* * *
It took Shane a long time to catch his breath, to slow his pounding pulse, to absorb what the hell had just happened. He would have thought it was a dream, but Lauren’s head was on his chest, her arm around his waist, her leg entwined with his. It was very, very real, wonderfully real. He breathed in the scent of her hair and tightened his arm around her.
She’d been pretty at seventeen, but she was beautiful now. He liked how she’d grown up, how she’d come into her own. He wanted to spend months exploring every inch of her body, showing her what he couldn’t give her with words.
But Lauren wasn’t going to stay. This wasn’t the beginning of something. Hell, maybe it was the end. Maybe Lauren had just wanted one last fling, one last memory to finish it off.
“Your heart is beating really fast,” Lauren said, her fingers playing through the hair on his chest.
“That’s because you almost gave me a heart attack.”
She lifted her head and smiled. Her eyes were a deep, dark blue, languid and filled with sweet satisfaction. “I could say the same about you. That was even better than I remembered.” She turned on her side, pulling the pillow under her head. “You’ve learned a few things.”
He rolled over to face her. “So have you.”
“We were so young. Do you know this is the first time we’ve had sex in a bed? The first time, we made love on the beach; then we did it in the treehouse; and then we went back to the beach the night
before . . .” She paused, her smile fading. “We can’t do this again, you know.”
“Why not?” His fingers slid down her arm, drawing a line of goose bumps along her skin.
“Because there’s nowhere for us to go. I’m not staying . . . and who knows what your plans are. I just wanted to know what it would be like to be with you again.”
“I wanted to know, too,” he admitted. “It was good.”
“We have a chemistry that I’ve never had with anyone else.”
“No one else?” he asked, surprised. But Lauren had never been able to lie to him. She’d always worn her heart on her sleeve; she’d never played games. It was one of the many things he liked about her.
“No,” she said, not looking too happy about her admission. “But I’m not done looking.”
He wanted her to be done looking. He wanted her to be with him—which scared the hell out of him. They weren’t kids anymore, dreaming of happily ever after. And he’d never believed in the one woman, long marriage, white-picket-fence kind of life. At least, that’s what he’d told himself. The truth was that Lauren had always made him want things he knew weren’t possible to have.
He rolled onto his back, staring up at the ceiling.
“What did I say?” Lauren asked, her eyes solemn as she propped her head up on one elbow. “You’ve gone to that dark place again.”
“I’m just tired.”
“I don’t think so. I’ve seen this look before, Shane. When I was young I thought you were mad at me—but I think you’re angry with yourself, and I don’t know why.”
“I’m not mad at anyone. I don’t know why women always have to analyze men.”
“It’s our calling,” she said lightly. “You’re not going to tell me what you’re thinking, are you?”
“Nope.”
“Then I’ll talk. I went to see Joe Silveira yesterday after I left you.”
He tensed, waiting for her to go on.
“I didn’t tell him you were at the law offices with Abby, though I still might. It depends on what else comes out.”
“It’s up to you.”
“It would make it easier if you would just tell me why you went there, what you were looking for and who you’re protecting.”
“I can’t, Lauren.”
She let out a sigh of frustration. “Why can’t you trust me?”
“It’s not about you.”
“This secret that you keep—it’s what puts the shadows in your eyes, isn’t it?”
“You sure talk more than you used to,” he grumbled, wishing he could get her off the subject.
“Because when I was young, your scowl used to make me nervous. Now I’m just curious.” She paused. “Will you ever let me all the way in?”
“Why would you want me to? You just told me
this was a one-night thing.”
She frowned. “I hate it when you’re right.”
He smiled. “Then you must hate me a lot.”
She punched him on the arm.
“Ow, that hurt.”
“Good. So, if we’re not going to talk and share our feelings,” she added with a mischievous grin, “I have another idea.”
“What’s that?” he asked, turning to catch the wicked sparkle in her eyes.
“We could do some of the things we never did as teenagers.”
“Really? Feel like showing me?”
“Absolutely.”
She flung one leg over his waist and straddled him, her beautiful hair swirling around her equally beautiful breasts, and he was lost again.
