She knew from the grief counseling she’d sought after her father’s death that the best way for her to grieve was not to try and stop the emotions, but to allow them to wash over her, then let them go. Then she could carefully pack them away again.
She tilted her head back, stared at the glittering stars, and sipped her tea. By the time the mug was empty, Kayla felt fully composed, and after drawing a deep breath, said softly, “When I was a kid, we’d have a cookout every Sunday during the summer. It was always an event. The neighbors who lived on either side of us came every week, the dads carting over beer and burgers, the moms bringing huge bowls of homemade potato and macaroni salads. We always had it at our house because we had an above-ground pool. While all the kids splashed around, the moms chatted over chips and dip, while the dads hovered around the grill, with my dad as the head chef. He knew how to grill a mean burger.”
A smile tugged at her lips. “After dinner-which always tasted better after a few hours in the pool-the dads would jump in the water with us and make waves. The bigger the better.
“Then, when dusk settled, we’d catch fireflies. Dessert was marshmallows roasted over the charcoal grill. After stuffing ourselves with gooey sweetness, we’d sit on the lawn and look up at the stars, picking out the constellations. I remember when I was about five asking my dad what stars were. He told me they were tiny magical lights that lit the night sky, that everyone could see, no matter where in the world they were. So that even if we weren’t in the same place, like when he had to travel on business, I could look up and see the same stars he was looking at. And that way we’d always be together.”
She stared at twinkling diamond-like lights. “I wonder if he’s looking at the stars now.”
She hadn’t even realized she’d said those last words out loud until Brett said, softly, “I bet he is. And knows that you are, too.”
Her heart swelled at his comment. “Did you look at the stars when you were a kid?”
“Oh, yeah. Still do. Of course, when I was five and asked my dad what stars are, he said, ‘They’re self-gravitating massive spheres of plasma in hydrostatic equilibrium which generate their own energy through the process of nuclear fusion.’”
For the first time since he’d sat next to her, she turned to stare at him and saw he was gazing up at the night sky. “You’re kidding.”
He looked her way, and his mouth slanted upward in that dimple-producing lopsided grin. “I’m not. But considering that he’s an astrophysicist, his answer wasn’t surprising. Now if I’d asked my mother, who’s an artist, I’m sure I would have gotten a more whimsical answer.”
“An astrophysicist and an artist. That’s quite an interesting combination.”
“They’re quite an interesting couple. They met at college when my dad, who tends to forget where he’s going when he’s mulling over a scientific problem, wandered into the wrong classroom. Instead of organic chemistry, he found himself in Nude Painting 101.”
A giggle tickled her throat. “That must make for an interesting how-I-met-your-mother story.”
“Sure does.” He grinned. “Especially since Mom was the model.”
Kayla felt her eyes widen, then she laughed. “Clearly she made quite a first impression.”
“Yup. She was the proverbial starving artist and used to model for the class to pay her tuition. Dad says he took one look at her and it was if an explosion of supernova proportions occurred. Which is saying a lot since a stellar explosion is estimated to release an equivalent energy of up to one million trillion trillion megatons of TNT.”
“Wow. That’s some big kaboom.”
“That’s what Dad said-once he remembered how to speak English.”
“Sounds like you have a nice relationship with your folks.”
“I do. They’re good people.”
Pulling her gaze from his, she once again stared into the fire. “I miss my dad every day,” she said softly, an image of her dad’s smiling face flashing through her mind, “but I’ve learned to live with the loss, with the way he died. I rarely let it get the better of me anymore like I did tonight. But sometimes it hits me. Blindsides me. Like when Dan mentioned his wife. I didn’t expect it and it all came roaring back. The mind-numbing grief. The senselessness of it all. The fury at the person who took my dad away. And the aftermath…”
She squeezed her eyes shut, and tried to stop the flow of words, but now that the floodgates were open, she couldn’t. “The trial…it was a nightmare. The kid who killed him was only eighteen. He’s twenty-three now and was released from jail more than two years ago. My dad died three days after his fiftieth birthday. We’d thrown a big party for him. I’d give anything if we could have thrown another one for him this year, for his fifty-fifth.”
