“It’s dinner.” She looked up as Jonah walked over to the wine cooler. “That shouldn’t be too difficult to figure out.”
“There are so many decisions to make.” Jen’s voice held a combination of frustration and tears. “Too many choices. I don’t know what to do.”
“The country club had us in for the sample session.” Dave cut in to enlighten her. “We made a decision on the soup. French onion. My favorite.”
He planted a kiss on her daughter’s cheek, and the distinct sound of lips making contact with skin was picked up and transmitted by the sensitive microphone.
Which could go the other way just as easily and reveal she had a guest.
She stole a glance in Jonah’s direction just as he turned carrying a full glass of red wine. Hoping mere eye contact would transmit the nature of her concern, to her amazement, it worked. He let her know with a subtle hand up, palm aimed outward, no way would he make any undue noise until she disconnected the call.
Dave’s clear voice broke in. “And now we’ve moved on to the salad.”
Jonah held onto the gaze Cynthia waited a tad too long to give up.
“Mother. Are you listening?”
“What. Of course. I was just—” Her gaze skittered to the screen then strayed back to Jonah. “A cardinal is on the feeder out the back window. He’s pretty.”
“I’m sure. There are three choices.” Her daughter held up a sheet of pale yellow paper with lines of centered type.
Making a show of squinting, Cynthia leaned forward. “This technology is good, but I can’t read what it says from here.”
Jen turned the page around, and her frown deepened. “I wish you could. We started out with five choices...” She looked down at the paper as her voice trailed off.
“We eliminated two right off the bat.” Dave spoke up to finish her thought. “Some broccoli and mushroom concoction neither of us cared for.”
“And number five was a mixture of fresh chopped peppers in an aspic base.”
“We both hate aspic.” He made a disgusted face, and Jen laughed.
Hazarding another glance Jonah’s way, Cynthia was oddly touched when he offered her a patient smile. “What are the three remaining choices?”
“Let’s see.” Jen’s tone had become distracted, then papers shuffled, and Cynthia tapped her bare foot on the floor. “It’s not here. Oh wait. Some of the pages must still be over on the table. Just a minute.”
Cynthia took advantage of the temporary reprieve to glance up to see what Jonah was doing. Eyes raised and focused on the ceiling, he seemed to be lost in thought. No, more than that, he was a million miles away. She had no clue where he’d gone, but took the opportunity to study the rest of him.
Dress shirt unbuttoned. His slacks hooked only, no zipper, no belt and bare feet propped up on the coffee table. All suggesting both casual comfort and intense intimacy. Sitting on the left side of the couch, his right arm was draped over the back of it. The one that would be protectively draped over her if they hadn’t been interrupted.
A lovely mix of light and dark hair peppered his chest then picked up again on a flat stomach just above his waistband. He moved the side of one foot to rest casually on his other knee.
Leaving an open gap in the fly of his boxers. Heat rushed up from her chest and hit her neck like lava spewing from a suddenly active volcano. Droplets of sweat burst out of the pores on her upper lip and along her hair line.
“A lettuce wedge with bleu cheese dressing and diced tomato garnish.”
As Jen’s voice intruded, Cynthia’s head jerked up. “What?” She cleared her throat.
“Do you think that could work?”
Cynthia resettled her bottom in the chair and crossed her legs. Then had to blink twice before she remembered exactly what they were talking about. “That sounds good.”
“Is there something else you need to do?” Jen squared up so her entire face filled the screen, scrutinizing gaze and all.
“No. Why?”
“You seem a little distracted. And you’re flushing, Mother. What’s going on?”
It took all she had in her to keep from taking more than a split second glance in Jonah’s direction. “Change of life, darling. Change of life. Go on.”
Jen took a moment to eye her curiously, and Cynthia merely smiled.