Lauren woke up to the light of early dawn. She could hear the boats heading out for the morning run. It was Monday, the start of the work week, and she wondered if Shane had a fishing charter. He didn’t seem to be in any hurry to get up. He was snuggled behind her, his face buried in her neck, one of his legs pinning hers down. He was deliciously warm and when his fingers stroked her abdomen, she felt the same jolt of electricity that had kept them up half the night. She’d told herself she’d get her fill of him and then it would be done, her curiosity satisfied.
Ha! Now she remembered exactly how well their bodies fit together, how much she loved his touch, how much she loved him . . . She put the brakes on that thought. It wasn’t love—it was lust. There couldn’t be anything more. Even if she weren’t leaving, how could she be with a man who kept secrets from her—a man who always had one foot out the door himself?
“Stop thinking. You’re getting tense,” Shane murmured.
“I have to go.” She slipped out of bed before she could change her mind and dressed as quickly as she could, aware of Shane’s intense gaze on her the whole time. She glanced over at him and then wished she hadn’t. He looked endearingly handsome with the dark stubble on his jaw, the sexy waves of his hair, the fullness of his lips, his incredibly wonderful mouth . . . She swallowed hard. Why the hell did he have to be so good looking?
“What’s your hurry?” Shane asked. “It’s not even six.”
“I want to get home before my dad wakes up.” She pulled on her shirt. “I’m sure you need to get on with your day. Don’t you have some fish to catch or something?” In the moonlight, it had been easier to lose herself in the fantasy of her and Shane. The morning sun reminded her that the fantasy was over.
Shane got out of bed, pulled on his boxers and
jeans, and came toward her. “You don’t have to run out, Lauren. Let me make you some coffee.”
“I’ll get some at home.”
“What are you afraid I’m going to say?”
She was more afraid of what
she
would say. “I’m not very good with morning-after conversation. We both know that last night was just a fling for old times’ sake.”
“Are you sure that’s all it was?”
“Yes. We blew it. We hurt each other. And now we want different things, different lives.”
“Are you sure you know what you want, Lauren?”
“I am. And it’s not you,” she said, then she ran.
To the most beautiful girl in the world: these reminded me of you. Call me. Andrew.
Charlotte set down the card and stared at the bouquet of yellow daisies Andrew had sent to her office. The man was definitely making the effort to get her back. He’d never had to work this hard to get her the first time around. Was she a fool to keep pushing him away? Her mother would say she was, but her mother didn’t know the whole story of their love affair.
She picked up the phone, then hesitated and set it back down. She didn’t have time for this today. She had a full schedule of patients to see, especially since her associate, Harriet Landon, had just gone home sick for the day.
She stuck the card in her drawer and headed down the hall to the first examination room. She grabbed the file off the door, gave a knock, and entered. The woman sitting on the edge of the examination table in a paper robe was none other than
Erica Sorensen, the coach’s wife. Erica was an attractive but tired-looking woman in her late thirties, who’d just given birth to her third child a few months earlier. She was officially Harriet Landon’s patient, and Charlotte had only seen her once for a brief blood pressure check.
Erica didn’t appear at all happy to see her. “Where’s Dr. Landon?’
“She just went home. She wasn’t feeling well.”
“I should reschedule, then.” Erica frowned.
“I’m happy to do the examination, if you like. Is there anything in particular that’s bothering you today? Or is this just a checkup?”
“I can’t talk to you—you know too many people.”
“I can assure you that anything we discuss in this room is confidential,” Charlotte said.
Erica gave her a long, hard look. Finally, she said, “I’m concerned I might have an STD.”
“What kind of symptoms are you experiencing?”
“I’m not sure. It’s just that . . . I was pregnant, then the baby came, and I haven’t been getting any sleep. So I haven’t felt very much like having sex, and—and I’m afraid my husband might have had an affair.”
Charlotte remained calm, though inwardly she was reeling. “Well, let’s check it out.” She washed her hands and put on her gloves. “Lie back on the table.”
Erica didn’t move. “I know that girl, Annie, is staying with you. She used to clean my house. She
was supposed to come once a week, while my husband and I were at work, but once I came home early and she was talking to Tim. They were having tea. He made her tea! He never makes
me
tea.”
