Just Kiss Me

by Amy Summers

  At last, business had slowed to the point where she could leave the shop in Wendy's capable hands and go for a walk with Chris. They walked to the corner, bought tacos from a Mexican food stand, and carried them down to the park, sitting on a wooden bench and attempting to eat the messiest food on earth without ruining their clothes.

  When they were finished and had thrown away the remnants of their meal and cleaned their hands on the little wet towels provided and sat back to enjoy the sun, Chris turned and looked at her earnestly before he said, "I waited five whole days for you to come looking for me. Five days was all I could take."

  She shivered, though she wasn't sure why, and hardly noticed, her mind was so involved with him and what he was saying. "I didn't know there was a time limit."

  "Are you angry with me?"

  Angry with him? The very concept seemed unimaginable. "Of course not."

  He took her hand and stared at it, bending open fingers one by one. "I thought I could wait until you came to me." He looked up into her eyes. "But then I began to worry that you might never come."

  "I thought you wanted me to stay away."

  "No. God! Whatever gave you that idea?"

  "You did. You said that..."

  His hand tightened on hers. "Forget what I said. Let's start over. Let's start fresh."

  She gazed back at him solemnly. There was a depth of emotion in his eyes that startled her, but she wasn't sure how to read it. He was a man who prided himself on superficiality. Wasn't he? Was this all part of his charm? She knew she'd be a fool to take it seriously. Still, she couldn't resist going along for the ride, as long as it lasted.

  "All right," she said. "How do we do that?"

  For a moment he seemed to be at a loss, but then he had an idea. "We'll go out on a date," he said as though amazed at his own brilliance. "That's it. We'll go out to dinner and dancing."

  She waited for the rest. There was more. It was in his eyes. But he didn't seem ready to state it aloud. Her heart was singing with joy and excitement. She wanted him—in her life, in her heart. She needed his touch, had to have his affection. Love for him rose in her, bringing tears to her eyes.

  She knew she was crazy. How could she throw her chances for happiness away on this playboy, this ladies' man? There wasn't a chance in hell that he would stay around long enough to build a life with her. There wasn't even much hope that he would ever want to. But he wanted her right now. He wanted her with a passion that stunned her, and she knew she couldn't go on without him. At least for now.

  Suddenly, she smiled. "All right, Chris," she said. "We'll go out on a date."

  "Tonight?"

  "Tonight."

  She knew her fate was sealed, but she didn't care. She loved Chris Dawson. That was forever, even if he wouldn't be around to see it himself.

  Her hair was getting longer. It curled around her ears now. She'd never wanted long hair before, but now she did. She wanted to feel it sway against her shoulders. She wanted Chris to bury his face in it. She wanted to feel sexy.

  Unfortunately, that would have to wait, unless she ran out and bought herself a Dolly Parton wig. She stared at her face in the mirror and tried to imagine what she would look like with one of those blond constructions on her head. Pretty silly.

  Sighing, she went back to applying makeup for her date with Chris. She'd bought a new dress to wear. Sea-green with silver threads woven through it, the filmy fabric clung, showing off her breasts, flaring at the hips. It almost did make her feel sexy. When she half closed her eyes and whirled before the mirror, she could pretend. But every time she looked at the image fully, she saw her own wide green eyes and freckled nose and all thoughts of "sexy" evaporated.

  Was it too late to get plastic surgery done? She glanced at the clock on the wall. Another half hour and he would be here. Probably not enough time.

  She felt guilty and excited all at once. Excited because she was pretty sure she was in love. Guilty because she knew she shouldn't be.

  She'd thought a lot about what Chris had said about her hero-worship of her father getting in the way of her feelings for more mortal men. And now that he'd made her face it, she couldn't believe she'd been so blind to it all these years. He was right. Absolutely right.

