by Gina Wilkins
She swallowed and wondered if it was too late to make an excuse and escape to the safety of her own apartment.
Still holding her hand, he led her into the kitchen, where a nice surprise awaited her. He’d set the pizza and a tossed salad on the table, along with his nicest dishes and delicate wineglasses. He’d even lit candles, adding a touch of elegance to the simple meal.
“All this for me?” she asked lightly, trying to conceal how much the gesture meant to her.
“One more thing.” He reached into the pantry and brought out a dozen yellow roses in a green glass vase. “These are for you.”
He had done it again. She never should have let him know she had a weakness for roses, she thought with a lump in her throat. She simply couldn’t resist leaning over to draw in a deep breath of the rich scent. “You shouldn’t keep doing this,” she murmured. “But thank you.”
“After all you did for me, a few flowers are the least I can give you in return.” He took the roses and set them on the table between the candles. “We should eat before the food gets cold,” he said, holding her chair for her.
She sank into the chair, determined not to let this get to her. He was just being especially nice because she’d helped him out while he was ill. A pizza dinner was hardly a reason for her to melt at his feet.
After making sure she was seated comfortably, he moved to the counter and pushed a button on a small CD player he’d placed there. Soft, bluesy music poured from the speakers, providing ambience without being intrusive on conversation.
Okay, she thought. He’d added romantic music to the equation. She could handle this—maybe.
She helped herself to the food as he took his seat. The sooner they finished dinner, the sooner she could run like the coward she was. Though he still showed some evidence of his illness, he was no longer weakened by fever, meekly depending on her to take care of him.
Scott was well enough now for her to be wary of him again.
“Wine?” he said, picking up the bottle. “It’s a nice red, one of my favorites with pizza.”
She rarely drank wine, but after he’d gone to so much trouble… “Just a small glass.”
The wine was good, and so was the food. But then, anything probably would have tasted good considering the circumstances, she decided. Candlelight, wine, roses, music, a charming companion…A woman of lesser willpower might have found herself being seduced.
“This isn’t exactly what I was expecting when you said we were going to kick off our shoes and eat pizza,” she said.
He grinned. “As much as I’ve enjoyed your attentions for the past few days, I thought it was time to give you a break. I’d have liked to prepare a fancier meal for you, but my cooking skills are rather limited, and the few recipes I’ve learned to put together take a while.”
“This is perfect,” she assured him. “I like pizza and I don’t have it very often. But you really didn’t have to go to so much trouble.”
“I set the table and lit the candles,” he answered wryly. “That’s pretty much the extent of it.”
He’d done much more than that, she thought, keeping her gaze on her plate. He had touched her.
Trying to keep everything normal between them, she asked, “How did you manage at work today? Was it difficult?”
He shrugged. “I have a lot of hours to put in to catch up, but I got a pretty good start today.”
“You didn’t get too tired?”
“No.” Something in his tone let her know he was tired of being treated as an invalid. “How was your day?” he asked, turning the tables.
“Not as hectic as usual.”
“Good. And how’s your thesis coming along?”
“I’ll keep polishing it until the last possible minute, but everything’s pretty much on schedule.”
He lifted his wineglass and smiled at her. “To Dr. McKinley.”
Dr. McKinley, she thought, taking a sip of her wine. She’d been pursuing the title for a long time. Maybe that was why she felt a little hollow at the thought of actually attaining the degree. Why her most compelling reaction was the question—then what?
Scott asked another question about her work and then another. Almost before Lydia realized it, they were involved in a lively discussion that made her think of the first few times they’d met for dinner and conversation. She’d always found Scott easy to talk to—at least, she had before they complicated everything by dating. Even if the dates had been intended as protection from their matchmaking sisters.
She had other male friends, but she and Scott always connected unusually well. He seemed to understand her. He laughed at her rare jokes and shared many of her interests. She found herself relaxing during the meal, enjoying it immensely. She even accepted a second glass of wine after Scott reminded her humorously that she didn’t have to drive home.
When she’d eaten all she could, she pushed her plate away. “I’m full,” she said, shaking her head when he offered more.
“I have ice cream for dessert,” he said, shamelessly exploiting another of her weaknesses. “Fudge ripple.”
She groaned. “I can’t eat another bite.”
“Maybe you’ll want some later.”
She glanced at her watch. “I really should be going. I’ve been neglecting my laundry and housekeeping the past few days.”
“And that’s my fault, I’m afraid. You’ve been taking care of me. Would you like me to come up and wash a load of towels to repay you?”
She laughed. “No, thank you. This dinner was payment enough. It was the most relaxing evening I’ve spent in a while.”
She automatically started to clear the kitchen, but Scott refused to allow her to do anything. Telling her he would take care of it later, he carried her roses into the living room, where he set them on the coffee table. “I don’t want you to forget these when you go,” he said, turning to her with a smile.
“They really are beautiful. I’d be surprised if there are any roses left in Dallas after all you’ve given me.”
