by Jacki Renée
“Are you ready for pizza and fun?” he asks.
“Yes!”
My daughter sounds too excited.
I set the alarm on my truck.
“Come on, let’s go.” He takes the girls’ hands and leads the way.
“What kind of pizza do you like, Kourt?” he asks.
“Pepperoni. Lots and lots of pepperoni.” She skips along beside him.
“I like pepperoni, too. And sausage. And olives,” Emma adds.
“We’ll get one with lots of pepperoni all over and sausage and olives on one side,” he says, swinging their hands.
Kourtney is acting like she’s known Bryan all her life. She normally shies away from men. Her reaction to him tugs at my heart. Tears blur my vision and I blink to keep them from spilling over. I thought I was all dried up after crying a whole year after her father was gone.
To keep my thoughts on the here and now, I let my gaze drop to the designer jeans hugging Bryan’s butt. An image of a bare body flashes through my mind’s eye.
“Are we walking too fast for you, Dr. Edwards?” He looks over his shoulder.
I haven’t moved a step, but... damn, if his butt doesn’t look good in those jeans. I catch up to them.
He opens the door for us to enter, a knowing look on his face. “What kind of pizza can I get you?” he asks.
Bells and whistles and automated voices are barely heard over the screams of children and tweens running around or playing video games, the smell of pizza and fries in the air.
Kourtney raises her voice over the noise. “It doesn’t matter. She picks off the stuff she doesn’t like.”
“I’m not picky,” I protest.
Kourtney huffs. “Yes, she is.”
I playfully poke out my tongue at her, and she returns the gesture. Emma laughs at us.
His eyebrows scrunch. “You’re a vegetarian?”
“My mom doesn’t eat red meat. Just get her a chicken and cheese pizza.”
Ah, hello. I’m standing right here.
“Okay, find us a booth.” He clasps his hands together, palms rubbing like he’s warming them up. “I’ll order the pizzas and get tokens.”
***
We hold a casual conversation as we eat. Kourtney and Emma abandon us the minute they finish their pizza. With the buffers gone, Bryan and I have a lively discussion that ends in an impasse, yet we’re able to agree on the list of ideas for Halloween decorations.
“I didn’t think it would be this much work.” He rolls his shoulders and twists his head side to side, cracking his neck. My fingers ache to help him work out the kinks.
“You don’t help your wife plan Emma’s parties?”
In all actuality, I can’t picture him tied down. Nonetheless, I should have asked before accepting his dinner invitation.
“I’m not married and I hire someone to do this stuff.” He leans back in the booth and rests his arms along the top of the bench. A glimpse of a tattoo is visible on the inside of his muscular bicep. “Can we count on your husband to help?” His fingers tap the top of the bench seat. A gold ring circles the ring finger of his right hand.
I squint my eyes. “My husband died eight years ago.”
“Your boyfriend doesn’t mind you wearing that wedding ring?”
I twist the band around my finger. “I don’t date,” my tone warns him.
He’s trespassing on dangerous territory.
“Why not, Dr. Edwards?”
We stare at one another.
“What brings you to Boulder?” he asks.
“I was hired as a therapist at the hospital. How long have you lived here?”
“A friend of mine works there, too. Dr. Ignacio Acosta. Have you met him?”
He still hasn’t answered that question.
“If your friend doesn’t work in the Behavioral Science Department then I haven’t met him.”
“Why did you take the job?”
Is there a problem with us being here? I shout in my head.
“They offered me the same flexibility in my work schedule that I had with the hospital in Arizona.”
“How did you hear about the school?”
“I researched innovative schools in the Boulder area. What attracted me is the interactive approach to teaching. The board of directors recognizes that children no longer learn by sitting at a desk all day. The selling point is the school’s test scores are way above the median.”
“Why don’t you date, Dani?”
My fingers curl into a tight fist. Teeth clench. “Please. Don’t. Call. Me. Dani.”
The girls come running to the table, prize tickets overflowing the buckets in their arms.