  She'd gone to visit her father a few days before. He'd given her a hug and a kiss and then gone right back to sanding and shaping a board he was working on. She'd stayed quiet, watching him, studying the man she thought she knew so well. He was getting older. It hurt to see that. If only she could get him away from work... if only she could pull him out into the larger world...

  But what was she thinking of? Wasn't that exactly what her mother had tried to do for years? If Laura Carrington couldn't do it, why would it work when Trish tried it? All Tam Carrington really wanted was to be left alone to do what he loved.

  Did he realize what was going on? Did he know that Bert had taken his place at Laura's side? Did he care?

  Watching him she realized it wasn't her place to tell him. That sort of thing was between a man and his wife, and even his children had no right to interfere.

  But she did bring up business. She asked him directly what he thought about Laura and Bert and Chris going into direct competition with his company.

  He shook his head. "No, Trish. I'm getting out of the short board business. The long boards are what I've always loved, made of real wood, shaped just the way the old Hawaiians used to shape them. That's what I'm going to concentrate on. WhiteWaterWaves can make all the short boards they want. It won't bother me." He smiled at her. "And as for Chris, I think hiring him is the best thing your mother and Bert did."

  To Trish's surprise, her father laughed. "Laura is a wonderful woman, but you get your business acumen from me. She's got many talents, but that ain't one of them. And Bert can shape a board with the best of them, but he doesn't have that business instinct, either. Yup, it was a good move for them to bring Chris in."

  Her father seemed very serious now. "Chris is what the surfboard industry has needed for a long time. He's got fresh ideas for marketing, a background he's brought over from skiing. He's not as hung up on the purity of the sport as I am. He'll do things I tried to do and didn't succeed at. He's going far."

  She was glad to know there wasn't going to be a problem about competition between the companies. She'd left, shaken, but feeling a bit stronger. In some ways it was a relief to know that she wasn't expected to make things right any longer. That she could let things take their natural course. Because she was out of ideas. Maybe it was time to learn to accept things as they were.

  Chris would arrive any moment now. Had she ever compared him to her father? She really didn't think she had. Somehow, with Chris, comparisons seemed irrelevant. But for her father to give him such high praise—that had been a surprise. And a good one.

  Chapter 14

  And then, he was there. Heart beating wildly, she threw one last glance at her mirror and hurried to let him in.

  It wasn't as though she was unprepared for the vision that greeted her when she opened the door. Still, his attractiveness never failed to stun her. He looked too good to be true, especially attired in a beautifully tailored dark suit with a shirt so white it glistened. She stared for a moment, then pulled herself back, embarrassed, feeling as though she'd been caught licking her lips.

  But his grin told her he thought she looked pretty good, too. It was wonderful that he never seemed to take anything too seriously. At least, not often.

  "Hello, doll," he said out of the corner of his mouth in his best Bogart imitation. "I got your name and number in a fortune cookie. Howz about you and me goin' out to trip the light fantastic?"

  She let her chin jut out and did the same with one hip. "I don't know, handsome," she replied, vaguely hoping for a Lauren Bacall tribute, but afraid it was coming out more Mae West. "Can you whistle?"

  He demonstrated his capabilities with a long, low wolf whistle that turned her scarlet. She dropped the sultry po
se and reached out to pull him inside as doors popped open up and down her hallway.

  "Hush!" she begged, laughing at the same time. "That was not kind. I'm going to have to explain you to all my neighbors now. And somehow I don't expect it to be an easy task."

  He shrugged, all innocence. "I am but a simple country boy. Tell them I'm your cousin from the Central Valley. My hay truck's taking up three parking spaces in your underground garage, but otherwise, I'm harmless."

  "The 'harmless' part is what they won't believe," she told him archly as she reached for her wrap. "You're about as 'harmless' as an alligator in a goldfish bowl."

  He looked slightly offended. "Are you calling me reptilian?"

  She choked. "Hardly." Her grin was teasing. "I'm just saying you're a flashy dresser."

