by Nancy Warren
Silence.
“Jordan, we’re therapists. Counseling people through rough patches in their relationships is what we do.” He looked down at his hands and suddenly the obvious slapped her. “Oh, God. No. There’s someone else?”
“I’m so sorry,” he said.
She fell back against the hideous polyester bedspread. She stared up at the ceiling. There was a squished mosquito in the center like a tiny Rorschach test. “I’m a cliché. A joke. I wrote a book about perfect communication, perfect love and meanwhile my supposedly perfect partner screws around behind my back.”
“I didn’t, in point of fact, screw her,” he said in his scholarly way. “But I admit I was drawn to another woman. Seriously attracted.”
“Who? Who is she?”
“An artist. A grad student at the university.”
“One of your students?” He taught a class in the psych department. She wasn’t the only cliché around here. Next to fancying themselves in love with their therapists, young women seemed to love falling for their teachers.
“No. I met her at a faculty function. One you were too busy to attend.” She didn’t miss the hint of bitterness behind his words. She wanted to hit him.
“Don’t you dare try to pin that on me. You sniveling coward. Couldn’t you have come to me? Talked to me? You hired a perfect stranger to break up with me?” She leapt to her feet. “I can’t believe I just had sex with you.”
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’ll drive you home.”
She wanted to snap at him and tell him to go. Just go. But she didn’t think she had the energy left even to call a cab to this nasty motel.
They didn’t speak at all on the way back to her house. Jordan tried a couple of times, but she shushed him. She was too angry to utter a word she wouldn’t regret. Besides, she was obsessed with the fact that her entire life’s work was a failure. A joke.
She was a joke.
Chapter 21
Stephanie threw her purse to the floor of her office in Chloe’s house. Chloe was out and she had the place to herself so she opened the metal filing cabinet and slammed the drawer shut. The noise was satisfyingly violent. Then, because that had felt so good, she opened the drawer and slammed it again.
“My, someone’s in a temper,” that cool English voice said.
Stephanie jumped. “Oh, sorry. I thought you were out.”
A flicker of amusement crossed that aristocratic face. “Is that what you do when I’m out? Slam the filing drawers? I shall have to stay home in future.”
“Not usually. But then I don’t usually want to kill someone.”
She nodded. “Rafe. He looked pretty grim when he arrived.”
“That arrogant, moronic…” Beneath her anger, little prickles of humiliation began to poke through. Was that all it was for him? The need to be a hero? To rescue the damsel in distress? Frankly, she was getting sick of being that damsel. “Can I ask you something?”
“Of course.”
“Do you think people can ever really change?”
“Darling girl, people change every day. Look at you. Two months ago you were working at that dreary job at the bank, engaged to that awful prig. Now you’ve got a fabulous job, with the best boss this side of London, and you are deciding what you want in life.” Chloe smiled at her.
“Rafe says he needs to stay away from me because wounded doves are his weakness and he’s determined to break that bad pattern.”
Chloe’s eyes got that very deep twinkly look they took on when she was thinking deeply. “Maybe he has already broken his pattern.”
“What do you mean?”
“You’re strong, you’re vibrant, you’ve learned your own worth. Perhaps you frighten him.”
“He said—”
“Oh, I know what he said. Darling, if men knew themselves, the world would be a far simpler place. Though far less interesting, don’t you think?”
She had turned to walk out when Stephanie stopped her. “Wait. Did Deborah Beaumont come here?”
“Yes. She stopped by.”
Stephanie took a big breath. “I see her. Professionally. That’s why I need a longer lunch hour every two weeks. I should have told you, but—”
“No reason at all to tell me. It’s your private business.”
“But I knew Rafe was going there, obviously.”
“Of course, you’ll have memorized all the files by now.”
“I didn’t know he had an appointment today.”
“No. Nor did I. Well, he didn’t have to tell me, obviously, since he’s doing me a favor and not getting paid.”
