Wanted

by Karen Rose Smith

  “Toward the cottage?” His father wanted to know.

  Jase tossed him a look that told him it was none of his business.

  Chapter Seven

  Yes, he’d taken a walk toward the cottage. It seemed he and Sara always had something to settle. Or was he just making excuses to see her, to kiss her again?

  More than likely, she would have already turned in.

  Jase’s pulse raced a little faster as he spotted a light burning in her living room. Insomnia? Worry about her and Amy’s future? Or racing thoughts like the ones scrambling in his mind for dominance?

  He opened the screen door and rapped lightly. After all, she might have simply forgotten to switch off the lamp.

  Within a minute or so, the outside light came on and her door opened. She obviously hadn’t been in bed, but...she was dressed for bed.

  The innocent-looking yellow cotton gown and robe could have been sedate on any woman, but on Sara—

  His heart sped up a little more.

  To her credit, she didn’t ask why he was there. They were drawn to each other and fighting the chemistry magnet. But she did tie the belt on her robe a little tighter. An indication her guard was up and she wouldn’t be giving in to desire?

  “Did everyone leave?” she asked.

  Although the porch lamp glowed, most of her face was still in shadow.

  “Even the catering staff.”

  “It was a nice party.”

  Most people wouldn’t consider her term accurate. “Nice?”

  “All right,” she admitted with a smile in her voice. “It was glamorous.”

  “That had to do with the caliber of guests. Can I come in?”

  She seemed wary. “To talk about the party?”

  “Among other subjects.”

  “It’s late.”

  “It’s the weekend.”

  After a pensive pause, she stepped back and let him in.

  He’d removed his cuff links and rolled up his shirtsleeves. With his shirt collar opened, he thought a more casual appearance might put her at ease. As he crossed her threshold, she eyed him as if his more casual look didn’t relax her at all.

  He waited for her to make the next move. Should he stand there and talk? Sit on the sofa? Head to the kitchen table?

  For a moment, she didn’t react. She just let her gaze roam from his open shirt collar to his rolled up sleeves. She bit on her lower lip and he almost reached out and pulled her into his arms.

  Almost.

  “Can we sit?” he suggested before he did something stupid. He was well aware Amy was in a room close by.

  Sara went to the sofa and curled up against the arm, her legs—long, very curvy legs—tucked beneath her.

  Lowering himself to the middle cushion, he asked, “Did everything go okay with Amy, Jordan and Kaitlyn?”

  “Kaitlyn knows her way around children. They were both sleeping when Marissa and I came in. I think Kaitlyn tired them out, which is a real feat. Even Marissa was impressed because Jordan didn’t wake up when she put him in her car.”

  He had trouble taking his eyes from Sara. Her hair was still a mass of curls on top of her head and those stray ones around her face were driving him crazy. “You looked beautiful tonight. I liked your hair that way.”

  “It only took an hour and Marissa’s patience, so once I take it down, you might never see this side of me again.”

  She said it lightly but he could tell she was serious.

  “You made an impact. More than one guest commented on your dress.”

  “So you overheard,” Sara murmured and a defiant look entered her eyes. “And I suppose your father did, too. You both think I went online with a computer that hasn’t been replaced yet and bought a dress from Luca Carzanne with thousands of dollars I don’t have!”

  She’d almost risen from the sofa—he was sure she was ready to show him the door—when he clasped her arm to stop her. “Sara.”

  Whether it was the timbre of his voice or the firmness of his clasp or the directness of his gaze, he wasn’t sure. But she went still and just stared at him.

  “Yes, my father overheard and commented. I told him I was sure The Mommy Club had helped you in some way, along with Marissa.”

  Glancing at her feet, he knew she was thinking about those very high-heeled, sexy shoes.

  “I always feel I’m defending myself around you. Do you know how uncomfortable that is?”

  When he kept silent, she sighed with resignation. “Your father probably won’t believe me, but I found that dress at the thrift shop. Someone donated a box of dressy dresses. Kaitlyn pulled out a couple in my size and that was one of them.”

  “Why wouldn’t he believe you?”

  “Because he wants to believe the worst about me. He senses...” She stopped, then straightened her shoulders and courageously continued. “He senses you’re interested in me. He doesn’t want you to get hurt again.”

  Jase agreed that for some reason his father didn’t want him to get involved with Sara, but the rest of her conclusion didn’t hold water.

  “Your imagination is running away with you. He simply doesn’t want anything to interfere with my management of the winery. I don’t think he’ll approve of my decision to become involved with the newspaper, either, because he wants my focus on Raintree.”

  “Doesn’t he see that your journalism and photography are part of who you are?”

  “I wouldn’t call that article journalism.”

  “You don’t have to be shot at to write a good story.”

  That’s what he liked about Sara—the bottom line. “You’re right. Getting to the heart of an issue is what journalism is about. Or photography, for that matter.”

  He and Sara connected on so many levels; not the least of them was physical chemistry. As their gazes met and held, he felt the actual ripple of it in the air and the answering response in his body.

  Lowering his hand to her bare foot, he playfully ran his thumb over her arch. “How did your feet hold up in those Cinderella shoes?”

