Love & Rockets

by Maggie Wells

  Grace paused to make a show of inhaling the scent of the garlic bread, then snatched up the bowl and dressing bottles. “Oh, do you like cheese on your salad, Dr. Jake? Please say yes,” she added, gazing up at him with eager eyes.

  “Yes.”

  “You are the smartest of men,” she pronounced as she snagged the bag of shredded cheese and flounced from the room.

  In the momentary lull, Darla looked up. “You brought her a telescope to use?”

  “If it’s okay with you.”

  She nodded, but she appeared to be biting the inside of her cheek. “But after dinner, okay? If you bring it in now, no one will eat.”

  “Right,” he said with a brisk nod. “Can I help with anything?”

  “I know you’re our guest and I’m supposed to refuse, but I stopped living by the rules over a decade ago.” The smile she turned on him was sincere, if a little wan. “If you want to bring our wine to the table and pour Grace a glass of milk?”

  Jake didn’t dwell on her request. She had no way of knowing the overfilled wine glasses could be turned into weapons of mass destruction in his hands. As he returned to the living room, he eyed the mostly full glasses of wine with a trickle of trepidation, then straightened his shoulders.

  He’d almost kissed her. That took balls. He would have, if Grace hadn’t interrupted the moment. And if that make a man feel invincible, he didn’t know what would. That is, anything short of a miraculously non-lethal dose of gamma rays. Surely he could handle a couple glasses of wine.

  All he had to do now was transport some fermented grape juice and a nice, wholesome glass of milk ten feet to the table without destroying the glasses or her furnishings. And he could totally handle the job.

  Almost kissing Darla Kennet didn’t make a man feel as clumsy and destructive as The Hulk. With her curvy little body pressed up against him, he finally knew what being Superman felt like. He’d turned hard faster than a speeding bullet. Surely he could transport multiple glasses of wine in a single hand. He looked from his glass to hers and thought the better of trying. He wasn’t entirely sure there weren’t any pesky hunks of Kryptonite lying around.

  Chapter 5

  Darla figured it was a darn good thing she’d asked Jake to wait until after supper to show Gracie what he had to offer, because the second he carried the telescope through the door, her daughter fell in love. And Darla could understand why. This model was a thousand times better than the museum store scope Connie gave her two Christmases ago.

  Grace and Jake set up near the living room window. Bits and pieces of their conversation bounced off the walls as she cleared the remains of their dinner away. She picked up something about lenses and magnification when she stacked the plates. Caught occasional mentions of alignment and altitude adjustments, but let obvious wise-cracks about the two of them adjusting their attitudes go.

  She didn’t want to make jokes now. Jake Dalton almost laid one on her in the middle of her kitchen. She was having a damn hard time moving past the aborted kiss. Somehow, she’d managed to shovel pasta and bread into her mouth and go through the motions of chewing, swallowing, and making conversation, but her brain had stalled. She knew the minute she closed her eyes that night, she’d see him lowering his head. Feel his warm breath on her face. Lord, he’d felt good. All long and lean.

  And hard.

  Mellow merlot flowed through her, making her blood hum. She lingered as she collected the bread basket. Every time Jake moved, her hyper-sensitive neurons started firing like they’d been equipped with Uzis. Like the sleek black and chrome telescope, the man was a deceptively intricate and stunningly crafted piece of work. For some reason she’d thought he was skinny, but looking at him now, she wondered if it wasn’t time to have her eyes checked. There was nothing scrawny about Dr. Jake Dalton.

  No, the second he pulled her up against his chest, she knew she’d been underestimating the man all along. Sure, he was far from the bodybuilder type, but he was deceptively well-honed. She’d run a hand down his back. Yeah, she’d had a large-mouth bass oven mitt on her hand, but still, it was hard to miss the solid ridge of muscle running from his shoulder to his spine. And his chest. Lorraine the Lobster should be thanking her for weeks to come for the gimme.

  “Mom, this scope is three times more powerful than the one I have,” Gracie crowed.

