“Nope, three sisters, and Mom insisted we all learn to cook, and Dad insisted we all know our way around a toolbox and a car engine.”
“Sounds like a great family.”
“I love them, but I’m biased,” he said, grinning.
She set her fork down, taking a breather and reaching for her glass of water, frowning as she looked at it. “You know, I think I have some wine in the other room—I’ll get it. It was a gift, and I haven’t had a chance to open it. Food this delicious deserves more than water to accompany it.”
“Sounds good,” he added, smiling as she stood to leave the room.
She walked away, weirdly light in her step—after such a terrible, horrible day, she was almost…happy. Reaching to retrieve the wine from the top of the cabinet where she’d set it six months before—she didn’t often drink by herself—she didn’t question why she was so happy, and returned to the kitchen, stopping short of the table.
“Oh…damn.”
“What?”
“I don’t have a corkscrew.”
“No problem—do you have a toolbox?”
She eyed him warily. “Uh, sure. My dad gave me one when I bought the house.”
“Nice thinking. Grab it and we’ll have this open in a jiff.”
She did and came back to watch him poise a pointy-looking tool over the cork, aiming with the hammer over the wooden handle. He smiled at her, full of mischief, and her heart somersaulted, just a little.
“Move back—in case I miss.”
“Maybe we shouldn’t—”
Before she could object, he’d brought the hammer down in three expert taps, never missing a beat, and she watched as he pushed the cork down into the wine, drew back and gently levered the sharp point of the tool from the floating cork. Then they were back at the table, finishing their meal and drinking a spicy pinot noir that had only a few bits of cork floating in the bottle.
“Rafe,” she started, sitting back in her chair, stuffed and not sure how to broach the conversation. He looked at her curiously, but didn’t speak, taking a sip from his glass. The memory of what his mouth felt like—in her dreams, anyway—made her lose her breath for a moment. What was going on?
She never reacted this way to men, even to men she liked. Joy never got the jitters, the quivers and goose bumps other women talked about—in fact, she didn’t experience many of the things with men that other women talked about. It was her nature, and she’d come to accept it, but Rafe was throwing her off.
“I really appreciate this—the food and the company, and the apology, though you know, I’ve been superstressed at work lately. It wasn’t your fault, not really—I don’t know what possessed me to listen to that disk in the middle of the main office. I guess I didn’t think, and that’s my fault, not yours.”
His eyes darkened. “I’m sorry for my part in it anyway. Are you in serious trouble?”
She shrugged. “I managed to save it at the last minute. I came up with an explanation that was more or less true, sorta.” She smiled a little, and he smiled back. “I’m up for a promotion, and I don’t know if it’s going to happen. I deserve it, I’ve worked hard for it, but I’ve been so tired lately, and it’s been hard keeping up with everything that’s landing on my desk.”
“What do you do?”
“Public relations for Carr Toys.”
“Cool! You work for a toy company?”
“Yeah, I thought it would be cool, too. It’s not. Carr is just another big business trying to make its bottom line. There are some really interesting departments, like the toy design or marketing, but my work involves a lot of pressure, arguing and such.”
“How so?”
“I handle toy recalls and company-image issues. You know, like now, with the Toddler Tank, the truck?”
“I saw that story in the paper—that’s you?”
“Well, yeah, I’m the lead on customer relations and media communications. It’s been a disaster, the wheels falling off of the truck that every little boy wants for Christmas, wheels that present a potential choking hazard. Parents hate Carr toys, and I have to somehow make them happy—the parents and the company.”
“That doesn’t sound fun,” he admitted with a frown. “I never really thought about what happened on the company end of one of those recalls.”
“You mentioned you’re an EMT, like for the fire department?” she asked, taking the focus away from herself. The wine was making her warm. She studied the slight sheen of perspiration on Rafe’s brow, finding it sexy, and licked her lips unconsciously, the taste of wine and sauce still lingering there. She wondered if he tasted as he did in her dreams….
