Authors: Sydney Allan
He stood, grasped her hands in his, and stared into her eyes. "Thanks. This means a lot to me, and to Ella. You know as well as I do how much she loves you."
Her heart softened at his words. He was a hard man to say no to, that was for sure.
And what about you, Garret? Do you love me, too?
"I want to say yes, but I need to think about it some more, okay? There are other issues--"
"You said you want to be friends, and that's the way it'll be. I swear I'll behave."
But that wasn't what she really wanted, and if he did carry through with that promise, and worse, if she were forced to see him parade through the house with other women…maybe this was a bad idea. "I'll call you later." She tugged her hands free of his grip and walked on weak and shaky legs to the door.
Outside the restaurant, the humid air hit Faith with the force of a sledgehammer, and the smell of car exhaust brought on another wave of nausea. She fished for her keys in her purse as she walked to the car, but as she reached the bottom a tide of panic carried a wave of heat to her face. She checked the front pocket and then searched the main part again.
And then she looked in the driver's side window.
Damn! Damn! Damn!
There they hung--in the ignition. She tried the door. Locked. Then went around to the passenger side. Locked. "I'm screwed."
"Can I help?" Garret asked from behind her.
She turned to face him, immediately wishing she hadn't. "I've locked my keys in my car." Did she feel stupid!
"I do that all the time," he said, mirth dancing in his eyes. "Do you have an extra set of keys?"
That would make sense, but unfortunately she'd never bothered to make an extra set. "No."
"Not a problem. I'll call my car club. They'll send out a locksmith. Of course, it usually takes a while for them to come out."
"Great." If she didn't know better, she almost believed he'd planned this somehow.
"Would you like me to drive you somewhere? Or if you like, we can go back to my house and grab some lunch." His eyes dropped, his gaze sliding down her body. "You like to swim, right? You could take a dip in the pool to cool off."
Like she needed that now. She'd probably spike a fever if she saw him bare-chested and dripping wet again. "I guess you could drive me to my grandfather's house. It's not far."
He led her to his car, a gold Lexus, not the Explorer he'd driven at Mountain Rise. He hit the keyless entry pad and the locks clicked. Then he opened the door, gallantly sweeping his arm. "Your chariot, milady."
She wanted to laugh, but didn't. He wasn't exactly the prince in shining armor type. Or was he?
In the few minutes it took to drive back to her grandfather's house, Garret managed to convince her to change into her swimsuit and come back to his house for a leisurely lunch and swim. Just a couple of hours, he promised, and against her better judgment, she acquiesced.
When his car pulled up to the stunning red brick colonial on a tree-shaded private road, she felt immediately outclassed. The house was at least four times the size of her grandfather's, and his was no small shack. The garage alone was huge, with four doors lining its face. The grounds were trimmed and immaculate, with fragrant fruit trees and flowerbeds. Psychiatry was definitely a lucrative field.
She mentally kicked herself in the head for having dropped out of pre-med.
A brick walkway wound across the lush turf to the black lacquered twin front doors, flanked by topiaries. Could she live like this? If she did, would she learn to take it for granted?
"Where's Raphaela?" she asked as she followed Garret up the front step to the entry.
"With Marian until tomorrow afternoon." He opened the front door and motioned for her to precede him. "Welcome to my home."
As she stepped into the marble-floored foyer, with deep red walls and a ceiling that towered two stories above her head, she said, "This is no home. It's a palace."
He chuckled. "This is Marian's idea of humility."
"Wow!" she took a second look around the foyer. A wide arcing staircase swept up to the second floor straight ahead. A massive crystal chandelier loomed overhead, looking both heavy and light at the same time. Paneled doors hung open to either side, no doubt to the living room, dining room, maybe even a library. "Did she build this house?"
"Yes. It was her first home construction. It basically launched her career."
"I'm impressed. It's gorgeous." Marian had top dollar taste, which didn't surprise her. She followed Garret past the staircase toward the back of the house. A line of French doors, opening to a massive deck and the freeform swimming pool beyond, graced the back wall of a wide, sunny great room.
"For some reason, I never imagined you living in a home like this." She looked at him.
He smiled appreciatively. "Neither had I. If I had it my way, I'd live in something much smaller, more manageable. The truth is, this house is so damn big, it's downright lonely sometimes.
Her breath quickened as his gaze held her hostage again. A flush, warm and liquid, spread over her face. "I can believe that."
He looked away, reaching for one of the French doors and opened it. "I had to keep the place when we divorced--didn't want to move Ella. Her life had already been torn apart. I didn't want to make it worse." He led her out onto the deck.
She nodded. That was a commitment, keeping a house she guessed he had little use for, if not contempt, to help his daughter. He truly was a self-sacrificing man. A man capable of the kind of love she'd dreamed about since she had been a child. The love she'd never received, even as a child.
They walked across the cedar deck, past tropical plants and flower boxes bursting with scarlet and purple blooms, to an iron table surrounded by four matching chairs with puffy floral cushions. On the glass top sat two plates with salads, frosted glasses, and a pitcher of lemonade.
"How did your cook…wait a minute. It's Sunday!"
He grinned. "I called her while you were changing."
Her face heated. "Of course." But then, the playful twinkle in his eyes made her wonder if he hadn't called that morning to arrange the lunch. He possessed a fair amount of cocky confidence, something she would normally find annoying. For some reason in him it was more endearing than obnoxious.
Curious. Why didn't it bother her?
He held a chair for her as she sat, and gave it a soft budge to set it into place, then dipped oh so close. His breath warmed her neck, and a chill ran down her arms. Whatever he was trying to do, it was working.
A trail of soft kisses meandering down her neck sent another charge of heat through her, leaving her gape mouthed, heavy lidded and drunken feeling.
