by Cindy Kirk
He frowned. What was it about Mitzi that made him feel like some geeky teen crushing on the school’s head cheerleader?
Best not to delve too deeply into that muddy pool, he told himself. What mattered was the last time they were together he’d brushed off the gorgeous doctor. He’d done to her before she could do to him. The realization that he hadn’t let his attraction to her tie him into knots buoyed his courage. When the front door opened and Mitzi stepped inside, the smile he shot her was easy.
Her own smile flashed warm and friendly. If she felt any discomfort over seeing him again, it didn’t show.
“Dr. Sanchez.” Bill stepped forward. As the job site foreman, working with the client was his responsibility when Joel or Gabe wasn’t there. “We’re making good progress.”
“C’mon, Bill. Please call me Mitzi.” She slanted a sideways glance at Keenan. “Hello, again.”
Keenan touched the brim of his ball cap. “Ma’am.”
She frowned then turned from him in dismissal. Her imperious gaze swept the room.
He tried to see the home through her eyes: the massive stone fireplace with hand-carved mantel against one wall, twelve-foot ceilings that pulled the eyes upward, creating a feeling of openness. Whoever had drawn up the plans had done a superb job of contrasting warmth and comfort with understated elegance.
“I’m going to wander.” She waved a hand. “Don’t let me disturb you.”
“I can show you—” Bill began then glanced down as the phone clipped to his belt buzzed. He lifted it, grimaced. “I’m afraid I need to take this. Keenan can point out what we’ve finished up today.”
“I don’t need—”
“I’m happy to do it,” Keenan said smoothly, catching Bill’s look.
Mitzi must have noticed it too, because she didn’t protest further.
“Bill set the countertop this morning.” He gestured with one hand as they entered the kitchen area. Keenan pointed out several other accomplishments Bill had mentioned when he’d first arrived.
Though Mitzi listened intently, she didn’t say much. As the tour continued, he understood by the way her gaze kept flitting to him and lingering that lust had punched her, too. Desire, hot as a fired-up grill, snapped and sizzled in the air.
She might be determined to push him away—as he was with her—but he’d stake his life she was fighting a losing battle with the pull.
No guts. No glory.
His former mantra rose up and slapped him in the face.
“Do you have plans for dinner?” Keenan heard himself ask when they paused at the door to the last of the three bedrooms.
Her head swiveled.
“I was thinking of stopping by Perfect Pizza tonight.” He gave a careless shrug. Just because he’d succumbed to the urge didn’t mean he’d beg. “Interested?”
Mitzi slid a hand along the recently sanded doorjamb and his mouth went dry.
Okay, maybe he’d consider begging.
“Interested?” She lifted a brow. “In what?”
In pushing up that sweater and letting me fill my hands with your breasts.
In tugging that scrap of skirt down and exploring with my mouth and tongue what lies beneath.
Heck, yes, he was interested.
Keenan took a moment to collect himself. “Pizza, of course.”
“I’m not sure us having dinner is a good idea.”
Keenan understood. Right now his own gut roiled. But standing back and letting life happen had never been his style. He gave a little chuckle. “You’re afraid.”
“Don’t be silly.” She huffed. “I’m not afraid of anything. Or anyone.”
He clucked like a chicken, a noise straight from childhood. It had infuriated Betsy when he’d used it on her as a kid. From the flash of temper in Mitzi’s eyes, it had the same effect on her.
“Have you considered,” she said between gritted teeth, “that I simply may not want to share a pizza with you but am too polite to say so?”
“Nope. Absolutely not.” He shook his head. “Chicken.”
Her lips twitched upward. Just once.
“If I did come,” she began, waving one hand loosely in the air, “it would be because I’m hungry. And because I haven’t had...pizza...in weeks.”
“Understood.” He hadn’t had...pizza...in years, either.
“It wouldn’t be a date,” she said quickly. “And I won’t allow you to pay my share.”
