by Karen Young
“Well, that went…not too bad, don’t you think?” he said, giving her a sly smile as he pulled away from Pete’s house.
“I’m reserving my opinion,” she said, watching him load a CD. “Anyone would have smelled a rat when you made that flimsy excuse about expecting an important call from your agent so we could leave early. It’ll be on your head if we hear tomorrow morning that they’ve killed each other.”
“I’m in contract negotiations at the moment,” he told her, the smile still lurking at the corner of his mouth. “An important call could come any minute. Technically, it wasn’t a lie.”
“Your answering machine would pick up a call…or your cell phone, which I note is on your person.” But she was fighting a smile, too. Cam’s bogus excuse had been so obvious that she and Marta had laughed about it while the men talked on the opposite side of the car as they were getting ready to leave.
“The important thing is that Pete’s plan was successful,” he said. “And we’re driving away, leaving the two star-crossed lovers to fish or cut bait.”
“I didn’t know you were such a romantic.”
“I like to do my part for true love.”
She smiled. “I have a confession to make. Marta was already questioning whether or not she was hasty in breaking her engagement without giving Pete a chance to explain. She was ready to listen.”
“You mean Pete’s big plan was unnecessary?”
“Well, it probably speeded things up a bit,” she said, recognizing the song on the CD he’d chosen as one of Rod Stewart’s bluesy, sexy ballads. Oh, Lord, and after spending the evening watching Pete and Marta in provocative, former-lover give-and-take, both clearly feeling sexual hunger, she herself was feeling restless and a little overstimulated. Her mother’s fantasies about Cam were rapidly becoming her own.
Time to get a grip, Rachel.
“Anyway, it was nice of you to help out,” she told him, then added, “I wouldn’t have thought you’d want to get involved in something that could get sticky. You’re so—”
“Reclusive? Rude? Outspoken?”
“Well…” She thought of his courtesy as a neighbor, of his patience with Kendy and the time he managed to spend with Nick. “No, not really. But I do think, as a writer, you need a certain amount of solitude and you make no apologies about demanding it. When you want to be, you’re really…nice.”
He glanced over and met her too-bland look. “Isn’t that how you described Jorge Ruiz?”
Her smile broke. “Yes, and it was a compliment.”
He looked over at her, smiled slowly, devastatingly. “Watch out, Rachel. Tossing me a compliment might give me ideas.”
Don’t I wish…
But they were almost home now. The distance between Pete’s house and their neighborhood was less than a ten-minute drive. As Cam made the turn onto their street, Rachel felt a pang of disappointment that the evening that was, essentially, just beginning for Pete and Marta, was over for Cam and her. As he came around to her side of the car, she opened the door herself and climbed out. “I think that was the quickest barbecue I’ve ever been to, but it was fun. I had a good time.” Tying the sleeves of her sweater around her shoulders, she stuck out her hand. “Thank you, even though I know Pete coerced you to help him pull it off. It was for a good cause.”
He took her hand, but instead of the friendly shake she expected, he turned it over and laced her fingers through his. “Just because we left Pete’s place early doesn’t mean we have to end the evening for ourselves. Is Dinah at home with Kendy?”
“Ah…yes.” She stood there with her hand in his, her senses still humming from Rod Stewart’s sexy song.
“And Nick’s some place with his friends on Lake Ray Hubbard?”
“Uh-huh.”
Still holding her hand, he stood with his profile in shadow, backlit by the streetlight. “So, you really have no reason to rush right home?”
“I suppose not.”
“What if I told you I know of a place that’s quiet, where the music’s good, the drinks aren’t watered down and they won’t throw us out no matter what time it gets? Would you be interested in going there?”
“It can’t be Flanagan’s as they don’t have music. And I can’t get too far from home. If Nick calls, I—”
He put a finger to her lips. “It’s close. In fact, we’re here.” Now he was gently stroking her cheek. She felt the pull of attraction and the beguiling danger of it, as well.
With her heart beating fast, she looked up at his house. “Here? Your place?”
