by Lori Wilde
“You can sleep in my bed,” Clay offered. “I’ll take the couch.”
“Don’t be silly. It’s your place. I’ll be just fine on the sofa.”
“I’m an insomniac,” he warned. “Sometimes I watch television late into the night or work on the recycler. I’d hate to keep you awake.”
“You won’t bother me, honestly. I’d feel terrible turning you out of your own bed.”
Stopping in front of the hall closet, he dug out pillows, blankets, and sheets. Making their way back to the living room, they pulled the couch out into a bed and put the linens on together.
“I’m not the least bit sleepy,” she said. “Wanna watch TV?”
“Sure. Would you like something to drink?” Clay asked. “I’ve got milk, orange juice, coffee, tea, or beer…”
“A glass of orange juice sounds nice.” She smiled.
While she settled on the sofa that was now a bed, he traipsed to the fridge, poured two glasses of orange juice, and came back to the living room. She wielded the remote control, scrolling through the selection on Netflix.
“Ooh,” she said, sitting cross-legged in the middle of the fold-out couch. “They’ve just added a new comedy I saw on a plane flight a few weeks ago. It’s hysterical. Wanna watch it?”
“Sure. I love movies. Especially comedies.”
“Me, too.” She beamed.
But then Clay looked down at her, and Tobie realized just how dang intimate it would be with them lying side by side watching Netflix and chilling on a sofa bed.
Oh, dear!
Clay raked his gaze over the woman on his couch.
Tobie looked like a high school girl in her pajamas with puppies on them, her face devoid of makeup. Dressed like a teenager at a slumber party, no one would take her for a licensed physician.
He handed her the glass of orange juice and started to sit on the floor. She patted the spot beside her on the sofa bed. “You can sit here.”
“You sure?” His pulse galloped at the thought of getting so close to her.
In answer, she scooted over. The metal springs creaked as he crawled in next to her, feeling as if the gates of heaven had just swung open to admit him. Was Tobie letting down her guard? He liked her this way. Maybe this was the time to push for details of her past, while she was clean from her bath, open and willing.
“Why did you become a doctor?” Clay asked, kicking off his boots and stretching out. “As pretty as you are, you could have been a model.”
“Looks don’t last,” she said. “You can’t count on them.”
“And you can count on medicine?”
“Oh, absolutely. There will always be sick people.” She paused a moment. “I know I’m supposed to say I adore being a healer, and that is true, but it’s not the reason I became a doctor.”
Clay propped his chin in his hand. “What is the reason?”
“To make a reliable living for myself. I know. It sounds mercenary, but it’s the truth. Fortunately, I love medicine as well.”
“Money’s really important to you?” he asked softly, dreading her answer.
“I used to think it was. Now, I know better. What’s really important is security.”
“Oh?”
“I had a rough childhood. My father was one of those guys who always had some get-rich-quick scheme cooking. And of course, he never got rich. In fact, as the years went
by, we grew poorer and poorer.”
Clay took a sip of his orange juice and waited for her to go on.
“My mother didn’t have any skills. Whenever we were up against it, she’d take whatever low-paying jobs she could find—waiting tables, cleaning houses, working in sweatshops.” Tobie had a faraway look in her eyes as she related her tale. “We moved around a lot. Just when I’d make friends, Dad would uproot us again.”
“I can’t imagine it,” Clay said, thinking about the plush mansion he’d grown up in.
“Once, we had to live in a tent. Daddy never would take a real job. He’d convinced himself one day he’d strike it rich.”
Sympathy angled through Clay at the thought of what she had suffered. While he’d eaten gourmet food, gone to private schools, and traveled to exotic places, poor little Tobie had been living in poverty. Clay had a bone to pick with that man. “I guess he’s never found his pot of gold?”
Tobie shook her head. “When I was fifteen, he had a heart attack and died. It left us with nothing but funeral bills. We went on welfare. From that day on, I swore I would never sink that low again. No matter what I had to do.”
As she spoke, she huddled like a frightened child at the painful memories, her shoulders hunched forward, her head held low. “I studied hard throughout high school and won a scholarship to college. I chose medical school because I knew doctors made a nice living. I also swore no child of mine would ever suffer as I had.”
Clay shuddered at the image of his defiant little Tobie taking on the world. “That’s what attracted you to your ex-fiancé? His ability to provide you with a wealthy lifestyle.”
Tobie sighed. “I never admitted that to myself. But yes, I suppose so. Edward was everything my father was not. Successful, responsible, a man of his word.”
“So why did you break up with him?” Clay asked.
“After I saw you with Molly, how tender and caring you were, I knew I couldn’t marry a man that didn’t want kids.” Tobie’s voice caught.
“Did you love Edward?” Clay whispered, holding his breath.
“Love?” Tobie let out a laugh. “What’s love got to do with it?”
“Everything.” He stared at her in surprise. “It’s supposed to be the reason people get married.”
“My parents were madly in love and look where it got them. My mother so adored my father she’d put up with anything he dished out. Whenever he’d come home with a new scheme, she’d bat her eyes at him like he hung the moon and encourage him!”
“When you love someone, you put your faith in them,” Clay said.
