by Judy Duarte
If the tables were turned and Joe had been her fiancé, he’d have flipped out if Kristin had kissed an old lover.
But she’d said the “relationship expert” was okay with it, so who was Joe to argue.
And speaking of good ol’ Dr. Dylan, why wasn’t Kristin cuddling with him in bed on a night made for loving? Did that mean she wasn’t okay with the kiss?
A smile tugged at his lips. He knew what it had done to her physically; he could still hear the soft sounds of her whimper. But had it messed with her mind? Made her feel as if she’d done something wrong?
Maybe he was reading too much into it. After all, Dylan didn’t care. But Joe still found that hard to believe.
Of course, Kristin might have lied about her fiancé’s reaction.
Nah. She was too honest. And Dr. Dylan was too polished, too sure of himself and his diplomas to be insecure in his relationship with Kristin. Besides, it didn’t take a psychologist to know what kind of man Thomas Reynolds wanted for a son-in-law. And it sure as hell wasn’t the son of a convicted drug dealer.
In spite of Joe’s intent to leave those old memories buried, he couldn’t stop their resurrection. Couldn’t help remembering when Kristin had been his.
He’d been naive back then—when he was on the cusp of adulthood. And he’d been so much in love with Kristin that he’d actually nursed a belief of forever and happy-ever-after. How crazy was that?
Reynolds would have blown his top sky-high if he’d found out Joe Davenport had been his daughter’s first lover.
Hell, the old man probably still would.
And that was another thing he and Kristin needed to discuss. Her father and that blasted secret that made Joe want to slam his fist into a wall.
He wasn’t sure how long it could remain a secret. Dr. Dylan and Allison knew. And following the barbecue, Harry had mentioned the resemblance he’d seen between Joe and Kristin’s son.
What did Kristin expect Joe to do? Lie to the man who’d been a father to him? No way. Especially when Harry knew how much Joe had loved Kristin, how involved they’d been. And what a hard-ass her old man had been—five years after the fire.
Joe turned right, through the palm-lined drive that led to the main entrance of the Bayside Inn. He wasn’t sure how Kristin would react when he showed up at the hotel. Probably run him off, since she’d made no secret of wanting to be alone.
A wave of apprehension struck. Would she be angry at his surprise visit?
Oh, what the hell. She’d never been one to stay mad at him for long. Not like her grudge-holding old man.
Once inside the lobby, Joe called Kristin’s room and told her where he was. “Can you come down and talk to me? Or should I come to your room? It doesn’t matter, as long as I can have a few minutes of your time.”
She paused before asking, “Why?”
“I’d like to make sure things are settled between us and I have a feeling you’re bothered by me…and the past.” He cleared his throat. “I want to make you feel better.”
He rolled his eyes at the way his words had come out. Would she understand what he meant? Cripes, he was at her hotel, asking to come to her room and make her feel better. But that’s not what he meant. She was obviously stressed about something. And the kiss seemed like a logical culprit. Joe, better than anyone, ought to be able to help.
Better than Dr. Dylan had been able to do? Maybe not, but he would come up with another game plan if need be.
He ran a hand through the rain-dampened strands of his hair. His shirt and jeans had gotten wet, too. Maybe he shouldn’t have come here.
“I’m in Room 312,” she said.
The ball was in his court now. He just hoped he could keep it in bounds.
Moments later, he stood before her room and knocked. She opened the door, but didn’t step aside, and he didn’t force the issue. He was too caught up by her appearance, her presence.
She stood in the muted, hotel-room light, with her hair bound in a white, towel-wrapped turban and wearing one of those fluffy courtesy robes. She’d showered and looked damn near ready for bed.
The tropical scent of her lotion and soap taunted him in a way he hadn’t anticipated, and the sexual memories of their past hovered over him.
Her fingers twiddled with the lapel of her robe, revealing the skin of her throat and chest.
No nightgown?
