“I don’t—Yes, you can come in.”
The door swung open. The white corner of a lap desk appeared, then arms carrying it, then a body. A fabulous body in jeans and a blue-and-white-striped shirt. On the lap table, a dish covered with an inverted bowl, a bud vase with a pink rose from the garden. “Breakfast is served, Madam.”
“What—” She laughed in delight. “I’ve never had breakfast in bed. Unless I was sick.”
“Then it’s time you did.” He whipped off the bowl covering the plate. “Scrambled eggs, toast with butter and honey, two strips of bacon, extra crispy, and a bowl of blueberries, raspberries and strawberries. Coffee is from Jamaica, with seconds available in the pot.”
“I can’t believe…” She gestured at the food. “Did Melanie help you?”
“Melanie is still asleep. But I quizzed her yesterday on your favorites. And here—” he produced the Milwaukee Journal Sentinel out from under his arm “—is your paper.”
“Sawyer.” She was oddly close to tears, even while she couldn’t stop grinning. So far she’d resisted the horrendous temptation to become involved with him, knowing she had to leave. But if he kept up this perfect-man stuff, she didn’t know how long she could hold out. “I don’t know what to say. This is all amazing.”
“And so am I.” He winked and backed toward the door. “Enjoy your breakfast.”
“Thank you. So much.” Alana only just managed to stop herself asking him not to go. Why would he want to stay here and watch her eat breakfast? She could deal with her worry all by herself—only now she’d get to worry on a full stomach with a fragrant and high-quality source of caffeine, brewed by a man she was afraid she’d fall for no matter what her common sense told her.
The eggs were delicious, creamy and rich, the toast crunchy and sweet, berries fruity and tart. She sighed blissfully at the last bite and unfolded the paper. An envelope fell out, For Alana written on the front in unfamiliar handwriting.
Inside, a single sheet of paper:
Your day belongs to me. Be at the Milwaukee Public Museum at 10:00 a.m. Enter through the parking garage. Sawyer
Oh, wow. She glanced impulsively at the clock. It was just past nine. But what did he mean, her day belonged to him?
“Alana?” Melanie this time.
“Yes, good morning.” She hastily hid the note, not sure why she wanted to keep it from her sister.
“Hey.” Melanie’s blond head peeked around the door, eyes sparkling. “Isn’t it time you dragged your butt out of bed and got going?”
“You know about this?”
“Oh, yes.” She nodded somberly. “I was entrusted with the important job of making sure you didn’t stay home out of some misguided sense of duty.”
“Misguided?” Alana shoved the tray away and got up onto her knees. “Gran and Grandad—”
“Will be fine. You know they will. And even if they’re not, what can you do about it? Last I checked, weather was one of the few things out of your control.”
“Oh, so funny.” She scowled at her giggling sister and sat back on her heels. “Look, I can’t go. I have to—”
“I figured you out, you know.” She came into the room, arms crossed over her chest, looking smug as hell. “Oh, really.”
“You’re scared.”
“I’m—” She gaped. “Uh, what?”
“You’re scared of what you feel for Sawyer,” she repeated oh so patiently. “Scared that he’s something really special. You want to stay and run away at the same time. You are drawn to being with him and also panicked at the thought.”
“No, I’m—” Alana blinked. She was right about the feelings. But Alana wasn’t going to admit it. “What makes you say that?”
“Ah.” Melanie held up a finger, the brilliant lecturer getting to her most powerful point. “Because it’s exactly what I do. I’ve figured this out, Alana, with Edgar’s help. You and I exhibit opposite symptoms, but it’s the same problem.”
“Opposite symptoms…”
“I go out with wildly unsuitable men. You go out with boring unsuitable men.”
She made a noise of outrage. “No, I—”
“You’re telling me Sam was half as fun as Sawyer?”
“Well…” Oof. Not even half.
“Plus, take note, you dumped him the second he asked for commitment. And before him there was Alan, the economics major. Oh my God, I wanted to take a nap just from the way he said ‘Hello.’”
