Not This Guy!

by Glenda Sanders

  Angelina could have pulled away. She should have. She wanted to—or thought she did. But she didn’t move. She waited. Waited while the inevitability of the kiss thrummed through her; waited, anticipating, before his mouth actually brushed hers; waited for the rush of sensation that first contact would bring. Needing it. Fearing it. Anxious for it. Dreading it...

  He cradled her face with his palms, and his gaze locked with hers. There were no questions in the green depths of his eyes, no answers in the bottomless brown of hers. There was only the mutual acknowledgment of the force drawing them together, the mutual acceptance that they were fated to kiss.

  He took his time, lowering his mouth to hers slowly and leisurely testing the texture of her lips against his own, but the kiss was no less stimulating for its lack of urgency. The gentle pressure of his mouth on hers became the focus of Angelina’s conscious awareness. There was glory in that mating of pliant flesh to pliant flesh. Passion. Promise. Heat.

  It had been so long since she’d been kissed this way, since a man had held her with tenderness and made her feel desirable. She abandoned herself to the sheer pleasure of it, sliding her arms around his waist. He was so...male, solid and warm and strong.

  He lifted his head slightly, breaking the kiss by a fraction of an inch, and she marked the loss with a small moan of regret.

  “And I was afraid it was one-sided,” he said, his voice husky with arousal. Even if she’d wanted to offer a token denial, she wouldn’t have had time before his mouth covered hers again, more insistent than before.

  Starting where the first had left off, this kiss was deeper, more impassioned, more intense. It moved beyond the simple touch of mouth to mouth to become totally involving.

  Angelina’s scalp tingled. Her toes curled. And at all points in between she burned with pleasure and sexual hunger and a need that was both physical and emotional.

  His technique was flawless, his hands clever. Angelina reveled in the richness of sensation as those healer’s hands generated magic with each artful caress. Angelina sank ever more deeply under the spell of his magic until, suddenly, his hands splayed over her bottom, pressing her body tightly against his. His hardness and heat telegraphed his arousal. The intimacy was too abrupt, too intense. Shocking.

  With a cry, Angelina tore away from him. Stunned, struggling for composure, they stared at each other. His eyes were glazed, his cheeks flushed. Angelina knew she must look equally as disheveled and disoriented.

  “I—” She broke off, wishing her mind weren’t so fogged by the kiss.

  “Me, too,” he said, moving to pull her back into his arms.

  To start up where they’d just left off, Angelina realized. “No!” she said.

  Taking a step back, she encountered the washing machine and realized she had no avenue of escape if he chose to trap her there.

  “What—” He shook his head in disbelief. “Are you afraid of me?”

  “No!” she snapped. She was afraid that if she let him start kissing her again, they’d end up naked on the laundry room floor, but she wasn’t going to share that news with him.

  “Then—”

  Angelina drew in a breath, wishing her mind were clearer so she could be more articulate.

  Wishing the cartilage in her knees hadn’t turned to jelly.

  “Dr.—”

  “Mike,” he said through clenched teeth.

  “Mike. Look, I appreciate your bringing the washing machine to the house and installing it, but I planned on baking you some cookies or something, not—”

  His entire face was a scowl. “You don’t think...” His voice trailed off into an anguished sigh of frustration.

  She didn’t, actually. But it was a convenient diversion from the real issue, which was that she was so attracted to him, she was afraid of embarrassing herself. She poised her mouth to speak, hoping that by some miracle, whatever came out would sound remotely intelligent.

  But Mike spoke first. And what he said was not just intelligent. It was righteously indignant. “I don’t have to move appliances to get a woman to go to bed with me. And for your information, connecting hoses is not my idea of foreplay.”

  “Your idea of foreplay is the spin cycle!” Not even remotely intelligent, she thought with a sinking sensation in her guts.

  “Not until five minutes ago, Mrs. Winters,” he said.

