by Susan Gable
A few minutes later he checked his watch again, then pulled a cotton polo shirt from a hanger and yanked it over his head. “Molly? You ready?”
“She’s ready, are you?” Nolan asked from the bedroom door.
“What are you doing here?” James tucked the bottom of the shirt into his jeans.
“I’m here to pick up Molly and make sure you get off okay.” Nolan glanced over his shoulder. “And I’ve brought you something.” He entered the room and held out his hand. “Take this.”
James glanced down at the pager cradled in Nolan’s palm. “I don’t need that, I’ve got my cell. But thanks.”
“Trust me, you need this. Take it.” Nolan pressed it into James’s hand.
The weight didn’t feel right. James hefted it in his palm, then turned a quizzical glance to Nolan, who grinned, and popped open the mock pager.
Revealing several condoms.
James shook his head. “Getting a little ahead of ourselves, aren’t we?”
“Hell, no. This is your night, Jim.”
“I don’t think so.” His hormones protested, but he didn’t want to expect that the night would land him in Rachel’s bed. He still hadn’t decided if that would be a smart move or not. Besides, there was no guarantee she’d even consider it.
“A good Scout is always prepared.”
“I was never a Scout.”
“Shut up and take them. If you don’t need them, then you can give them back. I’ll be happy to make use of them.”
James cast a sidelong glance at Nolan. “Just in case something does get going, and Rachel should happen to ask, just how old are these condoms?”
“How old?” Nolan’s brows bunched in the center of his forehead. “Why do you need to know that?”
“Because if they’re older than Spam, I’m out of luck.”
“Huh?”
“When did you get them? Before Tyler?”
“Hell, no. These are fresh, pal. I bought a nice big box before we came on this trip. Michelle’s still nursing Tyler, so this is about it as far as birth control goes.” His buddy made a slicing motion across his neck. “And she’ll kill me if I get her pregnant again too soon.”
“Too soon? You planning to add another one?”
Nolan’s grin turned sheepish. “I sure hope so. There’s a big gap between Cherish and Tyler, naturally, but I’d like for Tyler to have a little brother or sister, too.”
“That’s…nice.” James shoved the plastic pager into his back pocket, feeling slightly envious. He’d always wanted a large family, three or four kids. “Come on, I’ll get you Molly’s meds.”
The girls were waiting near the front door when James and Nolan entered the main room. “I’m giving Nolan your meds, Mol. You have your watch, right?”
“Yeah, Dad, I have my watch.” She held up her wrist and grimaced at him as he pulled the plastic containers from the kitchen cabinet. “I have my toothbrush and my pj’s and my clothes for tomorrow. I’ll remember to take a shower and put on clean underwear. I won’t eat any junk food, and we’ll go to bed at a reasonable hour. Did I forget anything?”
“Seven-thirty,” he told Nolan, shoving the small plastic bag into his hands. “Directions are on the labels, and Molly knows the drill, too.”
“We’re familiar with the routine, Jim.”
James turned to Molly. “Sounds like you’ve got it all covered. I think you only forgot one thing.”
“What’s that?”
“My good-night hug and kiss. I guess I’ll have to have them now.”
She dropped her backpack to the ground and entered his wide-stretched arms. He stroked her hair for a moment, then bent over so she could place a loud kiss on his cheek. “’Night, Daddy.”
“’Night, tiger. You be good.”
“You have fun.” She smiled at him. “And make sure Miss Rachel has fun, too.”
“I’ll do my best.” He turned toward Nolan. “You have my cell number, and the number of the restaurant.”
“We’ll be fine, Jim. Do make sure you both have fun.” Nolan gave him a final wink before he ushered the girls out the door. “See you at breakfast.”
The screen door slammed shut.
Silence.
The emptiness of the cabin washed over him, and he inhaled deeply. He had a whole evening ahead, an evening when he was to forget about being a dad and concentrate on being on man.
He pulled his cell phone from its holder on his belt and opened it. Yeah, it was working.
