by Ginny Baird
David took her by the elbow anyway and helped her out of the car.
"Are you always this chivalrous?" she asked, "Or is it because I remind you of your grandmother?"
Marie caught a twinkle in his eye and sensed he was thinking something that she didn't care to know.
"You bring out the gentleman in me. What I can I say?"
"Ah, so you finally admit," she teased, as they crossed the sidewalk to the cafe, "that you're not always so gentlemanly."
"Guilty," he said, with a sheepish look as he held back the heavy glass door. "But I can promise you this. I've never, ever done anything a woman hasn't wanted me to do."
Marie swallowed hard and selected a table. Something about David made her believe that a woman would actually get down on her knees and beg for his manly attention.
Not her, she decided with a shake of her head. She was getting to know him, that was all. As a friend. But Marie hadn't had a male friend in—she didn't know how long. That was exactly her problem. She'd gone from one long-term relationship to the next. What she needed now was a breather, not a man who left her breathless.
"So, what would you like?"
Marie looked up into his vibrant blue eyes. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea, after all.
"Coffee," she said, realizing the waitress had appeared at their table. "Coffee and an orange scone, please."
"Scone?" David asked, with feigned indignation. He leaned in with a gravelly whisper, "Not nearly enough sugar."
David turned and directed his attention to their server. "I'll take coffee, too, with double cream. And bring me one of those gigantic cinnamon buns with the icing dripping all over it."
The waitress nodded, and started to turn.
"No, wait! Make that two!"
The waitress's face was an open question.
"Cinnamon buns."
"David Lake, every one of those perfect teeth is going to rot and fall out."
"Marie, now you're sounding like my mother! Have you ever tried those things? They're wicked with a capital W."
No, Marie thought. Wicked with a capital W was sitting right in front of her. She didn't know how he could really eat like that. But David Lake didn't appear to have one surplus ounce on his entire body.
"So, David," she said, trying to get things on a more intellectual tract. "Tell me more about that book you've been reading."
But somehow, it was terribly hard to think about that boring book, with the exciting Marie McCloud sitting right across from him. She looked cute in that strappy brown jumper, pulled over a tight-fitting shirt that David wished he could see more of. Her cheeks had that gorgeous glow and her eyes fixed on him in that manner that made his head spin. David noticed her glasses sat slightly off center. Most likely thanks to that nasty dent right in the center of their bridge.
"I can still fix those glasses for you, you know."
"Huh?"
Marie brought a startled hand to the edge of her frames.
"Uh, I forgot they were... What I mean is, I can still see straight." No, that was baloney. "Fine, I mean. I can see just fine! The lenses weren't damaged at all."
"You sure about that?" he asked, reaching forward and gently lifting the glasses from her face. "Because usually when the frames get bent..."
He took the turquoise frames and turned them over and over in his hands before holding them up to the light.
"Now that is odd. Not a scratch on them. How did you say this happened?"
Marie blanched. "I, uh, it was the..."
"Looks almost like a child just—"
"Yes, that's it!"
She cowered, realizing her voice had risen about the buzz of the restaurant, and made an effort to speak more softly. "One of the kids at story hour—he bent my frames."
"Wow!" David said with surprise, as the waitress set down two steaming mugs. "Never realized your work was so dangerous."
Marie nervously stirred her coffee, wishing she knew what was going on behind those crystal blue eyes.
"Oh, not really so dangerous. You know kids get a little wound up at times. He didn't mean it, I'm sure."
"And the mother didn't even offer to pay to have them fixed?" David asked, dumping four packets of sugar in his cup. "I think that's awful."
"Well, what with the guarantee and all that, I figured, why make a big deal?"
David studied her as her spoon clinked repeatedly in her black cup.
"Don't you think you want to put something in there before you stir it?"
A nervous laugh caught in her throat. "I take mine black."
The waitress rescued her from further humiliation by bring their pastries.
"Well, anyway," David said, handing back her glasses, "if you want to drop by the shop later this week, I'd be happy to try to straighten those out for you—or replace them with another pair."
Marie was so flustered at the moment that all she could think of was downing her coffee and getting to work. Children's story hour? Heavens to Betsy, what had she done? Blaming some poor, innocent, imaginary little boy. When all the while it had been her pressing her flawless frames against the ladies' room sink counter!
"You feeling all right?" David asked, unrolling a bit of cinnamon bun and dipping it in his milky coffee.
"Fine, fine." Marie took a bite of scone, hoping she wouldn't choke. "Mmm, this is delicious."
"You sure you're okay? You look a little... hot."
Now that was the understatement of the year, David told himself. Marie McCloud always looked more than a little hot. No matter where she was, no matter what she wore, when she looked at him with those big brown eyes, she positively sizzled.
But she did look uncomfortable, sitting there going crazy with that rotating spoon. A little off balance somehow. Then she picked up her mug and drained one third of the coffee out of it before setting it back on the table.
"Well, it's true I haven't been feeling myself lately. Maybe there's something going around."