  He frowned, not completely mollified. But she was ready to go, looking up at him expectantly, and he forgot everything else as he turned her in his arms and kissed her softly on the lips.

  "People don't usually start dates this way," she murmured as he drew back and looked at her. "They usually save this for the end of the evening."

  He brushed her cheek with the backs of his fingers. "And that's exactly what's wrong with the world today," he said, moving toward the door, his arm still around her.

  "Not enough kissing?" she asked a bit breathlessly.

  "No. Saving things for later that ought to be done right away." He kissed her again and she could tell this was going to be a happy theme for the evening.

  They went out into the hallway, and though she closed her door as softly as she could, as they walked down the hallway, two or three doors opened, just a crack. Just enough so that some of her neighbors could check out her escort. They held back the laughter until they reached the end of the hall, but once out of range they let it fly.

  They dined at the Sly Fox, sitting out over the bay, watching the boats come in, watching the lights shimmer on the black water. He made her laugh. He made her try expensive wines. He made her feel important, cherished, fun to be with.

  They danced at Ricoco's and then on to Whahoo's for the midnight show, and more dancing. They walked along the beach in the moonlight, arm in arm, talking and telling secrets about things they'd done, things they hoped to do.

  Trish was moving in a dream, floating on a cloud. She couldn't stop looking at him. He filled her mind and her heart, and everything about him seemed just about perfect. She found herself searching for excuses to touch him, hesitating in doorways so that he would bump gently against her, turning suddenly when she knew he was near, reaching for things just to his other side so that she would have to lean against him.

  She'd never behaved like this before in her life, and yet she felt utterly without shame. This was new—this feeling of wanting someone so much. It didn't scare her as much as it astounded her. She hadn't realized she was capable of such a strong longing.

  And finally, Chris invited her back to his apartment for a nightcap.

  She knew exactly what that meant, what it would mean if she agreed. She'd been so sure, and yet, now that it had been presented to her this way, she felt suddenly hesitant. Maybe it would be better to go on home, this time, and think it over.

  "Irish coffee," he coaxed. "With whipped cream and shaved chocolate.''

  How could she resist?

  His apartment wasn't at all the stylish showcase she'd been expecting. The couch was modern, but not imposing, and the coffee table was a slab of polished granite. A Scandinavian hooked rug hung on one wall, and a large redwood sculpture covered most of another. It was a warm room, a comfortable room. Trish searched in vain for evidence of a playboy life-style.

  There were some photographs, most of them of two beautiful women. Her heart froze when she first noticed them, and she looked away quickly. But Chris had caught the reaction and he led her straight to them.

  "What do you think of these two?" he asked with a mischievous grin as he held up two photos.

  "Very pretty," Trish said stiffly. "But then, I suppose all your girlfriends are."

  "Girlfriends!" He shook his head as though he were disappointed in her faulty perceptiveness. "These aren't girlfriends. What would I want with pictures of old girlfriends?" He pointed out the one with the friendly smile. "This is my sister, Michelle. She's married and runs a restaurant in Mammoth. She's the one who conspired with your mother to get me involved in the surfing business." And then the other, whose look was more dreamy. "My sister, Faith. She's kind of a leftover hippie who hasn't found her way back quite yet."

  Sisters. She felt like a fool.

  "And this..." He picked up a picture of an older woman, her silver hair pulled back in an elaborate twist, her eyes dark and watchful. "This is my mother."

  Trish was oddly fascinated by the elegant face. "She's beautiful."

  He shrugged, though his pride was obvious. "She's okay."

  "Where does she live?"

  He hesitated only a moment, then filled in the blanks. "She's in Hawaii. She's a palm reader."

  Trish gaped at him. "A what?"

  "A palm reader. 'You will meet a mysterious stranger' and all that." He grinned at her reaction. "Actually, we're very pleased she finally settled down and chose a semi-normal career. She and my father used to be con artists. They swindled people all over the South Pacific when I was a kid."

