by Judy Duarte
She picked up the house phone on a teakwood table by the lounge and asked to be put through to Dr. Montgomery’s room. Dylan answered on the second ring.
“I’m in the lobby,” she told him.
“Great. Do you want to come up? Or should I meet you for a cocktail before dinner?”
She glanced at the bar, which had begun to fill with hotel guests seeking evening relaxation. Maybe she ought to have Dylan come down here. After a drink, she could tell him what happened. Then he could rationalize what she’d done and forgive her. And then they’d be free to set the date of their wedding.
“Why don’t you meet me in the lounge. I’d like to have a glass of wine to help me unwind from the drive.”
“I’ll be down shortly.”
Normally, Kristin would have stood at the entrance to the lounge and waited. But her nerves had kicked up a notch. And she was eager to be seated in a corner booth.
“Dr. Montgomery will be meeting me,” she told the dark-haired hostess who wore a colorful sarong.
“I know who he is,” the woman said. “And as soon as the doctor arrives, I’ll show him where you’re sitting.”
“Thank you.”
Moments later, a waiter took Kristin’s order. When Dylan was escorted to her table, she apologized for ordering without him.
“That’s all right.” He bent and brushed a kiss on her lips. A soft kiss. Warm and gentle.
Lukewarm and bland, a small voice whispered.
But Kristin refused to listen. Dylan wasn’t the kind of man a woman compared to another. He was strong. Special. A man of his own making.
“How was the drive?” he asked.
“Not bad.”
The waiter, who wore a Hawaiian shirt, brought a sterling silver bowl full of mixed nuts to the table and placed a chardonnay in front of her. Had she even requested a particular vineyard? She couldn’t remember. She’d been too eager to hold on to the glass, to finger the cool, crystal spindle. To wash the butterflies out of her stomach.
“Can I get something for you to drink, Doctor?” the waiter asked.
“A vodka martini. Dry. Extra olives.”
The young man nodded, then left the couple alone.
A ceiling fan circled overhead, much like the ones in any oceanfront restaurant on a tropical island, circulating the cool air in the room. Yet Kristin grew warm. Flushed. Uneasy.
A glance at Dylan told her he’d sensed her discomfort. “What’s wrong?”
Explanations and excuses battered her mind. So did the urge to deny what he’d apparently seen in her expression, her demeanor.
She wanted to ignore the problem by saying: I love you. I missed you. I wanted to spend the night with you. I’ve decided we need to set a date for our wedding.
Any of those comments would have pleased her fiancé. But she’d had her fill of lying and deception and hoped the old adage was true—that confession was good for the soul.
“Something happened today, Dylan. And although I’d like to sweep it under the table, I think it’s best if I level with you.”
Dylan took her hand in his, smiling and offering his love and support.
He was a good man. And he didn’t deserve what she’d done to him. To them.
Oh, for Pete’s sake, a small voice shrieked. It was only a kiss. You certainly didn’t make love with Joe.
No. But while they’d kissed, while their tongues danced and their hands caressed, the memory of their lovemaking combined with a powerful flutter of swirling pheromones. And a renewed desire for her old lover—at least at that very moment—had been impossible to deny.
She glanced at the napkin under her glass and picked at the edge.
“Kristin?” Dylan gently squeezed the hand he held.
She looked up, caught his eye and decided to bare her soul. “I kissed Joe this afternoon.”
“You what?” The sharp, unfamiliar tone of his voice reflected his surprise, his concern. And maybe a trace of anger.
She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “I’m not sure how it happened. But I kissed him. And I’m sorry.”
“Why are you sorry?”
His question surprised her. And she hadn’t been prepared to answer it. Her lips parted, and she sighed. “I’m sorry that it happened. I wouldn’t want you kissing your old girlfriend. And I owe you an apology.”
“I see.”
Did he? She wasn’t sure. She sure as heck didn’t understand any of it. The kiss. The heat. The arousal it had provoked. The desire to kiss Joe again. The guilt.
“Let’s talk about how that makes you feel,” Dylan said, as though she were a patient in his office or one of the housewives who’d been chosen to be his guest on stage.
“No, Dylan,” she said, wanting him to shed the robotic control and reveal the man inside. “Let’s talk about how that makes you feel.”
“Fair enough.”
The waiter placed the martini in front of Dylan and asked, “Can I get you anything else?”
“That’ll be all,” Dylan told him. “Thank you.”
When they were left alone, Kristin waited for him to speak. She watched as he lifted the glass, studied the colorless liquid, then set it down again. She waited as he withdrew the black plastic lance that held three big green olives, then popped it in his mouth and ate the olive at the tip.
For someone who wanted others to share their feelings, he was pretty tight-lipped. Was he angry? Hurt?
“Say something, Dylan.”
“As a psychologist, I’m trying to understand. As a man, I’m hurt. Maybe even angry. And I’m worried. About us. Our future.” He looked at her, revealing a human, flawed side of himself—a side he rarely displayed. “So we’ll need to go back to the original question I asked you, only tweaking it a bit. How did the kiss affect you?”
“It made me feel cheap. And guilty.”
“Why? Did it stir up old feelings for Joe? Old desires?”
