by Leanne Banks
“How much did you drink?”
“Just two shots, but I think it combined with the margarita and the glass of wine and—” she glanced at him then looked away “—and the activity to be too much.”
“I’ll get you some aspirin,” he said, heading for her medicine cabinet. In some sick way, it comforted him that she’d had problems sleeping, too. After he collected the medicine, he stopped by the kitchen to fill a glass with water and grab a few crackers.
“Crackers first,” he said as he stood in front of her.
She sighed. “Do you have to be so nice when I’m feeling so cranky?”
His lips twitched. She reminded him of a child that had been woken too early from her nap. “You can walk a little when the meds kick in.”
She shook her head. “No, I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because my head isn’t the only thing that’s hurting,” she said bluntly.
It took a moment for her meaning to sink in. “Oh, muscles or—”
“Try everything. Everything that hasn’t been exercised that way in a long time, or maybe everything that’s never been exercised that way. And I know they’re necessary, but I think the condoms made it worse.”
He gaped at her.
“So when we do this again, I prefer it barefoot.”
He blinked, his stomach taking an odd dip. “From the way you acted last night, I didn’t get the impression you wanted to do it again.”
She sipped her water and pushed her hair from her face. Slowly, she met his gaze and he saw the stark emotion stamped across her fine features.
Guilt. She felt guilty as hell.
He felt it like a kick in the gut. “You really don’t have—”
She shook her head and bit her lip. “I don’t have it all figured out, but the thing that bothered me most was that I liked it better with you than I remember liking it with Rob.”
Ten
Marine Lingo Translation
Cool beans: Everything is fine.
She could have knocked him over with her pinkie finger. Brock stared at her. No, make that her pinkie fingernail.
Her eyebrows furrowed. “I don’t really want to talk about it. It feels disrespectful or dishonorable or scuzzy.”
“Okay,” he said, not eager to hear the intimate details of Callie’s sexual experiences with Rob.
“But it just always seemed to go too fast and just when I started to get into it,” she said with a shrug, “it would be over.”
Speechless, Brock nodded. “I understand if you don’t want to talk about it.”
“I really appreciate it, but it’s a sensitive subject. It always was. Rob never really wanted to talk about it and I just figured something might be wrong with me.”
“Trust me, Callie, there’s nothing wrong with you. Nothing at all,” he said, remembering how hot she’d been in his arms last night.
“Are you sure?” she whispered.
Her uncertainty ripped at something inside him. The fragility of the moment required a careful response. He sank onto the sofa beside her. “I’m pretty sure,” he said, “but there’s only one real way to be sure. We’d have to do it again.”
She punched his arm and laughed. “Not today. I’m too sore.”
The telephone rang and she glanced toward the kitchen. “I wonder who that is,” she said, rising. “Back in a minute.”
He heard her pick up the phone. “Oh, Mama Newton, how are you?”
His ears perked up at the mention of Rob’s last name.
“They’ve built a memorial in front of the library in honor of Rob?” Callie said, her voice tightening. “That’s wonderful.”
“You want me to come to the dedication ceremony?” he heard her ask, her voice tightening even more. Funny how his gut tightened each time he heard the tension rise in her voice.
“Of course I’ll come,” she said and paused. “Mama Newton, you’re sweet to offer, but we’ve been through this before. I can’t come live with you. My messy art would drive you crazy.”
The conversation continued for several more minutes with a few muted responses from Callie. He heard her hang up the phone. A long moment passed before she returned to the den with her face and spirit matching the muted tone of her voice.
“Your mother-in-law?” he prompted.
She nodded, looking as tense as an overdrawn bow with her arms crossed over her chest. “Problem?”
“No,” she said in a clipped, small voice. “She’s a lovely person and she’s always been very kind and generous to me.”
“I hear a but,” he said, standing, concerned at the shift in her mood.
“No buts,” she insisted.
“Callie,” he said, putting his hand on her shoulder. “You’re acting like an overwound jack-in-the-box.”
She sighed. “It’s hard to hear her pain. She still can’t believe he’s gone and I think one of the ways she tries to keep him alive is by talking with me about him.” She pushed her hair behind her ear. “I don’t want to be unkind, but I always feel so sad after I talk with her.” Her voice broke and she audibly swallowed. “Sometimes I think she wants me to live the rest of my life in Rob’s memory. Live with her, stop drawing, stop laughing, stop—”
“Breathing,” he finished for her.
She met his gaze with desperation in her eyes. “I feel bad talking about her this way.”
“You wouldn’t go live with her, would you?” he asked, his instincts telling him that would be one of the worst things Callie could do.
She shook her head. “I thought about it, but I took the coward’s way out,” she said with a short laugh. “I ran away and moved to the beach instead.”
“Good choice,” he said.
She shrugged her shoulders and gave him a lopsided smile that had the ability to move past skin, bone and muscle to his heart. “We’ll see. I’ve been drawing more lately. This kind of thing usually slows me down, though.”