“Yeah, in New York City, for a hospital, not the NYFD. Best city in the world, no offense.” He grinned again. “But the insomnia has been dogging me for months—I finally had to take a leave of absence when I almost crashed my ambulance. So, here I am, trying to get over it. Thought a vacation somewhere new, away from the job, might help.”
She groaned. “Only to find a loud woman next door keeping you up all night…I’m so sorry. I wish there was something I could do about it. I keep having these dreams,” she said emphatically and then remembered whom she was talking to—and exactly whom she was dreaming about—and stopped short.
“When did they start?” he prompted softly, but the mood changed between them, crackling with sexual tension. She swallowed hard.
“I was having them for a while, but they were just fuzzy, indistinct, frustrating…. Then when you moved in, I saw you…. Suddenly they were about you. I don’t know why.”
He nodded, and her face turned even hotter, though it wasn’t the wine anymore. She was incredibly embarrassed at what she was revealing—the wine was loosening her tongue a little too much, and she pushed the glass away.
“Hey, don’t be embarrassed. I’m flattered, personally speaking, but on the other hand, somniloquy is a real sleep disorder.”
“Som—what?”
“Somniloquy—talking in your sleep. I know what hell a sleepless night can be. Are you having any other problems, lost sleep, etcetera?”
She wanted to kiss him for understanding—or maybe she just wanted to kiss him, period—and nodded emphatically. “Yes, I’m exhausted. I sleep all night, or seem to, but I am dead tired in the morning.”
“Your body is sleeping but your mind isn’t—you’re probably waking up more frequently than you realize, and lack of sleep will catch up with you.”
“You know a lot about sleep.”
“That’s what happens when you don’t get much of it—I’ve been through the grinder trying to solve my own disorder.”
He was being so kind, and that he understood and was so sympathetic made everything far too intimate between them for some reason. She stood and took their plates to the sink, needing to get up and put some distance between them, but it didn’t work. He stood and followed her with the remainder of the table’s contents.
“Have you tried a sleep clinic, or taking pills?”
She grimaced, leaning against the sink. “I don’t think pills will help me stop dreaming about you.” She clapped a hand over her mouth too late, sputtering, “I mean, uh…”
He chuckled, reaching past her to turn on the faucet, filling the sink with soapy water. He was way too close, she observed, inhaling his masculine scent, but she didn’t move away.
“I know what you mean,” he said, leaning against the sink, facing her. “I guess the question is what can you—or we—do about it?”
* * *
Rafe watched the roses bloom in her cheeks again. He was fascinated with every little thing about this woman and far too turned on. He shifted slightly, crossing his legs casually and hoping he could mask the hard evidence of his interest as they stood contemplating each other by the sink.
“Joy?” he prompted as she managed to look everywhere around the kitchen but at him.
She stepped away from the counter briskly, wiping her hands on a towel even though
they hadn’t actually done any of the dishes. Her expression and her smile were overly bright.
“Hey, thanks for the manicotti. Maybe you should take some home? It’s a lot of food for one person.”
Suddenly he wasn’t aroused, but plenty confused.
“Am I being dismissed then?”
He knew he sounded ticked off and regretted it as he saw the flare of panic in her gaze. She set her hands on her hips, facing him.
“Listen, I don’t want you getting the wrong idea—and I think you were.”
He crossed his arms over his chest. “What wrong idea would that be?”
He didn’t say another word and watched her wrestle with her own discomfort, trying to answer his question without answering it. She mumbled something and he leaned in. “Excuse me? Didn’t quite catch that.”
She glared at him. “I didn’t want you thinking that I was coming on to you—you know, with the dream thing. They’re only dreams. That’s all.”
It made him itch to find a way to show her how prim and proper she wasn’t. Whether it was coming out in her dreams or not, he glimpsed the passionate woman who lived beneath the uptight facade. For some reason, beyond his own denied libido, he wanted to bring her out.
