Kelly found herself waiting for the other shoe to drop. Dean had spent so much of his life behind emotional walls. It didn't make sense for him to act the way he was today, as if he'd overcome all his fear. And yet, one couldn't deny he was having a good time with her, laughing, connecting. And that morning in bed, he'd really seemed to, well, care.
She felt torn between wanting to accept things the way they seemed to be, and wondering if she ought to push the issue.
She ended up choosing not to push the issue. Everything was too nice, too dreamy and marvelous. She didn't even question matters when Dean pulled off the road on their way back home, when they began kissing — and more — in the back seat of his car. If ever there was a time Kelly should have been protecting herself by making sure of a man's feelings, this was it. Yet she did nothing.
All right, maybe there was something wrong here, something off, but most of it felt so good and right. The last thing Kelly wanted to do was ruin what appeared to be Dean's awakening, and the beginning of true love.
###
"Okay, so that's taken care of." Felicia folded the budget request that Andrea, director of the Boston Family Aid Foundation, had just given her, and put it in her briefcase. Then she smiled at Andrea across the functional desk in the tiny office of the family shelter facility. "I'll see what I can do about getting you those folding chairs and call you later in the week."
"That'd be great." Andrea stood to bid Felicia goodbye. Her mop of frizzy brown hair and ubiquitous blue jeans belied the sharp competence of a first-rate administrator. So when Andrea's smile turned questioning and her eyes went past Felicia's shoulder toward the door, Felicia turned around to see what had caught Andrea's attention.
She found Troy Singleton standing in the doorway.
Felicia hoped she didn't gasp. But, for the love of — there was Troy, with his sharp-fitting clothes, his easy grace, and his thousand-watt smile. Troy, who instantly made her stomach sink to her toes and her heart start racing. What on earth was he doing at the Boston Family Aid shelter?
"Hey, Felicia," Troy said, and his smile managed to widen.
As inconspicuously as possible, Felicia cleared her throat. "Hello, Troy." His appearance made no sense at all. Troy had been the one to suggest they never speak to each other. But Felicia recalled her manners and turned to Andrea. "This is Troy Singleton, Dean Singleton's cousin. Troy, please meet Andrea Shapiro, director of the Boston Family Aid shelter."
"Pleased to meet you." Troy smiled and came through the door to shake hands with Andrea. "I've heard so much about this place from Felicia. Thought I'd come check it out." Then he turned to look at Felicia.
It was a request. No, a demand. She was supposed to help him 'check it out,' by offering a tour.
No way. Felicia wasn't about to give Troy a tour. She didn't want to spend five minutes in his company. Or, more accurately, she wanted to spend a great deal longer than five minutes in his company, while committing unspeakable acts with him. Oh, her response to him was so dangerous.
She could easily imagine falling under his spell, losing herself, forgetting that Troy was not the kind of man a woman could trust. He wasn't Dean. Not solid or reliable or safe.
But as she stood there being watched by both Troy and Andrea, she couldn't decently refuse to give him a tour. Andrea would wonder what the problem was. Troy would know. Felicia couldn't let him think she was weak. If he could take being in her company, then she could take being in his.
And besides, there was always the possibility that a tour of the facilities might convince Troy to bestir himself and use his sleeping charm to bring in some badly needed funds.
"Oh," she said, smiling innocently. "Would you like a tour?"
Troy's dark eyes gleamed. "Why, yes," he replied. "A tour would be ever so nice."
Felicia inclined her head. It was anybody's guess why Troy was really here.
"Oh," Andrea said, and winked. "Be sure to show him our 'new wing.'"
Troy turned to Felicia with a lifted eyebrow.
She smiled with even more innocence. "We'll save that for last."
With a curve of the lips that said he was willing to play along, Troy lowered his eyebrow again.