  Jake chuckled, then nudged her aside to adjust one of the settings. “Actually, a little more than three times, but there are different types of power you want to consider when looking at the sky. Under certain conditions, you can get as good, if not a better view of some things with a decent set of binoculars.”

  Grace’s eyes widened. Practically vibrating with excitement, she turned away from Jake and made what they called their ‘super-squeeing’ face for her eyes only. Darla returned the bug-eyed grin, happy her daughter was happy.

  She was also more than happy for herself because Jake happened to be bent at a particularly flattering angle as he peered into the eyepiece. When Grace returned to her tutorial, Darla picked up the depleted salad bowl and hugged the cool plastic to her stomach. If those two were going to gaze up at the stars while she cleaned up after the dinner she cooked—well, warmed—then she was going to look her fill while she had the chance.

  Darla hadn’t thought much of Zelda’s comparison so the first time she saw the old People Magazine photos of JFK, Jr., but now…she could see the resemblance. The thick, wavy brown hair was a no-brainer. And yes, he had the melted chocolate eyes, strong brow, and chiseled jawline thing going on, too. But all of those things weren’t what made Jake a possible heir to the Sexiest Man Alive title.

  Grace.

  Grace was what set him apart. Not her daughter, Grace, though his patience with her little girl earned him about fifty thousand bonus points in Darla’s book, but a physical grace. Nothing girly or ballet-like. More like an innate kind of self-assurance. Particularly in moments like these, when he was comfortable with his company and the subject matter. Jake was always friendly and easy to talk to on a superficial level, but he wasn’t always comfortable interacting with others. That much was clear.

  Darla grinned as she eyeballed his empty wine glass. The man had looked at her like she was handing him a live grenade. Okay, so maybe she’d been generous with the amount, but she’d never be able to drink the whole thing herself. She figured if they were going to put a dent in the bottle, they’d both have to give their best efforts.

  Plus, if she got him a little drunk, he couldn’t leave to go home right away.

  The moment the thought formed in her mind, Darla bolted for the kitchen, mentally kicking her own ass the whole way. Practically tossing the bowl into the sink, she braced her hands on the edge of the countertop and let her chin fall to her chest.

  “Oh, no,” she whispered. “No, you are not going to be that girl. You are not one of those sad, lonely, sex-starved women who ply men with wine and collect too many stray cats.”

  Slumping forward, she caught her forehead on the heel of her palm and closed her eyes. And when she got old, she could pour arsenic-laced elderberry wine down the throats of lonely old men and collect their Social Security benefits to help pay for massive amounts of Meow Mix she’d surely need.

  “Oh, my God,” she groaned.

  “Are you okay?”

  Before she could muster the strength to lift her head, she felt a large hand on the small of her back. A large, gentle hand. And warm. One of the hands she’d stared at all through dinner. Hands with long, elegant fingers marked with an odd assortment of scrapes and scars. She’d been studying them closely. He’d had a blister on his palm that had burst sometime in the recent past. The mom in her fought the urge to ask if he’d treated the spot with antibiotic ointment. The woman in her wanted to make everything all better with a nice, soft kiss.

  Instead, she jumped up as if he’d jammed his precious telescope straight up her butt. “I’m fine.”

  “
She doesn’t have to leave the scope set up in the living room window. I just wanted to show her some of the things—”

  She twisted the plug into the sink, started the water running, then added a generous stream of dish soap. “I can’t begin to thank you—”

  “No need to,” he said, stepping all over the heaping helping of gratitude she wanted to pour out at his feet.

  Thank goodness. If he hadn’t, she might have thanked him for more than the wine and the genuine interest he showed in her kid. She might have thanked him for the near-kiss, and wouldn’t that have been truly pathetic? She wasn’t hard up. She’d dated. A lot. She just hadn’t dated-dated anyone recently. Steeling her resolve, she whirled to face him. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.” He cleared his throat, obviously glad to have the hurdle out of the way. “I think Grace has the hang of things now. We talked a little about what she wants to do for her project.” He laughed quietly. “You have one ambitious girl there.”

  “Yes, she is.”