  “I think they’d rather run barefoot.”

  His fingers slid over her arch again, and he massaged until she sighed.

  “How did you get so good at that?” she asked. “I’m the one who had massage classes.”

  “I picked up a few talents in my travels.”

  Sara was studying him as if she might be imagining other women, other foot massages, but there hadn’t been any. Even with Dana. Their affair had been a few weeks here, a quick stopover there. They’d both put their photojournalism careers first, not tender moments to share. But putting all that into words seemed to be too much of a gut-wrenching revelation. Because he understood, now, his relationship with Dana had never been the soul-stirring kind that could be a foundation for a lasting marriage.

  When he suspected Sara was going to pull away, he tapped her hot-pink painted toenails. “Couldn’t see these with your Cinderella shoes.”

  Immediately a smile spread across her lips. “Those were Amy’s idea. Hers match.”

  He ran his thumb over her instep and cupped her foot in his hand. The question came out before he could stop it. “Are you afraid of what you feel when you’re with me?”

  This time when she bit her lower lip, he released her foot and moved closer. “Sara?”

  “Your questions are too personal.”

  “That’s why I ask them.” He moved nearer still until he was sitting by her hip and she stretched her legs out along the back of the sofa. “Do you want me to leave?”

  “You should leave.”

  “That’s not what I asked.”

  She closed her eyes, opened them again and murmured, “I don’t want you to leave. But yes, I am afraid of what I feel when
I’m with you.”

  He leaned in slowly, giving her the chance to move away. But she didn’t. And when his lips captured hers, he didn’t taste fear but rather desire. The same desire he felt. Questions faded away when they were this close. Physical intimacy seemed to be an answer in itself.

  In response to his unspoken question, Sara’s arms circled his neck, as his lips took more and demanded more, as arousal became more potent than any of the finest Raintree wines. Yes, Amy was in the next room. No, he wasn’t going to go too far. But he was going to go a little further.

  Sara’s robe had gapped open and he slid his hand inside. The cotton of her gown was simply a soft, pliable barrier that didn’t meet any resistance. When he palmed her breast, he felt her answering response vibrate under his hand. Her fingers laced into his hair and she pressed into him, wanting more. He was ready to give it. With as much control as he could muster, he rimmed his finger around her nipple. Now her hand left his hair, circled his back and seemed to be trying to find a place to touch him, skin to skin. There was so much heat between them now that even mountaintop snow couldn’t cool him off. She plucked at his shirt and it came loose from the waistband of his trousers. Her hand was underneath it in seconds and he felt her palm on his skin. It felt so good, he could lay her down on the sofa and take her right there and then.

  But Amy was in the next room and they both could be sorry in the morning.

  The last remaining thought in his head told him what he had to do. He stopped everything...all of it. He moved his hand away from her breast and he stopped kissing her. The moment he put a few inches between them, she looked up at him.

  They were both out of breath as if they’d run a race. Maybe they had, but it was a race he couldn’t complete this time...not without regrets.

  His voice was gravelly when he concluded, “I think a little time and space to think about what we want might be best.”

  He saw that lift of her chin, the defiant independence that came into her eyes. That was Sara. When she said with forced conviction, “You’re right,” he wasn’t surprised. After all, they were adults with good sense and histories that had made them both cautious.

  Turning away from her, trying to get every one of his senses under control along with his libido, he blew out a resigned sigh. Then he stood and said the only thing he could think of to say. “You know where to find me if you need me.”

  She wouldn’t meet his gaze again, and he knew she wasn’t going to let him see her need.

  So time and space were what he was going to give them...whether they liked it or not.

  * * *

  On Tuesday of the following week, Sara glanced at her watch and then at the clock on the wall at the physical therapy center. She couldn’t believe how late it was. Ramona was sitting on one of the table mats, looking forlorn after a grueling workout.

  “I just can’t count on my leg when I go walking. I have to take my cane along for most of the walk.”

  “Maybe you’re trying to go too far.”

  “I have to push myself or I’ll never get better. You said as much.”

  “Yes, I did. But you have to know how far to push. Because if you overdo, you’ll set yourself back a few steps instead of going forward.”

  Sara knew Ramona and she needed to discuss this more. The problem was she had to pick up Amy soon.

  She patted Ramona’s shoulder. “I have to make a call. Rest a few minutes and then we’ll talk more about how far to push.”

  Maybe Marissa could pick up Amy. But trying Marissa’s cell, Sara only reached her voice mail. Next she tried the winery.

  This time Marissa didn’t pick up, but Jase did.

  “Raintree Winery, Jase Cramer speaking.”

  “Jase, I...” She hadn’t seen or spoken to him since their sofa session Saturday night. He’d said they needed time and space and she’d most assuredly agreed. “I thought I’d reach Marissa.”

  “She had the afternoon off today. When she leaves, her calls are forwarded to my line.”

  “I forgot.” Marissa had told her Saturday that she’d be taking a few hours off and Sara needn’t pick up Jordan on Tuesday. “I know Kaitlyn probably still has office hours—”

  “What’s wrong, Sara?”

