“Seriously,” she said, “in the hospital, after the accident, John told me to be happy. Marry again and have more babies if that was what I wanted. But when you’re blessed with a love like ours, I don’t know…” She shrugged, sipped her wine. “Sorry. I didn’t mean for the conversation to get this heavy.”
“It’s fine,” he said. You’re fine. In so many ways. Each day, he found himself more enthralled with her laugh, her dancing, her cooking, parenting. “In fact, I’m honored you consider me enough of a friend to confide in me like this.”
“Is that what we are?” she asked after taking another sip. “Friends?”
“Well, sure. We both lead pretty full lives. I just assumed that with you, anyway, friendship is all you’d have room for.”
“And if I did have room for more?”
Holy crap. What was she saying? Why did his heart feel near bursting with hope? He’d long since established she was all wrong for him, so why was it the more he was with her, the more everything about her felt right?
Retreating to the living area, she said, “That was incredibly presumptuous of me. I’m tired and babbling and—”
“Hush.” In a few steps, he went to her. Took her wineglass and set it on the coffee table.
“I mean, listen to me. You’re probably not even attracted to me, and Lord knows, I’m trying not to be attracted to you. I don’t even know what made me say something like that, other than—”
Cradling her face with his hands, Dalton silenced her sweet objections in the surest way he knew. His kiss was no doubt bumbling and oafish, but judging by the way she clung to him, she didn’t care.
“Look at me,” she said when he pulled back, “I’m trembling.”
“That bad?”
“That good. Only—” Tears welling, she shook her head.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“Please, Rose, don’t do this to me. Don’t shut me out. Is this about John?”
With a sniffle, she nodded.
“This was your first kiss since him, wasn’t it? I mean, your first real kiss.”
“Yes. And it was beautiful. And the excitement swelling in my chest is almost more than I can bear. But at the same time, there’s this guilt. Why am I here and he isn’t? Have I mourned enough to properly respect the love we shared? Is he looking down on me? If so, does he approve? Then there’s the fear. I loved him so much. What if I end up giving my heart to you, then something happens, and…” Glistening eyes turned to full-on tears.
“Shh…” Dalton said, pulling her against him, smoothing her hair. “It’s okay. Everything’s going to be okay.”
“You don’t know that. Seriously, I could fall for you, and Anna could fall for you, and then you could die. And listen to me, I’ve already got you married with a child and we haven’t even been on an official first date. I’m certifiable.”
“Honey, trust me, you’re not alone in having demons. Do you think my life’s perfect?”
“Of course not. No one’s is.”
Drawing her to the sofa, he gingerly sat her down, handed her her wine, then snagged a paper towel from the holder on the bar. “Blow your nose.”
Taking the rough square, she did as he’d asked, and never had Dalton seen a woman look prettier. Not that he got his kicks from watching women cry, just that there was something profoundly intimate in the experience they’d just shared.
He took a deep drink of his wine, then he set it on a side table, pulling her snug against him. “When I was a kid, my dad used to take me to the bank with him Saturday mornings. He had this whole junior-executive station set up in a corner of his office. Toy adding machine and money and a hat that said Banker across the front. I used to love being with him. Having him show me off to his friends, tell everyone that one day, running the bank would be my responsibility. I used to be so damn proud of this fact. You know, most of my friends didn’t graduate high school having a clue who or what they wanted to be, but here I had my whole life charted. What Dad didn’t instill in me businesswise, Mom did, giving pointers on the right sort of woman to marry. She must be strong, yet supportive. Independent, yet not so independent as to want her own all-consuming career. It’d be best, she always said, to find a woman with homemaking aspirations.”
“You’re kidding, right?” Rose said with a sputter of wine. “Homemaking aspirations? What century were you in at the time?”
“Crazy, huh?”
“That’s the polite way of putting it. And here I thought I had issues.”
“Told you,” he said, leaning in for another kiss. “So anyway, imagine my surprise when I got to college and discovered this whole other world. For once, late-night discussions didn’t revolve around money, or whether to send three or four tellers to the state teller convention.”
“They have such a thing?”
“Last year’s international teller convention was held in Stockholm.”
Rose whistled. “Okay, so enough of your brain being expanded while in college. How did you do with the ladies once Mommy and Daddy weren’t looking on?”
He laughed. “Let’s just say I was a quick learner and leave it at that.”
“Mmm…Met up with a few naughty girls, did you? Shame, shame.” This time, she leaned in to kiss him. “So which came first, all this wild-girl chasing? Or the sculpting?”
“Actually, around about the first time we had a nude model in figure studies, things started getting fun.”
His grin and wink earned him a playful rib jab. “You were a bad boy.”
She snuggled deeper against him. “Okay, so tell me what drew you to sculpting. What is there about it that makes your heart feel full?”
“First off, aside from Anna’s Play-Doh, I haven’t so much as touched a lump of clay in a decade, so I don’t even know if it would still be a thrill. All I do know is that back then, something about the connection between my hands and brain and the way I could actually make something of strength and importance and beauty that had nothing to do with numbers, but simply my sheer will to create…” Sharply exhaling, he said, “It was heady stuff.”