“Yeah. You said yourself it’s early. And I have wine—”
“No.” With a shaky laugh, she caught his wrist firmly. “No more wine. You’re certain to have some fabulous vintage that you’ll claim was recommended by that fellow at the liquor store, when if the truth is known, you’re probably giving him tips as to what’s good and what isn’t. And it’s too late for coffee.”
“Then how about dessert?”
She looked at him skeptically. “Was this the plan all along? We’d leave early and you’d have a fabulous dessert waiting?”
“Define fabulous.” His smile was truly devastating. It was probably a good thing he didn’t use it much.
“Let’s see…bananas Foster would be fabulous.”
“No bananas Foster, but how about ice cream?”
“Ice cream.”
“That all-time favorite.”
She stared into his eyes, knowing it was a risky thing to go inside his house at this hour, mellowed out as she was with good wine and her senses heated and thrumming with music that turned her on. Standing in a pool of reflected light from the street lamp, his smile was too enticing and his hand linked with hers felt…right, oddly right. Somehow, their evening, which had started out as a favor for Pete and Marta, seemed about to turn into something more.
“C’mon, you can decide after we check out what flavor Kendy picked out.”
“Kendy went with you to grocery shop?” She tried, but failed to visualize Cam and Kendy shopping together at the corner supermarket.
“Yeah, she keeps me from buying dopey stuff. That’s her word for canned sardines and potted meat.”
“Then she’s right,” Rachel said dryly, going along as he tugged her toward his front porch steps. Mention of her kids had brought her down to earth fast and her thoughts now seemed silly. She wasn’t a date he’d chosen for the usual reasons a man asks a woman out. She was an almost forty-year-old divorcée and he was, basically, a neighbor. In that capacity, he was friendly to her children. What they were doing tonight was ending the evening on a friendly note.
But still…
She couldn’t restrain a little shiver of delight. Because just being alone with Cam even if only for sharing ice cream made it deliciously exciting, she admitted. As a man, he was enough to excite even a forty-ish, feet-on-the-ground woman such as herself. And, he was totally out of her realm. It was indeed risky to fool around with Cam like this, but it was hard to resist it. He’d been so there for her kids and her mother, even for Pete and Marta, all of which made him dangerously appealing.
“You’re cold,” he said, his keys jingling in his hand.
“Just a little.” She should have put her sweater on instead of tying it around her shoulders, but then it wasn’t necessary. Cam’s arm went around her. Stayed there, warm and strong, as he used his key to open the door. It seemed so unusual and strange, standing in the circle of a man’s arm this way, a man who wasn’t Ted.
Once inside, she was struck again by the interesting mix of…things in his house. He’d kept many of his mother’s antiques, but he’d added other pieces obviously picked up on his travels. Exotic travels, she thought, examining an odd-looking statue. Since he’d been a single man for the past few years, it must have made it easy to hop a flight and go anywhere, at any time.
She thought suddenly of Ted. Was the idea of being without the restrictions of a wife and kids simply irresistible? Fran
cine had stated once to Rachel at a party that she had no desire for children, and since Ted’s affair with her, he’d definitely backed away from any meaningful time with Nick and Kendy. Was his life with Francine going to be more appealing without the demands that had tied him down in his marriage?
Suddenly, Cam was in front of her, untying her sweater and lifting it from her shoulders. “That’s a very serious look on your face. What’s it about?”
“Oh, nothing much. I was just wondering about this statue and where it came from.”
“I picked it up at an estate auction in Chicago when I was there at a signing for one of my books.”
She picked it up. “It looks African or…something.”
“It’s from Ethiopia.”
“Really?” She set it back where she got it, carefully.
“Does a fertility goddess really make you feel so sad?”
“I was thinking of your freedom to travel and wondering if Ted is seeking something like that with Francine. She’s opposed to the idea of having children and they’ll definitely enjoy more freedom than we did.”
“You think Ted left to ‘be free’?”