Her voice faded and once again silence engulfed them. Tightening her grip around her legs, she stared into the fire.
“I know it’s totally inadequate,” Brett said softly, “but I’m real sorry about your dad.”
She turned her head and looked at him. He stared straight ahead, his profile cast in flickering shadows from the fire. “Thank you. I appreciate not only the words, but how kind you’ve been tonight.”
He turned to look at her, and when their eyes met, warmth flared through her as if he’d tossed a few more logs on the fire. “You know, I’ve never lost anyone I’ve loved.”
“You’re very fortunate.”
“I can’t pretend to understand how terrible it is in reality, but based on how the mere thought of losing one of my parents in such an awful way makes me feel…” He shook his head. “I can only say again that I’m sorry for your loss.”
“It was bad for all of us, but hardest on my mom. She and Dad met in a public-speaking class their last semester of college. They fell in love like that-” she snapped her fingers “-and married a month after graduation. They were always holding hands and laughing together, and still very much in love. My sisters and I lost our dad, but she lost her best friend, her soul mate and the man she’d planned to spend the rest of her life with. It’s taken her a long time to start living again.”
A half smile tugged up one corner of her mouth. “Which is why I try not to complain about her matchmaking-fixing me up on dates is sort of like her hobby, but really, I wish she’d try something else. Like stamp-collecting. She’s just bad at matchmaking. You wouldn’t believe some of the men she’s introduced me to. It’s like a hall of fame for Men No Sane Woman Would Want to Date.”
“Does she date?”
“She’s just starting to dip her toe back in the social pool, which is nice to see. I’m hoping that she’ll turn all her matchmaking attention toward finding dating prospects for herself. She’s sort of freaked right now about being a grandmother, but a huge part of that is because my dad’s not here to be a grandparent with her. I know she’s going to take one look at the baby and be a total goner.”
“You mentioned you were looking forward to being an aunt.”
“Oh, yeah. I was almost ten when my sister Cindy was born. I remember the first time I saw her. Me and Meg and our dad stood at the window at the hospital nursery and Dad pointed Cindy out. It took me exactly half a second to fall in love.”
“How about Meg?”
Kayla huffed out a laugh. “It took her a little longer to warm up to our new baby sister. She was thirteen and mortally afraid she’d have to spend her prime teenage dating nights babysitting. I believe her exact first words about Cindy were ‘She’s red and wrinkly and Kayla can babysit.’”
He chuckled. “And did you babysit?”
“Heck yes. Every chance I got. My mom did medical transcriptions and worked from home, so she was there to keep a parental eye on things, but it was my job to watch Cindy after school until dinnertime. I loved doing it and my mom paid me.” She breathed out a sigh, noting the vapor her breath made in the chilly air. “Now that’s what I call a great job-getting paid to do something you love.”
“That is definitely th
e best-case scenario.”
His voice held a note of…something that prompted her to ask, “Do you love your job?”
A frown puckered his brow and he didn’t answer right away. Finally he said, “I love the research, the challenge to discover something new, the knowledge that it could happen in the next hour or day, having a state-of-the-art laboratory at my disposal. But I hate the political bull crap. A lab is no different than an office as far as needing hip boots to wade through the piles of stink.
“I really enjoy the class I teach at Columbia. I like interacting with the students and faculty. At the lab, I spend most of my time alone, so I especially enjoy my time in the classroom.”
His gaze searched hers for several seconds, then he said, “I get tired of being alone.”
The quiet words grabbed her. She knew exactly what “alone” felt like, and she didn’t like it. “What about your breakthrough discovery? I thought it had made you the toast of the town.” Guilt slapped her at the question, but she beat it back, rationalizing that she was asking out of personal curiosity, not in an attempt to gain information for La Fleur.
