Only You

by Bonnie Pega

  “I guess Jordan, or, ah, your husband isn’t allergic to cats.” Was it obvious to her that he was fishing for information on her marital status?

  “Neither Jordan nor I are allergic to cats.”

  She hadn’t mentioned a husband, Max thought in relief. Surely, if she were married, she’d have said something about her husband. “Hmm? What?” Max realized that Caitlin had been speaking to him.

  “I said,” she repeated patiently, “that I’m going to take care of my calls now. I usually eat lunch around twelve-thirty or one. You’re welcome to join me if you like.”

  “That would be fine, thanks. Would you like me to order something?” Max asked, thinking of Super Subs with their deluxe heros piled high with hot peppers or Piggy’s Pizza and its everything-but-the-kitchen-sink pizza.

  “If you don’t mind.” Caitlin smiled. “There’s a terrific place just a couple of blocks away that delivers. The number is on the green label stuck on the side of the telephone.”

  When she had left the office, Max called the number, only to be told the day’s specials included grilled tofu with lemon, tabouli with chopped walnuts, and hummus sandwiches. Lord, no, Max thought. He wasn’t going to order that slop. It wasn’t even fit for an animal. Well, he amended, thinking of Charlemagne, maybe for one animal. Wasn’t it nice of Caitlin, though, to order from them just because they happened to be close. However, nice was one thing Max wasn’t when it came to his food. He’d order in some real dishes, he thought with satisfaction. Caitlin would probably appreciate a decent meal.

  Caitlin spent the next hour in the back of the greenhouse at the phone extension, trying to track down American ginseng. As she hung up after finalizing an order for eighty pounds, she felt the back of her neck prickle and turned to see Max standing behind her, watching her. She wondered how long he’d been there. “Hi,” she said, feeling somewhat shy.

  “Lunch is in the office.”

  “Um, thanks. I’ll be right in.” Caitlin turned, walked over to the sink, and rinsed her hands. She hoped Max had gotten the tabouli. The Garden made really great tabouli. The grilled tofu sandwiches weren’t bad either, and the house salad with yogurt dressing was outstanding. Her mouth watering, she pushed open the door to the office.

  She nearly groaned aloud, her appetite shrinking like a wool sweater in hot water. Chinese food. She couldn’t eat Chinese food. It wasn’t just that it happened to be sweet and sour pork—she didn’t eat meat—but it had lots of monosodium glutamate. Monosodium glutamate gave her hives. She was about ready to tell Max, when she saw how neatly everything was arranged. The desk was cleared and plates, along with napkins, set in place as carefully as if they were china and not just paper.

  He had gone to great pains, and Caitlin couldn’t bring herself to say anything except “Oh, you shouldn’t have gone to so much trouble.” In fact, she wished he hadn’t.

  “It was no trouble at all,” he replied cheerfully. “I thought this would be something we could both enjoy.”

  When he smiled that boyish yet disturbingly masculine smile, Caitlin resigned herself to a long night of itching.

  Lunch was quiet as Max ate with enthusiasm and Caitlin unobtrusively picked out the green pepper and pineapple, leaving the pork on the plate. After the meal Caitlin explained her general office procedure—or more precisely, her lack of it. To Max’s credit, he said nothing, though had he been the type to raise his eyebrows, they would have long since disappeared beneath the thatch of hair that fell across his brow.

  Interesting, he thought more than once over the course of the afternoon, Caitlin seemed to make a concerted effort not to be organized. After all, in an office as small as hers, it wouldn’t be any more trouble to tuck something in a folder than it was to dig through stacks of paper for it. As a matter of fact, it would be less.

  Considering how carefully she tried to control her feelings, it was an interesting contradiction. Perhaps, he mused, she wasn’t as controlled as she wanted everyone to think. Maybe she was trying to suppress a creative, passionate nature and the sloppiness and lack of organization were simply outlets for those stifled emotions. A sudden jolt ran through Max, and he knew he wanted to be there the day she gave her creativity and passion free rein.