“But—why did you tell him to ask her out? After only a couple of weeks? It doesn’t make sense.”
“I didn’t suggest anything of the kind. All Rafe was supposed to do was show up and be scruffy and disorganized and a gorgeous hot mess. I had a theory that I think was deeply flawed, as it turned out. Anyway, I think Rafe is trying to make sense of a few things in his life right now, don’t you? If I had to guess—and why not, it’s a free country—I’d say he asked her out hoping she’d say no, so he could give up the sessions and yet still feel he’d fulfilled his commitment to me.”
“But—”
“Is Deborah any good?”
“As a therapist? Yeah. She’s great. I mean, if you’d seen me when she first started working with me, believe me, you wouldn’t have offered me a job. I was so screwed up.” She made a wry face. “Worse than I am now.”
Chloe nodded. “I was so certain she’d be rubbish. I suspect I gave Rafe that impression too. I wonder if she’s got Rafael facing his demons, whether he wants to or not.”
“All I know is he says he can’t see me because he doesn’t do wounded doves anymore.” She gritted her teeth and gripped her hands together.
Chloe looked at her for a moment, her purple-blue eyes full of understanding. “Stephanie, you have my full permission to slam all the file drawers. Go around and break some things too, if it makes you feel better.” Then she walked with her model’s walk out of the room.
Stephanie gave her time to get all the way out before opening the file drawers one at a time and slamming them until it sounded like her office was throwing a temper tantrum.
Rafe pulled into Deborah’s driveway. She lived in a brick townhouse in a nice area near the university. Lots of trees and decent older homes. Hers wasn’t grand, but it was solid. There were lights on inside.
He knocked at the front door. Stood there for a bit. The porch light went on and then Deborah opened the door.
He had a moment of shock when he wondered if he’d misread the address. He’d seen messed-up street women who looked better than the woman at the door. Her dress was crumpled, her hair was all over the place, and her eyes were red from crying. All that crying had left her skin blotchy and none of her makeup was where she’d originally intended it. Her mascara had run and the stuff on her eyelids had seeped to her temples, her lipstick was nothing but a blurry line around the outside of her mouth, and her skin looked chapped and raw.
“I thought you were the Chinese,” she said on a sniffle.
“No. I’m the Mexican.”
It wasn’t much of a joke and she didn’t give him much of a smile. What she did manage was pretty pathetic. “I meant Chinese food. I had a craving.”
“I brought your car back.” She was carrying a damp tissue in her hand, which he saw when she held out her palm for the keys. “Thanks.”
“Are you okay?” he asked automatically. Stupid question, obviously.
“No. I am spectacularly not okay, as you can see.” She sounded like she had a heavy cold. “Also, I am single, which makes me perfect for you. A wounded dove.” She sniffed. “Ask me out now, why don’t you? You’re no longer my client and I’m no longer attached.”
He caught the pain behind the bitterness of the words. “Deborah, I’m sorry about that. Chloe never told me to ask you out. That was my idea.”
She waved a hand grandly in t
he air. “All has been explained. I now know that my esteemed partner in business, life, and publishing was too much of a chickenshit to tell me he wanted out of our relationship, so he hired some English runway model to do it for him.”
“Stupid prick.”
“Thank you. My thoughts exactly.” She sniffled. Looked behind him. “You’re all alone. Do you need me to drive you back to your car?”
“No. I can call a buddy.”
They stood there looking at each other. He got the feeling she didn’t want to be alone.
Oddly enough, neither did he.
“Would you like to come in? I ordered enough Chinese food to feed China.”
He nodded briefly and she led him through to a kind of den area beside a small but super-efficient-looking kitchen. Her house was smart, somehow. As if all the highfalutin’ thoughts of its owner had seeped into the walls. The den was covered in bookshelves, and all the neatly ordered books seemed too heavy to interest him. Even the art on the walls was complex. She liked abstracts, so nothing was what it appeared to be. Like life itself, he supposed.
