by Lori Foster
“I will. See you then. And good luck at the vet’s.”
* * *
Erica didn’t want to admit that Dean’s invitation to dinner was the reason she cleared her desk early and hurried home at four-thirty on the dot. She changed out of her skirt, blouse and panty hose to jeans and a much more casual top; washed her face clean of makeup; and dropped her hair from the French twist she’d fashioned that morning to a loose ponytail at the back of her head.
She thought about staying dressed up, or at least not dressing down quite so much, but reminded herself that he’d already seen her in her pajamas and...so much less. If she went over in anything else, he’d wonder what was up.
So she stayed as she was, then made a production of taking the dogs out for a walk, refilling food and water dishes; and giving Jasper, Rascal and Sampson some treats and a bit of TLC to make up for being away most of the weekend. All in all, it took about an hour and a half—long enough that she didn’t think Dean would get the impression she’d hurried just to see him again. Even if she sort of had. And even if she ended up in bed with him again tonight. But a girl had to do what she could to Bubble Wrap her heart and not appear too eager.
He opened the door almost as soon as she knocked, a dish towel draped over one shoulder of his blue chambray shirt. Exquisite scents wafted from the kitchen, but it was Dean who looked good enough to eat.
“Hey,” he said, offering her a wide smile she couldn’t help but return. “Come on in. Dinner’s almost ready.”
He closed the door behind her, then preceded her into the kitchen, returning to the stove to flip two good-size pork chops that were sizzling in a pan on high heat and stir what looked to be mashed potatoes.
“The kittens are in the living room, if you want to go play with them. The food will be on the table in just another couple of minutes.”
She really did want to see them, and headed slowly in that direction, but not before asking, “How did their vet appointment go?”
“You called it,” he said, shooting a wink over his shoulder at her. “Upper respiratory infections for all of them. They need antibiotics for ten days before going back for a checkup.”
She nodded, strolling the rest of the way to the living room, where the kittens were treating Dean’s sofa like a bouncy castle. They looked happy and actually a bit healthier even than the last time she’d seen them. They were clearly being well taken care of, and she knew from experience how quickly antibiotics could start to take effect once they got into an animal’s system.
She spent a few minutes cuddling and frolicking with the trio, who were growing more adorable by the day. Then Dean called that dinner was on the table, and she left them to play with each other and the half-dozen toys they’d managed to amass since their unexpected arrival Friday night. She noticed a few new ones mixed in with what she’d provided and smiled at the knowledge that Dean must have picked them up somewhere.
On the way back to the kitchen, she noticed three bottles of identical medication on the counter.
“Clavamox,” she remarked. “I’m familiar.”
Dean pulled out a chair for her—actually held her chair—and waited for her to sit.
“I’m glad to hear that.” He smiled sheepishly as he took his own seat directly across from her. “The doctor gave them their first dose, but I’m supposed to give it to them twice a day, and I’m a little nervous about getting it right. Especially three times in a row.”
“It’s really simple. And with three times in a row, you’ll get the hang of it in no time.”
He scooped a dollop of potatoes onto her plate, which already held a golden-brown pork chop. After adding a healthy portion of fresh green beans, he handed the plate back to her.
“You know so much about animals,” he commented, filling his own plate. “Have you ever thought about being a veterinarian yourself?”
“Of course.” She spread a napkin over her lap before she reached for her fork. “All through childhood. But then I realized if I went to vet school, I wouldn’t end up only giving shots and clearing up runny noses.... I’d have to deal with dogs that were hit by cars and euthanize pets when they got too old or too sick to suffer any longer.”
She shook her head, her tears pricking at just the thought of those heart-wrenching tasks. “No, thank you. I’ll stick to volunteering at the shelter and nursing my own pets when necessary while I work at something completely unrelated.”
“Fair enough,” he agreed, cutting into his pork chop with vigor while she poked at the edges of her own and sawed off a small piece much more slowly.
Popping a bite of meat into her mouth and beginning to chew, her eyes went wide. “Mmm. This is really good. Did you really make this from scratch?”
He cocked his head, casting her a disparaging glance. “Of course. I wouldn’t invite you over for a frozen meal.”
Her face heated and she looked down at her plate sheepishly. “Actually, I thought you might have picked this up at a restaurant, then just reheated it before serving.”
Rather than being offended, Dean let out a loud guffaw of laughter. “There’s an idea. But no, I made it myself. Scout’s honor.”
“Well, it’s delicious.” She tasted the green beans, which were dotted with almond shavings. “Where did you learn to cook like this?”
“Believe it or not, from television. We’ve got a set at the garage, but can never seem to agree on what to watch. The only thing we don’t argue over most of the time is the Food Network.”
“So you just watch and learn?”
“Pretty much. Nothing fancy, but I spend a lot of time home alone when I’m not at work and get tired of microwave food, so every once in a while I see what I can cook up.”
“Now I feel lazy,” she told him. “I still opt for TV dinners or takeout most of the time.”