  He had one more piece to the puzzle that was Caitlin, a puzzle that he desperately yearned to put together. Most of all, he wanted to figure out why she avoided physical contact. Was it him in particular or contact in general? In the office it was next to impossible to move around without brushing by each other. But instead of saying a friendly “excuse me,” Caitlin would lower her eyes and draw in her breath.

  When K.C. came in at one-thirty, Max discovered that it wasn’t just him after all. K.C., a tall, gangly teenage boy, burst through the office door with a whoop. He grabbed Caitlin and swung her around while yelling something about a girl named Diana and Friday night. No sooner had he set Caitlin down than Max saw her run a trembling hand through her hair.

  “Goodness, K.C.!” she exclaimed with a smile, even though Max could swear to a slight tremor in her voice. “You want to calm down and say it in plain English?”

  “She said, yes, Caitlin. We’re going out Friday night.”

  “That’s terrific. Where are you going to take her?”

  “Gosh, I hadn’t thought about that.” He paused, frowning. “It’ll have to be someplace kinda classy, but not too classy. Don’t want it to look like I’m showing off, you know. Maybe we could go to the …” Still muttering to himself, he stalked through the office door and headed toward the back of the greenhouse.

  “Hey, wait!” Caitlin called after him. “How’s your mom feeling?” K.C. was Martha’s son.

  “Better,” he hollered back.

  Caitlin turned to Max with an apologetic shrug. “Sorry about the interruption. But K.C. has had a crush on Diana since he met her last summer. This date is the culmination of a year’s worth of work.” She reached up a hand and absently scratched the back of her neck. “Anyway, let’s get back to this.”

  While Max went over a rudimentary filing system, his brain busily catalogued a new fact about Ms. Caitlin Alexandra Love. It wasn’t just that she disliked being touched. He’d met a few people before who simply disliked too-familiar physical contact. No, Caitlin feared it. Max was taken aback by the way this made him feel—fiercely protective of her and violently angry at who or what had caused her to become this way.

  He kept casting covert glances at her, and every time she met his eye, she squirmed uncomfortably and rubbed her arms. He made her nervous—or so it seemed to him until she reached across to get a pencil, and he saw angry red patches beginning to show on her forearms. “Good Lord!” he exclaimed as he leaned over and grasped the arm she was carelessly scratching. “What’s this?”

  Caitlin looked down and, even though she’d been expecting it, blinked when she saw the characteristic blotches of hives all over her left arm. She’d been so engrossed listening to Max that she’d hardly noticed the itching had started. “Oh, um”—she tried without success to extricate her arm from his hold—“it’s nothing. Just hives.”

  “Just hives? It looks awful. Don’t you have anything to put on it?”

  “I have some cream in my purse. I’ll just get it and—”

  Without releasing her, Max snared the shoulder strap of her purse from her chair. He hauled it across the desk and unceremoniously dumped the contents out, zeroing in on the tube of prescription cream. He released her arm only long enough to uncap the tube and squeeze a generous amount into the palm of his hand. Grabbing her arm again, he began to apply the cream in long, smooth strokes.

  “No, I’ll put it on,” Caitlin said quickly, but he ignored her and continued to massage in the cream. Her skin tingled everywhere he touched it and her left hand and wrist felt peculiarly weak and languid. Her breath seemed to catch in her throat. As a matter of fact, she couldn’t take a normal breath at all until Max let go of her arm.

  She drew in air
only to have it catch again when Max took the other arm into his gentle hands and began to apply the cream. The characteristic panic that normally set in at close contact loomed its ugly head, but subsided under the almost mesmerizing rhythm of his stroking.

  It felt so good, so right to touch her, Max thought hazily as his hands caressed her forearms. And whether she knew it or not, she was a woman who needed to be touched often. But in the right way and by the right man. And he was the right man.

  Shocked by what he was thinking, he released her abruptly. “I, uh, think I’ll go outside for a few minutes and walk around. It’s got to be cooler out there than in here.”

  Yeah, in more ways than one, Caitlin thought, absently running her fingers over the arm he’d been caressing. No, she corrected herself, he’d been massaging in allergy cream. If his touch had felt unusually good, it was only because the cream was so cool and soothing. With a decisive nod Caitlin turned and picked up the telephone, now easily found on the cleared desk.