Ah, cut it out, Davenport. You’ll never get things said and settled if you don’t keep your libido in check.
“Can I come in and sit down?” he asked.
She stepped aside and motioned to a desk chair. He took it, and she sat on the edge of the bed.
When she crossed her legs, a knee slipped through the robe, revealing a glimpse of thigh. She tugged at the robe to cover herself. But it was too late. He’d already seen enough to start his blood pumping and his mind reeling like a thirteen-year-old kid caught in the throes of his first adolescent crush.
“I’m sorry about the kiss,” he said without thinking. Ah, hell. He hadn’t meant to start with that, but it was obvious that it stood between them like an insurmountable wall.
“You told me that already,” she said. “And I apologized, too.”
“I know. But I don’t like the trouble it’s caused you.”
She parted her lips, as if to argue…or maybe to agree, but she didn’t respond, letting him draw his own conclusions.
“I guess that’s why it’s tough for old lovers to be friends,” he added, trying to shrug it off. But it wasn’t working.
Renewed desire merged with memories of all they’d shared, creating a sexual intensity that was almost palpable.
She continued to watch him, waiting. Looking far more attractive than he’d ever seen her. More appealing. More arousing. Pure Kristin—unadorned.
“We had something special at one time,” Joe said, breaching the wall he ought to steer clear of. “And it’s only normal for our bodies to react to the memories.”
Slow down, he told himself. Tiptoe or you might pull the pin on an emotional hand grenade that could blow up in your face.
But he couldn’t seem to stop.
Seeing Kristin in next to nothing and perched on a king-size bed only made him want to close the distance between them, to run his knuckles along her cheek. To reach inside her robe and claim what had once been his. Was she feeling it, too?
She was all eyes—like a deer in a meadow, cautious and ready to bolt. It tore at him to see her like that. On edge. Alert, but vulnerable.
He wished he had Dylan’s training so that he could say the right thing to her. Something that would put them both on an even keel. But then again, the TV shrink must have crashed and burned. If he hadn’t, he’d be with her now, seeing her fresh from the shower. Covered by a robe that was tied at the waist. One little tug on that sash…
Get a grip, Davenport. Cut to the chase.
“I’m attracted to you, Kristin. I always have been. And I figure you feel that way, too. But that doesn’t mean either of us have to take advantage of the attraction. If we both put Bobby’s welfare above all else—our feelings, our disappointments—then we should be able to put the past aside. Even the immediate past.” He offered her an olive-branch smile. “What do you say?”
Kristin studied the man who’d once been her lover. His wet, tousled hair needed a comb. But she found it incredibly arousing to have him sitting in her room, his clothing still bearing signs of the rain that continued to dance upon the windows.
In a way, it was touching that he’d come to see her in spite of the weather. That he cared enough to address the issues that faced them. “You’re right, Joe. All that matters is Bobby.”
He leaned forward in the desk chair and rested his elbows on damp, denim-clad knees. He still had that rebellious way about him that she found so attractive, so stimulating. And the fact that she sat before him with only a robe to hide her body didn’t help.
“How’s your dad doing?” he asked.
&nb
sp; “He seemed pretty chipper tonight.” She touched the towel on her head. Realizing it had listed to one side, she tried to right it.
“When do you think we can tell him?”
So, Joe’s concern about her father’s health was self-serving. But she supposed she couldn’t blame him for that. “I told you before. I don’t want my dad to know until his health is more stable.”
Joe tensed, then sat up straight. “Then how about letting me tell Bobby?”
“No. He’s too close to my dad. He’d say something.”
“And then all hell would break loose.” Joe sat back and crossed his arms. “Is that it?”
She nodded. That’s exactly what would happen, and she wasn’t ready for it.
“Kristin, why do I get the feeling that you wouldn’t tell your dad about me, even if his health was perfect?”