“Alan was sweet.”
“Yes, he was so-o-o swww…” She pretended to doze off, then jerked herself “awake.” “He wasn’t right for you. You’re spirited and funny and indomitable. You need someone who matches you, not someone you can lead around by the nose.”
Alana folded her arms defiantly. “I did not lead—”
“They all but whined ‘Yes, dear’ to everything you said.”
More outrage noises. “No, they—”
“Alana.” Melanie climbed onto the bed, knelt on her heels opposite, pulled Alana’s arms uncrossed. “In every relationship you’ve ever had, who was in charge?”
“It was always fifty-fifty.”
Melanie shook her head, eyes intent but not angry and thank God no longer smug. “Think about it. Just think. Major decisions, minor decisions, where you lived, where you ate, what you had in the refrigerator, how you spent your weekends…”
“No, Melanie, it was—”
“Don’t answer yet.” She took Alana’s hands, gave them a little shake. “Just think. Honestly.”
Alana made herself relax, closed her eyes, frowning, went back over memories, who decided what, how, when…
“Oh. Well…Maybe.” She opened her eyes. “Yes, okay. I’m a dominatrix bitch.”
“You haven’t ever met a guy who really challenges you, who really is up to your level until Sawyer.” She squeezed Alana’s fingers. “It’s exciting, isn’t it.”
Exciting? She felt absolutely miserable. Since when was Melanie the one giving romantic advice? Had Alana fallen this low without noticing?
“It takes you over, makes the world brighter, more exciting, like a drug rush without the bad health effects.”
“Sort of.” The words barely came out. Melanie’s theory better turn out to be as ridiculous as it sounded.
“Welcome to my world. Except no, your world is ten times better. Because Sawyer is an incredible guy.” She dropped Alana’s hands. “A guy who could make you happier than anyone ever has. And if you ask me, you’re already half in love with him anyway, so why not—”
“Wait, whoa, Melanie.” She rose to kneeling in a ludicrous bid to be bigger than her sister. “I’m going to Florida, probably tomorrow, so what’s the point?”
“You don’t have to go.”
Et tu, Melanie? She bounced off the bed, started pacing. “Of course I have to go. I have an apartment, a job, Gran and Grandad to take care of…”
Melanie shrugged. “Okay.”
Alana stopped pacing. Not like her sister to give up that easily.
“Buk…buk…” Melanie started a weird jerking motion with her head, doubled her arms and flapped them like a chicken. “Buk…buk…buh-keek.”
Alana giggled in spite of herself. “Cut that out.”
“Just keep in mind what I said, okay?” Melanie waddled on her knees off the bed and clamped her hand on Alana’s wrist. “I’ll be home if they call. You get dressed and go to the museum. I’ll call your cell if I hear anything. No, don’t object, let me take some of the duty for a change. It will be good for me. Heck, maybe I’ll even freak you out completely and clean up my room since you’ve done the rest of the house.”
“Not the attic yet.” Or the windows. She hoped it wouldn’t come to that.
“God, Alana, you need serious help. Go. Git. Don’t come back until Sawyer is done with you.” She swatted Alana on the hip, then gathered her into a warm, impulsive hug. “And promise me. Promise me you’ll think about how many people it’s really your
job to keep happy besides yourself.”
ALANA PULLED INTO the public museum parking lot, nervous and jumpy. She assumed she and Sawyer were going to spend a sedate hour or two inside—what was so threatening about that?
Obviously Melanie’s little talk had left Alana feeling off balance, vulnerable, uncertain. She hadn’t felt this way in a long time. Once Gran and Grandad gave her life ballast, she’d thrived, applied herself to her studies, to her work with Grandad, to her dream of becoming a brilliant, famous and well-compensated photographer.
Yes, well, everyone needed dreams.
When her relationship with Alan went belly-up, she was on the verge of graduating and moving to Chicago; when her relationship with Sam ended, she’d eventually decided to move to Florida. Always a clear purpose. Always a clear idea of who she was and what she wanted and why.
