Oh, my gosh. Kendra caught herself before she melted all over the doorstep. No one had ever done anything that sweet for her before. At least no one she was dat—
No. They were not dating.
“I’m not dressed. Or showered. Or...anything.”
“So? Not like we’re dating, right?”
She rolled her eyes. Yeah, where had she heard that recently?
“Besides, you’ve seen me that way.”
Yes. She had. But that didn’t mean she owed him her own stink in return. At the same time, she didn’t want him thinking she had some girlie need to be attractive to him.
Even though she did.
“Good point.” She opened the door and the screen, smiling bravely, hoping her eyes weren’t superpuffy or crusted with anything disgusting. “Good morning. Come in.”
“Thanks.” He stepped into the foyer, instantly transforming the elegant tiled space to a cozy area he dominated. Was he that big? Or just that magnetic? She had a feeling the answer to both was yes.
“Nice.” He looked across the living room, the dining room to the right with its full-length marble-topped dining table and modern crystal chandelier that looked like a dense, square collection of icicles. “Quite a place.”
“I grew up here.” Yeah, no kidding, Kendra.
“Kitchen?”
“Through there.” She pointed to the opposite end of the dining room. “I’ll just go clean up.”
“Take your time.” He moved toward the kitchen, but not before giving her a devastating smile that made her breath back up in her lungs.
Yes, she needed to shower, but she needed even more to regroup. Jameson had always gotten to her—remembering the dream proved that even more strongly. But not like this. Last night the way he’d kissed her, even in her rather tipsy state—or maybe especially in that state—had positively upended her. Desire, absolutely. Lust, why not. But...then this odd tenderness, and an even odder feeling of inevitability, of rightness, that came from somewhere she didn’t understand. An extension of the old-friends feeling she’d had at the whale-watching center, with someone who had never been a friend or a lover.
There was no way she could feel any of those emotions rationally. All her dealings with Jameson in her younger days had been negative and she had barely scratched the surface of knowing him as an adult.
The shower was warm and comforting; she scrubbed quickly, aware of her naked body in a way she did not want to be with the man who’d restarted her sex engines the previous night now at the opposite end of the house, which he’d walked into as if he’d been visiting his whole life.
Worse, she’d had to remind herself he’d never been there, it felt so natural to welcome him inside. God forbid she’d repressed more memories. Maybe they’d gotten married junior year.
She yanked the tap off and dried herself quickly, dragging on jeans and her oldest shirt in a rather unflattering shade of coral that clashed with her hair. No makeup.
There. That was how much she cared about attracting Jameson further.
Ha! She’d show him. And herself.
Okay, then.
Halfway to the bedroom door, she let out a growl of frustration, tore off the top and replaced it with an emerald-green cotton sweater with a flattering scoop neck.
Fine. She was weak. And vain. And shallow. But at least the jeans were awful. And made her butt look fat. And she had no makeup on, so she was pale and teeny eyed.
Right.
Three steps toward the door, she veered right and stomped into the bathroom for a tiny smudge of eyeliner, a quick swipe of mascara and a brush of blush.
So guess what, she was human. Whatever.
Back toward the door, five steps this time, nearly there, almost...
Damn it.
She whirled around, practically growling, kicked the jeans across the room and dragged on a casual black knit skirt that barely skimmed her knees.
Fine. She thought he was hot and after last night she wanted to look that way, too, okay? So shut up.
She smiled brightly as she entered the kitchen. “Hey. I feel better. Thanks for waiting.”
“That was quick. And you really did look fine.” He was standing by the doors leading out to the deck, next to the wooden kitchen table on which he’d laid out the appetizing fat-and sugar-loaded carbfest. His eyes traveled over her appreciatively. “You still look fine.”
“Thanks!” She was jittery, overcheerful, acting like a teacher facing a classroom of hostile faces on her first day. And wishing she had on the jeans and awful shirt. “Wow, you really brought breakfast. What did I do to deserve this?”
He was watching her with a half smile that made her feel as if he could see inside her and understand everything she was feeling, which made her wrap her arms around herself to block him. “I wanted to see you. After last night.”
“Oh. Last night.” She laughed, which made her sound like an awkward and embarrassed virgin idiot.
“Kendra.” His blue eyes softened and warmed. She needed to stop this—whatever it was—before it went a millimeter further. “Last night was—”
“A bad idea.” She pointed into his face. “A very bad idea. You’re injured, depressed and facing uncertain life circumstances. I’m your counselor, in a position of responsibility for your mental health, and charged with gaining your trust and respect. If we took this relationship into a, um, into a new dimension, then I’d be—”
“Wait, wait, let me get this straight.” He was positively smirking now. “You think I’m the vulnerable patient falling for his therapist because—”
“Counselor.”
“—falling for his counselor because she’s the only person who’ll listen to me? The only person who understands me in my most painful and difficult hour?”
“Well...yeah.” She gestured toward him. “Aren’t I?”
He looked startled, but barely missed a beat. “And if anything physical happens between us you’ll be abusing your position of immense power over my psyche?”
