“I got a letter from Joe in today’s mail,” she said.
“I wondered why he didn’t leave anything at the house for you.”
“I understand now.”
“Does it help?”
“I didn’t think anything could, but it does. He asked me to forgive them. Can you imagine? He was so afraid I would stop going to the beach house because of the sad memories, and he didn’t want that to happen.” She paused. “I’m glad now that I didn’t tell them I was going to sell the house.”
“Maybe you should rethink your plans.”
“I have.”
“And?”
“I still feel the same. There’s nothing for me down there anymore. Everything, everyone I loved, is gone.”
Eric should have felt the sting of her words. Instead he thought of a picture he’d once seen of an Alaskan grizzly standing on a rock in the middle of a river, a salmon inches away from its open mouth. In that frozen instant, the salmon would forever shimmer with life. His feelings for Julia were like that.
“Then I guess it’s simply a matter of deciding when you’ll put it on the market.” It was pointless to try to get her to change her mind, so he didn’t even try. If he had to pursue her long distance, so be it.
“It may not come to that. Peter said he was interested and that I was to let him know when I’d made up my mind about selling.”
“Isn’t he supposed to be back soon?” He didn’t care when Ken’s old best friend, Peter Wylie, was due back; the question was simply a way to keep up his end of the conversation.
“Next week.”
“And what about the family that has the house in August?” He needed to know how long he had to work things out with Josi.
“They usually wait until the first weekend to come down and then stay over Labor Day.”
“You caught me as I was leaving,” he said. He wanted her to feel a sense of loss, too, if only in their conversation.
“I’m sorry, I should have asked if you were busy.”
“So, I guess this is it.” Damn it. Why the lump in his throat now? “Have a good life, Julia.”
She didn’t answer him right away. “You’ve been a terrific friend. I owe you a lot.”
Gratitude was not what he wanted from her, but plainly she wasn’t ready to give anything else. “You don’t owe me anything.”
“Will you let me know about the book?”
“Yeah—sure,” he said.
“Please? I really do care.”
“Give me your address. If it sells, I’ll send you a copy.” He grabbed a pencil and wrote it down on the back of a manuscript page.
After that there was nothing left for either of them to say except good-bye. Eric hung up knowing he’d taken a risk by creating even more emotional distance between them, but she had to miss him before she asked herself why.
Two days later, Josi met him at the door when he brought her the first of the day’s fresh food. Instead of eating, she sat at his feet and looked up at him expectantly.
“What’s going on here?” he asked.
She circled his legs, wrapping her tail around his ankle as if it were a fifth appendage, meowed once, sat back down, and stared up at him. “You’re going to have to be a little clearer than that,” he said. “Remember, I’m not a cat person.”
She stayed where she was, never taking her eyes off him. Finally, figuring it was worth a try, he picked her up. She settled into his arms and let go of a purr that sounded like a drag racer warming up at the line.
Early the next morning, before he’d even had breakfast, Eric was back at the computer with Josi asleep on top of his manuscript when the phone rang.
“When can you come to New York?” It was his agent, Mel. “There are some people I want you to meet.”
“What’s up?”
“I went ahead and sent the first half of the book out to test the water.”
“And?”
“You said it was important that you feel comfortable with your editor—it’s time to decide which one it will be. You’ve got a half dozen to choose from.”
“Someone wants to buy the book?” Eric said, incredulous. “But it’s not even fin
ished.”
“There are a lot of someones, and they obviously had enough to make up their minds that they wanted it.”
“They’re offering me a contract—and money?” He was having a hard time accepting the concept. “And they’re doing this before I’ve even finished? What if it falls apart at the end? What if it doesn’t, but it’s not what they expected?” Old doubts mixed with new, and he had trouble telling them apart. “I thought you told me I had to finish the book before anyone would look at it.”
“That was before you sent me the first half. Stop worrying, Eric. It really is that good.”
“I’m going to have to take your word for it.” For the last couple of weeks he was convinced everything he’d written was crap.
“So, when can you get here?”
He looked at the wall where he’d hung the picture that Jason had drawn for Joe and Maggie. “I’ll let you know in a couple of days. There’s something I have to do here first.”
He moved Josi’s tail out of the cord’s way as he hung up. Staring at her, he said, “And what do I do with you?”
With dry food and plenty of water she’d be all right while he was gone on an overnight trip to Sacramento, but there was no way he could leave her alone while he was in New York. Maybe he could have one of the neighbors come in. But what if they forgot, or what if she thought he wasn’t coming back and took off?
Eric laid his arms along the length of his desk, propped his chin on his hands, and did an eye-to-eye with Josi. “I guess I could look for that good, loving home that Joe asked me to find for you.”
She yawned and closed her eyes.
“You could at least have the decency to look worried.”
That brought a sound Eric could only describe as a feline chuckle. He remembered something he’d read about cats a long time ago—you don’t own a cat, they own you. Not until Josi had he understood what that meant.
Before he had time to reconsider, he picked up the phone again and called Julia at home.
She answered on the second ring. “Hello.”
“It’s Eric.”
“Hi. . . .” How was it possible for her to feel excited and wary at the same time? Only days ago they’d said what she’d believed to be their final good-bye. Why the peculiar reaction now?
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