“Joy, maybe you need to loosen up. I know you take your work seriously, and you have a lot of stress, but do you ever have any fun?”
She looked up, frowning. She hadn’t expected that, he could tell.
“Of course I do. I have plenty of fun.”
“Doing what?”
“I like to read and watch TV, when I’m not working. Sometimes I go to a movie, or go out. Walk on the beach.”
“Do you do those things often?”
“When I can, like most people. Work takes up a lot of my time. You don’t get promotions by working forty hours a week.”
“You sound like you’re good at your work, but sometimes people get too wrapped up in their work. I love being an EMT, but it’s my job, not my life. I think knowing that is what allowed me to be good at it. Do you love PR?”
“You don’t have to love your work to be good at it. I love being good at it.”
“Why would you do something that doesn’t make you happy?”
Her eyes widened. “Uh, because we’re adults and we work, we pay bills, and do what’s expected of us. Keeping my house makes me happy.”
He blinked—the way she’d said it sounded like someone else talking, not her. He wondered where someone got the concept of work that Joy obviously clung to so strongly.
“Well, that’s true, but you can be happy in the meantime.”
She shoved her fingers through her hair, and he found himself wondering how soft those strands were.
She yawned. “I’m sorry, I’m tired. It’s been a tough day and I have to be up early. Not all of us are on vacation, able to stay up to all hours debating the nature of life and happiness,” she said sarcastically but without bite.
“Listen, I have an idea,” he said, deciding to ignore the fact that she was withdrawing from him again.
“Does it include walking toward the door?”
He grinned, liking her smart-ass side, even if it was being directed at him at the moment.
“Eventually. You know, if you go to bed now you’re only going to be screaming my name in an hour or so,” he said teasingly.
“That’s not funny.”
“No, it’s not, but I know a little something about sleep disorders, and maybe yours is caused by all this stress.”
Her eyebrow quirked up in the sexiest way he’d ever observed. “Oh, and I suppose you’d like to help me relax?”
He took a step closer, close enough to catch the scent of her soap and shampoo. Her eyes widened, but she didn’t look away as he responded.
“Yeah, actually. I’d like that. I have time, I like you. I think you like me, even if you won’t admit it. We could have some fun.”
“Exactly what kind of fun are you talking about?”
He didn’t bother hiding his attraction as he spoke. “Anything you’d be open to.”
“So you did all this, tonight, just to come on to me,” she accused, but he shook his head.
“No, I didn’t. I promise. I’m honest enough with myself to know that I’m attracted to you—how could I not be? Look at you,” he said. “You’re a beautiful woman.”
“Give me a break,” she huffed.
“I’m serious—I haven’t been able to get your hair out of my mind since I saw you by the car with the groceries, how you had it all wrapped up tight. Even now, it’s pinned back, when you’re here alone, at home. Don’t you ever want to let it down?”
He tugged a random strand and it fell forward across her ear. He rubbed it between his fingers, and he went hard again. Her gaze was fixed on his, and her lips parted.
“I—I like my hair like this. It’s out of my face,” she said, her voice catching as she tucked the rogue strand back behind her ear.
He smiled. She wasn’t unaffected by him, and that gave him the signal to push a little harder. He wanted her. Maybe it was her dreams that stoked his imagination, but he wanted to loosen her up.
“Joy,” he said softly, moving a little closer. “Just let go for a minute.”
Before she could stop him, he had tugged off the band that held her hair back, and watched the silky sheet of auburn fall forward, sweeping across her cheek, then back to settle along the gentle curve of her chin. He was entranced with the motion, and touched her hair again.
“Rafe.” Her tone held objection, but she didn’t step away.
Instead, she closed her eyes, as if she couldn’t bear to watch as he slid the palm of his hand underneath the curtain of her hair and curled his fingers around the nape of her neck, pressing slightly before threading back out through her soft tresses. The strands felt like fine ribbons, and he swallowed hard, his hand trembling.
“It’s like silk, or softer, actually,” he said.