David nodded sympathetically. "Maybe you should take the day off. Grab a little R & R."
She looked over at him, and—for a brief second—seemed to be considering it.
"No, we have a staff meeting this afternoon. And I have book orders to review."
"Well, surely they'll understand if you—"
Marie stole a glance at her watch. "Oh my gosh, it's eleven-forty! David, we'd better get the check and get going."
Well, he thought, pulling out his wallet. He could never be accused of not trying.
The idea of a whole uninterrupted day with Marie McCloud tantalized David with all kinds of possibilities. He could create opportunities to get close to her and—
"Ready?" she asked, polishing off her coffee.
But, at that very moment, David feared that rising from the table would show her precisely how ready he was.
"Can you give me another minute?" he asked, stalling for time.
And then he called over the waitress and asked for a very tall, very cold glass of water.
Chapter Eight
David pulled out of the Books & Bistro parking lot, thinking things had gone exceptionally well. There had definitely been some body-talking going on between them. And, no matter how abruptly Marie had wanted to leave, David couldn't help but believe that part of the reason she'd wanted to go had to do with her growing attraction to him. He'd seen it in her eyes, sensed it in the air between them at the outdoor picnic. Even that day in the park, there'd been a spark of something mixed with an admirable ire. Boy, she was a hot one. But impossible to pin down.
No, not impossible, David told himself. Nothing was impossible right up until the point you gave up trying.
What David needed, he decided, was a new angle. That book angle he'd been working on. He was sure that's what had been holding Marie back. Idle conversation and casual picnics weren't enough for a brainy woman like her. Cecil had been absolutely right. The mind link was what David needed to establish. He knew it was a little deceptive, g
iven his honest aversion to what he'd been reading—one of Cecil's recommendations. But, in the end, it would hardly matter. He and Marie were meant for each other. David just knew it.
The literary connection would be just the beginning. After that, he was certain they'd find other things they could talk about. Other hobbies and ideals they shared. This was just too powerful, just too earth-shaking to mean nothing but sex.
David wanted more.
Now that he'd finally finished that damned book, all he'd have to devise was a creative way to...
David signaled for a turn then let out a cry. He slammed his palm into the wheel and honked merrily at an unsuspecting passerby, as he maneuvered a quick U-turn.
Today was definitely his lucky day.
Marie closed the cover of Too Tempted Far Words and let out an audible sound that was half pant, half sigh. She didn't even know people had that much fun back then. But it certainly had left the heroine smiling.
"Marie?"
She looked up and realized her coffee had gone cold.
David held up one of her fleece-lined gloves.
"You left this on the seat of my car. Thought you might be wanting it later."
What Marie would be wanting later had nothing to do with putting things on, she realized with a jolt.
Ever since page one hundred and seventeen, every third description of this book's hero had seemed better suited to David than a sixteenth-century nobleman. Right down to his enticing... oh, never mind.
"Thanks," Marie said, biting her lip. "Didn't even realize it was gone. It must have slipped out of my pocket."
"Don't worry about it," David said, brightening the room with his smile.
All afternoon, it had been pouring, the small cafe shadowed and gloomy from the rain outdoors. But suddenly, it was all warmth and sunshine in here and Marie regretted that her coffee break had ended and it was time to get back to work.
"I'm sorry, David," she said, standing. "But I've got a staff meeting in five minutes."
"And afterwards?"
"And afterwards, I've got inventory. Cash register receipts. A chance to review the coming week's schedule—"
"Excuse me," David said, clearing his throat. "And just where does the fun get penciled in?"
"Fun?" Marie asked, clutching her book to her chest as if he could see right through its very cover and know exactly what she'd been reading.
"Oh David, I don't have time for..."
But the way that he looked at her told her that she did.
"We never did get to discuss that book," he persisted.
"Oh right, the book!" she said, relieved to be on a safe subject. Nobody could shake Marie McCloud when it came to books. Now there was an area in which she felt confident.
"I could bring it by, if you want."
"By where?"
"By your house, of course. I've already finished the whole thing." And was that ever an accomplishment in his mind. "And I was thinking it would be great if you read it, too. Then we could discuss it."
Well, that was an intriguing proposition. As long as Marie could keep her mind on whatever he brought and her hands off the delivery man.
She tried to sound nonchalant. "I won't be home until after nine."
"Is ten o'clock too late, then?"
"Ten is fine," she said, feeling her whole world careen out of focus.
David showed up at ten sharp with—of all things—Silence In The Trees.
"A literary thriller?" Marie asked, trying hard not to remember that the author's previous work had been Cecil's favorite, and that this one featured a philosophical serial killer who was forever quoting Nietzsche.
"Why yes. Have you read it?"
"Not yet," she answered, an unexpected queasiness in her stomach.
"Well, great," he said, standing under the dim porch light, night sounds echoing all around him.
Marie had planned to ask him in, had straightened the house and whipped up a batch of store-mix brownies. But... Silence In The Trees? Her stomach clenched.
