“You don’t know how badly I want to carry you off to my lair and make love to you,” he said. “You’re beautiful. Gorgeous. Beyond sexy. Is this new?”
She nodded. “Christmas present from my mother.” He could tell she was trying to keep her hurt feelings from showing. He’d disappeared with only a short note asking her to handle everything in his absence. A few days before Christmas. She had every right to be mad, upset, bruised. But she was gamely trying to fake it. “How was your trip?”
He took a deep breath and stepped back. “Come into the living room and I’ll tell you all about it.”
He reached for her hand, but she made a gasping sound and pointed to the stove. “I might have scalded my cocoa.”
“Probably not the only thing of mine you would have liked to scald recently,” he said, giving her room to move around.
“You’ve got that right,” she muttered under her breath. But to his face, she said, “This isn’t your cocoa. It’s mine. Part of a chocolate gift basket from Char and Eli. All the book club members got one. But I’ll share. Let me add some more milk to the pan.”
He turned off the knob. “Later. I slept a little bit on the plane, but the time change will probably catch up with me soon. Can we talk while I’m still making sense?”
She nodded and sashayed ahead of him into the living room. Watching her hips undulate in the much too sexy heels made the blood leave his brain for a second or two, but he forced himself to stay focused on what he had to say. She stopped suddenly.
“Oh, nuts. I forgot about the tub.”
“No problem. I leave it out overnight sometimes to put moisture in the air. It’s fine.”
He could tell she didn’t believe his lie, but he didn’t want to talk about bathtubs. Not when it was tempting to refill this one with hot water and share it with her.
“So…where did you go?” she asked.
“New York. I told the oncologist who treated me the first time that it was an emergency. He was expecting to see me on my death bed, but once he got over being pissed off at me, he agreed to give me a full exam. CT scan, MRI, PET.”
She pulled a decorative couch pillow that had been his mother’s into her lap. “Can you tell me what it showed?”
He made a goose egg with his thumb and fingers. “Zero activity. No mets—that’s short for metastases in any area. And they did an MRI of the brain to be sure it hadn’t spread to my head. Nothing there, either. Cancer, I mean.”
She smiled at his little joke but a second later her smile grew until she was grinning like a small sun. “That’s wonderful news, Rufus. I’m so happy for you.”
He didn’t like the sound of that. Going to the doctor hadn’t been for him alone. He’d done it for her, too. For them.
“While I was there, I met my former agent, Marianne Diminici, for lunch.” At the Plaza, their favorite old haunt. Not much had changed since he’d last been there—only the faces of the exposure-hungry models and the overplayed ennui of the booking agents. She’d set him straight about a couple of things.
“She told me about all the changes in the market.”
“I must be getting old, Rob,” Marianne had said. She’d been the one to insist he use his initials professionally, but, she’d always called him by his family nickname. “Frankly, I’m offended when you put a half-dressed model on a bucking machine and make her maul down a drippy, icky hamburger like it’s some guy’s you-know-what. There’s looking sexy like you did in all of your ads, whether you were wearing a Brooks Brothers suit or a pair of Calvin Klein jockey shorts, then there’s acting lewd and suggestive. Something is very broken. You were smart to get out when you did.”
He’d laughed at that. “Ahem. If I remember correctly, you kicked me out on my still fairly sexy butt.”
She’d sighed heavily and tossed down the dregs of her second cosmopolitan. “You were damaged goods, sweet cheeks. Emotionally damaged is one thing. The camera loves angst. But nobody wants to airbrush the missing half of an ear. I didn’t think you could handle the rejection one casting agent at a time.”
“So, you fired me to save me pain?”
“Exactly. Besides, your heart hadn’t been in the work for a long time. I think you’d done your penance and were ready to move on. Cancer was the push you needed to change things.”
As he’d thought about that comment on the flight home, he’d admitted she was right. Maybe not for the reasons she thought, but he had been sick of his life.