  “She must get her determination from you.”

  The compliment brought an instant smile to her lips. “Maybe a little.”

  “I’d bet all.” He took a step into the kitchen then dropped his volume a bit. “She wants to do something with clearing the neighborhood.”

  “This neighborhood?” she asked, involuntarily glancing over her shoulder toward the front door.

  “No, it’s a term we use in astronomy. She wants to study gravitational dominance and why some stars are deemed planets, and others dwarfs or masses.”

  Feeling stupid for not realizing there had to be a geekier explanation than simply picking up trash, Darla pushed away from the sink to go gather the rest of the abandoned dishes, but the wine got the better of her balance. Flailing as she stumbled, she smacked Jake square in the jaw with the back of her hand when he dared to attempt a rescue.

  “Whoa! Oh! I’m sorry,” she cried, pressing the same hand to her mouth in horror.

  “I’ll live.” He grasped her by both arms and turned her toward him, holding her steady until her feet were planted firmly beneath her.

  And then he didn’t let go.

  Afraid she’d jinx the moment if she looked directly at him, she let her gaze travel down the crisp white cotton of his oxford-cloth shirt. It was basically the same kind of shirt the boys had been required to wear under their blazers at St. Pat’s, but somehow better.

  Perhaps it was the way he’d rolled his sleeves up a couple times—an infraction sure to earn detention—or the faint shadow of his body beneath the cloth. Broad, straight shoulders. A chest with some very decent topography if her trusty oven mitt wasn’t leading her astray with the earlier assessment. And all of lean musculature tapering down to hips so narrow she wanted to wrap her legs around him and hang on for the ride.

  “Uh, Darla?”

  His voice not only rasped, but broke, lending a super-sexy, almost pleading quality to the question. In a flash, her mind filled with all the things she wanted to do to leave him panting and pleading for more.

  “Darla?”

  This time, his voice dropped a half-octave and there was a definite hush factor. She liked the husky thing, too. Husky or pleading, either one would do. Oh! Raspy begging!

  “Darla.”

  She jumped when he whisper-barked her name. The whisper-bark definitely wasn’t good. But neither was the hand she had resting on the man’s belt buckle and the other wedged into the open neck of his shirt. For cripes sake, she was stroking the poor guy’s Adam’s apple with the pad of her thumb!

  “Oh, jeez!” She yanked her hands away as if the man were radioactive.

  “God, I want to tell you not to stop,” he said gruffly, then ducked around her to turn off the water.

  Pressing one of those offending hands to her own throat, she met his gaze, hoping he meant what he said and wasn’t as completely horrified as she was. “I’m so sorry. I’m not... The wine.” Rubbing the back of her neck, she took another step away from him. “I don’t drink very often.”

  “Neither do I.” He paused for a moment, then added, “Well, I drink beer, but I hardly ever drink wine.”

  “It was good,” she said in a rush to defend their questionable consumption.

  “Yeah, but I think I had a little too much.” He wet his lips and his gaze drifted down to her mouth. “I thought maybe I could help with the dishes while my head clears a bit.”

  Heat flooded her cheeks and pooled low in her belly. So much heat she pressed her hand to her stomach. Soft. Granted, being on her feet most of the day kept her belly flat-ish, but there was a definite curve there. A soft curve that proved she was a mother, no matter how young and elastic she’d been when she’d given birth. She wasn’t young anymore, and this man was making it hard to keep her priorities in line. Truthfully, the only soft thing about Jake Dalton was the pitch of his voice. And maybe his hair. She hadn’t touched his thick, wavy hair yet. An oversight she’d have to remedy the next chance she had.

  “Darla?”

  Again with the quiet, questioning tone that made her toes curl. Tucking her foot behind her leg, she ran those wayward toes over her calf. “I, uh, I can handle things in here.”

  He stared at her, a half dozen unspoken questions shining in his dark eyes. “Do you want me to leave?”

  “Yes.” The answer came as fast as a shot from the hip, but the way he flinched made her feel like she was the one who’d taken a punch to the gut. “No!”