“Even when they fail you repeatedly?” Tobie snorted. “I don’t think so.”
“Then you still believe money is the key to a good relationship?”
“No. I never wanted riches. Not really. I only wanted a father who went to work every morning and brought food home at night. I simply wanted to live in the same house, make lots of friends, and never be lonely or hungry or homeless.” A tear slid down her cheek.
“Here, here,” he said, reaching out to put an arm around her shoulders. It felt so good to touch her, so right. “Everything’s okay now. You’re a doctor; you’ve got a place to live, food to eat.”
“But I don’t have a family of my own.” She sighed. “It’s just my mom and me.”
“Give it time,” he whispered, flicking her tear away with the pad of his thumb. “You’ll achieve your goals eventually.”
“I didn’t mean to unload on you,” she apologized. “Who am I to complain?” She waved her hand. “I’m sure things weren’t easy for you, either.”
“That’s completely all right. You can cry on my shoulder anytime.” He held her against his chest, marveling at the softness of her skin, the warmth of her body. How had he survived thirty years without this?
Without her.
“You’re teaching me a lot about life, Clay.”
“Me? Like what?”
“That stability and dependability can spring from other sources besides money. The way you are with Molly has shown me that. You’re an honorable person, Clay.” Her eyes glimmered.
Guilt zinged through Clay.
He didn’t know how to respond. He’d painted himself as a poor man to enlist her help with Molly. He had not expected her tragic past. How in the world was he going to tell her the truth? That he was wealthy beyond her wildest dreams. That he was not an honorable man. That he had lied to her.
The dilemma chewed at him. If he confessed, he’d risk alienating her, yet under the circumstances, how could he continue the falsehood h
e’d so glibly perpetrated?
“Tell me about your childhood, Clay. How come you’re not married with a passel of kids?”
She drew her knees up under her chin and wiggled her perfectly manicured toes. Clay saw her nipple buds strain at the cotton of her pajama top. He swallowed. How he longed to caress those supple breasts.
Inwardly, he groaned. Either he could spill his guts and come clean, forsaking the chance to explore her lissome contours, or he could hedge her questions for the moment, buying time until he could think things through and plan the best approach.
“I’m obsessed with perfecting the recycler,” he said truthfully. Or at least he had been until he’d met a certain raven-haired physician. “It’s not fair for me to get married and have a family and then neglect them for my inventions.”
“That’s wise,” she said. “You shouldn’t have children until you’re ready to sacrifice your dreams to make theirs come true.”
“You’ll make a great mother someday, Tobie.”
“You really think so?”
“Absolutely.”
“You never answered me about your childhood.” She rested her head on his shoulder and gazed up at him. She looked so innocent, so trusting. Lying just inches from his were her lovely red lips. Her violet scent invaded his nostrils, claimed his senses. “Is Anne your only sibling? What are your parents like? Where did you grow up?”
They were back to deep water again. He had to divert her attention.
“Let’s watch that comedy.” Reaching for the remote control, he started the movie.
“Oh, forget the movie, we’re having a great discussion.” She splayed a hand across his chest.
Clay gulped. “I better go get my shower.”
He slid off the fold-out couch. If he stayed, he’d have to kiss her. And kissing would lead to other things. Already a fire burned deep within him. A fire Tobie had stoked and Clay feared no other woman could ever extinguish. He wanted her so desperately his body ached with throbbing need.
And for the first time since he’d met her, Tobie had seemed truly relaxed. She’d felt comfortable enough with him to reveal her darkest secrets, and he’d been unable to reciprocate.
11
Tobie watched Clay disappear into the bathroom. Anxiously, she bit her bottom lip. Why had he evaded her questions about his childhood?
Was he hiding something? She’d been honest with him; why couldn’t he open up to her? Had his childhood been worse than her own or had it been so good he hadn’t wanted to make her feel bad?
Perhaps his reluctance was for the best. Things had been moving far too quickly between them.
Good heavens, she’d invited him onto the couch bed beside her! He’d wiped away her tears. If that wasn’t a prelude to intimacy, she didn’t know what was.
At twenty-nine, Tobie was still sexually inexperienced. Yes, she’d had two lovers in college, but for so much of her life she’d focused on achieving her goals that she’d never had time for men or dating. Edward had never seemed interested in consummating their relationship before marriage. A fact that had left her a little relieved.
But here, tonight, in the comforting circle of Clay’s arms, she’d planned to explore a physical relationship with him.
That stunned her.
Was she crazy? She barely knew the man. Yet the attraction between them was powerful. She’d wanted to ignore common sense and heed her body. Tobie had never felt so lusty.
Confused and conflicted, Tobie pretended to be asleep when Clay came back from his shower. Tomorrow, she’d move to a hotel until they finished fumigating her townhome.
Stretching out on the sofa bed, Tobie buried her head in the pillow. It smelled of Clay—robust, honest, faintly metallic. She heard the bathroom door click shut. Slowing her breathing, she lowered her lashes to narrow slits and peered down the hall at him.
Clay opened the door to his bedroom and stood at the threshold. Tobie realized he was checking on Molly. That melted her heart.