She wanted to argue, to deny it. But in a sense, there was a certain amount of truth to what Joe had said. She’d always been the apple of her father’s eye, his only child. And she’d lied to him. Over and over again. She wasn’t ready to disappoint him with the truth of her deceit. “Like I said, I’ll tell him after his surgery.”
“I’m not happy about that decision, but I’ll abide by it—for now, anyway. But I want to be involved in Bobby’s life. Not just the outings we’ve been having. I want to be included in the decisions about what’s best for him, like what school he’s going to attend and whether he can play Pop Warner Football. I want to be a father in every sense.”
Kristin wasn’t sure she wanted to consider Joe’s wishes on every parental issue, but she would—as a compromise. And maybe because it was the right thing to do. “I’ll agree to that.”
“Thanks.” Joe stood. “I won’t keep you any longer. It looks as though you’re ready for bed.”
She followed him to the door in an effort to be polite. Or maybe, if she’d start being more honest with herself, it was in an attempt to prolong his visit, no matter how unsettling it was.
He stopped beside the glassed wardrobe mirror and turned. Their gazes met, and sexual awareness held them fast.
She gripped the sides of her robe, her nails digging into the plush, white cotton. She had to force herself not to touch him. Not to breathe. Not to tell him that one of the reasons the kiss had bothered her was because she wanted it to happen again.
He cupped her cheek, sending a spiral of heat to her core.
She was strong enough not to provoke a kiss. But was she strong enough to resist if he pushed for one?
She hoped so, but she couldn’t trust her rebellious body. A body he’d once known intimately. A body that still ached for him.
His thumb brushed her cheek, and her knees nearly buckled.
“Kristin, I never want to disrupt your life or cause you problems. Not with your dad, and not with Dylan. I just want to be a father to my son.”
“I…understand.” And she did. It pleased her to know Joe cared about Bobby and wanted to be a part of his life. She just hoped she could allow him into her world without losing her heart in the bargain. Unless she’d done so already.
“Let’s put that kiss behind us.”
She nodded, hoping she could.
“Sleep tight.” He ran his knuckles along her cheek, then turned and let himself out.
After the door closed, she fingered the spot where her face and skin still tingled.
“Good night,” she whispered. But she didn’t believe she’d sleep tight. Too much had happened.
And too much hadn’t.
Kristin had slept like hell that night. At five in the morning, she’d checked out of the hotel and driven home. She’d even managed to let herself in quietly without waking her father, his friend or Bobby.
As far as anyone knew, she’d gone to L.A. and returned early.
Her luck held—until nine o’clock, when Dylan knocked at the door.
“Good morning.” He brushed a kiss across her lips. “I postponed the meeting I had with the network execs, telling them it was a family emergency.”
She struggled with the idea of telling him to go away and give her more time, which didn’t seem fair. So she stepped aside and let him inside.
“Are you feeling better?” he asked.
She supposed so. The visit with Joe had helped in some ways. At least the guilt no longer plagued her. She’d loved Joe once and couldn’t help it if her body still reacted to his touch. The only thing that made her feel guilty was her engagement to Dylan, something she’d tried to end last night, even if Dylan might not have taken her seriously. “Yes, I do feel better. Thanks.”
“You don’t look as though you slept very well.”
She ignored his observation, since she was trying to put it all behind her, as Joe had suggested. “Would you like a cup of coffee?”
“Yes. Please.” He followed her into the kitchen, then sat at the table while she served him. “Your father’s health has put undue stress on you.”
That was true. But there was more going on than that.
“And I imagine Joe’s growing obsession with Bobby has been a worry, too.”
She bristled. Dylan was usually so thoughtful, so observant. And his criticism of Joe seemed unwarranted, unfair. Especially when she understood Joe wanting to spend time with his son before the new school year started. “I think you’re being far too clinical and harsh. I haven’t found Joe’s interest in Bobby to be obsessive.”
Dylan blew out a ragged sigh. “Okay. Maybe I resent him more than I care to admit. But I love you, Kristin. And I have every intention of giving you time to work through things. And if you don’t want to set a wedding date or even consider us engaged, that’s all right with me. I’ll wait until you’re ready.”