“We’re out of tokens. Can we go turn in our tickets?” Kourtney asks.
“I’ll help you,” I say, scooting out of the booth. “Plus, it’s getting late, and the girls have school tomorrow.”
I walk them over and help load long streams of tickets into the counting machines, relieved they interrupted our conversation. I don’t allow people to call me that nickname. It holds too many memories. Some good. Some not so good.
Ticket counting helps me compose myself and get my emotions in check. By the time we move over to the prize counter where the girls pick out matching trinkets and costume jewelry, Mr. Nosey-And-Needs-To-Mind-His-Own-Business joins us.
We stand, without speaking, while the girls shop until they are out of points. He takes their hands, leading the way to the exit.
“Thank you for dinner. I’ll send a copy of my notes. Is that your current email address on the business card you gave me?” We walk through the parking lot to our trucks. I push the button on the key fob.
“It’s one of them.” He opens the back doors of both trucks and waits for Kourtney and Emma to climb in.
“See you tomorrow, Emmy. Don’t forget to wear your orange ring.”
“I won’t, Kourty.”
“Goodnight, Kourt. Sleep well.” Bryan closes both doors.
“Are you okay to get home from here?” he asks, opening my door.
“Yes.” I climb in behind the wheel.
He lingers. A big smile on his face. “Sweet dreams. Dani.”
His croon makes my stomach jump.
Steamy thoughts of Mr. Hawk battle with years of celibacy as I pull out of the parking lot and head home.
At a red light, a sheriff car pulls up in the lane to my right. The light turns green and we travel down the three-lane boulevard. For several miles, the cruiser’s headlights shine in my side-view mirror. We part ways when I make a left turn.
Once I get Kourtney settled into bed, I take a shower hoping to wash away the effects of Bryan Hawk.
I fall asleep thinking of my late husband, James. He’s warning me to be cautious and to trust no one. Another man walks through the door to invade my dreams. His arms comfort me in a time of sorrow. Long fingers softly touching me. Gentle lips following an invisible trail down my stomach. Those hazel eyes framed in long eyelashes are the last things I see before his face disappears between my thighs. Hesitation flies out the window. I blindly give him my body. And my soul.
***
By midmorning I come up with a more proper name for the man bringing me pleasure in a dream. Mr. Tall-And-Sexy.
Since I have a short break between patients, I email him a copy of the notes I took, along with a few creative suggestions inspired by Kourtney on the drive to school.
Less than a second after clicking send, an automatic reply message pops up in my in box. Bryan’s out of the office until Thursday. I text his phone and greet the new patient walking through the door.
“Hello, Mr. Brumfield.”
At the end of my shift, I leave work feeling disappointed. Bryan hasn’t replied to my messages.
I pull out the classroom directory after dinner and call the home number listed for Emma Hawk.
“I’m sorry, Bryan is out of the country on business until Thursday,” the housekeeper informs me.
How are we supposed to turn in the proposal on time if he’s out of the country?
“I can give him a message when he checks in, if you’d like,” she offers.
“No. There’s no message. Thank you.”
Kourtney helps me research creative ways to make the items on our list.
I go to bed frustrated but wake up sweaty and flushed. Mr. Tall-And-Sexy plays a recurring role in my dreams.
By Thursday afternoon he hasn’t contacted me. I eat lunch at my desk and use the notes to come up with a proposal for the Halloween project. I email it to Principal Dr. Barrett, Ms. Williamson, and Mr. Hawk.
I refuse to dream about him, but my subconscious mind rules against me. We’re doing things I’ve only read about in books. James stands in the background frowning. The Danielle in my dreams smirks back at him. She’s loving her sexual expeditions.
Friday morning I’m at my desk typing notes in patients’ records when a knock on my office door interrupts me. “Come in.” I look up, expecting to see the new Psych intern, Vanessa.
Mr. Tall-And-Sexy walks through the door. I thought he looked like a tall drink of water in jeans and a T-shirt; he looks downright edible in a tailored-to-perfection gray business suit. My stomach twitches and so does that place between my thighs.