  “I’m tied up with a patient. I was hoping Marissa could pick up Amy at day care today. But I’ll figure out something.”

  “I could pick her up.”

  She said the first thing that came into her head. “But you don’t have a car seat.”

  “I can easily remedy that. The question is, do you trust me to pick her up and stay with her until you get home?”

  Home. The cottage was beginning to feel like home, and that worried her as much as her attraction to Jase. She remembered his walk with Amy, the comfortable way Amy acted around him. “I don’t want to take advantage of you. A four-year-old can be a handful, or an armful, or a houseful.”

  His voice was filled with amusement as he asked, “Are you trying to dissuade me or warn me?”

  “Warn you. I just want you to know what you’ll be getting into.”

  “I have been around kids, Sara. I can entertain Amy if that’s what you’re worried about. I have a key to the cottage. Do you want me to use it? Or would you rather I take her to the house?”

  “It would probably be easier for both of you to be at the cottage. I don’t mind if you let yourself in.”

  “Not worried I’ll steal the family jewels?”

  “There are no jewels.”

  “That depends on how you look at it.”

  Was he saying that she and Amy were valuable to him?

  “We can see if time and space did either of us any good,” he remarked.

  “It wasn’t much time and space.”

  “Then why did it seem like it?”

  He felt that, too, had he? The sense of loss, the sense of something missing. She had told herself not to look for him in the vineyard, not to watch for his car, but she had anyway and had felt foolish about it.

  “I’d better get back to my patient.”

  “Of course.” He sounded as if he understood. “This will work out fine, Sara. Trust me.”

  The last thing she wanted to do was trust another man. But in this situation, she felt she had no choice.

  * * *

  Over an hour later, Sara laughed out loud when she walked up to the cottage and saw what Jase and her daughter were doing. Were they really playing hopscotch with blue chalk checkerboarded all over the walk?

  Amy had just finished hopping in the squares and Jase followed her, hopping, too. He’d been unaware of Sara until she’d started laughing.

  Then he looked over his shoulder and grinned at her. “What? You don’t think a grown man can play hopscotch?” He was wearing jeans and a T-shirt and sneakers and looked rakish and boyish.

  “Sure, a grown man can play hopscotch. After all, I jump rope sometimes. But you totally altered the appearance of the front walk. I don’t want your father to think I did this.”

  “I take full responsibility,” Jase said seriously. “It’s not going to be an issue. This washes off with the hose.” He pointed to his camera bag on the small porch. “I took some photos of Amy playing and of her watching the hummingbirds at the feeder. When I get back to my suite, I’ll print them out for you.”

  “I’d love to have them. I lost—” Her voice broke when she thought about losing Amy’s precious baby history...over the giving way Jase was recording “now” for her.

  Jase could obviously see how she’d choked up. “You lost all your photographs from when Amy was a baby?”

  “Yes. Scrapbooks, too. I’ve been trying to write down what I remembered—about the first time she rolled over, her first tooth, her first steps. You think you’ll remember, but sometim
es those memories get all mixed up as time slips away.”

  Jase came over to her and put his arm around her shoulders.

  “From this day forward, you can record it all.”

  “Your photographs today will help. Thank you.”

  As if Jase was uncomfortable with her gratitude, he dismissed it. “Photos are easy for me. No thanks necessary.” Then to put the conversation back on a practical footing, he said, “The insurance investigator must realize you’d never willingly let something important to any parent go.”

  “I told him about what I lost, but I don’t know if it matters to him.”

  “Well, all of it matters to you. Let’s get out that hose, have some fun and take more pictures. Why don’t you and Amy change into something you don’t mind getting wet.”

  “What about you?”

  “I’m fine.”

  “I guess that means you think you’re going to hold the hose and not get wet?”

  “I don’t like that look in your eye,” he teased.

  “We’re going to have to take turns. That’s fair.”

  “And we do need to be fair.”

  As they once more made eye contact, the attraction between them was still potent. Though they were fleeting, she remembered each of their kisses. She remembered his touch. Most of all, she remembered that neither of them trusted very well right now...that neither of them wanted to take an emotional risk. But she enjoyed being with him and he seemed to feel the same way about being with her. Tonight they were going to have fun.

  Amy ran over to her and Sara stooped down, hugged her and swung her around. “Hi there, Bitsy Bug. How was your day?”

  “I played hopscotch with Mr. Jase.”

  “I can see that. What else did you do?”

  “We played froggy. Mr. Jase has a computer.”

  “It’s my tablet,” Jase explained. “I downloaded an app for her to play. She seemed to like it.”

  “Can we get one, Mommy?”

  “Not right now, honey. But Jase suggested we wash off the chalk with the hose and play in the water for a while. What do you think? You can play in your swimsuit.”

  Amy was all for that, so Sara took her inside and they both quickly changed. By the time they returned out front, Jase had attached the hose to the spigot. He showed Amy the nozzle with its fan spray, cone spray and shower spray, and told her to pick one to wash off the blue chalk. She did and the two of them started on one of the squares. Then all of a sudden, Jase shifted the hose so Sara got sprayed. She squealed as the cold water hit her tank top and shorts.