  He said the words so matter-of-factly. "With you along?"

  "Sure. My sisters and I were part of the act. We lived by our wits. Never a dull moment."

  "You make it sound like a Disney movie. The Traveling Dawson Show."

  He shrugged. "It was like that sometimes. We had a pretty crazy upbringing until we went to live with my aunt in Boston. She taught us what it was to live like proper people." He laughed. "Boring. But ever since then, I must admit, I feel tugged in both directions."

  His admission was made so casually, and yet Trish knew there were tragic, as well as comic, aspects to his story. How could children grow up that way, running just one step ahead of the law? And yet that background was probably responsible in good part for the devil-may-care glint in his eye that she found so attractive.

  Amazing. And somehow very endearing, too. It explained a lot—like why he might spend his life the way he had—if all he'd been telling her was true, so free of restraints, free to go where he wanted to go, free to be whatever he wanted to be.

  He put the pictures down and laughed. "I'm telling you, Trish. I'm considered one of the more stable members of my family." He touched her hair, his eyes glazing over as he leaned near to catch the scent of it. "And getting more stable all the time," he murmured.

  A small photo had dropped out from behind one of the pictures and she bent down to pick it up, one hand on his chest for balance. The photo was of Chris holding a laughing baby as though it were the most natural thing in the world for him to do.

  "Michelle's little boy," he said, taking it from her and flinging it carelessly on the table before turning to take her back in his arms.

  "You like children, don't you?" she asked, settling into his warmth.

  "They're amusing little monsters," he agreed, looking down into her upraised face. "I was one myself, you know." He smiled into her eyes. "Some people might argue I still am."

  There were so many things about him that didn't quite jibe with the playboy image. She knew she was risking setting off a reaction she might regret, but she couldn't help herself. There were things she had to know.

  "Do you…..do you ever want children of your own?"

  Something shifted in his gaze, darkening it, and his arms loosened around her, and she wished she could take the words back. "I think I should get married first," he said lightly. "Isn't that the way it's usually done?"

  It was as if he were slipping away from her and she didn't know why. His tone was light, but his eyes told her there was something he was guarding, something that could come between them if she weren't careful.

  She wasn't going to let it happen this
time. She wasn't going to give him a chance to back away from her. She didn't know, really, why he kept doing it, but she was ready this time. She would fight it.

  She reached toward him, her fingers curling into the opening of his shirt. "Chris?" She felt shy, hesitant, but not afraid. The feeling was strong that they both knew what was right for them, if only they could admit it to one another.

  Chris looked down at her and felt himself melting inside. He'd never waited so long for a woman he wanted before. He'd never felt so reluctant once the moment of truth had come. What was it about her that brought out this protectiveness in him? He wanted things to be right for her. He wanted everything to be perfect.

  Was this the right time? He knew it was not. There were things between them that should be cleared up first. She didn't know the extent of his involvement. She didn't know his plans. And the only reason she didn't know was because he had been too great a coward to tell her.

  What would she do once she realized what he had done, what he was in the process of doing? He wasn't sure. But he knew she would be hurt. He should tell her now, now before she'd committed herself to him so totally they would never be able to walk away from each other again without it tearing them both apart.

  "Trish..." He caught hold of her hand and brought it to his lips to kiss her fingers. "Trish, we have to talk."

  "Chris." Her eyes were clear, fearless, and she touched his cheek with her free hand. "You talk too much."

  She drew his head down and once she'd captured his mouth with her own, his resistance evaporated like May morning dew. Their kisses had always been magic, and that quality didn't fail her now. His mouth tasted of honeyed brandy and she wanted to drown in it, release herself and float away on the hot, sweet current of his masculine appeal.

  There was no more hesitancy in him. His arms came back around her and his mouth moved hungrily on hers, as though he couldn't get enough of her and her need for him. She sighed against him, relief as strong as desire. This was what she had been made for, to love this man. And this time it would happen.