Charlotte sensed where Erica was going, but she didn’t intend to help her get there, so she remained silent.
“Has Annie told you who the father of her baby is?” Erica asked.
“I can’t answer that question.”
“A lot of men would find it hard to resist a girl like her, especially if their wife wasn’t available. It’s difficult for a wife to compete with a beautiful young girl who has a perfect body and hasn’t had kids, hasn’t had to juggle a house, a job, and a marriage. Do you know how hard that is? No, you’re not married. Of course you can’t understand.”
Charlotte
was
beginning to understand that Erica was very much on edge. She was jittery and anxious, and her eyes were a little too bright. While Erica rambled on, Charlotte read Dr. Landon’s notes from the last visit. Dr. Landon had broached the subject of postpartum depression but Erica had refused to see a psychiatrist, saying she was fine, just exhausted and overwhelmed.
“I’m afraid the father of Annie’s baby might be my husband,” Erica finished in a rush.
“Did you ask your husband about it?” Charlotte asked quietly.
“Of course not. How could I?” Erica slipped off
the table. “I want to wait for Dr. Landon to examine me. You won’t say anything, will you? I shouldn’t have talked to you. I was stupid.”
Erica’s breath came in quick, short gasps, and she put out a hand toward the table to steady herself.
“Breathe,” Charlotte ordered, helping her into a nearby chair. “Are you feeling dizzy?”
“I’m just scared,” Erica said. “I don’t know how to handle all this.”
Charlotte squatted down in front of her. “You should talk to a psychiatrist. Dr. Raymond is excellent; she could be very helpful to you.”
“You think I’m crazy.”
“I think you’re very stressed. You’ve had a baby recently and your hormones are still settling down. You’re not sleeping. Sometimes problems seem bigger than they are when you’re feeling overwhelmed.”
“I
am
tired. That’s probably all this is. Tim is a good husband. He takes care of us. I just feel guilty that I haven’t been much of a wife lately. I’ll think about seeing Dr. Raymond, but I want to go home now.”
“All right. And please, Erica, don’t worry about what you’ve told me. Our conversation is completely confidential.”
“Thank you.”
“If you feel you need some tests, don’t wait too long before you see Dr. Landon.” Charlotte took off her gloves and left the room. Out in the hall, she
stopped to catch her breath.
Was
Tim Sorensen the father of Annie’s baby? Had Erica just implied that her husband had a thing for young girls?
Lauren had questioned her about Coach Sorensen at the shower, something to do with Abby. Had he had a thing for Abby, too? Or was she jumping to a crazy conclusion? Either way, there wasn’t a damn thing she could say or do about it.
The only way she’d ever been able to work off frustration and anger was to bake, but around one o’clock on Monday afternoon, Lauren realized she’d gone overboard. She’d started out making a few cookies, which had segued into banana bread, blueberry muffins, and strawberry tarts. The counter was now loaded down with desserts and she had no idea what on earth she would do with it all.
The timer went off, and she took out the last tray of cookies and turned off the oven. She blew a wisp of hair off her hot face as her father came through the back door.
“What do we have here?” Ned asked in amazement.
“I thought you could take cookies and muffins to Mort and your other friends, to pay people back for all the casseroles they’ve been bringing you.”
“That was thoughtful of you. But I’m not sure I have enough friends to eat all this,” he said with a grin.
Her father seemed in good spirits, with no trace
of his forgetful paranoia from the night before. That was the problem with this disease. It was easy to get lulled into thinking things weren’t that bad, because between episodes her father acted perfectly normal.
“Have you been at the café all this time?” Her father’s routine included a trip to Dina’s Café every morning for breakfast and cards with the boys.
“I stopped by my old shop. Walter Brady’s grandson is going to run it into the ground if he’s not careful, selling things for half price for no good reason.” Ned paused as a knock came at the back door. “Can you get that? I need to use the bathroom.”
Lauren opened the door, surprised to see Shane on the step. A little thrill ran through her, and as his dark gaze swept across her body she felt heat rise within her. One look and she remembered everything—the way he’d kissed her, touched her, moved inside of her. She pulled in a sharp breath. “What are you doing here?”