“Yes, exactly.” She nodded eagerly, like her worst student had finally caught on to two plus two. “You are a dainty little blossom of a person and if you so much as kiss my cheek again, I will inadvertently bug-squash your soul.”
He was laughing now. She couldn’t help it, she joined him, and the shared laughter felt intimate, cathartic and really, really good.
“Okay, soul squasher, let’s eat breakfast.” He gestured to a chair as if he were the host in her house. She liked that.
“But wait.” She paused, her butt halfway to the chair. “We haven’t agreed on anything yet.”
“Nothing?”
“I mean about us. About what...” She was turning red. She hated that. He flustered her now as much as he had in grade school, but for different reasons. “About how we—”
“Do this?” He leaned forward so fast she didn’t see it coming and planted a quick, soft kiss on her mouth. Then he pulled away and sat down as if nothing had happened while she stayed frozen, butt still a foot from her chair, tweety birds circling her head.
Damn it. He had to stop doing that.
More to the point, she had to stop liking it so much.
And him.
Because...
For a brief moment, together with him in her kitchen having breakfast as if they’d spent the night shaking the floors, the reason eluded her.
Because why?
Because he was a client. Because he was a Cartwright. Because he was here for another two and a half weeks and then would go back to a life in the military that did not include her.
Those were all good reasons.
She plunked her butt down, grabbed the glass of juice he’d poured her and drank as if it were a lifesaving serum. Delicious juice.
She bit into a blueberry muffin.
“Mmm!”
“Good?” He chose a scone and nodded, his own mouth full. “Mmm.”
Good Lord. He even made enjoying a scone sexy. She was going to have to think new thoughts now, because hers involved Jameson making that mmm noise for an entirely different reason.
“Thank you for this.” She pulled her coffee closer and took off the lid, releasing steam and a dark, rich aroma. “It’s really nice of you.”
“I want to keep seeing you.”
“You—” Kendra froze, coffee in hand, blinking at him stupidly while he took another bite of scone. He wanted to... He was just announcing it like that? That he wanted to date her? And then he could go back to eating calmly while he waited for her answer?
No, no, that wasn’t it. Geez. He wanted to keep seeing her professionally. What had she been thinking? Thank God she hadn’t responded any other way.
“Sure. I don’t have an appointment until later this morning, so right now is fine. What’s on your mind?”
Halfway through her speech, he started a slow smile that widened into a sexy grin. By the time she finished, he was chuckling. “Kendra...”
“What is so funny?”
“I want to see you romantically. I want us to go on dates, not counseling sessions.”
“Oh.” Her face must be turning traffic-light red. But okay, she’d encountered this situation before and knew how to cope. She laid a gentle hand on his forearm, smiling, friendly. “Thank you, Jameson. But I can’t go out with one of my clients.”
He stood abruptly and hauled her to standing. She got a brief glimpse of his amused face before he was kissing her. Like he meant it.
Apparently he really, really meant it.
“Well, guess what? I’m not your client anymore.”
Kendra had to try twice to speak, hands braced against his chest. “But we’re not finished. And Dr. Kornish hired me to—”
“You’re the best there is, Kendra. I’m totally cured.”
“Ha!” She tried to push away. But whatever they did to airmen in basic training built muscles much too strong for her to budge. “Not even close.”
“Look.” He cupped the side of her face, tipped her head up to meet his eyes. “I want you, Kendra. Badly. I don’t think I’m alone in those feelings. What kind of successful professional relationship are we going to have if all we want to do is crawl into bed together?”
His gaze and his words combined to shoot hot lightning through her. She couldn’t think beyond the mental picture of him making his way, stealthily, naked, into her bed.
“I guess I...” Kendra closed her eyes to gather her thoughts, because it was pretty impossible to do that with his arms around her, her lips still warm from his kisses and his gorgeous blue eyes boring into hers. She’d been trained in how to dissuade an interested client; she’d had to smack down a few men in the past couple of years—gently, of course. The psychologists’ code of ethics forbade romantic relationships between a therapist and client until two full years after therapy stopped. But Kendra wasn’t a licensed psychologist. Nor was she providing traditional therapy. “I need time to think about this, Jameson.”
“Sure.” His lips landed, warm and lingering, on her forehead. Even that made her whole body shiver. “Think about it. Take all the time you need.”
Kendra bent her head gratefully. “Thank you.”
“You done yet?”
She cracked up, lifting her head. “Hey. You didn’t used to be this funny in grade school.”
“Are you kidding? Worms in your sandwich isn’t the height of comedy?”
“Uh...”
Jameson’s smile faded. “Guess I didn’t have that much to laugh about.”
“Oh, come on. You Cartwrights owned the school. Maybe the universe.”
“Nah. I was the same wreck everyone else was. Just better at faking it.” He stroked back hair from her face. “You kept it real, though. I admired you for that. Which is probably why I kept trying to knock it out of you.”
“Boy logic.” Kendra shook her head.