“Marianne told me I was never cut out for modeling. She said she saw my ‘artist’s soul.’” He made air quotes to make sure Rachel knew those weren’t his words. “Most models show up, hit their mark and give the photographer whatever emotion the A.D. calls for. But it’s Marianne’s theory that I was learning from the staging process. Finding my inner artist.”
“Was she right?”
He shrugged. “Who knows? But she cut me loose at a time when I didn’t have the slightest idea what to do with my life. Sink or swim. I was pretty ticked off about that for a few years. I thought she was heartless.”
“But now you’re thinking she was a mama bird pushing you out of your comfort zone—no parachute attached?”
“Exactly. My mother wouldn’t have done that. I left home—hell, I ran away—because I couldn’t stand to hang around and watch my family implode from the grief of my brother’s death. I had no plan, no goals. My driving need was to dull the pain. I fell into modeling and got swept up in the lifestyle. It wasn’t a healthy lifestyle for me. As Marianne said, the cancer might have saved my life.”
She seemed to be having trouble getting her mind around the idea.
“Rachel, before my brother died, my mom used to say things happen for a reason. I never heard her say that after his death. Probably because none of us could imagine why something that awful had to happen. But, in hindsight, I do think getting sick saved me. Having your career rug pulled out from under you can be liberating. I had enough money to do anything I wanted—even hide out from life.”
She slowly nodded. “I guess that’s what happened to me, too. Filing for a divorce and getting fired in quick succession is pretty harrowing. I spent a good deal of time under a mountain of covers.”
He reached out and took her hand. He brought it to his lips. “Somehow that strange and awful combination of fate—or bad luck—made it possible for us to meet, and, believe me, you were worth the wait.”
She swallowed. “What does that mean?”
“It means I love you. And I bought you a present. It must be after midnight, right?” He jumped to his feet and dashed to the kitchen. When he returned, he sat beside her and handed her a bag. The others he set on the floor. “Sorry it’s not wrapped. If I’d had time, I would have gone to Tiffany’s.”
Her eyes went wide. Fear? Panic?
“Don’t worry,” he told her, his heart sinking a little. “It’s not an engagement ring. I think that kind of thing requires a bit more forethought and the woman’s input. I bought this between planes at O’Hare.”
She relaxed visibly and reached into the bag. After tugging free the tissue paper, she held a jeweler’s box on the palm of her outstretched hand. “Are you sure…?”
“Open it.”
Inside, she found a pair of diamond earrings. Emerald cut. Huge. Gorgeous. “Holy smokes,” she cried. “These had to cost a small fortune.”
He turned up his hands. “They’re beautiful, like you. And I also met with another old friend when I was in the city. He was my financial advisor before I got greedy and invested with you-know-who. Turns out I’m not quite as broke as I thought. I’d given him power of attorney over a portion of my investment portfolio before I had surgery. He undid a bunch of my mistakes and moved some of my holdings into a separate account. He told me every dime—less his fees, of course—has been sitting in a bank waiting for me to come to my senses.”
Her mouth dropped open. “A friend indeed. That’s wonderful. Then…you don’t have to make Dre
amhouses anymore?”
“That’s right. I don’t.”
Her expressive face fell but she faked a smile. “Great.”
“I don’t have to make them, but I plan to keep doing it anyway. Because being an artist is part of who I am.”
“Really? You’re not going back to New York?”
“I am…once a year. For a complete checkup. And my doctor is setting up quarterly blood screenings that I can do locally. But am I moving there? Hell, no. The noise. Good Lord, I nearly lost my mind.” He pulled her close. “My life is here. With you…I hope.” He kissed her tenderly. “Consider those earrings a bribe. Can you forgive me for being such a jerk?”
She didn’t answer right away. He didn’t blame her, but he knew the only gift he wanted for Christmas was her love.
Rachel couldn’t answer because she was struggling to remember even one of the complaints on her long list of grievances. Maybe she was distracted by the sparkle of the jewels winking so coyly at her, begging her to put them on. They would look great with my nightie. Perfect. Could Mom have…?
Her chief complaint popped into her head. “You left without saying goodbye. Again. That’s twice now.”