“Okay. What club do you want to join so you don’t slow down?” he asked.
Callie wrinkled her nose. “I think I’m going to go to a meeting of the sand castle builders’ club. Wanna come?”
He nodded, unable to swallow his grin. “Yeah, just remember I’m an architect, so I’m opinionated about construction.”
They spent the next three hours constructing an elaborate castle made of sand. Brock had argued for something more modern, but Callie insisted on turrets and moats. Soon enough, a group of children asked if they could help and the castle became a community project.
Brock enjoyed watching Callie’s interaction with the children and he became more determined than ever to nudge her to get regularly involved. She exclaimed over their diligence and creativity.
“Photographs,” she said. “I’ve got to have photographs. Wait here while I get my cameras,” she said, and ran to the cottage.
She returned with two cameras. “Okay, crowd around the back of the castle. You, too, Brock!”
He shook his head. “No. You should be in this.”
She shook her head. “No, you designed it so—”
“Your nose is burned,” he said, lightly touching her pink nose. “I told you that you should have put on more sunscreen.”
“I’ll take it,” a woman said, stepping forward. “That way, both you and your husband can be in the picture.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Brock saw Callie open her mouth at the same time he opened his. “Thanks,” he said, beating her to the punch and tugging Callie toward the castle. “We’d appreciate that.”
“You shouldn’t have let her think we were—”
“The ocean would have washed away the castle by the time we explained our relationship to her,” he muttered. “Just let the woman take the picture.”
The passerby took several photos with each camera.
“That one’s digital,” Callie said. “For immediate gratification.”
“Is that what you want?” Brock asked in a low voice.
“Immediate gratification.”
She gave a cheesy smile for the camera then turned to him with fire in her eyes. “You have a wicked mind.”
“You didn’t answer my question,” he said.
“I like it slow.”
Brock made a note of it.
Brock still wasn’t happy with Callie’s lack of involvement and in the back of his mind, the clock was ticking. He would be leaving for his job in Atlanta in a couple of weeks. Although it wasn’t his first choice, he took Callie to visit a senior citizens’ center.
“I don’t like public speaking,” she told him as he escorted her inside the small brick building.
“Just talk a few minutes,” he told her. “The director told me the main thing these people will enjoy will be some personal interaction with you.”
Sighing, she shook her head. “Do you ever think you’re taking this grief treatment service to the extreme? Shopping, sex, trips to the senior citizens’ center.”
His mind tripped on the middle item on her list. “We only had sex one time.”
“It was one night,” she corrected. “But it was definitely more than one time. That’s why we haven’t had it again.”
He’d wondered. He’d told himself she was teasing him about having sex again with him, but he spent a lot of time looking for any sign of invitation from her. None so far.
The director met them and led them to a sunny room. She introduced Callie to the surprisingly large group of people. Callie spoke for a few minutes and showed the group examples of her work. Afterward, she invited the group to experiment with the easels and pads of paper available throughout the room.
Brock watched her talk with nearly every person in the room. Her patience and the way she focused her attention on each individual impressed him. He tried to think of one woman he’d dated who would have spent more than five minutes at a senior citizens’ center. None came to mind.
The men flirted with her. The women mothered her. Two hours later, he finally drove out of the park ing lot.
Callie leaned her head against the headrest and sighed. “That was more fun than I expected.”
“You were great,” he told her.
She glanced at him. “I didn’t really do much. They mostly wanted to talk.”
“You paid attention. You laughed at corny jokes and acted like you were interested when you were looking at photographs of grandchildren and great-grandchildren.”
“I wasn’t acting. It’s fun to hear people talk about things or people they’re enthusiastic about.”
“So maybe you’re not the superintrovert you pro fess to be,” he said.
“Do you have to rub this in?”
“I’m not gonna be here forever and I don’t want you crawling back into your cave when I leave.”
She turned quiet. “I keep forgetting you’re going to be leaving soon.”
“Are you afraid you’re going to miss me?”
He felt her glance at him thoughtfully. “Well, I think you’re one of those people you get used to having around.”
The note of tenderness in her voice made a knot form in his chest. He didn’t know if it was longing or something else.
“Sort of like a pet allergy.”
He tossed her a sideways glance.
“Or a reaction to poison ivy,” she said cheerfully.
“You little witch.”
“Well, if you’re going to get all sloppy and sentimental about me missing you.”
“I didn’t get sloppy and sentimental.”
“Brock, you’re moving just over the state line. I can hunt you down if I want.”
She wouldn’t want to hunt him down, though, he knew. “You don’t like Atlanta.”
“That’s right. So you’re probably safe.”
“Unless you quit being such a chicken and show some of your work besides your illustrations for the children’s books.”
“You’re starting to remind me of a pet allergy again.”
He gave a dry grin. “It’s my mission in life. How am I doing?”
“Great. I’m starved.”
“Would you like to go to dinner?”
“That would be nice.”
“To a real restaurant in public. Two public outings in one day. Are you sure you’re up to it?”