A light tap sounded at the door. “James?”
“Rachel.” He glanced at his watch and hustled onto the screened porch. “Sorry, we got a little behind with getting Molly—”
He stopped midsentence and stared. “You look great.” The turquoise of her sleeveless blouse set off her sunshine hair and bright blue eyes, and the tight denim capris she wore set off everything else.
Including his hormones.
A pretty flush rose in her cheeks. “Thank you.” She gave him a quick once-over before dropping her gaze. “So do you.”
Okay, now they had the awkward complimenting stage over with. So far so good. He fished for the SUV keys in his pocket. “Our reservations are for seven.”
She dangled a set of keys from her index finger. “I thought we’d take the Goat. And I thought you might like to drive.”
He slapped his hand over his chest and groaned. “Be still, my heart. You’re not teasing, are you? It’s not nice to tease a man, you know.”
“I’m not teasing.” She tossed the keys at him.
“A beautiful woman and a muscle car.” He threw his head back and grunted. “Testosterone overload, here I come.”
God, it felt good to be just a man.
RACHEL BLINKED A FEW TIMES as her eyes adjusted to the dimly lit restaurant. Red-and-white-checked tablecloths covered the tables; flickering candles spilled melting wax down their wine-bottle holders. Soft instrumental music swelled in the background, and Rachel tried to swallow the dry sand in her mouth.
Butterflies—or maybe Molly’s fireflies—flitted in her stomach as James took her elbow.
What would they talk about now that the car topic had been exhausted? Small talk had never been her forte.
“Right this way.” With a smile, the young hostess clutched the menus to her chest and headed toward the back of the restaurant, weaving through the mostly unoccupied tables.
The kitchen door opened as they passed, and the scent of freshly baked garlic bread wafted out. Rachel’s stomach did a somersault. She stumbled.
James steadied her. “You okay?”
“Fine.” She shrugged off his hand, squeezed her lips together tightly, and followed the hostess.
After they were seated at a secluded table in a little back alcove and had placed their drink orders, Rachel studied the menu intently.
“What looks good to you?”
You do. But she didn’t dare voice that opinion, even though it might have distracted her from the memories the little Italian place was threatening to bring to the surface. “I don’t know. What are you going to have?”
“I’m not sure. Maybe the lasagna.”
“No!” The plastic menu holder clattered against the tabletop and Rachel folded her hands in her lap.
“You have something against lasagna?”
Sweat beaded on the back of her neck. “Sorry. No, you go ahead and order what you want.” She could handle it. For pity’s sake, get a grip. It’s just food.
He set down his menu and held out his hand expectantly.
Tentatively, she unwound the linen napkin and placed her hand in his palm. Warmth infused her as he closed his strong fingers around hers.
“Rachel, friends share. They don’t bottle things up.” He winked at her. “Remember what I told you happens when you bottle things up?”
Yes, you end up looking crazy and incompetent and on the brink of losing the only thing you have left. Only he’d put it more professionally. Something abo
ut ending up with a stress-related illness. She sighed and nodded.
“So tell me, why don’t you want me eating lasagna?”
The dim lighting, soothing, soft music and warmth from his hand made her feel safe. “What do you call it when a person won’t eat something because it made her sick once?”
“A conditioned taste aversion?”
“I have one of those to lasagna.”
He studied her intently, and she squirmed in her seat.
“It has something to do with Daniel, doesn’t it?”
She bobbed her head slightly. “It was his favorite. I was making it for him—” She cleared her throat. “I had a batch in the oven, cooking, when Roman called to tell me Daniel had been hurt.”
“Oh, God.” James squeezed her hand. “I’m sorry, Rachel. Okay, no lasagna.” He glanced around the restaurant. “Are you sure you want to stay? Because we can go someplace else. We don’t have to have dinner here.”