“Good morning, Mr. Hawk. What brings you to my office?”
He approaches the desk. My comfortably decorated office becomes too small with him in it.
His body language emanates sex. And something else. His face is calm and composed.
“If memory serves me correctly, Dr. Edwards, and I have a damn good memory. I’m the head of this committee and you are my assistant. You assist me.”
Does he sound perturbed? No, that isn’t the right word.
Hmm.
Authoritative.
That’s it. He sounds authoritative.
Inhale. Slowly exhale. I count to ten. Fighting will get us nowhere. We have to work together, but an alpha male will not bully me.
“As your assistant, Mr. Hawk, I covered for you and submitted the proposal on time. You’re more than welcome to make revisions, but may I suggest you follow my lead. I have more experience in this area.”
“I don’t make a habit of neglecting my responsibilities. My business trip took longer than it should’ve. And for the record, Dr. Edwards”—he leans forward, towering over me—“I’m not a follower. I lead.”
Most people think I can be coerced or intimidated. They take my standing-in-the-background persona for weakness until I unleash the fighter within.
I rise from my chair and lean toward him. Hands on the desk. He overshadows me even though I’m wearing heels; however, intimidation tactics will not work.
“Mr. Hawk, a good leader knows when to follow the expert.”
He steps around to the side of the desk. I stand up straight.
“You are familiar with that saying, seen but not heard?”
“You’re familiar with that saying, behind every great man stands an even greater woman?” I tweak it in my favor, then roll my eyes for dramatic effect. Men think a woman rolling her eyes is a sign of typical feminine childishness. Come on— take the bait.
“Can’t say that I have.” He smirks. “But I’ve heard, behind every great man is a woman rolling her eyes.”
I take the few steps around the desk to close in on him. Thanks for the nibble. I’m about to end this conversation.
“I don’t recall hearing that one, Mr. Hawk. But I know, in front of this man”—my finger taps his chest—“stands a strong, wise and hardworking woman who eats alpha males for dinner.”
I swear I didn’t see him move. His hands capture my head while his body presses me against the wall. Our tongues battle for dominance. He nibbles, then sucks my bottom lip and I surrender.
He tilts my head to gain better access to my mouth. Bryan deepens the kiss. His tongue tastes of a cinnamon.
Intimate images circle in my head. No longer is this kiss about power. It’s remembrance. Intimate. Longing.
My hands slide up his chest, resting on his strong shoulders.
He groans, then all too soon pulls away.
Familiarity overwhelms me and the knot in my stomach twists as I watch him walk out the door.
***
Dani’s office door closes behind me. What the hell was that, Hawk? I yell at myself. I had to. Her strong mind and quick wit are a mental turn-on.
I do my best to walk normal, keeping my eyes focused on the elevator doors.
Passing the reception desk, I don’t acknowledge Sergeant Larson. She’s assigned to watch over Dani here at the hospital. One phone call and a sizeable donation, and Vanessa Larson’s the new Psych intern. She’s one of the top female soldiers in Phantom. And the only female on Delta Team.
Until we have eyes on that walking corpse, I can’t ease up on Dani and Kourt’s protection. He was spotted in Germany a few days ago. By the time we got there, he’d disappeared. The trip wasn’t a waste of time though. I learned a few interesting things about James Edwards. For one, he and Dani weren’t legally married. That’s a relief.
The elevator doors open, two men step into the cab, then turn and face me, leaving room in the middle. I nod, step in and turn around. Sergeant Larson and I make eye contact before the elevator doors close.
The atmosphere in here is like standing at a urinal and trying not to look at the man pissing next to you.
Porter hands me a folded newspaper.
Mitchells looks everywhere but at the reflection in the doors.
Damn these tight-ass pants. Even if I adjust the suit jacket, it won’t hide my hard-on. Willpower made me walk away. I have to stay focused in order to keep Edwards from finding Dani and Kourt until we set the trap. But I’m in deep and all I did was kiss her... this time.
