Keast, Karen

by The Surprise of His Life

  When he felt her moving toward him, he opened his eyes. And watched as she closed the distance to him. She stopped only a heartbeat away. A tantalizing heartbeat away. Her perfume wafted about him, causing him to feel giddy. Or maybe it was just her nearness... or maybe it was her eyes that had turned a smoky, hazy blue.

  "Was that what you were thinking about?" Lindsey repeated, prepared to give him no quarter.

  No, he thought, the word thundering through him.

  "Lindsey—"

  "You owe me an answer."

  He did. He knew he did. But to answer her truthfully meant another slight alteration, an irrevocable alteration, of their relationship. He wasn't certain he could stand many more.

  "Lindsey—"

  "Answer me," she demanded.

  "No!" he spat. "I wasn't thinking of our age, but that isn't the point."

  "What we feel isn't the point?"

  "No. Just because you feel something doesn't make it right." He groaned suddenly. "My God, I can't believe this is happening. I can't believe we're having this discussion. I can't believe we..." He couldn't bring himself to even verbalize what had just happened in the car. Instead, he repeated, "I can't believe this is happening. Look," he added quickly, as though he were desperate to wind up this discussion and go back to the safe security of believing that all he'd been feeling ever since Lindsey returned home had been nothing more than his overwrought imagination, "forget this happened. We were both tired. We've both been under a lot of stress. Just forget it happened. Find yourself someone your own age and... and... and..." None of the and's that came to mind pleased him. In fact, each displeased him. Mightily.

  With each word, Walker had backed farther and farther away from Lindsey and closer and closer to the safety of the door. He now stood directly in front of it.

  "I don't want anyone else," Lindsey said. "I want you."

  Walker heaved another sigh, this one caught between frustration and exhilaration. "Lindsey, you don't know what you're saying."

  "Oh, but I do. I know exactly what I'm saying. I'm saying that I want you. I'm attracted to you and I want everything that attraction entails. And, furthermore, Walker Carr," she added, a sweetly wicked gleam in her otherwise innocent eyes as she walked toward him, "I intend to have you."

  The child had disappeared again, replaced by a sultry, sexy vamp. Walker groaned, as though the vamp had clipped him at the back of the knees. He was falling, falling, falling, but what a heavenly descent! The quick hands of sanity snatched him back just in the nick of time. He mumbled something that vaguely resembled "Good night," and fled.

  On the drive home, Lindsey's silken threat taunted and teased, teased and taunted Walker, until he arrived home uncertain of which he feared more—that she would pursue him exactly as she'd promised or that she'd take his advice and find someone else. He groaned.

  How in hell was it possible for a grown man, a supposedly mature man, to make such a mess of everything?

  "I swear I'd divorce your father if he wasn't already divorcing me!" Bunny said the next morning in answer to Lindsey's question of how the evening had gone.

  Because her mother still hadn't come in by midnight, the hour at which Lindsey had gone to bed and, unbelievably, immediately fallen asleep, Lindsey had allowed her hope to soar. Her mother's words now dashed that hope.

  "And, furthermore, young lady," Bunny said, beating the pancake batter as though it was what she had the grievance against, "I'm angry with you. You set the whole evening up." Here Bunny slopped several tablespoons of batter onto the griddle, puddling an irregularly shaped pancake that the woman ordinarily wouldn't have even come close to settling for. "You set me up," Bunny added, creating a companion pancake vaguely in the shape of Texas. "How could you do that to me, Lindsey?"

  With the death of hope had come the anger that Lindsey had experienced once before. Her parents were obviously not inclined to cooperate. On a frustrated sigh, Lindsey poured herself a cup of coffee and sat down at the table. "I was hoping that you and Dad could work out your differences like two rational human beings—"

  "Rational?" Bunny asked, tacking on a disgusted "humph" as she flipped the first pancake. It landed in the squishy middle of the second, bonding the two cakes like Siamese twins. "That's a word your father hasn't the vaguest concept about these days." As though just thinking about it, she asked, "Did you know he has a red sports car?" She didn't give her daughter time to answer. "Which he drives like a sixteen-year-old showing off! My God, a man of his age driving around like some sixteen-year-old, pimply-faced kid!"