  She was in the middle of a detailed conversation when Max reentered the office. Her eyes met his and she paused in the middle of a sentence, then made a concerted effort to get her scattered thoughts back together. “Um, I beg your pardon, Luther, could you repeat that last price again?”

  She hastily scribbled something on a scrap of paper. “Well, thanks, and if you come across a source on the Salix alba, give me a call.… No, I don’t want the Salix purpurea.… Well, because my customer doesn’t want the purpurea.… Let’s face it, Luther, in our line of work you give the customer what he wants, and what he wants is the alba.… Thanks again.”

  “May I ask what Salix alba is?”

  She made an effort not to meet his gaze again. “It’s willow bark. White willow, to be precise. It’s used for medicinal purposes.”

  “What for?” Max sounded skeptical.

  “For pain relief.”

  “Why not take an aspirin?” Max asked reasonably.

  “Willow bark contains salicin, which converts to salicylic acid in the body. Salicylic acid is the major component in aspirin.”

  “So, why not take an aspirin?” Max repeated.

  “Because,” Caitlin explained patiently, “some people don’t want man-made chemicals cluttering up their bodies.”

  “Is this what you take when you have a headache?”

  “No.” Smiling, Caitlin finally looked up at him. “I take aspirin.”

  Max gave an answering grin, then sobered and murmured, “You know, you’re one beautiful lady when you smile.” He reached out a hand and ran it down her cheek.

  Caitlin’s smile faltered, then faded altogether under his scrutiny. Without thinking, she pressed her cheek into his palm and ran her tongue over her lips, all the while gazing into his eyes. Such a blue, she thought. Robin’s-egg blue, periwinkle blue … She trailed off as she saw the message in his eyes. He was going to kiss her. His head tilted to one side as his hand cupped her cheek, his thumb running over her bottom lip.

  She felt her breasts swell and tingle, and a strange warmth pooled in her abdomen. Wordlessly, she waited, mesmerized by the sudden flame that sparked to life in his gaze. But as he bent his head toward hers, that old familiar demon she’d lived with for seven years loomed in her mind. Its dark shadow blotted out everything but the fear that always lurked nearby.

  Her sharply indrawn breath and the sudden stiffening of her body let Max know he’d moved too fast. Someday, sweet Cait, he thought. Someday soon. He let his hand drop and said with a studied casualness, “Well, I need to be going now. I have to check back in at the office before it gets too late. Did you need the address of that office supply warehouse we discussed?”

  At Caitlin’s bemused nod he fished through his wallet and pulled out a card. “Ask for Donald and tell him you’re there at my recommendation. He’ll give you a discount. See you on Monday.” Max gave a jaunty smile and left, feeling pleased with his acting ability.

  In total bewilderment Caitlin stared at the doorway he’d just walked through. Had she read him wrong? She must have, because she could have sworn he’d intended to kiss her. She leaned back against the edge of the desk, her heart still pounding, and shook her head, torn between relief and disappointment. What a strange man, she thought. Strange and nerve-racking. And intriguing.

  Three

  * * *

  “That’ll be fine. See you then.” Caitlin hung up the telephone and smiled at the receiver. It was certainly kind of Max to offer to run by her house with some papers for her to sign. With dawning horror she looked down at herself. Not only was her house a disaster, but so was she. She’d been working in her yard and was hot and sweaty and dirty.

  Why hadn’t he called when she and Jordan had just gotten home from Sunday school a couple of hours earlier, perfectly groomed and dressed to the hilt? Now she looked like somebody’s disreputable kid brother, in torn jeans, baggy sweatshirt, and dilapidated sneakers. Grass stains, garden soils, and a fine layer of the pulverized lime she’d been applying to her lawn covered almost all of her.

  She didn’t have time to clean both the house and herself, so which would it be? Caitlin thought of her living room. At one end of the sofa, a stack of laundry sat, waiting to be put away. The Sunday paper was strewn across the coffee table and the floor—whatever floor space wasn’t covered with Lego building bricks—and at least two dirty juice glasses cluttered the top of a dusty television.