It was all Felicia could do not to gnash her teeth. Lord, but he was appealing, all lithe and athletic and bedroom-eyed. She smiled her farewell to Andrea and then walked quickly past Troy and into the hall. Fortunately, every room in the place was full of people; volunteers, staff, and clients. She would have no opportunity to give in to the temptation to press her hands against his hard chest or run her fingers through his silky hair.
Felicia's pace was brisk as she strode down the hall. No, nothing that way was going to happen between them here...but perhaps she could make something more constructive happen. If she were very clever she might manage to provoke the sleeping philanthropist in Troy's soul.
She started where the clients would start, at reception. There, under Troy's polite attentiveness, she pointed out the comfortable furniture, the carpeting, and painted landscapes on the walls. Prospective clients, often fleeing horrific situations, should feel safe and at home.
Troy nodded. He was doing his best to appear detached, but Felicia noticed his eye catch on one client who was sitting on the sofa, paging through a People magazine. The client looked about fifteen years old, and had a black eye. Felicia saw a muscle jump, ever so slightly, in Troy's jaw.
After a hike through the kitchen and dining room, Felicia led Troy through the dormitory, where the rooms had been designed to give privacy to family groups. There, touring a one-bedroom suite, Felicia got her second hint she might be getting through.
Occupying the suite was Roberta Brown, a single mother suffering from cancer. With hollowed cheeks, she sat in a rocking chair and slowly read a book to Shane, her six-year-old son. Shane huddled in her lap, his arms clutched around his mother's neck as he peered out at Felicia and Troy.
Felicia could feel Troy stiffen beside her. At the same time, his sleeping charm seemed to leap to the fore. "Hey, buddy, whatcha reading there?" He waltzed easily up to the pair, then leaned sideways to peer inside the book.
Roberta smiled wanly up at him. "It's Dr. Seuss."
"Oh, Seuss is the best." Troy put on a mock stern look and pointed at finger at Shane. "I hope you're paying attention."
Looking cowed, Shane nodded.
"Good," Troy said, and grinning widely, chucked Shane under the chin. The boy laughed in surprise at the sudden reversal in attitude, and reflexively grabbed onto Troy's hand. There followed the kind of tussle Felicia had often witnessed between males, something from which they seemed to derive a mysterious joy.
Both Shane and Troy were beaming by the time Felicia led the latter from the room. But Troy's grin dropped once they were in the hallway with the door closed after them. "What's wrong with her?" he asked Felicia.
"Leukemia. She's getting treatment through government aid, but meanwhile she's too weak to make a living."
"Huh," said Troy, and his eyes flicked away from Felicia's. She suddenly remembered a fact about Troy that she'd long known, and had long forgotten. Both his parents had been killed in a small plane crash when he'd been a teenager.
Quickly, Felicia turned away. Funny, how she'd forgotten that, and funny how it now hit her. How hard it must have been for him to lose both his parents at once, and at such a young age. But he never showed any lingering ill effects.
Or at least, not in any obvious way.
"Ahem. This way." Felicia started down the hall. Unfortunately, the idea that Troy might harbor some vulnerability poked at her. It made him, somehow, more real.
Impulsively, she changed her mind about ending the tour before they got to the 'new wing.' She turned right instead of left. She strode toward the locked door that led to the attached building next door.
Torturing herself? Taking an unnecessary risk? ...Or pushing that final button, the one that was going to move Troy.
Felicia
had a key, given to her by the hopeful realtor. She used it now to unlock the door and open it onto the large, empty warehouse space. She walked in and flipped the switch for the set of naked light bulbs around the walls. Her skin tingled as Troy walked in after her. They were now alone together in the big, echoing space. But she put on a serene smile as she turned to face him.
"And this," she told him, "is our 'new wing,' or what we hope to acquire. We could really use it, as I imagine you can now see. But...we don't have a down payment."
Troy hummed and took a polite look around the empty space. Felicia knew he understood what she'd actually said. She could really use his services. Oh, if he would only deign to exert himself, Felicia just knew he could get that down payment together.
Smiling wryly, Troy leaned against the open door jamb. "I was right the other night."