  She slapped the pancakes—one of which was still doughy because it hadn't been turned—onto a plate and slapped the plate down in front of Lindsey.

  "I don't know who in heck he thinks he is, but if he thinks I'm going to sit around pining for him while he's out making a fool of himself, then he's mistaken. Sadly mistaken. Don's right. I have a life of my own, and it's too short to waste it worrying about your father."

  Lindsey frowned. "Don? Who's Don?"

  "The man on the beach," Bunny answered, pushing the syrup, which was still in the plastic container it came in, toward Lindsey.

  Lindsey's frown deepened. "What man on the beach?"

  "The man on the beach last night. When your father stormed out of the restaurant, I drove down to the beach and walked. I ran into Don."

  The frown of perplexity turned to a frown of disbelief. "You spent the evening with a beach bum?"

  "He was not a beach bum. He was a perfectly decent man on vacation here on the island. He was just taking a walk... the way I was. Anyway, he's divorced himself and said that no spouse is worth trying to hang on to if they don't want to be held on to. I think his wife must have hurt him. Anyway, he said I ought to get on with my life."

  Lindsey was speechless. Utterly speechless. "L-let me get this straight," she said finally. "You won't seek professional counseling, but you'll take the advice of a strange man on the beach?"

  "It wasn't me who nixed the idea of counseling. It was your father. But now that I really think about it, I'm not interested in counseling. It's your father who has the problem. Not me. Your father is scared to death of growing old. All I want is to salvage my life—and grow old gracefully and peacefully."

  "But—"

  "Lindsey, the best thing for you, for everyone, is to just stay out of this. I know it's difficult, but there it is. There's nothing you can do."

  "If you and Dad would only talk—"

  "I tried. He won't. And that's that. Don says that if pride is all your father left me, then it's pride that'll have to sustain me."

  "That sounds great, but— Hey, where are you going?" Lindsey asked when her mother started from the kitchen.

  Bunny turned in the doorway. "To the paint store. I'm going to paint that lawn furniture your father never had time for. And I want to get an early start."

  Lindsey silently watched her mother go. A part of her—the mature woman part—applauded her mother's quest for an independent life, while another part—the child of her parents part—feared that independence, for it might drive yet a wider wedge between her parents.

  She also felt an escalation of her anger. How dare her parents resist her efforts to get them back together! Mostly, though, she just felt as flat and deflated as the untouched pancakes—and all on a beautiful Saturday morning when she should have been basking in the warm glow of the evening before.

  She and Walker had kissed. Really kissed. Like a man and a woman. And nothing would, could, ever again be quite the same.

  On Monday, after seeing an article in the newspaper, Bunny decided to enroll in college for the fall term, which was only a couple of weeks away. Going back to school was something she'd always wanted to do and now, she'd told Lindsey, was the perfect time to do so.

  Lindsey hadn't been able to argue the point, though once more she wished her mother were at least still trying to talk to her father. She wasn't, however. She had apparently taken the tack
that enough was enough. If Dean wanted to talk to her, he knew where to find her.

  Curiously, Lindsey began to suspect that her mother, with the actualization of a new attitude, was getting her father's attention in a way she'd been unable to heretofore. When Dean found out about the newly painted lawn furniture, he was downright angry. Hadn't he told her that he'd take care of that? He was still capable of taking care of his responsibilities, thank you very much! Bunny's response to her husband had been a quiet so-was-she.

  And then, on Tuesday morning, Dean learned that his wife had enrolled in college. College? He hadn't even known that it was something she wanted to do. Bunny politely told him that there were obviously a lot of things that he didn't know about her. Amused, Lindsey had watched the interplay. Though not amicably, they were at least talking.

  And then came Wednesday morning, when Dean realized that Bunny had accepted a date with somebody named Don.

  "Don? Who the hell is Don?"

  When Lindsey had casually announced moments before that her mother was going out, she had gotten both Walker's and Dean's attention. Dean, who wore red slacks, sunglasses and a multicolored braided bracelet, looked as though he'd been poleaxed.