“He left for some reason, and I keep trying to find one that’s more intelligent than having sex with Francine.”
He moved to his really impressive bank of electronic gadgets and slipped in a CD. Sarah Brightman’s sweet voice filled the room. He turned the volume down and moved back to where Rachel stood. “I want to say this just once and then we won’t ever have to discuss it again, okay?”
“Depends what it is.”
“It’s about Ted and his incredible stupidity in leaving you, Nick and Kendy for a life with Francine Dalton.”
She almost smiled. “Okay…I think.”
He led her to the kitchen and seated her at the bay window. “Ice cream’s coming up, but first…” He sat down beside her and took both her hands in his. “We can analyze and wonder until hell freezes over what motivated Ted to screw up his life and yours and his kids without ever understanding why. He probably has a list of grievances, just as you could make a list of things you didn’t particularly like about him. That’s the way marriage is, plain and simple. Most folks suck it up and keep on keeping on. But, in my opinion, his grievances aren’t really what motivated Ted, which lets you off the hook, sugar.”
He studied the back of one of her hands. “I think it’s more likely this—that he’s well aware of the gray showing up in his beard and his pubic hair and he’s desperate to deny both. Francine’s young and hot-blooded and he probably feels the same way when he’s with her. It won’t last, but he’s not thinking that far ahead, I can promise you.” He looked into her eyes. “I shouldn’t have to tell you, a bona fide psychologist, something so basic.”
“It’s hard to be objective with something so basic.”
“Uh-huh. Now, in his panic, he’s done something that wipes out everything he’s worked for for almost twenty years. He’s lost his practice, his wife, his children, his home, probably most of his friends, his good name and his retirement IRA because you and the kids are going to get the lion’s share of what’s left over when the dust settles, since he will have used his in trying to reestablish a practice. The truth is, he’s selfish and self-centered and in his vanity, he’s tossed away what really matters in life.”
“Gosh, now I feel sorry for him.”
He laughed. “Don’t, sugar. He’s a man without integrity. And now he’s a man without you, and if there’s anything that might make me feel a tiny bit of sympathy for him, it’s that.”
She smiled and reclaimed her hands, otherwise she might have given in to temptation and kissed him out of sheer gratitude. Or maybe half gratitude and half lust. “I don’t know why I ever thought you were moody, unapproachable and testy,” she told him.
“I am, but only when I’m on deadline.” He stood up and went to the freezer. “If you’ll get us a couple of dishes from that cabinet, I’ll check out Kendy’s selections. Okay, here’s what we have flavor-wise, Choco Malt Whopper, Macadamia Mania and Phish Food. Name your poison.”
It was so easy to laugh with Cam. “And Kendy told you sardines were dopey?”
“She assured me that there was no hamburger meat in Choco Malt Whopper. But as for Phish Food…I don’t know.”
“Macadamia Mania,” she told him, setting two bowls on the counter.
“Good choice. I think I’ve got a thing to dip—” The phone rang as he rummaged through a drawer. When the answering machine picked up and he heard the voice, he swore and shoved the drawer shut.
“Cam, you’re gonna like this, buddy. I just left the—”
“My agent,” he told Rachel, hurriedly picking up. “I’ll only be a minute.”
She took a step, intending to leave, but he stopped her with a hand on her arm. “Ben, what’s up? Uh, huh…no kidding. Yeah, well, maybe. Just what I said, Ben, maybe.” He gave Rachel a gentle shove back to the kitchen. “Look, I’ll call you in the morning, okay? What? Yeah, I have and—I know it’s important, but it can wait until morning. I’ll call you.” He hung up, gave Rachel a wry smile and went back to the freezer. “Ben tends to overreact.”
“Oh, really? But I thought you were expecting his call.” With a bowl in each hand, she blinked innocently at him. “Wasn’t that the reason we left early?”
“You’re not going to let me forget just one little white lie, are you?”
“Probably not.”
He crossed the kitchen, bearing down on her with a wicked gleam in his eye. “You keep looking at me like that and—”
“And what?” she asked, feeling a laugh bubbling up.