Now…fear of commitment? Deliberately seeking out unsuitable men who wouldn’t challenge her safe version of herself? She could laugh the whole thing off except Melanie’s theories definitely struck some kind of chord.
Since when was Melanie the “together” sister? Since when was she the one stepping back to figure life out rather than drifting from moment to feel-good moment? Maybe she really was turning over a new leaf, Sledge notwithstanding. Maybe she really would evolve. Why did that make Alana feel stuck behind in her old rutty self?
She needed to shake off the uneasiness, have casual fun with Sawyer today and leave for Florida first thing in the morning, back on track. She hadn’t watched her mother throw her life away on one man after another without having learned the importance of counting only on herself. She was strong, she was woman, she could enjoy this day without getting irretrievably deep into feelings for Sawyer, and have fun memories when she moved on with what she was meant to do. What she wanted to do. Someday she’d meet the right man at the right time who fit in with her plans.
Good.
She eased her Prius into a parking space, crossed the garage to the museum entrance, heels tapping sharply on the concrete, barely audible over the noise of the air circulation system. Once inside, she strode down the long corridor, past the colorful museum shop, toward the staircase to the exhibit space.
Would he meet her there? He hadn’t arrived yet. She turned…and saw him behind her, halfway down the hallway, approaching in his loose, masculine gait, comfortable and at ease as usual. She grinned and felt herself relaxing. This would be fun. She could handle keeping things light between them and emerge unscathed to tell the tale, not out of Melanie’s “fear of commitment,” but just because it was the healthiest and most sensible way to handle her feelings.
“Hi there.” He kissed her cheek, apparently having done away with his no-touching rule. She wouldn’t object.
“Two surprises in one day, breakfast and now a museum expedition. What have I done to deserve this?”
“It’s more what you don’t deserve.” He held out a green paper entrance bracelet for her to wrap around her wrist. How had he managed to buy tickets already? “You don’t deserve to stay home cleaning on your last day.” The phrase last day twisted her stomach.
Steady.
“C’mon.” He took her hand and they started up the stairs to the second floor.
“What are we seeing?”
“Butterflies. The live ones.”
“I don’t know that exhibit.” She’d been through the museum countless times. “Wait, yes, I remember reading articles when it was built.”
“You’ll love it.” He pulled her close as they mounted the stairs and put his lips to her ear. “And by the way, you look incredibly sexy in those red shorts. Almost as sexy as you looked in bed when I brought you breakfast. It was all I could do to leave the room.”
It was all Alana could do to laugh off his compliment when she wanted to say to hell with her resolve, drag him home, strip him and beg for sex.
Was this what Melanie felt? Was Sawyer Alana’s “dangerous” man? Her Sledge? Maybe she needed to have a little more compassion for Melanie’s…active social life.
“Hey, Alana.”
“Mmm?”
“I know that face. You’re overthinking.” He shook his head sternly. “Today is about fun. Leave the cerebral stuff for tomorrow.”
She smiled and collected herself again. He was just a man she’d met and enjoyed. Nothing about her life had changed. She was going to be fine. “It’s a deal.”
They got into line for the popular exhibit, then spent a few minutes with their designated group in a small transition area before they were admitted, to make sure no butterflies escaped.
The two-story glassed-in room was swarming with all types, colors and shapes, including, behind one special pane, various stages of caterpillar, chrysalis and emerging adults. In the open room around various flowering plants and trees adult insects fluttered free, landing on walls, greenery and awestruck visitors, who’d lowered their voices instinctively once inside, adding to the enchantment.
The creatures were so beautiful, so delicate, and right here, all around. Alana wished she had—
A cold metallic rectangle was put into her hand. She looked down, then up at Sawyer in amazement. “What’s this?”
“Thought you’d want to take a few pictures.”
She was beside herself. “How did you know?”
“Because you’re a visual person with a lot of talent.”
“Wow.” She swallowed hard. “Wow. Thank you.”
She turned away, ostensibly to find her first shot, but more to steady herself again. His understanding and belief in her was a precious gift that made her even more vulnerable than his attempts at seduction.