“There’s a mixture of baby greens, razor thin sliced tomatoes, cucumbers and onions with cognac vinaigrette—” Her daughter read directly from the sheet. “—and slivered almonds, or a conventional tossed salad with an assortment of dressings served table side.”
She looked up just as her mother’s full attention returned to the screen. “Do you have a preference?”
“Not really.”
“I forgot. You’ve never been a fan of salads.”
Out of the corner of her eye she caught Jonah resettling himself in much the same way she had.
“I think the second. Baby greens sound like your best bet.” She hadn’t meant to speak so loud, and concentrated on lowering her tone. “You have to also consider what would be easiest to eat. A lettuce wedge is more of a knife and fork kind of salad.”
“Are you in your bathrobe? It’s the middle of the afternoon where you are. Are you sick or something?”
“No.” Cynthia closed the material at her throat, then released the collar to fall open again.
“Then why are you in your bathrobe?”
Because I’ve just been made love to by a man who took great care, and a certain measure of pride, in pleasing the woman he was with.
“What difference does it make?” Dave posed the question and Cynthia could have kissed him. “We’re working on the menu here. Let’s focus, ladies. Please.”
“Well excuse me for being concerned about my mother.”
He looked Cynthia’s way in a silent plea for help.
“I’m not sick. Just lazy today. So stop bickering, you two.”
“I thought you worked all week now,” Jen pressed.
“I took the day off to get some housework done. Then this afternoon I—uh—decided to take a nap.”
She hoped to God the heat making a re-run through her didn’t color her cheeks.
“I vote for the baby greens salad, too.” Her future son-in-law’s voice held a portion of relief she could definitely relate to.
“Okay, I can go with baby greens,” Jen agreed. “Now what should we choose for the main course?”
Cynthia’s head shot up again and, while her daughter’s attention had returned to the menu paper, she and the prospective groom exchanged pained expressions.
The mother of the bride was quick to provide advice. “Stay away from seafood. Not everyone cares for seafood.”
“Unlike you.” Jen smiled. “Who’s a real shellfish fanatic.”
“Some people are allergic, too.” That came from Dave who all of a sudden looked very, very pleased with himself.
“He has a point, sweetheart. I’ve never met anyone allergic to chicken or beef.”
Jonah set down his glass then absently licked his lips, and Cynthia longed to feel the warmth of those lips along her neck, across her shoulders and—
“Funny you should say that.” Her daughter waved papers back and forth. “We have six chicken and beef combination choices. Here’s one, Chicken Florentine.”
Making her tone sound interested, Cynthia murmured, “Spinach is good.”
“Chicken Kiev and medallions of beef, chicken cacciatore and pepper steak are some of the other choices.”
“Yuck.” Cynthia made a face which Jonah mimicked before breaking into a wide grin.
Dave and her daughter laughed, but all she wanted to hear was the laugh she knew Jonah held inside.
“That does sound ghastly.” Jen looked up briefly before her attention returned to the papers.
“You really don’t need a firm decision on everything tonight do you?” Cynthia tried to recapture the words, but it was too late as guilt set in big time.
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Way to go. First chance at some uninhibited pleasure and you no longer have time for your only daughter.
“No, we don’t.” Jen set down the papers. “You’re right. My head is swimming with details. I wish you were here. Physically here.”
“I will be there in another week. Then I have to come back for a few days for sessions I can’t miss.” She raised her voice to counter Jen’s imminent protest. “I’ll be back with you the Tuesday before the wedding.”
“I don’t know what you have planned.” Dave put one arm around Jen. “But we can find something else besides wedding details to occupy the evening.”
“Me, too.” Cynthia made the reply before thinking then laughed to cover it up.
“I don’t think Dave was trying to be funny, Mother.”
“His response was cute, that’s all.” She glanced at Jonah. “Endearing.”
“Your mother thinks I’m endearing. And on that high note, let’s end the call. We’ll be in touch when we’ve cut the menu choices down to say ten, Mother Buckingham?”