"Excuse me?"
He laughed softly. "About you being a good person. You are that, in spades."
"Oh, please. And didn't we agree, that same night, that it wasn't a good idea to trade compliments?"
Troy chuckled and looked down at his shoes. "Yeah, we did, but...why did we decide that, Felicia? That is, it seemed to make sense at the time, but I've been having a harder and harder job remembering our reasoning." His gaze came up to hit hers. "Remind me. Why did we decide it wouldn't work out for us to get together?"
Felicia stilled. Was this why he'd come today? To test her resolve? "You know why."
"Because we're too different?" He sounded doubtful.
Felicia wasn't to be deflected. "Yes, because we're too different."
His head canted to one side. "But that could be a plus, don't you think? Maybe we could, oh, balance each other out."
"No."
It was Troy's turn to go still. Felicia knew then that she'd blown it. She'd dismissed the idea too quickly, betraying she had another, better reason for refusing a relationship with him.
"O-kay," he said, and looked at her.
Felicia expelled a breath and took a pace away, one hand to her forehead. Maybe she should tell him. If he understood, he might go away. With her hand still on her forehead, she spoke. "Look, my mother married my father when he got her pregnant with me. She was wildly in love with him. But my father, well — " Felicia lowered her hand and released a dry laugh. "My father had never wanted to be married. And so...he didn't bother to act like he was married. I don't think he lacked some kind of girlfriend the entire span of my parents' marriage. But my mother hung on...for too long."
Troy's dark eyes watched her, not with the mockery that was so familiar but with something else; close attention, processing, and finally, it appeared, comprehension.
"You don't want to be in love," he said.
Felicia let out a long breath. He did understand. And now she didn't have to say such a difficult thing out loud. She nodded.
Slowly, Troy straightened. "I must admit, it's flattering that you believe you could fall in love with me."
"'Could' being the operative word."
He chuckled. "Yeah. Anyway, I'm grateful for that much, since I'm pretty sure I'm already in love with you."
Her head whipped toward him.
His smile was rueful. "I was halfway there and then Dean dropped out of the running. It didn't take long to fall the rest of the way."
Felicia knew she was staring. "You," she demanded, "are in love with me?"
He shot her a deriding glance. "Don't look too impressed. My being in love doesn't mean as much as some other guy doing it. I must have been in love, oh, a dozen times — just this year."
She laughed, but was painfully certain it hadn't come out right, light and unconcerned. But she should be unconcerned, because he was correct. Him being in love wasn't nearly the serious matter it might be for another man.
Meanwhile Troy lifted a shoulder and leaned against the jamb again. "But now that you've explained, I can see where you're coming from. It wouldn't do for a serious woman like you to get involved with a man who thinks two months is akin to a lifetime commitment."
Their eyes met. Two months, Felicia thought. No, she shouldn't be concerned — or impressed or excited or any other stupid thing — if that's what Troy meant by being in love.
"You were right about me," Troy went on, sobering. "In every respect. What you said about how I don't want to do or be anything because I'm afraid I wouldn't measure up. You were so right. And — And it's safer not to want things." He looked away and sucked in his lips. "Much safer."
Felicia gazed at him as he stood there, so handsome with his hair falling over his forehead. Yes, he was sensual, but more. She'd never again be able to dismiss him as that nasty Troy Singleton. He wasn't a monster, but a human being, with a human being's load of dreams and desires — and wounds.
For the sake of that human being, she smiled and claimed, "Well, for what it's worth, I do think you could be more. And measure up."
Troy looked back at her and his eyes crinkled. "Ah, Felicia. You are never going to give up."
"Excuse me?"
He looked ceilingward. "You are still trying to get me to be your fundraiser."
"Well! I'm sure I — "
"Don't worry." Troy was back to his lighthearted self. "Now that I've seen the place and everything you do here I'll be sure not to ruin things by sticking my oar in the water."
"Oh, Troy." He was impossible.