One corner of his mouth went up and he winked. “Maybe if you start coming over on a regular basis, it will give me a chance to try out more recipes and combinations.”
Whether it was the wink or the promise of future home-cooked meals, warmth blossomed in her belly and spread outward. “Okay,” she mumbled.
They continued to eat for a few more minutes in comfortable silence. Even the whipped potatoes were amazing; he’d clearly used real butter and cream and added herbs she couldn’t identify. But if a vat of them had been nearby, she’d have been sorely tempted to strip down and swan dive into them completely nude.
Clearing her throat and dragging her mind away from the daydream of rolling naked in her food, she said, “So how were the Stooges at the vet? I’m guessing everybody you met thought they were the cutest thing since Beanie Babies, because they are, but did they behave for you or drive you crazy?”
“They were pretty good,” he said, but she heard the amusement in his tone. “I took them in the laundry basket, the same way we brought them over here, but they didn’t stay in it for long. That little black-and-white one, Moe...he’s a troublemaker with a capital T. He was the first one to go over the wall, then the other two followed. They made me wait about thirty minutes before the doctor could see us, and I swear I spent half of the time chasing those boogers around the floor on my hands and knees.”
Erica chuckled. “I’ll bet the other patients got a kick out of that.”
He rolled his eyes. “Oh, yeah. It wasn’t embarrassing at all to climb between strangers’ legs trying to dig runaway kittens out from under their chairs. I don’t think the receptionist and technicians will ever stop laughing.”
She knew just about everyone who worked at the clinic and was sure they’d gotten a huge kick out of big, bad Dean Maxwell trying to round up three tiny balls of fur. But chances were, they’d been much more intrigued by the man himself...and staring at his butt while he crawled around the waiting area doing his white-knight thing. Not that Eric
a blamed them; he had a very watchable butt.
“Then once I got them all scooped up and under control, they curled up on my lap and fell fast asleep, purring all the while.”
“Awww.” She couldn’t help herself. He drew a very colorful picture, and she could just imagine how adorable they—and he—had looked.
“Yeah.” He murmured it in a low voice, a touch of color heating his cheeks as he averted his gaze. “I’ve got to admit, the purring...it kind of gets me.”
She smiled gently. “I know exactly what you mean. It’s like a giggling baby—irresistible.”
He returned her smile, and their gazes locked for a second before he went back to eating. “And I guess I’m stuck with them for a couple more weeks, until they’re finished with the antibiotics and have had another checkup. The doctor said I can find new homes or take them to the shelter after that.”
His words were like a splash of cold water, shocking her and turning her veins to ice. He wanted to give the kittens away? Or worse, dump them off at the animal shelter, where they may or may not be adopted and were likely to be euthanized if they weren’t?
A lump formed in her throat. She couldn’t expect him to keep all three, she supposed. It was a lot to ask of anyone.
And yet...she had expected it.
He’d been so wonderful about everything all this time—rescuing them from the cold and wet and illness and probably certain death, bringing them to her so she could teach him how to care for them, taking them in, taking them to the veterinarian, doctoring them through the rest of their infections.
His selflessness and compassion so far had led her to believe that it would continue. That he’d bonded with the kittens, fallen in love with them, and would be more than willing to take them on and make them his own.
To hear that he wasn’t thinking along those lines, that he was already counting down the days until he could foist them off on someone else and never look back... It broke her heart.
The food that she’d found so enjoyable only moments before turned to sawdust in her mouth, and she had to force herself to swallow, then washed it down with a sip of the white wine Dean had also provided to go with their dinner.
“You don’t...” Her voice was trembling, but there was nothing she could do to stop it. “You don’t think you’ll keep them?” she asked softly.
His brows knit. He kept eating, not seeming to notice her sudden distress.
“I can’t keep three kittens. I wouldn’t know what to do with them.”
“Just what you’ve been doing,” she suggested on a hopeful note. “And they won’t always be kittens. They grow up and settle down pretty quickly.”
He took a drink of his own wine, shrugging one shoulder negligently. “I’m not here that much. I can’t keep taking days off to stay with them like I did today.”
He was right...but he was wrong, too. “You wouldn’t have to. Cats, even kittens once they’re a month or two old, are amazingly self-sufficient. You could come home on your lunch break to check on them and give them their medicine. For that matter, I come home every day on my lunch hour to take the dogs out... I’d be happy to drop by and take care of your three at the same time.”
Could she sound any more desperate? she wondered, hearing the rush of her words and how they were slowly climbing an octave. She just didn’t want to see these three adorable kittens, which she and Dean had already put so much time and effort and affection into, split up, handed off to God knew what kind of homes or...worse. Next she’d be offering to take them herself, when she really couldn’t—shouldn’t—add any more babies to her already burgeoning brood.
“That’s nice of you,” he replied. “And I might take you up on it, thanks. But I never intended to keep them. I just wanted to make sure they were safe and taken care of.”
There it was. The last he had to say on the topic, and the final bit of weight that had her already heavy heart cracking completely and breaking into tiny jagged shards.