He kissed her, sweetly, almost tenderly, and her heart did some melting it absolutely should not be doing. Bad enough she was hot for him, but real feelings...out of bounds entirely.
“I should leave so you can get your day going. But you’ll think about it?”
She nodded.
“Good.” He backed toward the door. “Dinner tonight?”
“Jameson...”
He held up both hands. “Just asking. I’ll call you later.”
She saw him to the door, noticing the limp was even better than the day before, replaced by a bit more of his masculine swagger. The surgery had worked. He’d be gone soon, flying off to the rest of his career like Spirit the hawk, healed and released, twenty years before he could retire, during which time he could get shipped just about anywhere.
What was the point? If she was sure their relationship would only be sexual, that would be one thing. But she liked him. And like plus sex equaled only one thing.
Trouble.
She closed the front door and ran back into her bedroom to unplug her cell from its charger, glancing at her watch before she dialed Lena. Her friend would already be at the office, unless there was typical L.A. traffic from hell.
“Hey, Kendra.”
“You busy?” Kendra wandered out into the hall. “Not that you’re ever not.”
“I have a few minutes, what’s going on?”
“Jameson.”
“Ooh, Cartwright drama. You have my full attention.”
“He’s... That is, he... Well, he wants to...”
“No way! Really? Oh, my God!”
“Uh...” Kendra stepped down into the living room, past the antique piano only her mother had played. “I haven’t even told you what he wants.”
“He’s a guy, what else could it be?”
Kendra cracked up. “You are good.”
She outlined the situation, how Jameson didn’t seem to be quite the jerk they’d thought he was, to put it mildly, and then described all the talks they’d had, the fun they’d had, the transformation he’d undergone from miserable and barely speaking to fun and funny and incredibly sexy. Only she didn’t admit that last part.
“You know, Kendra, you will think I’m nuts, but I wondered sometimes if he was always bugging you because he was into you.”
“Ha!” Alarms went off all over Kendra’s body. “No, no. This is not about being into me. This is about going into me.”
Just saying it was true made her feel better.
Lena giggled. “Geez, what a romantic you aren’t. It could be more than that. You don’t know.”
Kendra gritted her teeth. She’d just gotten rid of the alarm bells. “He’s a guy.”
“Guys fall in love, too. And what would be wrong with that anyway? He sounds like he’s grown up a lot. He’s hot. He’s available. He has a job.”
“He’s leaving.”
“Oh, Kendra.” Lena was quiet for a good ten seconds, which didn’t happen often. “He’s in the Air Force, he has to go. I know it’s soon after your parents passed, but their deaths don’t mean everyone you love will—”
Forget alarm bells, Kendra was approaching panic. “Love? Love? We are talking about a nice healthy boinking here. Period.”
“Okay, not love. But not just boinking, girlfriend. Listen to how you told me about him. Not just, ‘Wow, Lena, this guy has a package the size of Florida!’ You told me how much you love talking to him, how funny he is... There’s an emotional component.”
Kendra’s throat thickened. She did not want to hear this. Especially because it might be true. Okay, it was true. A little. But not out of control. She could still keep it from threa
tening her sanity.
“I’m just saying what’s wrong with dating a guy you’re attracted to who is also attracted to you?”
Kendra bit her lip, staring over the top of the olive tree in her backyard that her father had planted for one of his and Mom’s anniversaries. Lena made it sound so simple. Was it? Was she just afraid of falling for Jameson? Of losing someone she cared for all over again? It had been two years since her parents died. Sometimes it felt as if she’d been alone forever; sometimes it seemed a blink of an eye. As she told all her clients, there was no right time to move on from a death. Everyone at his or her own pace.
Maybe her strong reaction to Jameson had nothing to do with falling for him but was simply her body and subconscious telling her she was ready now?
“Yeesh, I have to get to a meeting. Call me later and let me know what you’re thinking.”
“Sure. Thanks, Lena. Bye.” Kendra punched off the phone, more confused than ever. If she agreed to date Jameson...
Even the phrase made her want to laugh. Date Jameson Cartwright! Her lifelong nemesis.
But oh, a nemesis with hot blue eyes, a dynamite smile, mouth by Cupid, body by Air Force. She’d have to be crazy not to want to explore all of it.
And she’d have to be crazier to actually do it.
And yet, as Lena pointed out—
But then again...
She rolled her eyes and shoved the phone into her pocket, heading to her bedroom to get ready to go. She had a full day ahead, including a visit to Crystal with Byron. Maybe later she and Byron could invite Jameson for a frolic on the beach in safe daylight.
If she decided the daylight would also turn into night, she’d have officially resigned as his counselor.
Kendra stopped dead on her way to the front door.
Oh, God.
She’d have to call Matty to stop the payments. Matty would want to know why.
Gulp.
She could say Jameson was cured. She could say he refused to see her anymore. She could say he was a hopeless case.
Argh. She couldn’t lie and retain any professional credibility, not to mention she couldn’t lie to a sister about the condition of a brother she loved and live in her own skin afterward.
Back in Service Page 10