  She deserved his scorn, she thought. And the look he was giving her: one of those lecherous, frankly sensual looks a man gives a woman in a bar when she’s wearing a dress that’s too low, too tight and too short. What did she expect when she’d kissed him as though...as though she hadn’t been kissed in...almost two years.

  Stalemate. Silence. Miserable silence. Angelina couldn’t stand it. “I just think we ought to—” She sniffed indignantly. “I don’t even know you!”

  “I thought we were getting better acquainted. You are the woman I had in my arms, aren’t you? The one who—”

  “Yes!” she said, her cheeks flaming. “But it’s still—”

  If looks could kill, she would have been a dead woman under the wrath of his frown. “Relax, Angel. All you have to say is no. I’m not into date rape any more than I’m into seduction on top of major appliances.”

  Angelina hugged herself and exhaled heavily. She, too, could frown. “This isn’t even a date.”

  And it was about time she remembered it! Remembered the way she’d thought he might call. The way she’d stared at the phone in odd moments, willing it to ring. The disappointment when it didn’t. The discouraging thought that if he’d been interested in her, it would have.

  “Are you sure about that?” he asked, his usual good humor resurfacing. “It certainly felt like a date. I mean, we were rolling fajitas together from the same platter.”

  “Only because there was a special,” Angelina replied.

  He chuckled. “Right.”

  A strained silence ensued. Finally, Angelina broke it. “It might be better if you left.”

  “Can’t,” he said.

  “Can’t? What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “The machine isn’t leveled yet.” He grinned. “I couldn’t possibly leave a nice woman like you unleveled.”

  “I don’t even know what you’re talking about.”

  “There are some adjustment screws on each corner—”

  Her blush must have been obvious because he stopped midsentence and grinned again. Lasciviously.

  “Don’t say another word!” she snapped.

  “Hey. Look. It’s important. It really is. If you don’t level the machine, it’ll vibrate—”

  Angelina muttered a word she seldom used and would never, ever have let Lily hear her say. “Then do whatever you have to do and—”

  “Get the hell out of here?” he finished for her.

  Angelina sighed dismally. “I don’t mean to seem ungrateful—” But I’m so attracted to you that I can’t think straight when you’re around, and you didn’t...call.

  “Didn’t you level your old machine when you first installed it?”

  “I wasn’t paying attention, I guess.” Just as she’d never paid attention to how to put a fresh spool of line in the weed chopper or how to change the batteries in the smoke detectors or how to fix a leaky faucet.

  He tweaked the tip of her nose with his finger. “Trust me, Angel. If you don’t level it, your machine will dance around and make funny noises.”

  “Level it, then. And show me what you’re doing.”

  Kneeling next to the left side, he pointed to the metal disk that she would have called, simply, a foot. “See this? Twist it one way and it gets longer, twist it the other way and it gets shorter. You want to adjust these until—is something wrong?”

  He’d caught her staring. Smiling, Angelina shook her head. “You’re very patient to explain.”

  Would Thomas have explained things to her if she’d asked? She honestly didn’t know; she’d never thought to ask. She’d never thought that her mar
riage would end and she’d have to take care of the things she’d always left up to him. Now, in reflection, she realized that she’d never done much thinking at all.

  Maybe that’s why Thomas had developed an abiding interest in the receptionist at his office. One thing was certain: she was never going to become so dependent on a man again.

  Placing a hand on each front corner of the machine, Mike wiggled it back and forth. “Definite list to the right,” he said, kneeling again to adjust the screw.

  “Jiggle it, see if it’s any better,” he instructed.

  Another half turn brought the appliance to stability, but Mike made no effort to stand up. “Now what?” Angelina asked.

  “You have...terrific legs.”

  Angelina rolled her eyes in exasperation, but her frown was benign. It was difficult to sustain anger at a man who took such obvious delight in admiring her. “Are we finished?”

  “I hope not,” Mike said, rising to his feet. Reading her expression, he said, “Oh, you meant with the washing machine? Probably. We just need to fill her up and make sure none of the connections are leaking. You can throw in a load of clothes if you want to.”