  Then Caitlin glanced down at herself and made her decision. The living room would just have to look lived in.

  Caitlin hastily put away her yard tools and hurried to the bathroom. “Jordie?” she called out as she turned on the shower. “Come down to the living room and scrape up your Legos and put them away. Okay?”

  “Aw, Mom, I’m building something. Can’t I do it later?”

  “Jordie, please. Mr. Shore is dropping by in a little while. He’s not used to kids. He’ll kill himself walking across the living room. Now, get them up, okay?”

  “But Mom—”

  “Jordan Reynolds Love, I said now, please.” Caitlin waited until she heard grudging footsteps coming down the stairs before closing the bathroom door and hurriedly stepping into the shower.

  She was toweling her hair dry when she heard Jordan’s muffled voice through the door. “I can’t hear you, honey,” she called. “I’ll be out in a minute.” Tucking a towel securely around her, she opened the door and walked into the living room. “Jordan? What—?” She stopped short.

  Seated on the sofa, Max had been surveying the cluttered surroundings, and when he saw Caitlin his mouth went dry. Lord, she was beautiful all over. Her damp hair hung in burnished gold ringlets, giving her a little-girl look. The full breasts straining at the towel were anything but a little girl’s, however. And her legs—beautiful legs, gorgeous legs, legs meant to be wrapped around a man’s waist.

  Her skin was the color of rich cream and shone with thousands of water droplets that were like dew on a white rose, Max thought. A sharp pang of hunger shot through him, bringing him to his feet. “Caitlin,” he began, then stopped at the dry husky sound of his voice.

  “What are you doing here?” Caitlin squeaked. “You’re early.” Then she added, “Where’s Jordan?”

  “He, ah, said to tell you he was going to get Jerry and show him my car phone.” Max’s eyes fastened with hungry fascination on the rosy blush that began at the top of her breasts and spread rapidly up her cheeks. He reached out a hand to trace the path of an errant drop of water that slid sinuously down over her collarbone.

  Breathlessly Caitlin looked down and watched his fingers. Licking suddenly dry lips, she stepped away. “Well, if you’ll excuse me,” Caitlin said with as much dignity as she could muster under the circumstances, “I’ll go get dressed.”

  A smile, both boyish and wicked, lit Max’s face. “Oh, don’t bother on my account.”

  “I’m doing it on my own account,” Caitlin muttered as she walked down the hall to her bedroom. “I do
n’t want to catch a chill from the draft.”

  When Caitlin entered the living room a few minutes later, she wore white cotton slacks—just so he’d know she didn’t always wear jeans—and a yellow scoop-neck T-shirt. Yellow clips held her damp hair back from her face. She hoped she looked as poised and collected as he did in his navy suit, white shirt, and burgundy striped tie. Didn’t he ever wear anything but suits? Caitlin found herself wondering.

  Still preoccupied with remembering what Caitlin had looked like a few minutes before, Max hardly noticed what she wore now. He’d better think about her in that towel later, in private, he realized as the fit of his trousers became a little less comfortable. He shifted position.

  “Ah, Caitlin …” He paused as his mind searched desperately for the reason he’d dropped by. Oh, yeah. “I have a copy of our standard contract for you to sign. The fee we discussed is listed on the second page. If you’d like to take a day or two to go over it with your attorney, please feel free.” And if you want to take a year or two to go over anything at all with me, feel free to do that too, he found himself thinking wistfully.

  Caitlin wasn’t in the frame of mind to go over important business details. She couldn’t give them the attention they needed when Max Shore and the look in his eye preoccupied her. A hot flicker in the blue depths said that he remembered exactly how she appeared less clothed. And that he approved wholeheartedly.

  She wondered fancifully how Max would look wrapped in only a towel. His usually conservative hair would be mussed, and the curls of hair on his chest would be glistening with water droplets. An arrow of hair would disappear under the edge of the towel and…

  She took a deep breath. “I believe I will,” she said quickly. “I mean, I’d like to have my attorney look it over.” Not that she had an attorney, but if Max thought she should have one, then so be it.