Tanner’s boots scraped across the tile floor. She could feel the heat of his body behind her, and she imagined him gazing at that mole he’d mentioned. She wanted to lean back against him, but was suddenly afraid of how much she wanted him and where it could lead—especially with her family in the next room.
“Why can’t you?”
“I don’t date journalists. Ever.”
He turned her around. She stood stiffly in his hold.
“Neither do I…usually. But I don’t want to talk about journalism with you, Meredith.”
Her eyelids fluttered. The buzzing in her head grew louder, and she felt overpowered by the force of her attraction to him. She lurched from his hold and knocked a plate to the floor. It shattered over the final roar of the coffee maker. Shards of her mother’s silver-edged Lenox china covered the tile and their shoes.
Her nerves snapped right along with the china, and her breath wheezed out like she’d swum a sprint.
He gentled his hold. “Easy there. Don’t move. I don’t want you to get cut.”
“I have shoes on.” Anxiety squeezed her rib cage, and she pressed her hands to her chest, trying to suck in air.
He led them away from the mess. “Meredith?”
“Everything okay in there?” Jill called from the other room.
“Yes,” Tanner hollered back. “I didn’t see Meredith handing me a pie plate, and it shattered. We’ll clean it up and be right out with dessert.”
His quick lie made her wheeze. It had been so effortless.
Like Richard.
He opened the back door and led her out onto the porch, putting her hands on the rough boards. “Deep breaths, Meredith. In and out.” He caressed her back with gentle hands. “Come on. You can do it.”
Panting in shallow breaths, she lowered her head. Black dots spread behind her eyes like she was inside a planetarium. A panic attack. She hadn’t had one for months. She concentrated on the thought of Rick-the-Dick bald and crying in front of a mirror. The picture always helped turn the tide.
“Shit, don’t pass out on me.”
Visualization wasn’t helping this time. She clawed at her shirt. Her bustier was strangling her. She was too embarrassed to care. The wheezing made her sound like an asthmatic. She fumbled with her bustier’s hooks, needing to…get…it…off.
Tanner swatted her hands away gently. He tugged the bustier off and set it aside before hoisting her to a standing position and smoothing her shirt back in place. She almost cried at his attempts to protect her modesty.
“No wonder you can’t breathe.” He whistled. “That’s one serious contraption.” Framing her rib cage with his hands, he said, “Inhale from here. Fill your lungs. Come on.”
She rested against his strong body, lightheaded. After a few coughs, she managed a shallow inhale.
“Again,” he commanded, his hands softly stroking her.
Her next few breaths spread lower, filling her belly. He smoothed her hair back behind her ears with one hand, pushing away her light-headedness. “Good. Keep going.”
Full, deep breaths drew in the pine-scented air and the seductive smell of his aftershave. She finally managed to keep breathing constantly and steadily in his soothing arms, and the buzzing in her head lowered to background noise. When she pulled away, she stumbled into a lounge chair. Her head fell back. Her eyes closed. The burn of tears was strong, but she managed to hold them at bay. She was not going to cry, but she wanted to. God, she had thought she was past this crap. And to do it in front of him…
“You going to be all right?” Tanner asked in a gentle voice.
She cracked her eyes open. He knelt near her feet on the cold porch, his brow furrowed in the white light from the half moon.
“You made me have a panic attack,” she blurted out.
He didn’t say anything for a moment. “Has this happened before?”
She nodded and then looked away, watching the tree branches shiver in the breeze. Her mouth was dry, her throat swollen, her confidence leveled.
“I’m too attracted to you,” she whispered. “And you’re a journalist. I swore I’d never…date another one.” She looked back and gestured with her hands, desperate not to hurt his feelings and yet equally desperate make him understand. “It scares me.” Her honesty almost did her in. “It’s not you.”
His deep sigh mixed with the night sounds of crickets and rustling leaves. “I’m sorry I came on so strong, Meredith. I couldn’t seem to help myself.”
His apology helped her regain her footing. “I meant what I said. I won’t ever go out with a journalist again.” Her voice was flat. “I made a vow.”
He stood and held out his hand. “We’ll save that topic for another day. Let’s go inside. I’m sure everyone is wondering where we went.”