“What do you think, sugar?” He was flirting with her. It slipped into her mind like sunshine after rain. And it was fun. Ted had never flirted because he didn’t have much of a sense of humor. He’d courted her in a way that was totally unoriginal, a means to an end. Oh, he’d let her know she pleased him and he’d compliment her when the occasion called for it, but their relationship had developed mainly because they shared similar backgrounds, career aspirations and some sexual attraction.
Cam took her face in his hands and her urge to laugh changed to something more exhilarating. “I just may forget the ice cream and do something else instead,” he said, looking at her lips. And before she could say stop or not, he was kissing her. It was so unexpected that her lips parted in surprise, which gave him instant opportunity to take the kiss deeper. And he did.
Clutching at his shirt, she had vague thoughts of his taste, rich and male and…absolutely wonderful. It was a turn-on more potent than sexy music or any nighttime fantasy, which was all she’d had to satisfy her needs since months before Ted left. She’d lived so long, it seemed, with logic and reason, the weight of responsibility, and restraint, but all that went up now like dry grass in a wildfire. She arched against him, wanting and willing and wishing what was happening would never end.
Seeking to prolong the pleasure, she slid her hands around and up his back and moved her body against his greedily. Kissing like this was an intimacy that had been missing so long in her marriage that she’d almost forgotten how good it was. How necessary. Swamped with need after months of deprivation, she was lost in the sheer delight of it.
Her response made what Cam had intended as a light, teasing kiss into something more, and for a few heady moments, he was as lost as Rachel. But then, with a low sound, he broke the kiss and pressed his mouth against her throat, holding her while trying to catch his breath. “Jesus,” he said, his arms strong about her as she swayed dreamily, all her defenses down and her senses scattered.
Going on sheer instinct, she kissed the hollow in his throat and breathed in the masculine scent of him. “That was so nice,” she murmured. “Thank you.”
He managed a strangled laugh. “Another minute and you’d have something to really thank me for.”
“It’s been so long,” she said softly, her head nestled beneath his chin while her body nestled
snugly against his arousal. “I’d almost forgotten how it feels to be so…turned on.”
“I was pretty turned on myself.”
Yes, and it thrilled her to know that. Then she raised her eyes to his. “Why did you stop? You must have known I was…beyond thinking straight.” Then, when he didn’t reply right away, she added dryly, “I suppose I just proved that tired old saying about divorcées, didn’t I?”
“It was a kiss, Rachel. You’re entitled.”
Embarrassment was beginning to set in now. She moved away from him. “I really need to be going.” Glancing around, she spotted her sweater on the back of a chair in the dining room and headed that way. Cam followed, making no effort to persuade her to stay, which did nothing to ease her embarrassment. She grabbed the sweater and, without taking time to put it on, headed for the front door.
Cam was close behind. “Rachel.” He caught her arm as she reached for the door handle and gently took her sweater from her. “I meant it when I said I was close to taking you, right there on the kitchen floor.” He draped the sweater over her shoulders and added, “although I’d like to think I would have managed some finesse.”
“Okay.” She again groped for the door handle, but he put a hand on hers.
“Listen. I want you, Rachel. I have for…I don’t know how long. Maybe about ten minutes after I realized you were moving in next door.”
“That’s crazy,” she murmured.
“Yeah. And I thought it would be good between us. I just didn’t know how good.” With her eyes on the floor, she heard the smile in his voice. “But if you stay any longer tonight, we’re going to wind up in bed. Are you sure you’re ready for that?”
She found she couldn’t look at him. “No, of course not. I’m not the type of person who can manage casual sex, as you wisely guessed. Thank you.” She wasn’t the kind of person who could have a casual sexual encounter…ever.
“It won’t be casual sex with us, Rachel.”
Since he had his hand on the door handle and she couldn’t open it, anyway, she put her hands to her cheeks—which must be burning!—and finally looked up at him. “I’m so embarrassed. I didn’t realize I was so…so…”