  “Now there’s an invitation I can’t refuse,” she said.

  A few minutes later Mike inspected the hose connections closely, using the flashlight, and pronounced them watertight. The announcement led into an awkward moment.

  “Thanks for...everything,” Angelina said. “I’m afraid this hasn’t been much of a Saturday night for you.”

  “It had its moments,” he said. “Besides, the evening’s still young.”

  “Not quite,” Angelina said.

  “We could catch the last showing of a movie,” he suggested hopefully.

  “I don’t think so.”

  He wrapped his hands loosely around her upper arms. “I’d really like to spend some time with you, get to know you better.”

  He might as well have pulled her into a torrid embrace, she was that aware of his fingers curved gently around her arms, of his eyes on her face. “Why don’t you go home, take two cold showers and call me in a few days if you’re still interested.”

  Lifting his right hand to caress her cheek with his fingertips, he gave her a soft, seductive smile. “Things got a little out of control earlier—”

  “A little,” Angelina said dryly.

  “Hey, look, I admit you have a way of bringing out the beast in me, but we’re civilized adults. We ought to be able to spend a little time together without succumbing to our baser urges.”

  Speak for yourself, Angelina thought. She’d never realized the erogenous-zone potential of the face, but what his slightly rough, infinitely gentle fingertips were doing to her senses was probably illegal in some conservative cultures.

  “Come on,” he said. “I’ll let you pick the movie.”

  “Maybe another time,” she said. Sometime when you call and invite me ahead of time so I feel like a choice instead of a spontaneous event.

  Hearing the finality in her answer, he shrugged philosophically and let his hands fall to his sides. “How about a walk?” He didn’t give her time to voice the refusal she was framing before coaxing, “It’ll be good for the puppy.”

  * * *

  THE NIGHT WAS perfect for a leisurely stroll—the moon was almost full, the sky cloudless, the air crisply cool. Mike took command of Princess’s leash and gave the rambunctious puppy a great deal of freedom, letting her alternate between mad, frolicking dashes and abrupt stops to sniff mailbox posts, light poles and an occasional toad.

  Angelina relaxed as they walked, chatting about raising puppies, the “Excellent” Lily got on her report on raccoons and the benefits of living where you could go walking on a February night without having to wear a coat. Nice safe topics. Her mood had mellowed substantially by the time they completed a circuit of the neighborhood streets which brought them back to her house.

  Mike took the time to pet and praise the dog after unhooking the leash.

  Angelina watched him ruff the dog’s neck and dreaded the goodbye which was imminent. The tension that had ebbed during their stroll began creeping back into her muscles, but she forced a smile as he straightened and gave her a self-conscious grin.

  He was suffering from a bit of apprehension, too, she realized. She found that fact oddly reassuring.

  “Thanks,” she said, determined not to let the silence become oppressive. “For delivering the washing machine and dinner and—”

  “Uh-uh. I have to thank you for dinner,” he said. “The fajitas-for-two special and free dessert, remember?”

  “It’ll be years before I forget that fried ice cream.”

  This time, the silence won. Finally, Angelina extended her right hand. “Well—”

  He took her hand as if to shake it, but the expression in his eyes and the sensuality in his grin told her it wasn’t going to be that easy. Slowly, gently, deliberately, he pulled her hand, forcing her nearer. Near enough to feel the heat of his body. Near enough to hear him breathing. Near enough to smell his after-shave. Near enough to make her lose herself in his kiss.

  7

  MIKE TRIED not to look at his Minimum Requirements for a Woman list as he washed his hands. Reading it only saddled him with a heaping serving of self-loathing for being foolish enough to ignore his own advice.

  Ignore it? Hell, he’d done more than ignore it. He’d thumbed his nose at it. One look at Angelina Winters and he’d slipped into the role of gallant knight so fast, it was a wonder he didn’t have whiplash from the fall.

  And look what had happened...what had almost happened...what might yet happen...

  Despite his resolve, his mind dwelled on the pleasant possibilities as he blotted his hands with a paper towel.