“Sounds good.” Cynthia’s finger hovered over the disconnect button. “Love you both, bye.”
“Love you, Moth—”
Flouncing back, she sighed then glanced over at Jonah. “I’m sorry. That took so much longer than I expected.”
“I really didn’t mind. That conversation you just had gave me a chance to learn a little about you. Like the fact that you’re a real seafood fiend, like me.”
She was sitting beside him by the time he finished speaking, and a ration of heat wrapped around her heart. “There’s really not much more than that to learn.”
“I would have to disagree. You didn’t tell your daughter about being mugged.” He settled her against him and smoothed the hair back from her temple. “How come?”
“For what purpose?”
“Because she’s family. She could maybe offer some moral support. Comfort.”
I have you for that. “Moral support is for mothers to provide, not daughters.”
“I think you’re wrong.”
She left his embrace to look up at him. “You have a right to your opinion.”
“I do, don’t I? And while we’re on that subject, let me ask you this. Has anyone ever called you Cindy?”
“Not that I’m aware of. Okay, maybe a few times in grade school, but that’s all. For some reason, the name didn’t stick.”
He pulled her back into his arms. “Cynthia is so formal. You seem more carefree. Like a Cindy to me.”
“Do I now?”
“Yes, you do. To me.”
When she gazed up at him again, clear brown eyes simmered a promise she couldn’t refuse. The lips that bestowed so much pleasure quirked into the beginnings of a sweet smile. Warm hands found their way to the surface of her skin. The shadow of misgiving—that they were getting too close—vanished as his lips found hers again.
This was how she wanted to be with Jonah Colt.
No demands. No expectations. No chance to be hurt.
Then he’d be gone as easily as he’d arrived.
Chapter Ten
It had never been his intention to deceive her. Jonah Colt never set out to do much more than have a good time when someone like Cynthia Buckingham literally fell into his life.
Alone in his living room on a Saturday, kicked back in the dark brown leather recliner, he’d sat for so long he hadn’t noticed the room growing darker as late afternoon gave way to early evening.
A million dollar view through floor to ceiling windows had been a major selling point when he bought the top floor condo five years ago. But when was the last time he’d actually slowed down long enough to enjoy it?
The shades were drawn on a sight that was only worth seeing in the day time anyway. A man made forest was to the right, complete with squirrels, birds and other indigenous critters. And to the left, a precisely trimmed and pruned golf course stretched along the edge of the city. Also man made. Another one of the original attractions when he bought the place, thinking he’d like to learn to play. Then finding out, after a year of lessons, the pace of the sport bored him to tears.
He didn’t like golf because he didn’t like golf. Period. Not because he was losing interest in life or in any other damned way becoming depressed or anti-social. Nor was he embarking on any excessive behaviors involving liquor, sex or drugs.
What could he say? Two out of three wasn’t bad.
The last swallow of the two fingers of high end vodka he’d indulged in gave off a subtle heat as the thick liquid slid down his throat and trickled into an empty stomach.
As he moved to put his glass on the table, it slipped sideways on a clatter. With his legs pushed down to bring the chair upright, he steadied the tumbler to set it firmly on its base. Then snatched it up as he stood to walk out to the kitchen where he opened the dishwasher, dumped the glass onto the top shelf then slammed the door.
There. Evidence disposed of.
Turning back toward the living room, he stopped and shook his head.
Why in hell did he feel so strongly he had to hide anything?
Because alcohol abuse is a prime symptom of post-traumatic stress disorder. Which made his over-reaction so much bullshit.
One shot of hard liquor—his first in a couple of weeks—and prior to an evening out hardly meant he was a problem drinker.
So what made him think maybe he was one? Run of the mill stressors happened to everyone. They were part of being human in a modern world. Part of being alive. What separated man from the other animals of the Earth. Which didn’t explain why he had begun to tear apart every detail of every recollection of his time in the warzone as if he was some psycho frickin’ time bomb set to go off at the slightest provocation.