“I know. But your mother gave you my letter, obviously. You’re here. She said you’d understand.”
“Well, she was wrong. I didn’t. I don’t. I’m not good with surprises, Rufus. And, so far in our short acquaintance, you’ve sprung quite a few on me.” She used her fingers to count. “Your name isn’t—or wasn’t—Rufus Miller. You’re not a yeti-slash-hut-dwelling hermit. You had—have—this whole life—a big, glamorous existence that sounds a lot like the world I hated when I was married. And, then there’s the whole denial about your health thing.”
“But, in my own way, I was being proactive about my health, Rachel. My doctor gave me two thumbs up for my Spartan diet and healthy lifestyle. He said there are studies showing the link between cancer and stress.” He made a global gesture. “You can’t get much more stress-free than this, right?”
She knew that. Unfortunately, the knowledge only added to her fears. “But the past few weeks you’ve been working ten hours a day. I know you haven’t been sleeping. I blame myself for this.” She reached out and grabbed his arm. “If your cancer comes back, it might be my fault.”
And I won’t be able to fix it. I tried with Daddy and failed.
He embraced her. “Rachel, hard work doesn’t make you sick. Not if you have happy stuff in your life to balance it out. I thought I was doing the right thing for my health, but it wasn’t until you came into my life that I realized how empty my world was.”
She heard the truth in his voice. “Really?”
“Oh, sweetheart, the day that box of sex toys exploded in my front yard will remain one of my best memories until the day I die. Many, many years from now, if you promise to be a part of my life.”
That sounded a lot like a proposal. She waited several heartbeats, but one didn’t follow. She was a little let down even though her rational brain told her she wasn’t in a good place, emotionally, to think about remarrying. For heaven’s sake, she silently scolded herself, the ink was barely dry on her divorce papers.
She tried to keep her tone flat as she asked, “As your Web designer?”
His chuckle was low and deep and deliciously inclusive. “No, silly. As my partner. Some interesting opportunities have come up, thanks to a bit of that social networking stuff you’re so fond of. Although, I did it the old-fashioned way, face-to-face.”
She punched him playfully and snatched up her jeweler’s box. “That sounds interesting,” she said, quickly putting in her new earrings. “What kind of business opportunities?”
He took her jaw gently between his wonderfully roughened fingers, turning her chin to study her new sparklies. “Beautiful,” he murmured before kissing her.
She resisted the urge to crawl into the warm sanctuary of his arms. “Business?” she asked, suddenly hearing her mother’s voice.
Before she could take back the question, he answered, “I want to build more places like Stephen’s House in towns and cities around the country.”
Not at all what she had expected. “Won’t that take a lot of money? How—”
He cut her off with another kiss. “Like I said, money isn’t going to be a problem. I promise I’ll tell you all about it in the morning, okay? Right now, I need to go to bed.” He stifled a yawn. “The time difference is catching up with me.”
She felt instantly contrite. “Oh, sure. Of course. It’s ghastly late. Do you want me to go?”
He blinked, eyes wide open. “What? No. I want you to stay. Do you want to stay?”
She nodded. “Yeah. I do. I’m sorry if I’m not quite up to speed. I’m a little wiped out, too. My mom hosted dinner tonight. She’s house-sitting for Jenna. It was good. But I had a lot of last-minute wedding things to handle today, too. I’m not making a lot of sense, am I?”
He put his arm around her shoulders. “No. It’s me. I might have used up all my social graces in the city. I’ve reverted back to my old self. Yeti man no talk pretty,” he joked. “But yeti man kiss good, huh?”
She nodded. “Oh, yeah. Very good.” She pressed her lips to his to prove how much she liked his kisses.
He was the one to pull back. “We go kiss now,” he said, staring deep into her eyes. “In bed.” He pointed upward. “Okay?”
The last was in his real voice. No more teasing. He was asking her to stay the night with him.
The old Rachel would have demanded answers, a more concrete agenda. Her mother would have wanted everything in writing. But rational thought disappeared the moment he deepened his kiss. His taste was so familiar and reassuring. His hand touching her breast brought to life every bit of the passion she’d imagined while sleeping in his bed.