Knowing what his touch did to her, she didn’t take his hand. Pushing out of the chair took effort. The cool air brushed her hot cheeks, making her realize she needed to find her bustier. Oh, God, he’d helped her take it off.
He picked it up, studying it in the dim light before holding it out. “What’s the DW for?”
She took it from him with shaking hands. “Turn around.” She fitted it back on. Of all the luck… Of course she was wearing one of the ones Jill had embroidered. It was black with red stitching. She had almost made it to the back door before his hand grazed hers.
“Are you going to tell me?”
She turned. The kitchen light skittered over his face. She was relieved not to see any pity there. She wouldn’t have been able to take that.
“No, it’s none of your business.” She rushed inside.
The broom was in the closet, just like she remembered. He took it from her before she could swish it across the floor.
Her hands trembled as she moved over to the counter to pour out the coffees. She’d hit bottom again. She’d thought divorce was the hardest thing she’d ever done, but now she wondered if trying to rebuild a life wasn’t harder. The carafe shook in her hand.
“Put the coffee down before you burn yourself,” he said gently from over her shoulder. He walked over to the pie, and sliced it like a pizza, dishing the pieces onto plates like a pro. “Take these. I’ll clean up, and Jill can do the coffee.”
She turned away from his intent gaze. As she headed for the door, she could hear the sound of broken china scraping against the floor. It might as well have been the broken pieces of her heart.
Who was she kidding? Flirting with a handsome man had given her a panic attack. Was it simply because he was a journalist? She hoped to God it was, because otherwise she was never going to find Mr. Right and write her article.
Going bald or being hit by a falling piano wasn’t good enough for Rick-the-Dick. Maybe toothpicks under his perfectly manicured fingernails would do the trick.
She pressed the plates to her chest, hoping for some words of wisdom from her now vociferous alter ego.
But even Divorcée Woman had gone silent.
***
Tanner slid the broken china from the dust pan into the garbage. Christ, when had he become the King of Heel-dom? Crowding a woman to the point of a panic attack? He’d been attracted to her, and he’d stopped thinking.
He kept forgetting she’d gone through a traumatic divorce.
And that she’d been married to Sommerville. If the prick could screw with Tanner—someone who’d interviewed terrorists—what kind of shit had he done to his own wife? Even divorced, he was taking it to her with a sledgehammer.
Her pale, clenched face filled his mind. He hadn’t felt that helpless in a long time, listening to her short, choked breaths, and holding that strong, trembling body.
“Are you okay?”
He swiveled.
Jill edged closer. “I take it Meredith had a panic attack.”
He set the empty dust pan on the floor and shut the pantry door. “Yes.”
She patted him on the arm, and then headed for the coffee pot. “Don’t take it too hard. Meredith’s been through a lot, and she’s doing so much better. It’s not easy trying to build a new life.” The cups clinked as she lined them up. “She must have had a strong reaction to you, or it wouldn’t have happened. Could you grab the cream? Bottom drawer.”
What the fuck? She could say something that charged and then ask him for the cream?
When he handed it over, she gave a small smile. “Don’t beat yourself up. Her reaction’s a good sign, but you’re going to have to give her some space.”
“Are you usually this forward?”
She reached up for a tray and slid the coffee cups onto it. “Yes. Do you expect me to believe it would take someone that long to make coffee?”
Smart ass. “No.”
“I love my sister, Tanner, and want to see her happy. From what I can tell, you’re a good guy. But if you hurt her, I’ll blast your balls with the steamer on our espresso machine and give you third degree burns.”
He could appreciate vicious family loyalty. He’d had some pretty violent fantasies when his sister’s ex had cheated on her.
“How do you know I’m a good guy?”
“I did my homework. The Internet is an amazing thing, Tanner. Since you’re a published writer, you’re pretty accessible. You care about people. What you’ve seen makes you bleed.”
“I’m not a fucking girl.”
“I can see that.”
“Didn’t you research her ex?” he asked.
Her eyes gleamed with fury. “Yes, and I knew he was a self- absorbed, arrogant prick who’d break her heart. He even checked me out when they came home on a rare holiday.”
“Didn’t you tell her?”