She didn’t say anything. Just sat there, grinning.
“What? I pour out my heart to you and you think it’s funny?”
“Dalton, Dalton,” she said, voice as refreshing as a margarita. Urging him sideways, she placed her hands on his shoulders and rubbed. “You’re tense. Meaning, you’ve taken my actions in the wrong spirit. I’m smiling because I’m touched by the notion of you having a grand passion outside of the bank. That’s a wonderful thing.” She deepened her strokes, and he closed his eyes, loving every second of the massage. “You’ve got to learn to relax. Take time out from your busy schedule to smell the roses. Who knows? Maybe your best course of action would be running right out in the morning to purchase a chunk of clay.”
He swung around to face her, a look of desperation in his eyes. “Don’t you get it? My whole life is mapped out. My dad isn’t well and, possibly within the year, that bank and all the people who work there will become my responsibility.”
“But, Dalton, you could—”
“It’s late,” he said with a tender kiss to her forehead. “I should go.”
“But shouldn’t we talk? You’re obviously upset.”
“I’m fine. Just not ready to tackle something this big.”
“Fair enough. But what if I said I have other reasons for not wanting you to go?”
“Like what?”
“I don’t want you to.” She rested her head on his shoulder, flooding him with well-being and a consuming urge to protect and comfort and make her fears go away.
“I don’t want me to, either. But we’ve both got full days tomorrow.”
“I know. I guess I just want to establish what it is we’re doing.”
“In what sense?”
“I don’t know.” Hand fisted beneath her chin, she sighed. “You and me. Us. All of this is so comfortable and yet foreign.”
“Yeah,” she said, blindsiding him with a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. She was such a contradiction. All at once full of life, and yet heartbreaking in her buried sorrow. With everything in him, he wanted to be everything to her. But even he was smart enough to realize he didn’t have that kind of power. Moreover, shouldn’t want that kind of power. “Let’s just play.”
“Walk me out?”
“Uh-huh.”
Dalton stood, offering his hand to help her from the sofa. They walked to the back door in companionable silence. He kissed her forehead. She gave his waist a squeeze, and he left, knowing that no matter what else happened between them, his life was forever changed by Rose Vasquez’s smile.
“AREN’T YOU the new owner of Miss Gertrude’s?”
Rose glanced up from the paperback she’d been reading at the corner booth of Big Daddy’s to see a burly man grinning down at her. “Yes, I’m Rose Vasquez,” she said, holding out her hand for him to shake. “And you’re…?”
“Frank Loveaux. This is my place and that’s my secret raspberry-tea recipe you’ve now had five glasses of.”
“You’ve been counting?” she asked. Was it time for her to slowly get up, then run?
“Oh—the only reason I even paid attention was because I’ve been working up my courage to come talk to you.”
“Am I that scary?”
“No, no,” he said with a brawny laugh that instantly put her at ease. “Just that we’ve got a bit of a situation brewing on the Miss Hot Pepper Pageant committee, and—”
“Are Mona and Alice still not talking?”
“You’ve heard about that?”
“Dalton filled me in, and I told him I’d be happy to help with whatever you need.”
“When did you talk with him?” Frank asked, easing his large frame into the booth’s empty half.
“Last night.”
“Did he have a lesson?”
“No.”
“Did he call?” Frank helped himself to one of Rose’s homemade chips.
Rose eyed him. “Do you mind?”
“Oops. Sorry. Nervous habit.” He waved over the waitress to bring more. “Now, where were we?”
“You were in the process of seriously invading my privacy.”
“About Dalton, you mean? I just don’t understand how he got to you so quickly if you didn’t have a lesson. Alice says she thinks y’all are sweet on each other, but I told her that with his dad so ill, Dalton’s got his mind on taking care of business.”
“I knew his dad had heart trouble, but is it really that serious?”
When the new chips came, Frank helped himself. “I don’t gossip, but word around town is that he’s got one foot in the grave. ’Course, he’s always been ornery as a swarm of hornets, so he’s one of those sorts I expect to outlast us all.”
“Oh,” Rose said, sipping her tea. While she was sorry to hear that Dalton’s father truly was gravely ill, it was reassuring to know that Dalton had been telling the truth. Not that she’d doubted him. Or had she? Maybe it was her own feelings she distrusted?
“So which is it?” Frank asked, leaning in extra close. “I can keep a secret. You and Dalton having a wild fling?”
“Mr. Loveaux!” Reaching for her purse, Rose fished out a ten and slapped it on the table.
“Sorry, sorry. Didn’t mean to offend. It’s just that if Mona and Alice don’t soon make amends, I’m not sure what we’re going to do.”
“Mr. Loveaux, I’ve already said I don’t mind helping. And for the record, Dalton and I are not sweet on each other, merely friends.”
“Of course. Again, sorry, sorry.” The man shot her a flamboyant wave. “Usually when Alice says something, you can take it as gospel, but duly noted that in this case, she was wrong.”