  He froze for a second, then tipped his head to the side. “I’m sorry, maybe it’s the wine, but I think I’m going to have to ask for further clarification.”

  She cast a longing glance at the dishes in the sink before daring to meet his eyes again. He stood there. Still. Solid. Patiently waiting. No pressure, no demands. He wanted an answer to a question. Should he stay or should he go? But what Jake Dalton and every other man who’d breezed through her life didn’t know was her life stopped being simple on the day she peed on a stick and the damn thing actually spelled out p-r-e-g-n-a-n-t.

  Drawing a deep breath, she met his gaze with a direct stare. “You go talk to Grace some more. I’ve got this.”

  “But I should help. At least let me clear the table—”

  She caught the crook of his arm as he turned to do as he offered. “I think it’d be better if you let me handle things in here.”

  He glanced down at her hand, and she unclamped her fingers. “I’d like to let you handle things in here.”

  Husky, raspy, and maybe a little creak of sincerity. Heck, who was she kidding? His voice was loaded down with a whole boatload of sincerity, and Lordy-be, he was sexy.

  She wondered if the brilliant Dr. Dalton knew he’d hit the superfecta with that magical combination. Surely she wasn’t the only woman susceptible to his charm. A man who looked like American aristocracy but happily spent an hour talking nerd with a girl who had few people in her life who knew or cared about things like eclipses and meteor showers. A hottie whose quiet confidence and innate grace made his every movement a spectacle to behold. Until he caught someone looking. Then, he became disarmingly self-conscious. And something told her she needed to be armed around this guy.

  “Don’t say things like that to me,” she said, pitching her voice low so he wouldn’t catch the quaver. “Don’t come in my kitchen and let me paw you and then tell me you want more mauling. My kid is out there.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Stop,” she snapped. “Save your niceties for the girls who didn’t blow all their chances before the Camellia Ball.”

  “Camellia Ball?” he asked, nonplussed.

  Her lip curled into a sneer. “Don’t tell me you’ve never been to one.”

  “I’ve been to lots of them, but I’m trying to understand how debutante balls figure into getting your dishes done.”

  “You know how it figures.”

  But the blank look on his face made it
clear the genius rocket scientist standing in front of her had no friggin’ idea he’d eaten his spaghetti off plates she’d picked up at a carport sale when he should have been off wining and dining one of those girls who’d kept their knees together long enough to make her all-important bow in front of all of Mobile society.

  “I’m not the sort of woman you usually spend time with, Jake. And I’m pretty sure Gracie’s a whole new demographic.”

  Surprise gave way to suspicion, then, finally, amusement. “You weren’t so sure the other night. And how do you know what kind of woman I like?”

  “Are you kidding me? Zelda Jo practically salivates each time the new issue of Upwardly Mobile hits the racks.”

  Darla’s insides seized. Zelda had no way of knowing the local society paper read like a who’s who of Darla’s childhood, and Darla’d never told her. Photographs of her parents were printed in each issue. And there was nothing Zelda Jo liked better than spotting a picture of her ‘sweet John-John’ dressed up in his tux and sporting a pretty miss on his arm.

  Jake smirked. “Hey, did you ever see the picture of Brian with Jennifer Aniston?”

  She rolled her eyes but allowed the shift in subject. She didn’t want to talk about the women Jake dated. Women like her old cheer squad nemesis, Carol Ann Watson. Or worse, the gorgeous redhead he’d danced with at the last Camellia Ball. The snapshot captured the kind of moment most young girls dream will happen to them. The handsome prince with his perfectly-fitted dinner jacket and patrician profile, and the dewy young woman in the pale pink ball gown gazing up at him as if he’d hung the friggin’ moon for her pleasure.

  “Darla?”

  Again with the gentle prompt. She was going to have to stuff a sock in his mouth to make him stop saying her name. He said it so damn well. “Yeah, I saw. Everyone saw it.”

  “They never met.” Crossing his arms over his chest, he leaned against the doorway. “The paper said they were dating, but according to Brian, they never even said hello.”