by Susan Crosby
He finally focused on her, his demeanor softening. “You look very nice, Mysterious.”
She couldn’t tell him how much she enjoyed her nickname, but she did. A lot. “Thank you.”
“I hope you’ll stay for dinner.”
She had noticed a wonderful scent in the air when she first walked into the house. Before she answered, he moved an inch or two closer.
“We’re going to be in each other’s lives for a long time, Caryn. We might as well learn to be comfortable together.”
She was comfortable—too comfortable—even as he invaded her personal space.
He laid a hand on her shoulder. “I already appreciate who you are,” he said. “A good mother, a loyal and faithful wife, and a woman of her word. I know you struggle with sharing Kevin with me, and I admire you all the more for being gracious about it.”
“You give Kevin things I can’t. I won’t deny him what you offer, even if it stings a little.” She stood a little taller. “So, what’s for dinner?”
“Pork roast, scalloped potatoes, green beans almandine and sourdough bread.”
“Are you trying to fatten me up?” She knew she would be healthier with a little more weight. Maybe it had been a big turnoff for him, holding her skinny body.
“I like good food,” he said. “And it’s even better shared.”
Good answer. “Okay. I’d love to join you for dinner.”
“We’ve got about fifteen or twenty minutes until it’s ready. Would you like something to drink? Wine? Tea?”
“White wine, thanks.”
“Go take a seat in the living room. I’ll join you in a minute.”
The last time she’d been there, she’d noticed the room only as a way of distracting herself from the high-pitched emotion of the moment. What struck her now was how restful the room was. Music came from speakers hidden somewhere, classical, nothing she could identify. The fireplace looked ready to set a match to.
She’d just taken a seat on the sofa when James joined her, a glass of white wine in each hand. She murmured her thanks. He sat on the couch, too, although not next to her.
“I keep forgetting to ask you about your bike,” she said.
“What you paid will cover the damages.”
She wondered whether that was the truth, but she figured she would never know for sure. “Will you get it back soon?”
“The new fender needs to be chromed. Next week, I think.” He laid an arm along the back of the sofa and angled toward her more. “Do you like your job?”
“It’s okay.”
“Something else you’d rather be doing?”
“I’m not trained for much else.”
“No secret passion?”
Now there was a loaded question. She hid a smile behind her wineglass as she took a sip.
When she didn’t answer, he questioned her further. “Obviously you like horses. Would you like to work with them again?”
“Are you running an employment agency for the Brenley family?” she asked, amused.
“I’m just curious.”
“Okay. Well, I think I’ve had my fill of horses, except to ride now and then. Taking care of them and the stables was hard, physical work.”
“Isn’t waitressing hard?”
“Yes, but differently. My feet take the most abuse.” She watched his gaze slide to her feet. She wore soft leather slip-ons, old and comfortable.
After a few seconds, he set down his wineglass, moved closer to her and picked up her feet.
She jackknifed forward, trying to pull free of his grasp but couldn’t. “What are you doing?”
“Pampering you a little.” He stared at her, almost unblinking, daring her with his eyes. Daring what? She swallowed. It had been so long since anyone had done anything just for her.
Well, why not give in? She let him lift her feet into his lap. He pulled off her shoes in a way that felt downright erotic, almost as sexy as if he’d undressed her. Oh, yes, it had been way too long. She closed her eyes and leaned back, then felt her glass being taken from her hand. She heard a soft tap as he put it on the coffee table.
He pushed a thumb into each instep. She drew in a hard, quick breath at the pain and pleasure his touch brought. Her fingers dug into the suede fabric. She relaxed them one at a time, then her hands, then her arms. He didn’t speak. She wasn’t sure whether she wanted the distraction of a conversation or not. Without it she focused on his touch, couldn’t ignore it.