She pulled a can of RediWhip out of the fridge. “No, I was too young. She wouldn’t have listened. Sometimes people have to learn the hard way. Meredith can be her own worst enemy.”
Tanner followed her out. Weren’t they all?
He’d eat fast and get the hell out of there. He needed to regroup. Suddenly the assignment had become too personal. Meredith Hale didn’t deserve what he was supposed to do to her.
It was too bad they hadn’t met under other circumstances.
He might have fallen for her.
***
Meredith was so still and quiet in the car Jill was afraid she’d turned to stone.
“It’s okay, Mere.” She took her hand.
“No, it’s not. I humiliated myself in front of him—and over a little attraction and flirting.”
Jill spotted a deer on the edge of the highway, its wild gaze shining in her headlights. She passed it with relief. “I wouldn’t call it a
little
attraction, Mere. Maybe you should give him a chance. Take it slow. Start out as friends.”
“Does Tanner strike you as someone who would be friends with a woman?”
“Okay, no, but he felt horrible about what happened. I think he’s a good guy, Mere. He knows you’ve been through a divorce.”
“I can’t see him at all, Jill. I don’t have control of myself when I’m around him. I had a panic attack for Christ’s sake.”
“Well, huffing and puffing like one of the dragons on my dress might be a bit awkward when you’re having sex, but the French do call orgasm ‘the little death.’”
Meredith’s head rolled toward her. Her mouth pinched like she was fighting a smile. “Well, he already got to second base, so to speak. He helped me take off my bustier so I could breathe.”
“Oh, wow. So did he feel you up while you were having a panic attack?”
“No.” She burrowed in the seat.
“That’s something, right? Rick-the-Dick wouldn’t have restrained himself.”
Meredith turned up the radio. “I don’t want to talk anymore.”
Jill stopped her hand. “Mere, I love you, but this is about you being afraid to lose control and get hurt again.”
“Are you getting in my head now?”
“Don’t be annoyed. I hate that. I’m only saying you should think about taking it slow with Tanner. There’s something special about him. I mean, he won Grandpa over right off the bat, and he handled your panic attack like a champ.”
“He ran out after dessert.”
“Can you blame him? You should have seen his ‘I kicked the dog’ face when he was putting the broken china in the trash.”
“I know, but I can’t go out with him. I promised myself I would never date another journalist.”
Oh brother, thought Jill. Sacred promises exacted a price. And the Hales could be a stubborn lot. Hadn’t she sworn she wouldn’t feel anything for Brian when he came home? That she wouldn’t even fight with him?
She was batting a zero there.
All she did was think about him and hope she’d run into him. She got a bigger thrill from fighting with him than she’d gotten from her interactions with any of the men she’d dated in his absence. God, she’d missed that son of a bitch.
She pulled into her driveway. “He’s not Rick-the-Dick, Mere.”
“I know.” Her sister left the car and headed into the house with hunched shoulders.
Jill watched a bat streak across the sky. The hardest part of growing up was realizing life was nothing like the way she’d imagined it. It was supposed to be easy to find a nice guy and coast into sharing a life together. Just like in Nora’s books.
Was Nora Roberts Land even real?
She wasn’t sure anymore.
Chapter 13
T
anner’s phone vibrated on the counter as he shaved. He snarled when he saw Sommerville’s number and nicked himself. “Shit.”
It was taking some time to become adept at shaving again. To blend in, he’d usually worn a full beard. He was still adjusting to the face he saw each time he looked in the mirror. What he saw right now was blood mixed with shaving cream. He dabbed it with a towel and hit the speakerphone.
“What?”
“Get up on the wrong side of the bed?”
Tanner tossed the towel aside. “Yes, I did. We have a problem. Your ex-wife has vowed to never date a journalist again. She won’t go out with me.”
“Well, isn’t that flattering?”
Tanner growled. What had Meredith ever seen in this asshole? He didn’t mention the panic attack. He felt worse about that than Sommerville ever could.
“Look, whatever ideas she might have about this story, she’s definitely not ready for a relationship. I don’t think this is going to fly.”
“You have to move fast. I told you that.”
Right, and he’d listened…that was the problem. Everything had been hot and steamy when they were talking about swim strokes. Then he’d crowded her, and she’d had a meltdown.