“What if I’m never ready?” she asked, not at all sure she would be. And sorry that might be the case. Her father really liked Dylan. And she liked him, too, even if she questioned her love for him.
“I’m going to wait out your confusion and support you through your father’s surgery.”
“I appreciate that. You’re a good man.” And he was. But that didn’t mean she’d changed her mind about marrying him.
Dylan reached across the table and took her hand, his thumb brushing across the finger that had once worn his ring. His gaze caught hers, but he didn’t ask what she’d done with it. Or why she’d taken it off.
She answered anyway. “I feel better not wearing it now.”
“That’s fine.”
She withdrew her hand from his grasp, just as Bobby entered the kitchen with a sheet of paper in his hands.
“What have you got there?” Kristin asked her son.
Bobby handed her a sketch he’d drawn with a black crayon. No red, no blue, no yellow, no green.
“That’s an interesting picture,” Dylan said. “Why don’t you tell me about it.”
“This is Joe and me playing Nintendo.” Bobby pointed out characters on the sofa. Neither was smiling.
“That’s nice,” Kristin told her son, although it was pretty ugly. “Do you want me to put it on the refrigerator?”
“If you want to. Can I have a cookie?”
“Of course.” She reached into the plastic container for one of the Snickerdoodles she and Mrs. Davies hid from her father.
“Can I eat it outside?” Bobby asked.
“Sure.” She handed him a sugar-and-cinnamon-crusted treat.
“Thanks, Mom.” Then he dashed out the back door.
Dylan cleared his throat. “Kristin, I hate to add more stress at a time like this, but I’m concerned about the morbid color scheme in that picture Bobby drew.”
A flood of apprehension swept over her, as it usually did whenever Dylan pointed out an error in her way of thinking. “Why?”
“Happy children draw birds and rainbows, bright yellow suns.” Dylan nodded at the artwork she held. “That gothic sketch could be a manifestation of something serious, something deep-seated. A relationship with Joe may not be what’s best fo
r Bobby.”
Kristin furrowed her brow, and her stomach, which seemed to be unusually sensitive lately, knotted.
Dylan had a doctorate in psychology and had gained the respect of readers and audiences all over the country. How could she not take his concerns seriously?
“I think you ought to curtail the time Bobby and Joe spend together until we can have him assessed by a child psychologist.”
“I don’t know,” Kristin said. “Bobby seems so happy when he comes home from being with Joe.”
“Maybe he’s sensed that your father is seriously ill. And that you’ve been worried. Adding a relationship with Joe, at this time, might not be in his best interest.”
“I’ll keep an eye on him,” she said. “He and Joe have another outing scheduled this weekend.”
Dylan furrowed his brow. “Can’t you think of a way to postpone it?”
“No. Not this time.” She suspected Dylan was surprised by her decision, since she’d readily taken his advice in the past. But this was the kind of thing she’d agreed to discuss with Joe.
“Then let me set up an appointment with one of my colleagues.”
“I’d like to wait on that, if you don’t mind.”
“Don’t wait too long, honey.”
Surely Dylan was overreacting. Kristin had a great deal of respect for his understanding of human relationships, but a small maternal voice insisted Bobby wasn’t manifesting anything.
Was that merely wishful thinking on her part?
Possibly. But something didn’t sit right.
Could Dylan be biased? Was it possible that he was trying to curtail Bobby’s contact with Joe so that he could limit Kristin’s involvement with her old lover as well?
No, of course not. Dylan wasn’t the least bit insecure and was far above that kind of thing. He was merely trying to help.
Still, this was the sort of thing Joe would want to know. But if she told him, she wasn’t sure how he’d react.
And all she needed was more stress in her life.
That evening, when Kristin’s father realized she wasn’t going to invite Dylan to sleep in the guest room, he’d taken her aside and asked what had gotten into her.