During the walk back to her studio, Rose tried focusing on the beautiful spring day. On the historic, weathered brick storefronts, the red and yellow tulips lining the brick sidewalk and sounds of giggling kindergartners walking in a row on their field trip to the fire station. Anna’s first-grade class would be going soon, too. Rose tried focusing on all of that, but instead, the only thing she could think about was her speedy denial of her and Dalton’s relationship.
For heaven’s sake, she’d spent a large portion of last night kissing the man, pouring out her soul to him, admiring his gorgeous face and broad shoulders and knack for making her little girl smile. If all of that didn’t add up to at the very least a serious crush, she wasn’t sure what did. What was she so afraid of? Why couldn’t she—
“Hi, Miss Rose!” Samantha, from her Tuesday-night ballet class, waved from her spot in the line of kindergartners.
“Hey, sweetie. Having a good time?”
“Uh-huh! We’re going to pet the firemen’s Dalmatian.”
“Mmm…Sounds fun.” She patted the girl’s back. “Give him a hug from me.”
“Okay.”
Rose should’ve felt uplifted by the fact that she and her dance academy were getting established enough in the community that in taking a simple walk down the street, she’d encountered one of her students. But even that did nothing to lighten the dull ache in her heart.
Why?
Because, as she’d told him, falling for Dalton was potentially risky. Not just for herself, but Anna. What if they both gave of themselves heart and soul to him, only to have something tragic happen again? Would they survive the pain? Was she being a responsible parent in considering entering another serious relationship? On the flip side, why did anything about what she and Dalton shared have to be serious?
They were adults. What were a few fun kisses between friends?
Trouble was, the more she was around Dalton, the more her heart trilled at just the sight of him, the more she realized her burning fascination with him was starting to be a problem.
She had a little girl and a growing dance studio needing her attention.
Dalton had a bank to run.
So where did that leave them?
Rose was heartily confused, but unwilling to hide from the issue. If there was one thing losing her husband at such a young age, then single-handedly raising their daughter, had taught her, it was to fight for what she wanted. And truthfully, in a secret, lonely corner of her heart, she very much wanted a confidant, friend and possibly even lover in Dalton Montgomery.
Chapter Eight
“You again?” the bank lobby’s boyish, redheaded guard dog asked when Rose marched by later in the afternoon.
“Excuse me?” she said, caught off guard by the man’s rather rude greeting.
“Sorry, it’s just that I got in trouble for letting you wander through the executive wing. No one’s supposed to be up there except people who have appointments.”
“Oh,” she said, continuing toward the lobby stairs.
“Do you?” he asked, doggedly trailing after her.
“Do I what?” she asked with an innocent smile.
“Have an appointment?”
“Of course.”
“With who?” he probed, while she shifted her heavy package from the crook of her right arm to her left and kept right on marching up the stairs.
“Dalton Montgomery.”
“I’m pretty sure he’s in a meeting.”
“I’m pretty sure—”
“Bradley, let me handle this.” Dalton, looking incredibly sexy in a black suit and cobalt shirt that matched his eyes, strode across the sea of navy carpet. Her pulse raced. “Are you ever a sight for sore eyes.”
Ditto.
“Thank you,” she said while he proprietarily slipped his hand around her waist, drawing her into his office, then shutting the door. “You’re looking pretty good yourself.”
She adjusted his tie, flicked a bit of lint from his left lapel.
While Dalton struggled for something appropriat
ely witty to say, Rose flashed that smile of hers that always managed to turn his heart upside down. Calmly setting her brown paper bag on his desk before taking a seat in his chair, she spun a couple times before landing her feet square in the middle of his latest file. Her silky red dress slid high on her thighs as she raised her hands to sweep her hair back from her forehead.
Just looking at her stole his every thought.
Did she have any idea what her being here did to him?
His whole life had been about carefully compartmentalizing his emotions, but from the second she’d walked through his office door, his safety net had hung in tatters.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, crossing her arms beneath her breasts, unwittingly deepening her cleavage by a tantalizing inch. “Your complexion looks pasty.” She touched her forehead. “And your frown is back.”
“I feel tired. You shouldn’t be here.”
“How come?”
“Because you’re bad for my concentration.”
“When you admittedly don’t much care for your work,” she teased, “I fail to see how my distracting you is a bad thing.”
“I’m the boss,” he said, taking hold of her slim ankles. “My being distracted is potentially bad for business.” Not to mention his failing willpower. His hand on her left calf, he eased it up past her knee, not stopping until he reached the back of her thigh.
She swallowed hard. “Looks like you’re in total control to me.” Wriggling free of his hold to rest her feet primly on the floor, she nodded to the bag. “Aren’t you going to open your present?”
“Why? When I have a pretty good guess what’s inside.”
“You’re no fun,” she said with a playful pout.
Oh, but the sight of her made him want to be.
“Okay, so you guessed I bought you a chunk of clay. Maybe the real question of the day is what are you going to do with it.”
“Not a bloody thing,” he said with regret, grasping her hands to pull her out of his chair. “I’ve got meetings stacked like jumbo jets waiting to land. I’ve got letters to dictate and contracts to sign. I’ve got—”
Dancing With Dalton (Fatherhood) Page 7