Because he’d lied to her, and he couldn’t stand himself for it.
Except, he had no choice. Because every time the subject came up involving one of her patients, she reacted with such pity, which was a short hop to disdain.
Not how he wanted women—correction—that woman to view him. Because turned out, near as he could tell, she needed him. Not the other way around.
Hands on his hips, he arched his back and lifted his gaze to the cathedral ceiling.
This brief affair with Ms. Cynthia Buckingham—or Cindy as he preferred—wasn’t supposed to turn out the way it had. He never expected to care so much. Even the three mile jog through the so called forest had done nothing to quiet his mood.
Flinging his bedroom door open with a force that sent the doorknob crashing against the inside wall, he stripped off navy sweat pants and dirty briefs along with the well-worn Detroit Tigers tee shirt.
Two wrist shots sent his lighter clothing spiraling into the hamper by the bathroom door. The heavier sweatpants required a one-armed scoop then a slam dunk. But when he stepped into the adjoining bathroom and looked in the mirror, he could have sworn Cynthia Buckingham—Cindy—stood behind him, peeking over his shoulder.
On a groan, he bent over the sink. With both faucets going full force, he splashed water on his face, scrubbing at his skin until it felt like he’d taken a sand blaster to it.
Head up, he studied his eyes in the mirror and decided their clarity was definitely improving. When he first returned from his final tour of duty, every time he caught sight of himself either at home in the mirror while he shaved or in a store window on his way to work, he was struck by how empty and vacant his gaze was. Leaning toward his reflection, he scrutinized his irises, the whites of his eyes, his lids. Light and meaning filled his eyes again. A change he’d noticed shortly after that special woman came into his life.
Standing naked like he always did during this hygiene routine, he brushed his teeth then shaved before he climbed into the shower. Once he soaped up, he was fully engrossed in thoughts of her. Because the last time he’d showered like this, she was beside him. Before him—behind him.
Whatever!
Ducking his head, he gave himself a blast of cold
water before he spun the taps to off. A vigorous towel dry, splash of aftershave, sweep of deodorant stick under each arm then a quick blow dry and he was ready to go.
He paused for one final check in the steamed up mirror and smiled.
Almost ready to go.
Back in the bedroom, he pulled a pair of black jeans and a white cable knit sweater out of the walk-in closet.
One leg in then the other, he secured the snap at the top of his pants and made short work of closing the zipper. Arms through the sweater, he slipped it over his head, settled it into place at his waist then shoved the wallet and keys he picked up off the dresser into his two front pockets.
Now! He was officially ready to go.
And to exactly where didn’t matter. After three nights in a row of dining at her place, he’d finally talked her into going out somewhere for a change.
Which brought about another ration of bullshit to deal with. Because she’d made it clear a few bouts of hot sex and, possibly, some shared dinners were plenty for what she wanted out of their relationship.
Only now did he realize he wanted so much more.
When his cell started beeping, he grabbed that off the dresser too, then slid it on to accept the call and gave a short greeting.
“Hi, Jonah. It’s Cynthia. I was wondering if you’d mind eating in tonight rather than going out somewhere.”
Gaze returned to the ceiling, he made sure to control his breathing so she wouldn’t hear his exasperation. “Sure. Whatever you want.”
Why not? And, hey, that would give them the opportunity for some unrestricted tumbles in the hay both before and after dinner, instead of just after.
And maybe one time tonight, but only when they were done having sex, he’d tell her he loved her.
“Jen is going to be calling me around eight our time. More wedding details to go over.” Her quick inhale echoed over the line. “I didn’t want to tell her I was going out. That would only lead to questions I’m really not—”
“—interested in answering right now.”
There was a microscopic pause. “Don’t want to deal with right now.”
Same thing. “I’m sure on some level your daughter knows you aren’t a virgin.”
Only If You Dare Page 8