“Would you like something to drink?”
“No. I’m good.”
He sat in a burgundy leather chair and she sat across from him, curling her legs under her and cradling a box of tissues the way another woman might hold a cat.
“I feel like such a fraud,” she said, yanking a fresh tissue out of the box. “I am truly sorry for all my patients.” She blew her nose. “Even you, and you were a fake patient.”
“Deborah, you’re not a fraud.”
“I am. My own partner couldn’t even talk to me. He hired a stranger to break up with me. How do you think that makes me feel?”
“Like shit, I’m guessing.”
She laughed, a watery chuckle. “You guess correctly.” She glanced around the room as though the books might be judging her and finding her wanting.
“You’re the shrink, not me, but don’t you think maybe he’s the one with the problem?”
She gestured dramatically, which caused her to drop the crumpled tissue so it bounced down her crumpled dress like a cherry blossom in the rain. “I’m canceling the television appearance, of course. I couldn’t bear to share my expertise with people when all my life’s work turns out to be a pack of lies.” She hiccupped on a sob.
It was oddly comforting to see this normally together woman falling apart. It made her more human, and he was able to see her in a new light. “I don’t like admitting it, but you helped me. That’s why I had to push things, ask you out knowing you’d turn me down, so I could get out of there. But you made me face up to my problem. And that’s good.”
Her smile was wobbly, but she gave it her best shot. “Thank you, Rafe. That is very kind.”
“And you don’t believe a word of it.”
“Not a syllable.”
The doorbell chimed. She sniffled. “That must be the Chinese food.”
He rose, knowing she would hate even a delivery guy to see her like this. “I’ll get it.”
“Thank you.”
He dug out his wallet and opened the door. But it wasn’t fast food. It was Deborah’s former lover and partner standing there. They stared at each other for a second, each obviously as flummoxed as the other.
Jordan’s scholarly face hardened and his pale blue eyes narrowed. “What are you doing here?”
Rafe didn’t like the fact that this weasel had hurt Deborah, who was a nice woman doing her best. He showed the wallet in his hands. “Getting the Chinese food.”
“Deborah’s in no condition to be entertaining—”
“Maybe you should leave that to her.” He felt the hostility coming off the mild-mannered therapist on the doorstep and did nothing to quell it. In fact, he moved his body subtly to block more of the doorway.
He saw Jordan’s face take on an enraged bull expression completely at odds with his mild-mannered exterior and then, as suddenly as it appeared, it was gone and he saw gut-deep sadness. Only then did he hear the shuffling sounds behind him that indicated Deborah had come out to see what was going on.
There were a lot of things that Jordan could have said at that moment, at least half of which would have got him forcibly ejected from Deborah’s property—a task Rafe was more than willing to perform. What he said was, “Please.”
He was looking over Rafe’s shoulder. A sob, cut off in the middle so it sounded more like a snort, was his answer. He took a step closer. But Rafe wasn’t making this easy. He didn’t move. “Deborah, I’ve been such an ass. I’m sorry. I love you.”
“I don’t know what to do,” she wailed.
“I do. Come out with me. Now.”
“Out? Where?”
“I don’t know. Out. We’re going to stop living in our ivory tower, you and me. We’re going to experience life. I’m taking you dancing, and we’re going to eat Ethiopian food.”
“Ethiopian food?” Rafe and Deborah echoed simultaneously.
Jordan shrugged impatiently. “I don’t know. Some kind of food we’ve never tried. Deb, we’ve got to get out more and live like real people, that’s all I’m saying.”
Rafe turned and found Deborah looking amazingly transformed. Under the mess of makeup and blotches, she was glowing. “Okay.” She touched her cheeks. “I need to fix my face.” She glanced down at herself. “And change my clothes.”
“I’ll give you five minutes,” Jordan called.
She giggled.
The two men stood there. Jordan obviously thought he’d wrestled the prize away from Rafe and Rafe was happy to let him think that. Deborah was a great woman. She was worth fighting for.