“And lose our prize?” She shook her head. “No, we worked hard for this dinner, and Molly cheered us on. Just so long as we stay away from the lasagna…”
“You know, you can recondition yourself. You just have to pair the noxious stimulus with something pleasant.” He lifted her hand and placed a light kiss in the middle of her palm. “Something pleasurable.” His mouth caressed her skin again.
Heat rushed from the spot where the tip of his tongue teased gently to flood her entire body. If anyone could recondition her, it would be this man, this compassionate, tender, sexy man. “Really? How does that work?”
His lips pressed against her wrist and she prayed he couldn’t feel her heart racing. “Well, you could take it in small steps. If, for example, you found you could tolerate being in an Italian restaurant and smelling lasagna, then you could move on.” His chair grated against the floor as he moved closer. “Then maybe you could try having someone eat it in front of you. Eventually you’d be able to eat it yourself.”
“What—what about the other stimulus? You know, the pleasurable one? What would you choose for that one?”
“That depends,” he murmured, reaching to tuck a stray piece of hair behind her ear, then brushing the backs of his fingers over her cheek.
“On what?” she whispered.
“On whether or not we were alone.”
She swallowed hard. “And if we were?” Holy mother of pearl, she was playing with fire.
He leaned over, his words hot on her ear. “Pleasure is so personal, Rachel. What’s the most pleasurable thing you can imagine me doing to you?”
Her breathing went shallow, and her eyes closed as thoughts of his large, gentle hands—and mouth, oh, yes, his mouth—all over her body sent a thrum of desire rushing through her bloodstream.
“Mmm, yeah,” he whispered. “Whatever that idea is, I’d love to oblige.”
And she’d love to let him…if only she—
“Are you ready to order now?” The waitress set their drinks on the table in front of them.
Rachel jerked away from him, face scorching. Hopefully the dim light wasn’t enough for either James or the waitress to notice.
James smiled at her and squeezed her hand.
She’d totally forgotten he was still holding it. “I’ll…I’ll have the lasagna.”
His smile faded. “You don’t have to do that, Rachel. I mean, what I was saying is correct, but it takes time. It’s not just a one-shot attempt. I want you to enjoy yourself tonight.”
“Lasagna was always a favorite of mine, too. I want to do this.”
James shook his head. Damn, if half his patients had the courage of this woman, his job would be a lot easier. “Are you sure?”
She nodded.
He turned toward the waitress. “The same for me.”
They completed their dinner orders, and he sighed with relief when the waitress left them alone again in the dark corner. The flickering candlelight revealed apprehension in Rachel’s blue eyes.
“You can still change your order. I can call her back.”
“No. This is something I have to do.”
“You are a remarkable woman, Rachel Thompson. Brave.”
Her lips pursed together, and she shook her head. “Hardly.”
“Totally. Coming to Camp Firefly Wishes was an act of courage.”
“Yeah, right.” She removed her hand from his and lifted her water glass, taking a sip. “It was an act of desperation, not courage.”
“I don’t understand. Explain it to me.” He wanted to know everything about her, from her childhood in a military family, to what she was like as a teacher, to the exact image that had flashed through her mind when she’d closed her eyes and started breathing faster as he’d whispered in her ear.
Especially that image.
She broke off a piece of Italian bread and buttered it. “I was kind of…coerced into coming to camp. In all honesty, it wasn’t something I wanted to do.”
“Because you weren’t ready?” He spread butter on his own slice of bread, watching her from the corner of his eye.
“Exactly.” She offered him a slight smile. “It’s nice that someone finally understands.”
“I understand, but I think you’re underestimating yourself. Maybe you were ready but were afraid to admit it to yourself.”
Just as he didn’t want to admit to himself how drawn he was to this woman, and not just on a physical level.
“Why would I be afraid?”
“Maybe you feel that starting to deal with Daniel’s death means losing him all over again.”
“Is that your professional opinion, Dr. McClain?”