CHAPTER THREE
Over the next few weeks, Mr. Tall-And-Sexy and I put our plans for decorations in motion. On the weekends, we take the girls on scavenger hunts for materials and supplies.
Today we explore a junkyard in Louisville, Colorado.
On the tips of my toes, I hoist myself up onto the frame of an old, hollowed-out engine area of a rusty truck. I spot the perfect tire for the base of our scarecrow. My feet dangle off the ground as I reach for it. Slightly off balance, my body rocks and I’m falling forward.
Strong hands grip my waist, stopping me from flipping over.
He presses against my back, face so close that a slight turn of my head and our lips will merge.
“Be careful.” His seductive voice strokes my ear.
We fit together like two puzzle pieces. I bite my lip as my eyes close for a moment. This intimate position isn’t good for self-imposed celibacy.
He lifts the tire up and out, then steps back. I lower my feet to the ground and turn to face him.
The smirk on his lips confirms what I’ve suspected: Bryan’s purposely pushing my buttons.
“Tag, you’re it.” Kourtney taps his arm and zips past him.
He covers his face with his hands and counts. Once he gets to ten, the chase is on.
She enjoys spending time with him. Their personalities are so similar, as are mine and Emma’s.
Bryan and Kourtney view the junkyard as a playground with endless objects to climb on, hide behind, and find a scientific way to incorporate into the decoration theme. Emma and I look at the place as a blank canvas to create works of art.
It turns out to be a really good Saturday.
Monday afternoon, Emma helps me do a classroom art project with the things we found in the junkyard. I notice she shies away from certain classmates.
Jacob Brooks is one of those students, yet he insists Emma help him. I try to divert his attention by praising his effort. Emma’s opinion is the only validation that satisfies him.
Christy Banks, Julia Johnson, and Melissa Valentine, “the mean girls,” are the other students she won’t go near. They seem harmless to me.
Everyone is super ex
cited about the theme. And I like meeting the parents. Most tend to become guarded when they learn I’m a therapist. Not Max, Penelope’s dad. His flamboyant personality is fun to be around. And contagious. Somehow he manages to get me to shed my controlled exterior and let the vivaciousness rule the throne for a little while.
So far Max has been subtle with his questions about my working relationship with Mr. Hawk. I steer our conversations to safer topics. We’ve gone out to lunch twice.
Most parents are supportive and cooperative in our request for help. Then there’s the three who deny my solicitations. Instead they leapfrog over each other to aid Mr. Tall-And-Sexy.
As I wait in front of the school for the students to be dismissed, along with other parents, the three Horny Toads float their lily pads near me.
“Bryan called me yesterday afternoon. I told him it’s okay to come in my garage.” Holly Valentine gloats.
Inwardly, I roll my eyes at her wordplay.
“Yesterday, I told Bryan he had to come quickly. My husband was due home any minute.” Stephanie Banks tops Holly. The threat of exposure is more exciting than an open invitation.
“I dropped off old clothes to Bryan last night, and he invited me in for a drink. I didn’t get home until almost midnight and Simon is pissed.” Fake Boobs, aka Madelyn Brooks, trumps them both. “Bryan stretched and pounded me so hard, my lips are swollen, and I don’t mean the ones on my face.”
I know they’re just fantasizing about cheating on their husbands with the same man, but these married women are publicly bragging about being cheaters.
Could there be some truth to their fantasies? Does he have the energy to screw three women in the same day? For all I know, he could be a professional gigolo.
This is one reason I don’t date. Too many manwhores, not enough monogamous men.
“Hi, Danielle.” Max breaks my train of thought.
We air kiss each other’s cheeks. “Hi, Max. How are you?”
“I’m fabulous, honey. Listen, I tried calling Bryan yesterday, but his housekeeper told me he’s been out of town for a few days. Do you have a copy of the updated list of materials? I’m going to my in-laws on Sunday. I’ll see what they have in their garage.”