When she told him that he’d taught her a lot, she’d meant it. Ever since meeting Clay, she understood what real dependability and stability were about. All the money in the world could not buy the tenderness, the unconditional love he showed toward his niece.
For most of her life, Tobie had equated stability with financial security. That was just plain wrong. Look at Edward. He was rich and powerful, and yet at his inner core, he was poor and penniless in the things that mattered.
Growing up, she’d always blamed her father’s lack of money-making abilities for the pain she’d suffered, when in reality it was his reluctance to relinquish his crazy dreams for the welfare of his wife and child that hurt the most. If her father had ever once put their wants and needs first, Tobie knew she could have dealt with the poverty.
The floorboards creaked under Clay’s weight as he made his way back to the living room. She let her eyelids shutter completely.
“Tobie?” he whispered. “You asleep?”
She did not answer. It was better this way, to feign sleep and let them both off the hook.
His hand grazed her leg, and for a panicky moment, Tobie thought he was caressing her. But then she heard the television click off and realized he’d simply been reaching for the remote control.
Disappointment surged through her. What was the matter with her? Did she want him to touch her or not?
Rustling noises piqued her curiosity, followed by the thwap, thwap of sheet metal. What was he doing? She didn’t dare risk opening her eyes for fear he’d catch her. Suppressing a yawn, Tobie lay still until at last, she drifted off to sleep.
Sometime later, a screeching sound jerked her awake.
Confused, she sat upright.
Where was she?
Blinking, Tobie rubbed her eyes and looked around.
Oh yes, Clay’s cabin. Glancing at her phone, she saw it was two forty-five a.m. The sofa bed groaned as she swung her legs over the side, her gaze scanning the room.
The sound reoccurred, drawing her attention to the corner where his recycling machine sat.
“Clay?”
His head popped up from behind the contraption, a pleased grin on his handsome face. The sight had Tobie catching her breath.
“I’m sorry, did I wake you?”
“What’s going on?” She got to her feet and crossed the room.
He hunkered behind the recycler, the back panel removed from his invention. Machine oil soiled his right cheek, and his hair stuck out at odd angles as if he’d been repeatedly running his hand through it. His voice quivered with excitement.
“I think it’s finished,” he whispered, as if speaking louder would ruin that reality. “Four years of my life I’ve poured into this project, and I’ve finally perfected her.” Sentimentally, he ran a hand over the top of the machine. “I can’t believe it.”
“That’s amazing.” Her father hadn’t even come close to realizing any of his dreams. Perhaps Clay was a visionary after all and not just a hopeless dreamer.
Pure pride shone from his eyes. “When I started this, I knew I wanted to create something that would help the environment. I’m determined to do my part to help lower carbon footprints.”
“That’s an honorable goal.”
“Ready to test drive her?” he asked, still touching his creation with loving fingers.
“You want to share this moment with me? Shouldn’t your parents be here? Or your sister?”
“Tobie, I can’t think of anyone I’d rather try out the recycler with than you.”
Flattered and touched, she put a palm to her heart.
“I did a dry run,” he explained. “That was the noise that woke you. Now I’m ready for some actual trash.”
Tobie giggled.
He met her eyes and grinned. “I’m nervous as all get-out.”
“I have confidence in you.” And to her amazement, Tobie knew that she did. Was this how her mother had felt when her father chased his wild schemes? That thought gave h
er something to consider.
“Thanks.” The lock of hair flopping across his forehead gave him an adorable appearance. “Come on, let’s go dig in the wastepaper basket.”
He held out his palm, and she slipped her hand into his. She could feel the depth of his excitement. He tugged her to the kitchen and swung open the cabinet door under the sink. Retrieving the paper bag that served as his trash sack, he hauled her back to the living room.
“Okay,” he said breathlessly. “Start feeding the trash in.” He handed her the sack and lifted the lid to the recycler. “One thing at a time. Don’t want to overload her at first.”
Tobie pulled the plastic orange juice bottle from the sack and dropped it down the chute.
“Here goes.” He flipped the switch, then pointed a finger at her, indicating she was to keep feeding in refuse. The machine gurgled softly.
Next Tobie inserted an aluminum can.
Clay pushed a flashing green button. The machine emitted a different sound.
“Try a glass,” he said.
Clenching her teeth, Tobie dug in the sack until she found a pickle jar. “Are you sure?”
He nodded. “Might as well put her through the wringer.”
Tobie popped the glass jar into the machine.
Clay hit the yellow button beside the green one. Once again, the noise changed, this time sounding something like a meat grinder.
“Now what?” Tobie asked.
“Pray that it works.”
They both held their breath, waiting. The machine dinged like a clothes dryer completing its cycle, and the lights flashed off. Clay knelt on the floor and opened one of the two doors in front.
He extracted a pellet of plastic roughly the same size and shape of chicken feed. His face glowed. “There’s one.” Passing the pellet to Tobie, he opened the second door.
The plastic was still warm in her hand. She stared at it, stupefied.
“Here’s the aluminum.” The machine had transformed it into a thin, flat sheet of foil.
“Clay, this is unbelievable!” Her own enthusiasm built, almost matching the flushed, electrified expression on his face.