“Actually, yes.” He leaned back in his chair, waving his slice of bread in the air. “But I have to remind you, we’re not on a consultation here. We’re—” he swiveled his head, checking for listeners, and dropped his voice to an exaggerated whisper “—on a date.”
Her smile widened. “Yes, we are. I’d nearly forgotten. Of course, it’s been so long since I’ve been on a date, you’ll have to excuse my rusty skills.”
“I hear you.” He chuckled softly. “Care to compare? I’ll bet mine are rustier.”
“Really?”
Mouth full of bread, he nodded.
“I thought a guy like you would have plenty of dates.”
“A guy like me? What’s that supposed to mean?”
Running a finger along the woven edge of the basket, she looked down, and her cheeks flushed. “I don’t know. You’re kind of…” The final word of the sentence was mumbled under her breath.
He propped his elbows on the edge of the table. “What was that?”
“Smooth. A ladies’ man.”
He straightened up in the chair, puffing out his chest. Damn, there was a hell of a lot to be said for a testosterone rush. Who needed drugs or alcohol when hormones could do such a job? “I know you don’t mean that as a compliment, but that’s how I’m taking it.” He chuckled. “My partner would be on the floor, howling. The truth is my last date was about four years ago. And the only reason I remember is because Molly was four years old.”
“Four years? Okay, I win. My last date was six and a half years ago. Too bad my husband didn’t stop dating at the same time.” She propped her chin in her palm, eyes taking on a far-away look.
“He cheated, huh?”
A flicker of hurt flashed in the blue depths as she nodded. “I shouldn’t have been surprised, given the reason for our marriage. And talk about a ladies’ man? That was Roman to a T. I guess I always hoped he’d change. You know, he missed out on having a dad in his house growing up, and I believed him when he said he wanted to try to make our marriage work.” Her dry chuckle sounded forced. “Although, I think maybe Roman’s real motivation was the possibility of my father—or Jerry—tearing his head off.”
“Jerry?”
The waitress returned with their salads, and Rachel fell quiet until the woman left again. James stirred red vinegar into the mixed greens. “Who’s Jerry?”
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br /> “Jerry’s my principal. And Roman’s uncle. He was not happy when he found out there was a baby on the way before a wedding.” She toyed with the croutons in her salad. “I could have lost my job. I didn’t have tenure at that point, and the board of ed definitely would not have approved of a pregnant, unmarried teacher.”
“So he offered to marry you?”
“Eventually. With a little encouragement. But we were the ones who made the final decision.”
Over their salads, Rachel explained how Roman had been summoned for a meeting in her father’s den—a den she described as the ultimate male retreat, complete with gun cabinet and mounted hunting trophies. When he’d arrived, Rachel had been seated on the couch, and both her father and Jerry were present. After a brief interrogation, as Rachel termed it, the two older men handed the younger one a packet containing two plane tickets to Las Vegas along with hotel and wedding chapel arrangements, all prepaid.
“And that’s how I ended up a married woman. Roman and I discussed it, and decided it really was the best thing for all of us, for the baby, for me and my career. I guess it just didn’t work out for him the way we expected.”
“Did you love him?” A burning sensation developed in the pit of his stomach while he waited for the answer. Too many peppers in the salad. He pushed his not-quite-empty bowl away.
A pensive expression filled her face. “I believed I was in love with him. Like many women, I thought my love could change him, heal him.” She sighed. “But I don’t think I really understood what love was all about. Love is about sacrifice, and sticking around, and working things out. Love is being there through the hard stuff. My pregnancy was the first hard thing we faced, and I thought that since we passed that test, we’d be okay.” She smiled softly. “That’s enough about me. Tell me something about yourself.”
“Well, you’re right about love being about standing together through the hard stuff. Tiffany, my ex-wife, didn’t get that, either. Our marriage had been smooth sailing until we found out about Molly’s heart defect in the second trimester of the pregnancy.” His abs tightened, and he tried hard to brush aside the anger that still lingered.
Rachel’s fork fell to the table, and she reached for his hand. “Then what happened?”