He had magic hands, slow, steady, sensational. He deepened the pressure, rotated her ankles, massaged each toe, found every sore spot and massaged it into mush. A sigh escaped her, although sounding embarrassingly like a moan. Except for a spa day at a salon that some of her girlfriends had arranged before she moved to San Francisco, no one had touched her for longer than a second or two, and nothing as intimate as what James was doing, even though his hands never strayed farther than her ankles.
Her body warmed on its own in reaction, his touch as arousing as if he were stroking her body. The denim fabric of his jeans under her calves abraded sensually. Her knee-length skirt had slipped back enough to expose her knees and a few inches of each thigh. She decided not to yank the skirt over her knees, not wanting him to know how much his touch affected her.
Maybe she shouldn’t care. They were adults, with needs….
No. A lifetime connection awaited them through Kevin. Better to keep the relationship close but not intimate. They would share grandchildren at some point.
Grandchildren! She opened her eyes at the image.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, but not taking away his hands.
A bell began to chime, a timer, she thought, as it didn’t shut off. Saved by the bell. Dinner was ready.
His hands stilled, but he didn’t take them away. Instead he curved them over her feet, keeping them warm. “What’s wrong, Caryn?” he repeated.
Seeing him so close, feeling his legs under hers and his hands touching her bare feet, she didn’t want to have to hold back. “I just realized we will probably share grandchildren eventually.”
James froze in place. Words stuck in his throat.
“Does that make you feel old?” she asked.
“Old” was the least of it, he thought. Considering he was looking forward to becoming a father, the idea of becoming a grandfather was almost beyond comprehension. “I do not feel old,” he said. “And you don’t look old enough to be a grandmother.”
“Thank you. I don’t think I’m ready for the pitter-patter of little feet at this point in my life, either. I’m just getting Kevin out of the house, if only downstairs, so far.”
Something inside him shifted. The path to marriage and fatherhood made a sharp left turn. “A grandchild wouldn’t live with you.”
“One would hope not, anyway, but it happens. Regardless, I would be very involved. I know that about myself.” She pulled her feet free, then stood and slid her feet into her shoes. “Thank you for the foot rub. Dinner is ready, I gather?”
Maybe it was safe to enjoy a more intimate relationship, after all, he thought. She wouldn’t want marriage and children, but maybe she would be agreeable to more than friendship with him. It might complicate things later on, depending on how the relationship ended.
He would give it some thought….
He considered it all through dinner, even though they talked of other things, of Kevin and his childhood, of their own lives, of some of his funniest pursuit stories. She insisted on helping with dishes. Then the moment he shut the dishwasher he came to a decision. He wouldn’t kiss her. Wouldn’t take a chance that their lifelong relationship-to-come would be damaged by a short-lived affair, which it would have to be. She didn’t want children. Plus, they had a child together already. That couldn’t be acknowledged to the world in general. Enough strangeness existed in the relationship without adding to it. Why complicate it?
“I’d like to see your garden before I go,” she said.
You’re going
already? It had been a long time since he’d enjoyed himself as he had over dinner. Maybe Cassie was right. Maybe he’d been aiming too young. There was something to be said for life experience.
The up lights he’d installed around the yard spotlighted elegant trees and a bed of mums in full bloom. They walked a winding path.
“This is so nice,” she said, looking up at a liquid amber tree. “We used to have one of these,” she said, walking toward it.
Along the way she dipped her fingers in a birdbath, and her smile turned into a grin.
He shook his head slowly, cautioning her, anticipating what she was about to do.
But she ignored his warning and flicked a few drops of water at him and ran. He threatened her, then caught up with her. They were both smiling.
She rested her back against the liquid amber, catching her breath, and reached up to pluck a leaf from a nearby branch. Her fingers worked at it, shredding it thoroughly, then she sprinkled the shreds over his head and laughed when he shook them off and onto her instead.