“Upstairs,” she demanded. “Now.”
He stood and pulled her to her feet. As they headed toward the staircase, Rachel suddenly remembered something she’d planned to give him…if the timing was right and she was brave enough. “Wait. One minute. I have something for you, too.” She felt herself blush, but, fortunately, Rufus was distracted by the dogs. As he petted each one and praised them and told them good-night, she sprinted to the coat closet and grabbed the large, festive Rudolph gift bag she’d impulsively bought after her talk with Libby.
She’d made up her mind to “live forward without regrets”—until her mother handed her Rufus’s note asking Rachel to dog-sit while he mysteriously disappeared. At that moment all her insecurities rode back on a big old wave of self-doubt. She’d hidden the bag in the closet, intending to take it home with her once he returned.
“What’s that?” Rufus asked, looking over his shoulder as he led the way up the winding staircase.
“Oh, just a, uh, gag gift. Sorta.” She fumbled with the Push Here button near Rudolph’s ear. A second later his big red nose lit up and a tinny version of “Rudolph the Red-Nose Reindeer” started to play.
Rufus’s chuckle gave her the courage she needed to hand it to him once they reached the second floor. “It’s not your real present,” she said. “That’s on your workbench. I wasn’t certain I’d see you, and figured you’d…Well, you can get it tomorrow.” She glanced at the bedside clock. “Today. Merry Christmas.”
He smiled. “Thank you. Can I open this now?”
“Okay.”
His eyebrows were tweaked in obvious confusion, but he sat on the bed and carefully undid the ribbon she’d tied to hold the two plastic handles together. He pulled out handfuls of red-and-green tissue paper then looked inside.
His eyebrows shot up. “Oh. Cool. Why do these look familiar?” Then suddenly he burst out laughing. “You’re re-gifting your sex toys. To me.” His obvious glee made everything better. He got the joke. “This is awesome.”
He also got the symbolism behind the gift. She hadn’t trusted Trevor’s love enough to play and laugh and risk feeling foolish or silly or exposed. She trusted Ru
fus.
“This is going to be fun.”
She heaved a sigh of relief. And joy. She loved him, too, and couldn’t wait to show him. “But hold on,” he said, pawing through the bag. “There’s nothing with feathers in here. You don’t trust me with a whip?”
She slipped off her robe. “I trust you with my life, and my future. You’ll have to ask Fred about the whip in the morning. Seems he has a bit of a feather fetish.”
“The dog,” Rufus murmured. But she could tell he wasn’t thinking about his pets or whips or anything else but her as she dropped the spaghetti straps of her sexy satin gown and slowly peeled down the fabric.
When she was standing before him, stark naked except for her stiletto heels, she wet her lips and said, “So…see anything you’d like to try first?”
“You,” he answered with an impressive yeti growl. He pushed the gift bag aside and reached for her. She heard it topple to the floor. Once again, the ground was littered with mementos of her former life, but this time she wasn’t mortified or embarrassed. They might even use one or two of the items. Sometime. Later.
Right now was about healing and reconnecting. And passion, of course.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
RUFUS’S EXHAUSTION
disappeared in a heartbeat. He’d never seen anyone or anything as beautiful as the naked woman standing within arms’ reach. She was the ultimate gift. “You are art perfected,” he told her, running the backs of his fingertips along the curve of her belly. He grasped the meaning behind the objects in the gift bag and knew what courage it took to give them to him. The gesture solidified his love for her in a way she couldn’t possibly have guessed.
Trust was the biggie. The thing he’d lost when his brother died and his father blamed him. He hadn’t trusted himself for years. But Rachel did. And that healed him better than any cancer treatment on the market.
He very lightly coaxed her closer with the tips of his fingers pressed against her waist. She wobbled a step, the heel of her shoe snagging the carpet. She put her hands on his shoulders to keep from falling into him. Her breasts were within reach of his lips and tongue, so he tasted and teased.
Until He Met Rachel Page 19