She didn’t answer, not sure she wanted to admit what that kiss had done to her—not even to herself.
“Come on, Kristin. He is the father of your son.” Dylan stirred the stick of olives in his glass, then took a drink. “I’m not sure if I like the thought of competing with Joe Davenport for your affection.”
Her conscience poked a rigid finger into her chest.
See? Some things, like those old feelings for Joe, should be locked away. The confession had merely opened an emotional Pandora’s box.
She looked at Dylan, not at all liking the expression he wore, the look of being cornered. Crushed. Annoyed. Hurt.
“You don’t have to compete with Joe. I’m not sure how or why the kiss happened. And like I said, I wouldn’t have wanted you to kiss your old lover.”
“And?” he asked, as though he was prodding a stubborn patient.
“I love you,” she said, not entirely sure that she still did. Not entirely sure that she ever had. But she couldn’t stand to see the disappointment she’d caused him. Nor could she imagine the reaction her father would have, should her perfect relationship with Dylan crumble.
A slow smile surfaced, crinkling his eyes and softening his expression. “Then, if it was a one-shot deal and it isn’t going to happen again, I suppose it doesn’t bother me.”
She blew out the breath she’d been holding.
Wasn’t she supposed to feel relieved now? Pardoned? Forgiven?
Yet, she still felt guilty. Unsure of herself. Unsure of him. Of them.
He’d dismissed it all very easily.
Of course, his calm, easygoing manner is what drew her to him in the first place. Not to mention his ability to understand emotions while being rational, calm and stable—reactions that didn’t come easily for her father.
Yet now that same easygoing manner niggled at her, as did his lack of a passionate response.
Wasn’t he the least bit jealous?
Oh, for crying out loud, Kristin. Thank your lucky stars that you have a man like Dylan in your corner, i
n your life.
Dylan relaxed in his seat, and took a slow, steady sip of his martini. “How’s Bobby doing? I would imagine having Joe in his life is a bit new.”
She nodded. “He seems to be happy. He still doesn’t know who Joe is, though.”
“And how do you feel about all of that?”
“I’m not used to sharing my son.” She nibbled on her lip, holding back the part about believing Joe deserved to be a part of Bobby’s life, in spite of how difficult it might be for her to be so involved with her old lover.
“This relationship they’ve embarked upon is still in a honeymoon period,” Dylan said. “Just give it some time. Wait until Joe has to correct him or make him brush his teeth, clean his room and do his chores. Bobby could balk at future visits. And then we would have reason to curtail the time they spend together.”
“You’re probably right.” She took another sip of wine.
They sat for nearly an hour, nursing their drinks. Talking about his day, the taping of the television show. Her father and his houseguest. The poker game that brought a smile and some color to her dad’s face.
Never once did they bring up the kiss again, which should have made Kristin happy. But for some reason it didn’t. Maybe because the memory still hovered around her, taunting her senses and reminding her that Dylan’s kisses couldn’t match Joe’s.
And she hated herself each time that thought crossed her mind.
She glanced at the half-full glass of wine she’d been so eager to order, the wine that was supposed to make her feel better and had only made the knot in her stomach burn.
After Dylan paid the bill, he led her to the elevators so they could freshen up before dinner. They rode to the fifteenth floor and walked down the hall to his suite.
She waited as he opened the door, her heart beating louder and louder. The guilt prodded her to apologize again for good measure. Either that or make a mad dash out of the hotel and not look back.
Dylan let her inside the spacious room, then turned on the light. “It’s so good to have you here.”
She conjured a smile.
“I’ve missed you.” He took her in his arms and kissed her. Warmly. Softly.
He urged her mouth open, and she accepted his tongue, hoping to fan the heat of his kiss.
But it was still warm. Still soft.
And as bland as an overcooked poached egg.
She pulled back.
“Honey?” His brow furrowed, and he frowned. “What’s the matter?”
“I don’t know. I can’t do this. Not now. Not tonight. Maybe not ever. I’m not ready to get married.”
“Why not?” he asked, his voice raised, apprehensive. “Because you kissed your old lover?”
“No.” It was more than that. It was…because…she needed time alone. Time away from the men in her life—Dylan, her father. Joe. “I’m sorry, but I need to go.”
“Don’t be silly, honey. You’ve driven two hours to get here. It’s raining.” He took her by the hand. “Let’s have dinner. Spend the night. We can talk about it in the morning.”
She looked at the king-size bed and shook her head. “No. That’s not a good idea. I need some time to think.”
“You can think here—with me. I’ll give you some space and time.”
She shook her head and clutched the shoulder strap of her overnight bag. “No. I need to think alone.”
As she turned the doorknob, he asked, “Where are you going?”
She had no idea. But she couldn’t stay here.
Two hours later, Kristin continued to drive south, still not entirely sure where she was headed. Certainly not home to her father’s house. He’d be more than disappointed that she’d returned. Alone.
The realization that her dad had actually orchestrated the visit with Dylan couldn’t be dismissed. And she wasn’t sure whether she should be annoyed or touched.