She shot him a level gaze. “I’ve turned a corner.”
“But you’re not all the way onto the new road.”
“Nag, nag, nag,” she said.
“Is this okay?” he asked, pointing to a seafood restaurant.
She nodded. “Looks good to me.”
She ordered a Hurricane. He ordered a beer. While they waited, she doodled on a napkin. He wanted to know what she was drawing, but she snatched it away before he could see. They split an appetizer of coconut shrimp. She ordered a second Hurricane and he raised his eyebrows. “You going for another headache?”
“No,” she said, and muttered something under her breath. When the waitress returned with her drink, Callie pulled the cherry from her glass and offered it to him. “You told me you liked cherries?”
He choked on the beer he’d just swallowed. He couldn’t read her expression, but the way she dangled the cherry from the stem made him think about forbidden fruit. Hers in particular. He grew warmer.
“Yeah,” he said and popped the plump cherry into his mouth.
“Just curious,” she said, stirring her drink with the straw. “When was the last time you were tested for sexually transmitted diseases?”
He dipped his head in disbelief. “Excuse me?”
“When was the last time you were—”
His heart stuttered in his chest. He waved his hand for her to stop. “They tested me for everything when I was in the hospital. Why do you ask?”
She paused for a long moment, still stirring her drink, then met his gaze. “Because I’m not sore anymore.”
Brock felt his libido jump the equivalent from one to two-hundred-and-fifty miles per hour. “Is that why you’ve been drinking Hurricanes?”
“It would be more gallant of you not to point that out,” she said, taking a sip.
He grabbed her hand and held it in his. “You want me to be gallant?”
She bit her lip. “Not really.”
He leaned toward her. “Callie, it’s okay to ask for what you want.”
“I guess I’m not used to feeling free to ask.”
“What would you like?”
Taking a little breath as if she were shoring up her nerve, she smiled. “I would like you to please take care of the check while I go to the powder room, and then I would like to go back to your place, if that’s okay with you.”
Her combination of shyness and boldness did dangerous things to his heart. “Okay,” he said, and signaled for the waitress while Callie left the table.
When they arrived at his condo, the sun was just beginning to set and they sat in the car to watch it. “Look how pretty the sky is,” she said. “Hot pink, coral and gray-blue.”
“Ever get the itch to do landscapes and watercolors?”
“Every once in a while. I often joked with Rob that I needed to go to the Caribbean so I could be inspired by the sunset, but we never went.” She cleared her throat and shrugged. “It didn’t really matter. My strength is drawing people. I like showing emotion in facial expressions, posture, even what they wear. And with kids, I don’t have to be too subtle. It’s fun.” She looked at him. “What about you? Did you ever want to do a different kind of architecture?”
He nodded. “Skyscrapers, like everyone else.”
“Do you ever sneak and draw a building on a napkin when you’re supposed to be doing something else?” she asked.
“I used to,” he said, her question reminding him of times in his life that hadn’t been so driven, so serious. “I haven’t had a chance in a while.”
“Did you when you were in the hospital?”
“A few times,” he admitted and narrowed his eyes at her. “How did you kn
ow?” he teased. “Were you watching me?”
“Well, architecture is a kind of art, so I figured you had to be a doodler at some time in your life.” She met his gaze, and her eyes held a combination of fragility and resolve. “I’ve started doodling again,” she told him.
“In the restaurant,” he said with a nod. “What were you drawing?”
She hesitated. “Come on,” he coaxed.
“I did it quickly, so don’t expect too much.” She fished the napkin out of her purse and showed it to him.
Brock stared at the portrait she’d drawn of him. It had a slight cartoon quality. His chin and cheekbones were exaggerated, but she had softened his scowl with a glint in his eye. His shoulders were overly broad and she’d emphasized his pecs. “You made me look like a superhero.”
“How?” she asked, frowning as she turned the napkin around to study it.
“My shoulders aren’t that broad,” he said.
“Yes, they are.”
“You exaggerated my pecs,” he said.
“Did not,” she protested. “You’ve got a killer body and you know it.”
He knew he was in shape, but it was damn nice hearing her compliment because he knew it wasn’t idle flattery. After all, this same woman had compared him to the itch associated with poison ivy. “Are you trying to seduce me?”
“With this drawing?” she asked in disbelief, then chortled with glee. “Are you that easy?”
“Depends on the woman,” he said, meeting her gaze and holding it. The temperature in the car went up several degrees. He saw the wanting in her eyes. “Ask for what you want,” he told her.
“Kiss me,” she told him, lifting her lips to his.
He took her mouth and kissed her, searching for answers to the questions she aroused in him. How did she manage to make him feel lighter just by smiling? How did she know just what to ask him that reminded him of a more carefree time in his life? How did she make him crave being with her? Even when she was sad. She was so real. Sometimes he felt as if he’d never held a real woman until her. He flicked his tongue over hers and she responded immediately, tasting him, licking his lips as if she craved him the same way he craved her.
It wasn’t possible, he told himself, but it sure felt good.