“Oh yeah. On the surface I’m ‘the guy.’” There was no missing the bitter tinge in his voice. “But all that’s actually done is isolate me more because I have only myself and a very small group of people I trust to count on to make the right decisions.”
She nodded slowly, understanding completely. “So now you’ve discovered how it feels to be lonely in a crowd.”
“I have.” His eyes remained steady on hers. “That sounds like the voice of experience talking.”
“I suppose it is. And I certainly know what you mean about office politics. Where I work, it not only involves wading through the bull crap, but watching out for the back-stabbers. I envy you having a teaching career you could fall back on. If I had an option, I’d seriously consider leaving.”
She’d never said the words out loud before, but the instant she voiced them, she realized how true they were. “I’m tired of placating spoiled divas, of putting a good spin on selfish behavior.” Of being asked to spy on scientists.
A chill ran through her at the thought, and she shivered.
“Cold?” he asked.
“Sort of.” Guilt provided very little warmth.
“Would you like me to get you a blanket? Or I’d be glad to offer some body warmth.” He uncrossed his ankles, spread his legs, then bent his knees, creating an inviting cocoon for her.
Since body warmth sounded much nicer than a blanket, she resettled herself between his thighs, resting her back against his broad chest. His arms came around her, encircling her with heat, his hands resting atop hers. He smelled clean, like the soap she’d brought to the river, and an image of them washing each other, touching each other, flashed through her mind, instantly evaporating any lingering chill.
“Better?” he asked, his warm breath whispering across her cheek.
“Yes.” In fact, it was downright scary how much better. “Thank you.”
“My pleasure. Men naturally generate more body heat than women. No point in letting it go to waste.”
“No, indeed.” Her eyes slid closed and she snuggled closer to his masculine warmth. The press of his legs surrounding hers, his strong arms wrapped around her, the wall of his chest behind her…it was like being wrapped in a Brett-scented blanket.
“So tell me,” he said, the stubble on his chin brushing against her hair, “who are these divas you do PR for-a bunch of teenage movie stars?”
“Almost as bad. A bunch of drama-prone models famous for behaving badly, and the drama-prone photographers who take pictures of them.”
“Ugh. The lab is looking better and better. How long have you been at your job?”
“Ten years. I was promoted to director of public relations last year. At first I was thrilled, and up until then I had really loved my job. But now…now I’m just…tired. Burned out, I guess.”
“Out of balance.”
“Exactly.”
“Have you looked for another job?”
She shook her head and her temple bumped against his jaw. “I’ve invested ten years there.”
“But if you’re really not happy, maybe you should consider going elsewhere. Remember what the No Change, No Gain article stated about jobs-that the workplace is where we spend one-third of our adult life. That’s a lot of time to be unhappy, so if your job is compromising your core happiness, it’s time to consider a change.”
She tipped her head back to look at him. “Did you memorize the article?”
“Not word for word, but I’ve read it enough times to remember it well.”
“Have you considered leaving your job?”
“No. But the decisions I make regarding my breakthrough will impact my future and my career. So changes are looming on the horizon.”
The word breakthrough elicited another frisson of guilt. “I hope that whatever those changes are, they’re happy ones,” she said softly, meaning every word.
“Thanks. Me, too. Right now I feel like I’m swimming through shark-infested waters with the shore nowhere in sight.” His arms tightened briefly. “Well, not right now. Right now I’m feeling warm and relaxed and happy.”
Pow -another guilt pie in the face. Little did he know that he was embracing one of the very sharks he’d flown to South America to escape. The knowledge tightened her stomach into an aching knot.
“I’m feeling the same way,” she said, again meaning every word. “And grateful. For you keeping me company. And listening. And making me laugh.”
His shoulders lifted in a shrug. “It was purely selfish on my part. I like hearing you laugh.”
She shook her head. “You’re trying to make light of what you did, but I won’t let you. It was very nice of you.”