She continued her aimless drive, trying to sort through her feelings. If she’d grown tired, she would have pulled over and stopped at a hotel. As it was, she was too busy struggling with the jumbled emotions to feel weary.
And each time she glanced at her left hand, the weight and sparkle of the diamond engagement ring merely made her feel worse.
So why was she wearing it? She’d told Dylan she wasn’t ready to marry him. Hadn’t she? She slipped the ring off her finger and stashed it in her purse, just as her cell phone rang.
“Hello?”
“Kristin?”
It was Joe. What did he want? Before she could respond, the line crackled.
“Are you there?” he asked.
“Yes.” She clutched the phone tight, holding it close to her ear, as though that could improve the reception.
“I’m sorry to bother you. I called your house, and your father said you’d gone to spend the night with Dylan. Can you talk? Or should I call back later?”
“Yes. I can talk.”
“I want to apologize for Allison showing up like that. Bobby will always be a priority in my life. And so will you, for that reason.”
Only for that reason?
Kristin shook off the senseless, adolescent emotions that had dogged her after that stupid kiss.
“I guess my call could have waited until you got home,” he said. “But I was eager to make sure we had an understanding between us. Things were kind of…awkward today.”
“That’s okay. I understand.”
“I don’t just mean about Allison.” He paused, as though choosing his words. “Are you with Dylan?”
“No. I’m not.”
“Where are you? Whoa. Sorry about that. I guess that’s none of my business.”
“I’m driving around,” she said. And I have no idea when I’ll stop.
“By yourself?”
“Yes. I need some time to think.”
“It’s because of that kiss, isn’t it?”
She didn’t answer.
“Are you feeling guilty?”
Joe had always been able to read her, so it seemed fruitless to deny it. Besides, she was sick and tired of the lies, of covering up feelings that were perfectly normal. And acceptable. “Yes. I don’t do things like that to people I care about.”
The truth of her words and the lies she’d told her father came to mind, and she rolled her eyes.
“I’m sorry,” Joe said. “I didn’t mean for that kiss to affect you or your fiancé.”
“Dylan was okay with it.” She swallowed hard, not wanting to discuss it any further. “I just need some time alone. That’s all.”
But it wasn’t all. Joe had hit upon her problem. And the kiss had affected her more than she wanted to admit.
“I don’t know why it happened,” he said. “It was just one of those things, instigated by a little nostalgia and curiosity, I suppose.”
“You’re right, of course. Why don’t you give me a call tomorrow? Or later tonight.”
“Where are you going to be?”
She hadn’t decided yet. Not consciously, but as she glanced ahead and spotted a sign advertising the Bayside Inn and Marina, she flipped her turn signal. “I’m going to stay at the Bayside Inn, off Shoreline Drive.”
Joe agreed to give her a call in an hour, then hung up, leaving her alone.
Just as she’d wanted.
Only she didn’t feel any better about the kiss. Or the fact that she’d never gotten over Joe Davenport.
A man who didn’t love her—even if his kiss suggested he could.
Chapter Nine
Joe glanced at the telephone receiver he still held in his hand. Kristin was going to stay at a hotel in Bayside tonight.
Alone.
No Dr. Dylan. No Thomas Reynolds. No one to disrupt a conversation about their son and his future, about important things like custody and visitation. Things parents needed to work out on their own.
Did he dare show up at the hotel and insist they come to some kind of working agreement about Bobby?
He was on duty
for the next couple of days, which would prolong the time they could settle things between them.
And while they were at it, they probably ought to talk about the kiss, because it was undoubtedly bothering her. Heck, to be honest, it had affected him, too.
He’d had other lovers, and sex had always been good. But no woman had ever been able to stir his blood like Kristin had once done.
Like she was still able to do.
He cursed under his breath. Not even Ally, as pretty and personable as she was, as warm and willing, could make his blood rage or make his heart swell in his chest.
After Kristin had left this afternoon, he’d gone over to talk to Allison, to tell her he wanted to put a hold on their budding romance for a while—just until Bobby went back to the east coast with his mother.
She hadn’t taken it very well and said she might not be able to wait for him to make a commitment to her, which hadn’t bothered him as badly as she’d probably expected it to. But that was okay with him.
What really bothered him was that things had become strained and more awkward between him and the mother of his son. And that was something he wanted to correct—no matter how moving Kristin’s kiss had been. No matter how damn arousing.
He glanced at his watch. Just past eight o’clock.
If he went to see her at the Bayside Inn, what was the worse thing that could happen?
She could tell him to leave.
And if she didn’t? They could have that much needed talk.
He gave the idea about ten minutes to stew, then grabbed his car keys and headed out into a dark, wet night.
The rain pounded on the windshield of his Tahoe, as he drove down the interstate, looking for the Shoreline Drive exit. It wasn’t a good night to be on the road, but neither was it an evening he wanted to spend alone—not when he and Kristin had so much to talk about, so much to decide.
He blew out a sigh. That kiss had been a humdinger, especially since they’d both been fully dressed and standing.
Kristin had said Dylan was okay with it. Of course, Joe couldn’t understand why she’d tell the guy something like that. It seemed like a counterproductive thing to confess in a relationship—especially one that was marriage-bound.