“Hmm.” Keenan rubbed his chin. “I don’t recall offering.”
Her eyes narrowed to slits. She didn’t even crack a smile. “I’ll be blunt. I’m not looking for a relationship with you.”
“Sheesh, Mitzi.” Keenan lifted his hands, palms out. “Way to blow a simple invite into the stratosphere.”
She blew out a breath. “As long as we understand each other.”
Though she did a good job of hiding it, he saw the desire lurking in her eyes. Ah, yes, they understood each other. Quite well, in fact.
He fixed his gaze on her, let it drop and linger on her breasts before returning to her lips. “I know exactly what I want.”
“Oh, yeah? Well, tonight what you’re going to get is pizza.”
He hid a grin, wondering if Mitzi realized that instead of slamming the door shut, she’d left it slightly ajar.
Mitzi told herself if she didn’t find a parking space on the first pass through downtown, she’d head to Hill of Beans, pick up a nice Cobb salad and take it home to eat.
As she sped down Main, an Escalade eased from the curb, leaving a space big enough for the entire state of Utah. Yet, even after she pulled into the spot, Mitzi made no move to get out.
When she’d left Keenan and Bill at her new home, it hadn’t even been five. Now it was nearly seven. She’d had plenty of time to consider Keenan’s dinner challenge. Even as she showered and changed her clothes, the red flags waving wildly in the air urged her to turn tail and run. It wouldn’t be wise to meet him.
Not for pizza. Certainly not for sex.
Though if she was being totally honest, she’d have to admit to one or two lascivious thoughts when she’d seen him with that tool belt slung low across his hips and a white T-shirt stretched broad across his muscular chest.
Perhaps that’s why she was here. To prove to herself she could still handle temptation. If she ever did hop into bed with him—and that was a mighty big if—it would be a rational decision, made after much thought.
It would be foolish and shortsighted to cast aside the option entirely. Her husband hunt could take time. Until she found someone who met her criteria, her choice was either to remain celibate or snatch a few moments of pleasure where she could find it.
It wasn’t as if either she or Keenan would be using each other. Not if they both hopped into bed knowing it was only a physical thing. But tonight, the only thing on the menu was pizza.
Reassured, Mitzi headed for the restaurant.
Keenan spotted Mitzi before she saw him. Like him she wore jeans and a simple cotton shirt. But with heeled sandals and designer bag, the doctor looked anything but casual. In fact, with her hair tousled around her face, she looked like a stylish socialite who’d just tumbled out of bed after an afternoon of lovemaking.
In all his years as an adult male, Keenan couldn’t remember ever wanting a woman the way he wanted Mitzi. When she drew close, his body began to hum. It wasn’t just out-of-prison hormones but something deeper.
The tiny hairs at the base of his neck rose and electricity crackled in the air. Even knowing she didn’t find him suitable for a “relationship” wasn’t enough to quell the attraction.
That didn’t mean he planned to sleep with her. Despite the teasing offer he’d extended, his years in the penitentiary had given him plenty of time to think. More important, time to assess where he came from and where he wanted to be headed.
Most of his life had been spent reacting, batting cleanup for his mother’s wrong choices. Gloria’s wild mood shifts, fueled by alco
hol, had made a stable home life impossible. Still, for Betsy’s sake, Keenan had tried.
He’d made dinner, even if it was only hot dogs or mac and cheese from a box. When a teacher had commented on the cleanliness of his clothes and he saw concern in her eyes, Keenan had figured out how to run the washer. He’d forced Betsy to take a shower every night and made her brush her hair before she left the house.
Keenan may not have had designer jeans or a closetful of clothes like most of his friends, but he and his sister were clean and stayed under the social service radar.
He knew some of the girls in his class considered him beneath them because he didn’t have the cool car or the right clothes. Others had wanted him because of his bad-boy image. In their own way, both were snubs. Both had scraped bone. He’d assuaged pent-up fury with explosive contact during football games and later by participating in extreme sports.