"Mmm…" was all she managed to say.
"Sorry, couldn't resist," he whispered into her ear before walking to his chair and sitting. His face shone with satisfaction--a triumph she would also normally find infuriating.
"Is that what you call 'behaving yourself'?" she asked, trying to sound teasing as she gathered strength. Was this his idea of friendship? If so, there was no way she could work for him. Or was his friendship speech a lie? A ruse to get her to agree to his proposition? She had to know. "You'd best keep that mouth to yourself, or I'll have to--" She stopped, not wanting to say more. For one, she didn't want him to stop. And for another, she had no idea what would come out of her mouth next. She was becoming befuddled.
He cocked an eyebrow and shoveled a heap of salad into his mouth with obvious disregard for table manners. He was either ravenous or too impatient to bother with toddler-sized bites.
She giggled and pointed at the smudge of white dressing on his chin. Then, she dropped her gaze to her own salad. Damn him. She couldn't think, couldn't sort through the emotions, the facts, none of it. He was doing everything in his power to be adorable, undoubtedly to distract her into acquiescence. Very clever.
Picking at the salad, she was surprised to find she was hungry. Before she knew it, the salad was gone, and their conversation had taken on an easy comfortable flow--moving back to safe territory: Garret's practice, Raphaela's new playroom.
Moments later, a woman with kind eyes, and a huge smile appeared with a tray. Setting it on a stand nearby, she took the salad plates and replaced a dish before each of them, lifting metal lids like they used in the hospital. Faith thanked her and checked out the contents of the plate: chicken with some sort of sauce, new potatoes, and green beans with almonds.
"This is great. You eat like this all the time?"
"Wait until she brings dessert," he said with a playful grin over a heaping fork of green beans.
"If I ate like this every day, I'd be huge."
"For some reason, I doubt that." His gaze slid from her face, lingering at her breasts. Suddenly her bathing suit top, which she'd always thought was subdued with its high neckline--halter style--felt revealing. She wished she'd thought to put on a t-shirt or something over it. In her haste, she'd worn only a pair of shorts to cover the skimpy bathing suit bottom and a pair of sandals. Then again, maybe that was exactly what she needed to wear to encourage him to shed his preoccupation with her skills as a therapist.
She slid her plate away and rested her elbows on the table.
"What's this? You're not going to waste that wonderful meal now, are you?"
"No, of course not." She faltered. What could she say-- You're driving me crazy visually devouring me like that? "I thought we'd talk a while longer, that's all."
"Excellent! I'm all ears. What do you want to talk about?" he asked, shoving his plate aside. His quizzical gaze made her want to laugh. "Well?" he added when she didn't speak. "Have you made a decision already? I like a decisive woman."
Now what? This was ridiculous! They were both adults. They should be able to confront their feelings head on, not skirt around them. She hadn't faced this sort of vexing tongue-tied misery since middle school. "I haven't made a decision, sorry. I guess I'm not particularly decisive, but I want to make sure I'm making the right decision for you, for Raphaela, for everyone."
"The right decision would be for you to work for me. Stay here and help me with Ella."
"No pressure there!"
"None at all," he said, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms over his chest. "Tell me something. What's holding you back? The way I see it, my idea solves everyone's problems. I need help with Ella. She loves you. You need a job and a place to live. What's wrong?"
She took a moment before answering, disappointed because he was still avoiding the one subject she wanted to hear him address. "I'm very grateful for your offer, and I can see how you would think that way--" She stopped herself as his brows furrowed lower and lower, the creases in his forehead growing deeper until they were almost comical.
The scent of his cologne drifted to her on a wind that eased the afternoon heat slightly, only to carry the source of more heat with it. She glanced toward the pool. The sparkle of white sunlight glittering off its rippled surface stung her eyes. "I just wonder if it's a bad idea."
"Why?" His voice was soft, but the tone was emotionless.
She cringed. Could she tell him everything? What else could she do? She dragged in a deep breath and prepared to bare her soul. She spoke, her voice low but even, "Since we met, we've had a difficult relationship, and to be honest with you, I'm not sure the proximity would be such a good thing." Forcing her regard from the pool, she met Garret's gaze and immediately forgot what she was about to say next.
"Is this about that kiss earlier? I'm sorry, if it is," he said, leaping to his feet. "I swear, I didn't mean--"
"No, don't. Please." She couldn't bear to hear an excuse, or worse, an explanation of why he didn't want to pursue a personal relationship with her. "The truth is…" Could she say it? Air refused to migrate to her lungs. Her heart refused to beat. "I liked it."
"You…" he started to say but then stopped. Instead, he walked around the table, reached out to her, and when she laid her hands in his, he tugged her to stand. Then he wrapped his arms around her and held her close.
His heart pounded in her ear, and his cologne heated her blood. The solid bulk of his body filled her arms as she wrapped them around his waist. This felt so right, the way they fit together--physically, mentally, emotionally. Regardless of all the misunderstandings, the misread signals and frustrations, doubts and fears, they were connected somehow. By some invisible chain that bound them together and caused miserable aching emptiness when they separated.
"It's all so complicated," she whispered, wishing he would ease her troubling doubts and let her finally surrender to what she wanted.
"Yes, it is," he said, pulling away from her, but only far enough to look down into her face. "I'm sorry. I wish things were different. I wish we both faced each other right now with clean slates, no emotional baggage, no ex-spouses or boyfriends, no children. Relationships are tough enough without adding all that."
She nodded. But what did it mean? Did he think it was too complicated?
"Even so, I'm willing to try. Are you? Will you take me--the sarcastic pain in the ass that I’m, with a meddling ex-wife, a career that demands days, nights and weekends, and a daughter who will demand most of what personal time I have left?"