“I’m a nice guy.” She felt him smile against her temple. “Ask my mom. She’ll tell you.”
“I don’t need to ask her. I can tell.” Her heart squeezed. Figured-first nice man she’d met in months and their relationship was doomed to end in only a few days. Jeez. If she didn’t have rotten, stinking luck, she wouldn’t have any luck at all.
“You looked like you needed a friend,” he said softly against her ear, shooting pleasurable tingles down her spine. “I’m glad I was here.”
“Me, too.” She squeezed her eyes shut, refusing to acknowledge how it hurt that she liked him so much and her duplicity had destroyed any chance they might have had of taking their friendship further.
16
“TIME TO wake up, everyone! Breakfast in twenty minutes.”
Paolo’s cheerful voice drifted through the closed tent flap and Brett slowly came awake, wincing at the stiffness in his back. The problem with sleeping on the damn ground was that when you awoke, you felt as if you’d slept on the damn ground.
But then something warm and soft and fragrant moved against him, and his discomfort evaporated like water in a desert.
Kayla.
He breathed deeply and the luscious, clean scent of her filled his head. She lay next to him, on her side, her cheek pillowed against his shoulder, one slim hand resting on his chest, one leg nestled between his thighs.
His arms tightened around her, absorbing the sensation of her pressed against him. Of waking up with her in his arms after sleeping together.
And only sleeping.
When the fire had died down to nothing but glowing embers, leaving the air around them cold, he’d risen, then helped her to her feet. Shadows of exhaustion had shaded violet circles under her eyes, and without a word, he’d taken her hand and led her to his tent. After helping her remove her coat and boots, he’d removed his own, then they’d slipped into his sleeping bag. She’d instantly snuggled close to him, and seconds later her deep, even breathing indicated she’d fallen asleep. He’d gently kissed the top of her head, and joined her in slumber.
Now she stirred in his arms, and a wave of contentment such as he’d never known rolled through him like war
m honey coursing through his veins. They were fully clothed, hadn’t shared so much as a kiss last night, yet he felt profoundly satisfied.
In spite of last night’s lack of lovemaking, they’d still shared something very intimate and special. He wasn’t sure what name to assign to an evening such as the one they’d spent, but he knew the end result was that he felt closer to her than to any woman who’d come before her.
And it was getting damn difficult to imagine another woman coming after her.
She stirred again then raised her head and blinked. Red curls were flattened where she’d pillowed her head against him, and on the other side, they sprang wildly up like miniature corkscrews. Lids still heavy with sleep half covered her eyes, but he was relieved to note the dark smudges beneath them were gone. She looked rumpled and adorable and sexy as hell.
Their gazes met and a slight smile curved her full lips.
“Hi,” she murmured in a sleep-roughened voice.
One word. One look. That’s all it took and he felt turned inside out. Brett brushed back her hair, his hand lingering over her velvety cheek.
“Hi,” he managed to say.
He shifted onto his side, urging her onto her back, then lowered his head, sinking slowly into a deep, lush, openmouthed kiss. It felt like a reacquaintance after a long absence, a languid exploration of lips and tongues, a leisurely build of arousal.
With that same wordless lack of haste, gazes clinging, they removed their clothes. Brett slid a condom from his backpack, and after rolling on the protection, settled himself between her splayed thighs.
He entered her slowly, shuddering at the silken glide into her wet heat. He stilled for several long seconds, absorbing the satin pleasure of her grip. Then he slowly withdrew, sank deep again, watching every nuance pass over her features, concentrating on breathing in tandem with her slow, deep breaths.
Her breathing grew more rapid and he increased the pace and depth of his strokes to match the tempo. A flushed sheen colored her skin, and her eyes glazed and darkened with need. Wrapping her legs around his waist, she pulled his mouth to hers for another deep, intimate kiss. When she arched beneath him, he swallowed her low groans, letting himself go at the first pulsing squeeze of her orgasm.
Just Trust Me… Page 14