She hadn’t opened her eyes, and he took advantage of the moment. He leaned in, stealing a kiss. She startled, and he murmured something, sounds, reassuring her. He darted his tongue out to taste her closed lips, asking for passage beyond. When she opened her mouth, he misinterpreted and took the plunge, moving in for a deeper taste, groaning as he drew her closer, only to find her hands planted between them pushing him back.
“Rafe, no…please.” She was breathless, flushed, and it took a minute for his pulse to settle, her words cutting through the fog of passion that had enveloped him so quickly he was amazed.
“I’m sorry,” he said, dropping his hands but not stepping back. He looked deep into the blue depths of her eyes. “What’s wrong?”
The stiff mask she wore for the world slid back into place, and she wrapped her arms around her middle as if she were cold.
“I was trying to—I was going to say, you have to understand…this won’t work. It shouldn’t happen.”
“Why not?”
He followed her gaze outside the kitchen window toward where the lights strung on Bessie’s house blinked and twinkled merrily. The sight still seemed odd to him in the summerlike weather. Finally, Joy spoke, though she kept looking out the window, instead of at him.
“Because I don’t like it.”
“What? Kissing?”
“No. That…the lights. The decorations, the music, the gifts. Christmas.”
“You don’t like Christmas?”
“No, I don’t.”
He frowned. “Okay. Well, I don’t think you’re alone in that, but what does it have to do with us getting together?”
She aimed a cool, direct gaze at him. “It has to do with us because I don’t feel any of it. I’m annoyed by all the clutter and the lights—all of it. As you observed, I hardly know my neighbors, and they don’t know me. I don’t like my job, particularly, but I like what it gets me. I don’t do presents or cookies or carols, and I’m not really into casual sex, either, or sex in general, so you’re barking up the wrong t
ree, okay? I’m not that type of woman.”
She’d traveled a long distance in that little monologue, and while he didn’t quite get the bit about her not liking Christmas, or why that mattered, the latter comment caught his attention.
“Why would you say you’re not the type of woman who enjoys sex?”
She shrugged, trying to look nonchalant, but he could see the burden of past pain in her deliberately calm gaze.
“Believe me, I’ve gotten feedback on the issue, and I’m just not very…warm. I’m not a warm person.”
“You’re right,” he agreed, garnering a flash of surprised hurt from her before adding, “You’re not warm—you’re hot. Everything about you is hot, and you’ve got me hot, as well. I hear you at night, and—”
“Those are dreams, Rafe—they’re not me.”
“It is you. Maybe it’s the real you trying to get out. Have you ever considered that?”
She looked absolutely miserable at the possibility, and he took a chance, moving closer to her again.
“Listen, Joy, I don’t know why you have the picture of yourself that you do, and I agree, you’ve closed yourself off from some things in life—no, let me finish—I’m not criticizing, and I don’t want to be your shrink. You have reasons for what you do and how you do it, and I’m not really about changing that. You’re losing sleep, so am I. I’m here for a few weeks, and I like you. I think you might like me. Maybe we can have a little fun together.”
“You mean sex.”
“I mean fun. If that includes sex, great. I’d love the chance to show you how hot you are. How you affect me,” he said honestly. That she could even believe she was a cold fish was beyond him.
“Thanks, but I don’t need you to save me,” she said stubbornly. He could have been offended, but instead he looked straight back at her, and while he didn’t know where the words came from, he knew they were true.
“Who knows? Maybe I need you to save me.”
Chapter 6
“Hey—good work today,” Ken said, popping his head in the office door and grinning. Joy had been up to her ears regarding the last-minute release of a new and improved Toddler Tank, which was being shipped out to families with recall certificates that very day, a full seven days before Christmas. Manufacturing had done triple-time fixing the problem, and the tide of negative feedback was starting to turn. It was costing the company a fortune, but it would pay off in the long run. Joy had been all over the media all day, making sure everyone knew what a good job her company had done.
Talking In Your Sleep... Page 6