She was a dangerous woman when she smiled at him like that. He knew her life wasn’t easy, that she’d suffered a lot, some of it needlessly because of Paul’s gambling addiction, but she seemed to be moving on. He didn’t want to do anything to hurt that process. But damn, when she looked at him as she was…
He brushed his hand over her head, dusting away the leaf bits. Then somehow he was cupping her face with one hand, then the other. He’d kissed her yesterday, but that was different. That was almost in sympathy. This would not be. Tell me if you want me to stop, he told her silently.
If she answered, it was silent, too. She lifted toward him. Her arms slipped around his waist. Their lips touched. Melded. Opened. She rose on tiptoe; he wrapped her in his arms to keep her steady…and close…and closer yet. Hints of mint-chocolate-chip ice cream flavored the kiss. What started cool, heated. Mint and chocolate gave way to destiny. There was no other way to describe how he felt, how she felt to him, how they felt together, as if they’d both been waiting for this moment since they’d created a life together anonymously all those years ago.
He angled closer, pressed her to the tree. His chest cushioned her breasts, which had nourished his son, their son. He slid his hands to her sides, his palms pressing the sides of her breasts. She stopped kissing him back, stopped moving, and waited instead, not breaking contact, but just waiting. He lifted his head, held her gaze, moved his hands until he covered her breasts, her nipples hard against his palms. After a moment she grasped his wrists. He stopped, but she shook her head, closed her eyes and used her hands to make his move.
Ahh. Permission. He watched her face transform with ecstasy as he toyed with her nipples through the lightweight T-shirt and flimsy bra. He slipped a leg between hers, pressed his thigh to the apex and reveled in the way she tipped her head back farther, her lips parted, a low, throaty sound more than hinting at her response. He nipped at her earlobe, dragged his tongue down her neck, under the neckline of her shirt. He caught her knee, dragged her leg up and alongside his. She drew a long, hissing breath as he moved his thigh in circles against her. She whispered his name. He closed his mouth over her breast, pulled lightly at the hard peak under the two layers of fabric.
Then she moved her hands, pressed them to his chest and pushed him back, not roughly but with determination.
“I can’t,” she said, panting, her forehead pressed to his.
“Can’t what?”
“Do this. Us. It’s so fast. There’s so much to consider. Not just how good it would feel for now, for the moment. There’s later….”
How good it would feel. He had no doubt it would feel spectacular. How she found the strength to stop amazed him. Her wholehearted response taunted him. He wanted to pleasure her, just to feel her go wild in his arms. He didn’t care if he didn’t…
“Just let me—” he kissed her, ran his tongue around her lips “—take care of you.”
Her breath went raggedy. “I can’t…let you…do that.”
“Sure you can.”
“But…what about you?”
“Another time, maybe. Let me, Mysterious. Please.” Their lips were touching, breath mingling. The air was saturated with the scent of her arousal, a silent beggar demanding satisfaction.
“What would you do?” Her voice was hushed, her interest clear.
“Let me show you.” He waited a few seconds. He would give her a preview of what they could have together, even if only for a little while. An affair to satisfy their curiosity and get that out of the way. Those questions would be answered, and their relationship could settle in without ever having to wonder what it would’ve been like to make love. “You don’t want to leave it like this.”
“You’re right. I don’t want to, but I have to. I’m sorry.”
He took a step back, not angry but surprised and disappointed.
“I should go,” she said, hesitation turning her words almost into a question.
“Okay.” He had to believe there would be another time, another opportunity.
“I’ll see myself out,” she said, before moving quietly through the yard and into the house. He roused himself from his stupor and followed her, arriving at the bottom of his front steps just as she pulled away from the curb. She waved. He just watched.
Then as he started back into the house he noticed a car parked nearby. Dark, two-door sedan, typical of cop undercovers. He saw the silhouette of a man inside. It struck James that the same car had been there earlier, when he’d come outside to greet Caryn—yet the guy hadn’t followed her when she left a minute ago, a good sign. James walked close enough to see the license plate, then closer still to check out the man inside, who turned away as James approached. He kept walking, past the car to the newspaper rack at the corner. He bought a paper and headed back to his house.