  “Should I bring in your next patient now?” Suzie asked, poking her head into the utility room.

  Mike nodded. “I’m just finishing up here. How stacked up are we?”

  Tuesday was not his regular surgery day, but he’d had an emergency that required immediate repair surgery with full anesthesia, and now he was behind in his routine appointments.

  “Not too bad,” Suzie reported. “I managed to reschedule a couple of late-morning appointments, so you should be able to catch up if you take a short lunch. By the way, there’s a delivery at the desk you’ll probably want to take a look at.”

  “It’s about time. I ordered that new light weeks ago. I think the medical supply company must be delivering by pack mule these days.”

  “This isn’t a light. And it isn’t from the medical supplier,” Suzie said in her busybody voice.

  Cookies! The thought sprang to mind. Angelina had said she was going to make him some, and he hadn’t realized, until this moment, how much he’d been hoping that she would follow through on the plan. “I wonder what kind they are,” he said, trailing Suzie down the hall.

  Suzie waited until the reception desk was within sight, then stepped aside dramatically and announced, “Pussy willows.”

  “Pussy willows?” Mike said, temporarily befuddled.

  “Very expensive pussy willows,” Suzie confirmed.

  Mike stared in disbelief at the strands of the fuzzy-tipped branches artfully arranged in an expensive-looking ceramic vase. “This came for me?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Who would send me a pot of pussy willows?”

  Suzie gave him a quizzical look. “You don’t know?”

  He shook his head.

  “Well, open the card!” Suzie said. “I’ve been about to expire of sheer curiosity for the past hour.”

  Mike plucked the envelope from a plastic holder tucked in among the reeds. Espey Gallery was printed on the outside in silver ink. “A gallery, no less.”

  “One of the ritziest shops in Winter Park,” Suzie informed him. Suzie kept up with such things.

  “This doesn’t make any sense,” Mike said, wrestling with the sealed envelope.

  “You really don’t know who sent them, do
you?” Suzie asked, surprised.

  Mike shrugged. “I haven’t the vaguest idea. Some grateful pet owner, I suppose.”

  “Some very grateful pet owner,” Suzie speculated. “Whoever sent those dropped a good piece of change. The vase alone is probably in the three digits.”

  “I’ll be damned!”

  “Who?” Suzie prompted.

  “Samantha Curry,” he said, grinning involuntarily. With everything that had happened lately, he’d actually forgotten about Samantha Curry. This was an omen. It must be. A nudge in the right direction to remind him of his resolve. He read the note then looked at Suzie. “She appreciates my volunteering my time last Saturday.”

  “Well, it’s clever. I’ll give her that.”

  “Clever?” Mike asked.

  “Pussy willows for a veterinarian.”

  “Mmm,” Mike agreed vaguely, preoccupied with the part of the note he hadn’t shared with Suzie. The Espey Gallery was exhibiting sculptures of one of Samantha’s college friends and the opening would be a week from Saturday. Would he care to accompany her?

  Would a starving man care for a steak? he thought wryly.

  That evening, he called Samantha to thank her for the pussy willows and accept the invitation, extending it to include dinner after the cocktail event at the gallery. She suggested a restaurant near the gallery. A French restaurant.

  He hung up the phone feeling smug. A gallery opening. A French restaurant. This was good. Very good. He was finally moving away from women like Beth Ann. He’d had a close encounter with potential disaster, but now he was back on track, moving in the right direction. Not that he was out of danger where Angelina Winters was concerned. Despite her money woes and her gamine daughter and the ex-husband she didn’t discuss, it was not going to be easy for him to forget those big brown eyes, or the way she lifted her chin defiantly when challenged.

  A sigh escaped him. Those legs. Her smile. The sound of her voice.

  By week’s end, he was convinced that the surest way to become obsessed with a woman was to tell yourself you weren’t going to think about her. Everything reminded him of Angelina—brown-and-white dogs brought into his office for treatment, little girls the age of Lily, advertisements for Mexican restaurants, tire commercials—