"But thanks for showing me around." Laughing now, he pushed off the jamb and walked toward her. His hilarity sobered as he reached quickly, gently, to touch her cheek. "And thanks for explaining things to me. It helps...kind of."
He looked into her eyes and she felt punched. There was so much person, so much Troy in his eyes. Then he smiled again, jaunty. "Goodbye, Felicia."
"Goodbye, Troy." She told herself that whatever she'd just seen in his eyes meant nothing. This idea of being in love with her was a mistake or a joke. Or — or just some passing fancy. Two months, right? Whatever he felt, it couldn't be love.
But before she'd even started ironing it out he was gone, striding athletically out the door.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Well, that hadn't accomplished much. As Troy walked down the sidewalk of the seedy area of Boston, he decided that his little trip to Felicia's pet foundation had been the exact opposite of constructive.
It was bad enough Felicia had announced she could never return his feelings, but he had to go and get all worked up over the whole family shelter thing.
Scowling, Troy went down the stairs and into the humid heat of a subway station. He paid the fare, went through the stile and looked up to see a train pulling into the station. Instead of getting on the train, however, he crossed his arms and leaned against the old, tiled wall of the station. He watched broodingly as the train closed its doors and hummed electrically away.
He wasn't ready to go anywhere, he was too...depressed. Depressed beyond any depression he could remember experiencing. Because, hell, he didn't get depressed.
But that shelter had brought back memories, memories he'd prefer to have kept buried. He remembered when they'd come to the house of the friend with whom he'd been staying while his parents went off on their exotic vacation. They'd told him his parents had been killed. On impact, they'd said. Child Protective Services had been mentioned. Troy had been terrified.
Fortunately, someone had remembered he was cousins with Dean. Kirk had come. Yes, for his dead brother's son he'd actually bestirred himself. Papers had been shuffled and signed. For that, Troy would always be grateful to his uncle.
He had not gone to Child Protective Services.
But today, seeing that little kid with his cancer-ridden mother...Troy remembered how close he had come.
Down in the quiet subway station, he shook his head, trying to shake the dread-filled feeling away. But it wouldn't go, especially now that it was attached to the little talk he'd had with Felicia. Felicia, who thought he was like her roving, philandering father.
And so wanted noth
ing to do with him.
Troy rubbed his mouth and watched another train come into the station. He glared at the halting train and admitted he bore some resemblance to Felicia's father. He was a Singleton, after all. They were not the most constant or responsible of men — Dean being an exception. Troy had never taken on a responsibility in his life. He'd certainly never considered taking on the responsibility of being a husband. And 'husband' was obviously what Felicia was looking for. A constant, reliable, worthwhile husband.
Troy winced. He couldn't hack being a husband, let alone a worthwhile one. But on the other hand, he had a sinking feeling that his emotions toward Felicia were not nearly as temporary as, out of pride, he'd led her to believe. Hell, he'd probably been denying he was in love with her for a couple of years.
Too bad he couldn't have kept on denying it.
Troy stood there and watched the next train, too, hum its way out of the station. He wondered when he was going to be willing to get onto a train. He wondered how long he was going to go on feeling this terrible aching inside. He wished, oh how he wished, that he could just stop wanting.
###
"Wow, it's crowded in here, today," Kelly said to Dean, gazing around at the long tables at Durgin Park restaurant where Dean had taken her for one of their now-frequent lunch dates. Every seat was filled.
"Tourist season has started in earnest," Dean replied. As though the admission that it was already the middle of June meant nothing to him, he cut into his family-style steak with gusto, then looked up and smiled at her.
The date did mean something to Kelly, but his smile warmed her and she returned it.
Things were going really well, she had to admit. Over the past several weeks, the quality of her relationship with Dean had intensified. They spent time together; quality time and not-so-quality time. They went out for romantic drives, but they also had dinner at home. There were times of great sexual intimacy, and there were whole evenings spent at the movies with Robby.
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