Hours later the car pulled out.
In the morning it was back.
Eleven
James had a plan. He called Cassie, and she agreed to drive to his house, park out of sight of the stranger, then follow if he followed James. A direct confrontation would’ve suited him more, but would accomplish nothing except to hear a lie, probably, and tip the guy off that he’d been spotted. It was better to know who and where your enemies were.
Cassie reached James by cell phone when she arrived. Deciding that if he were a target of some sort, he would’ve been hit the night before, he went down to his garage and backed out his work car, as if nothing were different. He hit the speaker phone and dialed Cass’s cell number as he headed up the street.
“He’s not following you,” Cassie said.
James could see that and was glad to be wrong, although he wondered who in the neighborhood was under surveillance, and by whom, and why. “Stay put for a few minutes. I’ll come around and park behind you, then you can take off. I want to see what he’s up to.”
“Sure. How’s every— Hold on. He’s getting out of his car…. Jamey, he’s opening your side gate. He’s in your backyard.”
James sped up. “Is he carrying anything?”
“Nothing I can see. I’ll go for a little stroll in front of your house.”
“Yeah, okay. You armed?”
“Yep.”
He made the final turn that brought him back to his street, spotted a parking space and spent little time trying to park straight. He slammed the gearshift into Park and jogged toward his house, turning his cell phone to vibrate as he ran. With gestures only, he signaled Cassie to stand at the bottom of his steps, then he pulled out his gun, lifted the gate latch and crept into his yard until he could peer through some bushes at the back of the house.
A short, muscular man with a shaved head stood at James’s back door, running his fingers around it, probably checking for a security system.
Baldy inched to a nearby window, peered in, then checked it for wires, too. To get him for breaking and entering, James had to be patient and let him do what he’d planned. The sil
ent alarm would trigger a signal to a pager in James’s pocket, which he’d already turned off, and at his office, which meant that his boss, Quinn Gerard, would come running, if he was there.
Baldy pulled a cell phone from his jacket pocket and appeared to punch a speed dial button. James picked up a word now and then but not whole sentences. He gathered that the guy was asking for advice. James heard the words alarm and risk. Then the cell phone was put away and he looked around the yard. James jerked back, out of sight. The sound of glass breaking followed. Baldy had broken in. The alarm was triggered, but he didn’t know it yet.
James peeked around the corner again. The guy stood in place as if waiting for an alarm or a neighbor. When he decided enough time had passed, he reached through the broken glass on the back door and unlocked it. Glass crunched under his feet as he tiptoed into the house.
James followed.
He crouched as he ran under the windows then slipped silently into his house, scraping the glass bits from the bottom of his shoes before he stepped onto the kitchen floor. He swore silently. He hadn’t let Cassie know he’d gone in. Bad move, going in without backup, even though he’d done it for years as a bounty hunter. He knew better. Too late now, though. At least she would be guarding the front.
Noise came from his office, the sound of paper being shuffled. He moved with his back to the wall, inching his way toward the room. When he reached the doorway he peered in. Baldy was stuffing Paul’s papers into the boxes James had emptied last night. All that work, all the sorting James had done, was in shambles.
“Hands up!” James shouted as he entered the room, blocking the doorway, his weapon drawn.
Wearing his panic like a too-big overcoat, Baldy sought an escape route.
“Put the box down and your hands up,” James said, making a point of aiming his gun at the man’s heart.
Baldy bent over then suddenly heaved the box at James’s midsection, spinning him around and almost knocking him over as the crook sped out of the room, adrenaline giving him extra speed and strength. James had no defensible reason to shoot him, so he went after him, lunging, catching him by the jacket and yanking, but the guy slipped out of the sleeves and kept going—through the kitchen, across the broken glass, out the back door, into the yard, over the fence.