He chuckled. “It’s hardly been that many.”
She really should go. There was no reason to stay any longer. She had things to do and she was sure Scott did, too. He probably needed to rest—although she couldn’t help noticing that he looked perfectly fine. It was hard to tell now that he’d ever been ill.
She was glad he was feeling better—she really was, she assured herself. But she would miss the time they had spent together during the past week, now that there was no good reason for them to continue.
She smoothed her hands down her jeans. “Well…thank you again for dinner.”
He stepped closer, lifting a hand to brush her cheek with his fingertips. “It was my pleasure.”
She swallowed. It amazed her how that simple brush of his hand affected her. She’d touched him dozens of times during the past few days. She’d tested the warmth of his skin for fever, steadied him when he walked, helped him take medicine and drink juice. While she’d been aware of him during that time, she’d been more concerned with his comfort than her reactions to him.
Yet this simple touch made her head spin.
She couldn’t think of anything to say. Funny how often that happened when he stood so close to her. She just stood there, looking up at him, wondering what he was thinking as he gazed back at her, his fingers still lying against her cheek.
Scott’s smile faded. His eyes darkened. His other hand rose, his fingers spreading to cup her face between his palms.
She should have moved away. Should have reminded him that this wasn’t the sort of relationship they had. That they had agreed not to complicate things this way.
As his mouth lowered very slowly to hers, she realized that things were about to become very complicated.
With only a little pressure, he lifted her mouth to his. She went up on tiptoe, resting her hands on his chest to steady herself. His lips brushed hers, hardly touching her. He taunted her with the embrace, giving just enough to make he
r want more. She parted her lips in silent invitation, but he continued to hold back, the kiss only a promise of what it could be.
She might have pulled back if he’d come on too strong, if he’d expected too much. Instead, she stayed, tantalized by possibilities. Her fingers curled into his shirt in involuntary demand.
Still holding her face between his hands, he tilted her face higher and nibbled at her mouth. Teasing, enticing nibbles that made her tremble, made her lips soften and quiver beneath his. A faint sound escaped her—it should have been a protest but sounded more like a plea. Only then did Scott wrap his arms around her, pull her tightly against him and kiss her exactly the way she wanted—needed—him to kiss her.
Her arms locked around his neck. Precariously poised on her toes, she leaned into him, feeling the contact from her breasts to her thighs. Strong, she thought. Solid.
And aroused.
He wanted her. And she could no longer deny that she wanted him, too.
His tongue slipped between her lips, deepening the kiss until she could think of nothing but what was happening right then. How could she worry about perils or consequences when this felt so very good, so very right? The kiss was so perfect, so special—and she was so tempted to let it go on, to experience the full range of feelings and emotions she knew Scott could introduce her to. Things she had only dreamed of before.
But Lydia wasn’t the if-it-feels-good-do-it type. Never had been. And she couldn’t change who she was during the course of one spectacular kiss.
Trembling with reluctance, she pulled her mouth from beneath his and pushed lightly against him, needing space. He hesitated only an instant before loosening his arms, the pause just long enough to let her know he’d briefly considered resisting.
He kept his hands on her shoulders as he gazed down at her. “I’ve been wanting to do that for a long time now,” he murmured.
She swallowed and moistened her still-unsteady lips. “I—”
“I want you, Lydia.”
The carefully worded speech she’d intended dissolved in her mind. Knowing he felt that way had been disconcerting enough; hearing him actually say the words staggered her. “Scott—”
“You need time,” he said.
She nodded. She needed time. She needed distance. She needed perspective. God help her, she needed him. And while that was her most immediate requirement, she knew the others must come first.
She nodded. “I have to think about this,” she whispered. “Before it goes any further—I have to think.”
“I know. You aren’t comfortable acting on impulse. You have to decide first if the benefits are worth the risks. I can wait until you come up with the answer,” he said, gently touching her cheek again, “but I hope you’ll decide to give it a try.”
It shook her even more that he seemed to understand her so well. And that he seemed to be making no effort to change what he knew about her. She was more accustomed to impatience and frustration from men who had wanted her before. Which made Scott all the more difficult to resist.
It took more willpower than she’d ever needed before to step away from him. “I’d better go.”
He nodded, obviously reluctant, but resigned. “All right. I hope to hear from you soon. And, Lydia…?”
She had already taken a step toward the door. “Yes?”
“This has nothing to do with our sisters. It’s strictly between us.”
She studied his face, seeing the desire he wasn’t trying to hide from her. “I know,” she whispered, forcing herself to take another step toward the door.
“Don’t forget your roses.”
Without looking at him again—probably because she was afraid she wouldn’t be able to leave at all if she did—she took the vase from him, then all but bolted out the door when he opened it.
“We’ll talk later,” he called after her.
She only hoped she would know what to say when they did.
Chapter Eleven
Lydia happened to be in her office when Gary Dunston called Thursday afternoon. “How have you been?” he asked.