Marie knew she was supposed to be impartial. And she was, when it came to book store management. She studied demographics, knew her market, purchased what would sell in this little town. But when it came to her personal taste, Marie much preferred works with dialogue in quotation marks and no Nietzsche.
"Thanks, David," she said, feeling very much like she wanted to be alone.
"No problem." He smiled and backed into the darkness. "I'll be looking for you at my shop. Stop by and left me know what you think of the book. Oh, and I'll fix those frames."
Marie tossed Silence In The Trees onto the coffee table and sunk into the sofa, removing her glasses. Red flag number two, she thought, massaging her throbbing temples. David just might be a self-proclaimed environmentalist with a pretentious literary bent.
This was what she had feared was coming. The one-two punch at the end of her long day. The stark reality of life in the not-so-fast lane.
Well, who had she been fooling anyway? To think there'd be someone out there just like her had been ridiculous. Impossible. And in Covesville, impossible things weren't happening every day.
Marie waited a respectable two days, then decided to return Silence In The Trees to David. She'd read some of it—but she couldn't stand to have the book taking up space in her house one day longer.
If this was what David was into, he had far more in common with Cecil Barnes than Marie had ever dreamed of. The writer was a whiz at description—including painstakingly graphic portrayals of gruesome serial murders—but didn't care at all about romance. There was potential there. Such great potential, for something heated to develop between lead investigator Mona Malcom and the falsely accused Brad Billingsly. But nothing doing. Each protagonist seemed much too self-absorbed to attempt to peel the clothes off someone else. For heaven's sake! Was this considered entertainment?
Not in Marie's favorite stories, where good always triumphed over evil and love conquered all. Hey, if she wanted the bad news, she'd read the newspapers. Fiction was supposed to be about feeling better, about forgetting.
Well, forgetting was exactly what she intended to do. Forget all about those idealistic notions that made her want to believe David was more than a small town stud in tight-fitting jeans. That he—heaven forbid—might actually be the one! The one for what, for goodness sake?
Just because he pushed her buttons as no other man had, that didn't mean he was the right one for her. The right man, when he came along, would have a whole heck of a lot more going for him than a mesmerizing smile, melting blue eyes and a body to yearn for.
No! She was doing it again... remembering all the wrong things instead of focusing on the differences between them.
Despite his protests to the contrary, David was most certainly a ladies' man, one who'd never be contented with a bookworm like her. At least, not for the long term. She knew his game. It was the challenge that was driving him, that was all, but she wouldn't give in.
And if he actually liked that awful book... well, that was just more proof that David's vision of the world was one hundred and eighty degrees different from hers. Of course, that figured. After all, he'd made a point of mentioning that he came from a wealthy family where his mother had been able to stay home and dedicate herself to charity causes.
Marie's background had been the complete opposite. Hers had been an upbringing filled with blood, sweat and tears. And yet, despite the hardships, she wouldn't trade her experiences for anything. What she'd gone through had made her strong, capable of standing on her own. And, despite her girlhood fantasies, Marie knew she really didn't need a man to sweep her off her feet. Even though, at times... it still sounded awfully good.
No, but that was crazy. David Lake was not the sort who thought of ever after. He was more the here-and-now kind of animal. And she'd just have to keep him at bay.
Marie pushed through the door to the optician's shop, ready to fight. She'd just gotten off work and wanted to get thi
s over with as quickly as possible, so she could go home, order a pizza and enjoy her juicy new novel in peace.
David's eyes sparkled when he caught sight of her. "Well, well, Miss McCloud!" he said, with a jovial smile. "Good afternoon! Be with you in just a second."
He seemed to be busy helping some college coed select a glasses case. Although to look at the young woman, practically panting at him, Marie could have sworn her interest was more in David's potential rigidity than in whether her case should be soft or hard.
Marie watched the girl giggle and tighten her arms to her chest so that her cleavage would be more visible. Although Marie wasn't sure just how much more visible it could get. The woman's breasts were practically falling out of her low-cut lycra leotard.
Her nylon shorts were cut high on her thighs, which Marie was sure David had noticed were much more shapely than hers. Though Marie didn't think she had a bad figure, it certainly looked nothing like that. Poor child must have to sweat through an aerobics class at least three times a day to maintain a body that perfect.
She leaned forward, her loose blond hair swinging above her ample breasts, and blew David a kiss.
"Ciao, sweetie," she said, doing her best to sound sensual. "Don't forget to call when you're ready for that workout."
Marie stepped forward and dropped her books onto the counter with an attention-getting thud.
Cat-like green eyes turned in her direction. "Here to get your glasses fixed?" the young woman asked with a purr.
"Actually," Marie said, removing her glasses and leaning over so she could grip David by the elbow. "I came in to see my very good friend, David Lake."
Holy cow, what was this? David looked from Marie to the customer and then back again. The threat of competition? He wished he'd thought of that earlier.
"If you don't mind," Marie said, turning her steely gaze on Candy. "David and I have something to discuss..."
"Whatever," Candy said with a tug at her low neckline and a careless shrug of her shoulders.