Though he’d started to turn his life around before he was charged with murder, it was his prison counselor who helped him get his head straight.
She’d taught him to value his strengths, to not settle for less than he deserved. Keenan knew that being with a woman who considered him less than her, no matter how great the sex, would be settling.
When his body began to vibrate as Mitzi drew near, Keenan reminded himself that tonight only one thing was on the menu...pizza.
Chapter Four
Other than a group of giggly preteens and their parents, Perfect Pizza, a popular eatery in downtown Jackson, was surprisingly quiet. After placing their order at the counter, Mitzi picked up the table flag and plastic utensils. Keenan carried the glasses of soda to a series of wooden booths with high backs that lined the back wall.
Once seated, conversation flowed surprisingly easily. By the time the pizza was delivered to their table by a teenager in the throes of a war on acne, Mitzi had begun to relax.
Mitzi hesitated, not certain if she should eat the pizza with a fork or just pick it up. If she was alone she usually just picked up the slice.
When Keenan lifted his piece in one hand and took a bite, she relaxed and did the same.
The blend of herbs and spices, not to mention a generous artery-clogging supply of cheese, came together in something that could only be called delicious.
“I’m glad you like anchovies. Most people can’t stand them,” Keenan murmured, gazing at the large pie covered with the tiny fish on the table between them.
“They don’t know what they’re missing.” Mitzi let the slice hover just beyond her lips then took another bite.
“That’s true of most things in life,” Keenan said, sounding surprisingly philosophical. “We don’t try something because we don’t think it will be good for us. Or we convince ourselves we won’t like it even though we haven’t tried it.”
Mitzi pulled her brows together, unconvinced. “I don’t have to go to prison to know I wouldn’t like it.”
The second the words left her mouth, she wished she could pull them back. It certainly wasn’t her intent to keep ramming the fact that he’d spent the past few years behind bars down his throat.
Keenan took another bite of pizza, chewed. “You’re right. Some things are no-brainers.”
Though his tone was matter-of-fact, the light had faded from his eyes.
Impulsively Mitzi reached across the table and squeezed his hand. “I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
She met his gaze firmly.
“Okay,” he said. “So maybe all the prison comments are getting old.”
“I’m sorry,” she repeated. “Sincerely.”
For several long seconds she let her hand rest on his. When he flipped his over and laced fingers with hers, her heart stumbled. His intensely passionate eyes suddenly looked more green than brown in the light.
“Let’s talk about something more interesting,” he said, his gaze never leaving hers. “Tell me about Mitzi Sanchez.”
She moistened suddenly dry lips. “Not much to tell.”
Her gaze dropped to their joined hands. She really should disengage.
Before she could make a move, his fingers tightened on hers and his thumb began to stroke her palm. Inwardly, she shuddered.
“You told me that first night you were from California.” Keenan’s tone had a soothing effect. “I’d have pegged you as a California girl anyway. You have that free-spirit vibe.”
Mitzi gave a little laugh. “I don’t know whether to be offended or flattered.”
“I meant it as a compliment.” He tilted his head. “What part of the state?”
“Los Angeles,” she answered then clarified, “East L.A.”
“Tough area.”
She quirked a brow. “You’re familiar with the city?”
“I lived there for a while after I left Jackson.”
Had he once hoped for a career on the big screen? He certainly had the looks, charm and a charisma that went beyond the physical. Mitzi tried to visualize Keenan waiting tables while hoping for a big break.
His sister was right. There was a quiet confidence about him, one that said here was a man who’d support, encourage, stick.
Shaking the ridiculous thought aside, Mitzi reminded herself she barely knew the guy. To make suppositions on limited information could be dangerous. “Were you a starving actor?”
“Starving MMA fighter,” he said, then immediately switched the focus back to her. “Tell me how you ended up in Wyoming.”