“Fine, thank you. And you?” she inquired politely, dreading what she knew was coming. When she hadn’t heard from him after the reception at his bookstore, she decided he’d reached the same conclusion she had—that they had almost nothing in common. She never really expected to hear from him again—and wasn’t at all bothered by the probability.
“To be honest,” he said in the overly diffident tone she associated with him, “I’ve been trying to come up with the nerve to call you again. I know you didn’t have a very good time at my reception—”
“I told you it was a very interesting evening,” she said, guiltily compelled to reassure him.
“Yes, I know you did. That’s because you’re such a kind and gracious person.”
She winced, feeling even worse because she found his compliments more annoying than endearing.
“And because you are so nice,” he continued doggedly, “I was hoping you would give me another chance to show you a good time. Larissa said you enjoy the theater. There’s a community theater production of Guys and Dolls tomorrow night. Would you like to go with me?”
She loved the theater. She liked Guys and Dolls. The problem was, she didn’t think she could spend another evening with Gary. She debated between being totally honest with him or making a polite excuse. Her policy was usually honesty—but Gary seemed so shy and sensitive that she almost felt as if she’d be kicking a puppy if she wasn’t very careful with his feelings. “I’m sorry, Gary, but I’m afraid I can’t. I already have plans for this weekend.”
His silence told her that she had hurt him even though she’d tried not to. “I see,” he said after a time. “You’re, um, seeing someone else?”
She wouldn’t tell him, of course, that she’d spent most of the preceding night trying to decide whether she wanted to begin an affair with Scott Pearson. A calculated, no-strings, no-future affair based on an attraction stronger than anything she’d felt for any man before him. She couldn’t tell Gary that she’d almost convinced herself it would be worth the inevitable pain just to experience a blazing, passionate, unpredictable affair for once in her otherwise careful and goal-oriented life. No matter how fleeting the relationship turned out to be.
“I simply have other plans,” she said, deciding that was all the explanation she needed to give. “But thank you for asking, Gary.”
“Of course. Another time, perhaps?”
Honesty had to be the kindest option, she decided. “I don’t think so,” she said as gently as possible.
His heavy sigh carried clearly through the phone line. “I see.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I understand. It isn’t easy for a guy like me to compete with the man who was with you at your sister’s party. She told me you aren’t involved with him—but she was wrong, wasn’t she?”
Lydia didn’t answer. It was, after all, none of his business whether she was involved with Scott or not—especially since she didn’t even know the answer at this point.
“I guess Larissa was indulging in wishful thinking. She thinks the lawyer is all wrong for you. She’s afraid he’ll hurt you. She said he’s a user and a shallow charmer—and that you aren’t used to dealing with men like that.”
Gary was beginning to sound sullen and resentful. As if there had been a serious competition between the two men and Gary had come out the loser. She refused to be drawn into a discussion with him about Scott. “If you’ll excuse me, Gary, I have a class. I don’t want to be late. Goodbye.”
She hung up without giving him a chance to respond. She really did have a class and she had to hurry—but she would be talking to Larissa at the very first opportunity, she promised herself.
Because she decided she couldn’t adequately express her indignation over the telephone, Lydia drove straight to her sister’s apartment when she left the university. Charlie answered the door. He looked as if he was on his way out;
he carried his oboe case in his left hand.
“Lydia. This is a nice surprise.” He leaned over to kiss her cheek. “Is this a visit or is there something I can do for you?”
“I need to talk to Larissa. Is she here?”
“She’s in her studio. Is something wrong?”
“I just have a bone to pick with my sister. A personal matter.”
He smiled crookedly. “Oops. Looks like it’s a good thing I have a rehearsal to get to. I make it a practice never to get involved in a sibling squabble.”
As annoyed as she was, Lydia couldn’t help but smile. “I don’t think there’ll be any actual bloodshed. Just a few heated words—followed, I hope, by an abject apology from Larissa and a promise never to do it again.”
He chuckled sympathetically. “Good luck.”
“Thank you.”
“I’d better be going. It was good to see you, Lydia. Come back when we have more time to visit.”
Because she was quite fond of him, Lydia smiled and agreed. “I’ll do that.”
Sketching her a funny salute, he let himself out, closing the door behind him.
Lydia found her sister sitting in her studio, staring intently at a half-finished painting. She didn’t seem in the least surprised to see Lydia.
“What do you think of it?” she demanded, motioning toward the canvas.
“Needs more red. Larissa, I—”
“More red?” Larissa frowned and twisted a strand of hair around her finger. “Why?”
“You seem to be going for anger. Red makes me think of anger.”
“Anger? Not passion?”
“They’re very closely connected, aren’t they?”
“Maybe a little more purple…”
“More purple’s going to cool it off. It needs heat. Red.”
“You could be right. You so often are.”
Lydia shook her head impatiently. “I didn’t stop by to discuss your work.”
“Okay. Want some tea?”