Like another woman he knew.
“So,” Jordan said, “Do you know any good places to go dancing?”
He chuckled and pulled out his notebook, started scrawling down a list of places. If these two wanted to experience life, there were a lot of possibilities.
When she came downstairs a few minutes later, she was wearing jeans, high heels, and a soft, sexy shirt he’d bet she’d never worn before. Her makeup was fresh and her hair down. She looked hotter than any psychologist he’d ever seen.
Jordan obviously thought so too. He tucked the list of places in his wallet.
Deb and Jordan headed for the latter’s Volvo. Jordan opened the passenger door, but before Deb could get in, he took her in his arms and planted her a good one. They were wound around each other, their bodies pressed against the car.
Yeah, Rafe thought, those two would be okay.
She’d forgotten about the Chinese food they’d ordered so he waited on the front step until the delivery guy pulled in. Rafe took the bag, which smelled amazingly good, and reminded him that he was hungry. He paid the guy, added a generous tip, and said, “Any chance you could give me a lift?”
“We’re not supposed to.”
“I’m a cop,” he said, pulling out his badge. “And I’ll give you fifty bucks.”
The kid couldn’t have been more than seventeen and looked like he ate way too much of the merchandise. “Is it an emergency?”
“Oh, yeah.”
He gave the address and they sped on their way. As fast as a 1986 Taurus could speed.
They pulled up in front of Stephanie’s apartment and he took the food and paid the kid with a curt, “Thanks, man.”
“Yeah. Take it easy.”
He didn’t want to take it easy. He wanted to race to her. He buzzed her apartment, but there was no answer. She wasn’t home from work yet. So he sat down on the concrete outside the front door and waited.
After a while he got bored and pulled out a fortune cookie and cracked it open.
People were coming home from work, but they were the wrong ones. A few glanced his way, most ignored him. Then he saw her. She was wearing the same dress she’d worn earlier. It was blue and showed off her legs and the espadrille sandals she wore.
She did not look delighted to see him.
He scrambled to his feet with
the brown bag of food.
“What do you want, Rafe?” she asked softly.
“I’ve had some good news. I’m going to come into a lot of money.” He showed her the fortune he’d pulled out of the cookie. She didn’t even crack a smile. She turned to unlock the outside door to the building.
“I don’t need rescuing, Rafe.”
“No, you don’t.” He reached out and touched her hair. “I do.”
Chapter 22
Stephanie didn’t know what to do. He was standing there telling her he needed her, and she didn’t know whether to let him in or lock him out.
He obviously felt her indecision, for he said, “I’ve been thinking crazy, acting crazy ever since I met you. But the truth is, I want to be with you.”
She glanced at the bag. “Most men would have brought flowers.” But there was a tiny little smile playing at the corners of her mouth if he cared to look.
He looked. In fact, he seemed mesmerized by her mouth. He pulled her to him slowly, kissing her, pulling her closer while need and want made her crazy. The bag emitted a crunching sound between them and she laughed, opening the door so they could both enter.
They sprinted up the stairs—he was a lot more fit than she was—and then he took the keys from her and ran ahead to open her apartment door as though every second mattered. Later, she knew they would have stuff to talk about, but right now his urgency fired hers and as she ran through the door he held open, she dragged him with her.
“The food,” he said, pausing to place the bag on her kitchen counter.
“I like it cold.” Then she pulled him into her bedroom.
“You have beautiful hair,” he said, pushing his hands into it.
“So do you,” she replied, holding fistfuls as she pulled his mouth back to hers.
While his tongue was playing in her mouth, he found the tie to her dress and unfastened it, then pushed the fabric off her shoulders. Her breasts strained to be free of the lacy bra, but he played his fingers over the lace, teasing her a little.
This was so exciting, so unexpected, that she felt her desire building fast and furious. She’d thought about him so often, of all the things she’d wanted to do, to say, and now she was getting her chance.