A swallowtail on the edge of a leaf caught her focus—hers and the camera’s. She got the shot, repositioned for a better angle and took another, then another. She’d so missed having a camera as her second set of eyes. Why had she abandoned it? Catching fire, she started working the room, watching, observing, letting the pictures come to her. Two of the same orange species side by side on the edge of a planter, one with wings out, one with wings folded. The small yellow butterfly clinging to the letter T of the word Death on a teenager’s jet-black T-shirt. The dark-eyed little girl barely containing her joy at being face-to-face with a monarch. Energy and effortless concentration, marred only by her constant awareness of a certain man watching her enjoy the immense satisfaction of creation.
She was happy. Truly and deeply happy in this moment, doing what she was doing. With Sawyer.
Just call her Melanie For a Day.
He came up close behind her, where she stood hoping a blue butterfly would move ju-u-ust slightly to its right. He put his hand on the curve of her hip. She felt his size, the warmth of his body, the power of the Alana-magnets. This time she didn’t resist, moved back pretending to need photographic perspective, pushing her rear gently into the fly of his jeans. Feel good in the moment. To hell with tomorrow. Sawyer and his camera had freed her to do that.
A low groan came out of him. “What are you doing to me?”
“Oh, sorry, was I doing something to you?” She clicked her camera, even though she had no idea what she was shooting.
“Evil, evil woman.” He pressed hard against her and released, tugging quickly on his jeans. “Here I was just trying to stimulate your…creativity.”
“I don’t think that’s all you were—Look.” She hardly dared move. A brilliant blue butterfly had landed on her forearm. She turned her head as slowly as she could, lifted the camera and tried to frame a decent shot, taking in the visible foliage, the fleshy bar of her arm juxtaposed against the brilliant blue wings, the spidery legs clinging to her skin, delicate fuzzy antennae, buggy eyes. The camera clicked, then again; the butterfly flew away.
Alana turned impulsively and kissed Sawyer on the cheek. “Thank you so much.”
“For?” His arms came around her.
How could she explain adequately? “The camera. This trip. Everything. I didn’t realize how much I missed
taking pictures.”
“You’re welcome.” His hand slid under her waist-length yellow top; his palm rested against the bare skin of her back. “Alana.”
“Wait, don’t move.” A butterfly had landed in his thick hair, and was exploring the strands tentatively. “There’s one on your head.”
She stepped back, put the camera up to frame the shot. White butterfly on dark hair of gorgeous man, green branch dangling leaves close to them both. She got the shot, took another. Not surprisingly, he had a face the camera loved. Great planes, angles, good bones, and that look in his eye…
She lowered the camera slowly, allowing some of the warmth of his gaze into hers.
Yes.
Whatever he wanted, the answer was yes. It seemed like a silly waste of time to have avoided him for so long. Who was that uptight woman and what was her problem? To be desired and to be understood was everything a woman could want. Even a short time was better than never. “Were you going to ask me something?”
“If you were finished taking pictures?” He beckoned her toward him, put an arm around her, whispered in her ear. “Because you are desperately sexy when you work, and if I start kissing you now the way I want to, I’m afraid these little guys will be offended.”
The butterfly in his hair bolted.
“See?” He didn’t follow its fluttery path, kept his eyes fixed on Alana’s. “Offended.”
“Hmm.” She pretended to consider. “Were you planning to start this kissing soon?”
“Oh, yes.”
“Well, good,” she said simply. She followed him to the exhibit exit, shaky and giddy-nervous. She’d been kissed plenty in her life. How did the promise of a few more manage to reduce her to gelatin?
Outside the enclosed exhibit, Sawyer strode ahead so fast she practically had to run to keep up. “Are we…going…home?”
“Nope.” He ducked into a small-insect exhibit, made a sound of frustration when he saw a family there. “Wait, I know.”
They went into the rain forest room, climbed the stairs into the virtual treetops and found…too many people.
While She Was Sleeping... Page 13