  "Some man she met on the beach," Lindsey said, rising from her desk and slowly making her way to the filing cabinet.

  She sensed not only her father's gaze, but Walker's, as well. In fact, she'd sensed Walker's subtle glances all week. Though he hadn't touched her in any way—he'd comically gone out of his way not to—his look said that he'd like to. Lindsey had done everything she could to drive him wild. She appreciated the struggle he was engaged in. It was a struggle she intended for him to lose.

  "What man on the beach?" her father asked.

  "Just some man," Lindsey said. She was uncertain how she felt about this man, but she was prepared to use him to her own advantage. "After you left the restaurant Friday night, Mother went to the beach."

  "She met him there?" Dean asked incredulously.

  "That's what she tells me," Lindsey said, closing the file cabinet and starting back toward her desk. Her eyes met Walker's. Their gazes held for a fraction of a hot second.

  "She's going out with some guy she met on the beach?" Dean asked.

  "Mmm," Lindsey confirmed, looking over at Walker and asking, "Do you want this priced by the end of the day?"

  What he wanted was for her to look less enticing, Walker thought as he took in the snug fit of her summer-white sweater and jaunty sway of her ponytail. What he wanted was a decent night's sleep. What he wanted was to forget the way her lips had felt on his. What he wanted was to get the hell out of the office! he thought, jumping to his feet and heading for the water dispenser. He grabbed a paper cup and filled it.

  "Yeah," he muttered in response to her question.

  "You don't seem too upset over this date," Dean accused his daughter. "You don't even know this guy and you're willing to throw your mother at him."

  "I'm not throwing her at anybody. And I'm not even sure she's calling this a date. They're just going to have lunch at Christie's. Besides, both you and she have made it clear that this is none of my business."

  "But a date—"

  "You are getting a divorce, Dad. I'm sure that you'll want to start dating soon, too."

  Walker turned from the water dispenser just as Lindsey made this last remark. This time his eyes collided with Dean's. Embarrassed, Dean looked away first. Instinctively, as though it were his job to protect Lindsey, Walker sought her out. He was relieved to note that she hadn't noticed the exchange. He was not relieved to note that several strands of hair had slipped onto her cheek and curled about her lips. As she absently brushed them aside, she glanced up. At the sight of Walker watching her, she hesitated, the crook of her finger at the corner of her mouth.

  I don't want to remember the taste of your mouth, his look seemed to say.

  I don't want you to forget, hers returned.

  He crushed the paper cup in his hand and threw it at the trash can. At the same time, he asked Dean, with more roughness than the question required, "Are you going out to the platform?"

  "Yeah," Dean grunted, still smarting from his wife's date.

  "I think I'll go with you."

  Dean looked surprised. "Why?"

  Because your daughter is driving me crazy, Walker thought, but said, "Just thought I would. Okay?"

  "Sure," Dean said, heading for the door. "Let's go."

  "I'll, uh, I'll see you tomorrow," Walker said to Lindsey. There was an unspoken implication that tomorrow would somehow be better than today. Tomorrow he wouldn't remember the candy-sweet taste of her lips. Tomorrow he wouldn't wonder what his tongue would taste if it dipped into the corners of her mouth or the dimples that sometimes appeared. Tomorrow his sanity would be returned.

  "Ya'll be careful," Lindsey said softly, her glossy pink lips challenging his logic.

  Walker groaned silently. Tomorrow had to be better. It just had to be.

  Tomorrow wasn't any better. In fact, it was worse. Walker slept poorly—again—leaving him nothing better to do than toss and turn and swim restless laps in the pool. At a quarter till five, he stopped trying to sleep and put on a pot of coffee. By six-thirty, he was at the office and up to his eyebrows in work. The strong coffee, the bright September sun and the pleasing distraction of his job buoyed his spirits and left him feeling emotionally stronger than he had in some time. Everything was going to be fine. Whatever had happened between him and Lindsey was over—nothing more than a fleeting aberration.

  His optimistic mood lasted until Lindsey walked through the door.