Mitzi resisted the urge to sigh. Though normally there was nothing she liked better than talking about herself, she was reluctant to share too much. Knowledge was power, after all. And like her, she sensed Keenan preferred to hold those reins.
Yet no matter how many times she tried to switch the conversation to him, he kept redirecting it back to her.
“I returned to California for my residency,” she told him finally. “Kate and I met then, and we’ve been good friends ever since. She moved here and really liked it. When I finished my fellowship, there was an opening at Spring Gulch Orthopedics. They offered me the position, and here I am.”
Instead of grabbing another slice of pizza, Keenan kept his entire attention on her. “Do you still have family in California?”
“My mother.” Mitzi shifted in her seat, wishing the seats had more padding and Keenan would stop with the family questions. “A sister. Three nieces. What about you? I know your sister is here. What about your parents?”
A shadow passed over his face. “I don’t remember my old man. He cut out shortly after Betsy was born. I was five. Gloria—our mother—died in a car accident several years back.”
“I’m sorry to hear that—”
“She was drunk.” His voice turned flat, his eyes now shuttered. “Police estimate she was going close to seventy when she hit the tree. Almost took out a kid on a bike.”
Sympathy for the boy who’d grown up on his own washed over her even as the air filled with the bruised weight of the past.
“It’s tough. My father died when I was seven.” She surprised herself by revealing so much. But it felt right. “He was digging a trench when it caved in. He suffocated before they could get to him.”
His gaze never left her face. “Heck of a way to go.”
“Is there a good way?” Mitzi gave a careless shrug before pulling her hand from his and taking another slice of pizza.
They ate in companionable silence for several minutes. Mitzi found it odd she could be so relaxed in the company of a man she barely knew. Perhaps it was because she didn’t feel the need to be anything but herself with him.
“Ben Campbell and I were on the same Little League team in grade school,” Keenan said abruptly. “I heard the two of you dated for a while.”
Mitzi raised a brow. “Plugged into the Jackson Hole gossip line already, McGregor?”
A quick grin flashed. “Hey, I can’t help it if people want to catch me up to date.”
“Then you should also be aware Ben is now a happily married m
an with a wife he loves and a bouncing baby boy.”
“Wish it was you?”
“If I’d wanted it to be me, I’d have tried harder to make it work.”
“If it don’t come easy, best to let it go.”
“Aren’t you the philosophical one?”
His smile widened. “Just sayin’ if you have to work at it so hard, perhaps it’s not meant to be.”
“If I subscribed to that theory, I’d still be back in L.A., cleaning houses like my mother or tending bar like my sister.”
“Nothing wrong with honest labor,” Keenan said mildly.
“There’s also nothing wrong with having goals and trying to better yourself,” she said casually. It was all she could do not to snap back at him.
“Is this where you get up and start preaching that everyone can succeed if they just try hard enough?”
There was something behind that bland expression, something in the way he said the words that told Mitzi if she did preach that sermon, he’d be the first to get up and leave. She called on her inner control and forced calmness to her voice she didn’t feel. “You don’t agree?”
He shrugged. “Does it matter?”
Let it go. His opinion didn’t matter. She knew what she believed. Yet, she found herself saying, “Tell me.”
He did. She listened—and ate—as Keenan spoke of the people he’d met before he’d gone to prison: decent hardworking men and women trying to build a better life for themselves and their families.
“When you get down so low, it’s almost impossible to get out.”
“Yeah, it’s hard,” Mitzi insisted. “Sacrifices have to be made.”
“Did you work when you were in high school?”
“I worked my butt off. I cleaned houses. I scrubbed floors and toilets.” She wrinkled her nose. “While my mother encouraged me to study, she’d have been satisfied to have me cleaning full-time after graduation. I was the one who wanted more.”
“You were lucky,” he said.
“Hardly.” She gave a little laugh. “My bedroom in the new house is bigger than our entire apartment in L.A.”
“You had someone who kept a roof over your head, food on the table. Someone who encouraged you to study.”