She shouldn’t let this mean anything, shouldn’t let it impact her feelings for Dean, but it did. She’d built him up so much, letting herself get carried away by what a great guy he was to rescue three little kittens in need, and how sweet and romantic he’d been.
The thing to do, of course, would be to forgive him and understand that not everyone was wired quite the way she was. She just wasn’t sure she could. Not when she saw him...differently now. Not when he’d fallen a few pegs from the tall, tall pedestal she’d had him on.
Clearing his plate and draining the last of his wine, Dean inclined his head toward her place setting. “Are you finished?”
She nodded, knowing she wouldn’t be able to eat another bite, even if she tried.
Pushing back his chair, he started to clear the table.
“I didn’t make dessert, but I might have some ice cream in the freezer. Want to grab a couple spoons and share while we watch another movie?” He paused a beat, fixing her with a smoldering, suggestive look. “Or we could go straight to the bedroom and spend the evening doing something even sweeter.”
What a lovely offer. And she knew exactly how sweet it would be to spend another night in his arms. Sweet and spicy, naughty and nice, and everything in between.
Ten minutes ago, she would have been out of her chair and halfway down the hall already. Now, though, she couldn’t. Just couldn’t.
She was too sad, disappointed, disillusioned. At the very least, she needed time to come to terms with Dean’s decision, and that wasn’t going to happen here, tonight.
Making a production of slowly folding the napkin on her lap into smaller and smaller squares, then setting it on the table where her plate had been, she said, “I’m sorry, I can’t. I have a lot of...work that needs to be done by tomorrow, and I really need to get home.”
She was making it up as she went along, hoping he would believe her. The legs of her chair scraped the floor as she slid back, got to her feet and sidled slowly toward the door.
“You’re leaving already?” He looked both surprised and confused, which she suspected was a mirror image of her own expression—minus the crushing heartache. “But what about the kittens?”
Shifting her gaze to the living room, she saw that they were in the middle of a three-way wrestling match. “They seem fine. And if you have trouble giving them their next dose of medicine, you can always call me.”
Though she hoped to heaven he didn’t. She didn’t know how she’d manage coming back here again tonight, likely after dark, possibly when she was already in her pajamas and feeling sad, lonely, vulnerable.
“Thank you again for dinner.”
As quickly as she could, she wrenched open the front door and darted out.
“Erica!” she heard Dean call after her.
She pictured him standing on the front step, hands on hips, wondering what the heck had just happened. If only she could explain without sounding crazy and implacable. But until she could explain it to herself, in terms that she could look into his eyes and live with, she was better off keeping to herself.
It was only running away if she crawled under her covers to hide and never came out again.
Chapter Five
Dean didn’t know what the hell he’d done to send Erica scurrying into the night, but clearly tiny kittens, a home-cooked meal and the promise of hot, steamy sex weren’t as big a draw as television commercials and her favorite romantic movies would lead a guy to believe. Balls.
Wanting an excuse to get her back to his place and maybe find out where he’d screwed up, he called when it was time to give The Three Stooges their antibiotics. She didn’t answer.
He walked outside, strolled close enough to her town house to see that at least one dim light was on inside, then called again. Still no answer. And no callback after he left a voice mail.
/> The next day, he took the kittens to the garage with him, keeping them shut up in his office while he worked. He didn’t tell any of the guys about them, though, because he didn’t want to deal with their ribbing—even if rescuing the little munchkins had gotten him the girl. At least temporarily. It was beginning to feel as if he’d maybe just gotten laid, and for some reason, that didn’t sit well with him.
Normally, a fun one-night stand would have been fine. No strings, no hassles, no regrets.
But he’d thought Erica was different. Hoped she was different, frankly.
He liked her. He admired her. He enjoyed having her around.
So what the hell had he done to send things from blistering-hot-to-frostbite territory in what seemed like the blink of an eye?
When he got home, he tried calling her again. This time, she picked up, but before he’d gotten half a dozen words out, she rushed to feed him an excuse about more work and needing to stay home with her own pets for a change, then hung up just as quickly.
For more than a week, they played the same pathetic game of cat and mouse. Only he was the mouse and kept getting thoroughly trounced by one excuse after another from a very indifferent cat.
He didn’t buy it. No way was Erica as aloof as she was acting. A woman capable of the intense passion she’d shown in helping him with Moe, Larry and Curly, and then again the night they’d made love, did not simply turn it off one day and decide to go back to treating him like the paperboy.
On day eleven of the kittens’ medical treatment, he took them back to the vet and got a hearty thumbs-up for all three. They were healthy and thriving, and had even put on a couple of pounds thanks to his regular feedings and—okay, he’d admit it—downright spoiling of them.
And he’d had enough of Erica’s avoidance tactics. If she wanted to be done with him, that was fine, but he damn well deserved to know why.
It was time to take action. It was time to bring out the big guns—aka the cute times three—and amp it up to full volume.