  Dressed entirely in white—white slacks and a white blouse with an enormous square, lacy collar—she was gorgeous. Both virginally wholesome and awesomely sexy. She literally took his breath away, reduced him to the restless creature he'd been the night before. He was lost, and she didn't try to save him. In fact, she did everything in her power to drive him over the edge. She caressed him with her eyes, she moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue, she touched him every chance she got and made chances at every opportunity. She pursued him just as she said she would. Walker didn't know whether to throttle her or throw her down on a desk and make love to her.

  At four-thirty she placed a mug of steaming coffee before him. He glanced up, wondering why the long day hadn't taken some toll on her. Instead, she looked as fresh as when she'd arrived that morning. And as gorgeous. Up close, he could see the straps of some lacy undergarment beneath her blouse. A brassiere? A camisole? Or maybe a... What did they call those things? A teddy? Whatever it was, it ought to be illegal.

  "You look as though you could use this," Lindsey said.

  "Yeah," he grumbled, wrapping his hand about the hot mug and drawing it to his lips. After a swallow, he asked, "Are you having fun?"

  She gave a coy look. "I don't know what you mean."

  "The hell you don't."

  A tiny smile at her lips, she said, "Oh, you mean my flirting with you."

  Despite the circumstances, despite the miserable havoc she was playing with him, he couldn't help but smile. He forced himself to limit it to a half smile. "Yeah, I think that's what they call it."

  "Well, is it working?" she asked, easing to sit on the edge of his desk.

  At the tantalizing fragrance of her perfume, Walker, the mug in his hand, leaned back in his chair. "You were the one who said I looked as though I needed this."

  Her smile turned to a vixenish grin. "Now, exactly when are you going to stop fighting me?"

  This time Walker didn't smile. He knew that it wasn't so much a matter of fighting her as fighting himself. His answer was appropriate in either case. "I'm not."

  Lindsey didn't look in the least perturbed. "We'll see." Scooting from the desk, she said, "Oh, by the way, you want to buy me a drink after work?"

  "Yes," he answered, "but I'm not."

  For a moment her smile disappeared entirely and she looked like a consummate adult. A co
ncerned adult. "Poor Walker. I'm not making it easy for you, am I?"

  He didn't answer. What was the point of stating what was blatantly obvious?

  If Thursday had been worse than the days preceding it, Friday was the worst of all. Dean had been uncommonly surly—Friday noon had been Bunny's luncheon date with the elusive Don. That, on top of another sleepless night, had left Walker about as surly as his friend. To add insult to injury, Lindsey had flirted outrageous, if subtly. He was, quite frankly, about ready to scream, get drunk or throw a royal fit. Maybe all three.

  "Who in hell wrote this?" Walker grumbled. "I can't read a damned word of it."

  Lindsey crossed to his desk and looked down at the notation. "You did."

  That only angered Walker more, that and the fact that all he'd wanted all day was to be near Lindsey. God, he'd sell his soul to reach out, pull her down onto his lap and smother her mouth with his! Which really showed what a sick son of a bitch he was! Dropping his head, he tunneled his fingers through his hair. He was vaguely aware that his knee hurt like hell. Was it going to rain? Was he ever going to be at peace again? Was—

  He felt her hands at the nape of his neck, her fingers gently kneading and massaging.

  "It says call Ramsey," she said. "Isn't he the foreman on Four?"

  "Hmm," Walker mumbled, unable to stop her from what she was doing. Her caressing fingers felt too wonderful on a neck whose muscles were strung tight.

  "You need to relax, Walker," she said, her voice having dropped to a few notes short of a whisper. "You're tight."

  Tight. God, she didn't know the half of it! Every inch of his male body was stretched to the point of popping. He couldn't take much more. Intuitively, he knew that.

  "Stop fighting," she whispered. "I want you. You want me. There's nothing wrong with that."

  "Lindsey..." He felt the brush of her lips against the back of his neck and moaned.

  "Why don't we buy some wine and cheese and bread and go to the beach," she said. He could feel her lips smiling against his neck. "I can't attack you there. I can flirt a little maybe, but your virtue's safe."