Читать книгу Dreams & Desires - Kat Cantrell - Страница 11

Four

“Do you want to be friends?” Parker asked her.

She wanted that and so much more, and it wasn’t fair that she couldn’t have it. But she of all people knew that life was not often fair. She also realized that neither of them had said a word about Janey. Not that it surprised her. It was all just a ruse to get her alone. And she’d fallen for it. Willingly. She looked at her phone to check the time. “It’s late. I should go home. I want to get up early tomorrow and go jogging.”

Her very obvious brush-off didn’t seem to faze him. “You don’t strike me as the jogging type.”

“I like it. There’s a cute little park behind my house.”

“Are you one of those die-hard joggers who’s on the road before the sun’s up?”

“God, no. If I’m on the track at seven thirty it’s a good day.”

He just grinned and said, “Could you be more intriguing?”

She didn’t even know how to respond to that. She led a pretty unexciting life. What did he see that was so special? So interesting? If he was just looking to get laid, he was seriously overplaying his hand.

Parker motioned Emily for the check, and refused to let Clare pay her portion.

“You can buy next time,” he said, but she didn’t think there was going to be a next time. It was stupid to think that she could ever be friends with Parker without wanting more. So. Much. More. So she figured, why tempt herself? Out of sight, out of mind. Wasn’t that the way it was supposed to work?

“Where to?” he asked when they got into the car. He blasted the heat and switched the seat warmers on.

“We’re just outside of town. Turn left.” Thankfully this time he followed her directions.

“Didn’t that area get hit pretty hard by the tornado?” he asked as he pulled out of the parking lot.

“Our house was leveled,” she said, realizing that she could look at his mouth all she wanted now; he was focused on the road.

“Tell me you and your aunt weren’t in the house,” he said.

“My aunt was away on a trip and I was at the hospital.”

“Were you able to salvage anything?”

“We lost everything. Clothes, furniture, keepsakes. My aunt travels extensively and she had things from all over the world. Things she’d been collecting for decades. By the time it was over, they were scattered all over the city. Wet and broken. My aunt’s file cabinet, with the papers still in it, was found over a mile away. The tornado picked her car up and launched it through the house across the street. It was utter devastation.”

“I can’t even imagine,” he said. “I’ve seen some major hurricane damage on the East Coast, but nothing that bad. And you saw it? The tornado, I mean.”

She nodded. “It was surreal at first. I kept thinking that it couldn’t happen to Royal, that at the last second it would change course or blow itself out, then the debris started to hit things. Windows started breaking and cars in the hospital lot were getting pummeled with softball-sized hail and we knew we were going to be right in the middle of it. You feel like a sitting duck. All you can do is take shelter, hang on tight and hope for the best.”

“The hospital has a shelter, right?”

“Yes, but I wasn’t in it. It happened so fast, there was no time to move the patients, so, along with the rest of the staff I stayed on the ward.”

“That was very brave.”

“No.” She shook her head. “I was terrified. It was the longest five minutes of my life.”

“You were terrified but you did it anyway. You put the lives of those kids before your own. That’s the definition of bravery.”

The compliment, coming from him, made her heart go pitter-pat. Why did he have to be so nice? And so ridiculously handsome? Did the man have a single negative attribute? Other than being extremely stubborn. But to be fair she was guilty of that, too. He turned into her subdivision and took a right onto her street.

“It’s the third house on the left.”

“You know, I’ve learned more about you tonight than in the past three months,” Parker said.

“There isn’t much to know. The tornado aside, I don’t lead a very exciting life.”

“Excitement is highly overrated. And believe me, I’m speaking from experience. I love the slower pace here. The people are so different, so much more laid-back. For the most part. It’s exactly what I needed.”

It was all about perception, she supposed, because for her this was just normal. But she was sure that moving from Royal to somewhere like Dallas, or even New York City, would be a jarring change of pace. But she never would. She was a country girl at heart and that would never change.

He pulled into the driveway and the automatic outdoor lights switched on, illuminating the exterior of her aunt’s sprawling colonial. “This is nice.”

“Thanks. It’s pretty much identical to the old one, just a little more modern.”

“It’s a lot of house for two people.”

“My aunt has out-of-town guests frequently, so she likes the extra space.” She gathered her purse and gloves and said, “Thanks for the ride. And dinner.”

“I’ll help you with your body,” he said, shutting off the car.

She blinked. Oh, man, if he only knew the things she wanted him to do to her body. Sexy, tantalizing things...

Uh-oh, was she drooling a little again...?

She must have looked confused, because he said, “In the trunk. The body bags.”

Oh, right, she would have completely forgotten and left them there. “I can get them,” she said.

“Nonsense, I’ll help.” He popped the trunk open and got out of the car. She met him around back.

“Did you really just say nonsense?”

“Isn’t that how people talk in Texas?”

“If you’re eighty. And a woman.”

“My bad,” he said, but he was grinning. Did the man ever stop smiling? No one should be that happy that much of the time.

She reached for the bags but he snatched them up first. Darn it, the last thing she wanted was to let him into her house. She had the feeling that once she did, it would be near impossible to get him back out the door.

“I’ve got it,” she said, but he was already heading up the walk. Her exasperated breath crystalized in the air as she jogged to catch up. She had no choice but to go along with it. And of course there was a small part of her that wanted him in her house. Or maybe not so small.

“I think you have a hearing problem,” she told him as they walked up the porch steps.

“No, I hear you just fine,” he said, waiting for her to unlock the front door. “I think what you mean is that I have a listening problem.”

She laughed; she couldn’t help it. “If I say I’ve got it from here, and it’s been a long day and I’m tired, is there any way I’m going to stop you from coming in?”

He considered that for several seconds then shook his head. “Probably not. I’ll just make up some lame excuse like needing to use the bathroom and we both know that you’re too polite to say no.”

He was right. Damn those pesky Southern manners her parents had drilled into her. She couldn’t decide if it was more disturbing or pathetic that she had little to no ability to deny him anything. Like the tornado, he’d blown into her life and had the potential to make a huge mess of things.

“You could have the decency to look a little less smug,” she said, pushing the door open and letting him inside.

“Kidding aside, I really would like to discuss Janey’s case,” he said, stepping into the foyer, which led into the open-concept great room and kitchen. “We didn’t get a chance at dinner.”

As if she would say no to that. Besides, this time he sounded sincere, and less like he was trying to get into her pants.

She wondered what he would do if she invited him up to her bedroom. There was no point pondering the possibility, as it would never happen. Not in this lifetime anyway. But it was the kind of thing that she liked to think about. When she was alone. Usually in bed. If he was as good as her fantasies...

No man was as good as the fantasy. She had pretty high standards when it came to casual sex. Her philosophy was simple. Why did she need a man around when she could do it better herself?

“I have to make an early start in the morning, so you’ve got thirty minutes,” she said, shrugging out of her coat and hanging it on the coat tree by the door. He did the same, looking even more rumpled than he had at dinner. Since it would be rude not to offer him a beverage—there were those pesky manners again—she said, “I’m going to make myself a cup of tea. Would you like one?”

“I’d love one,” he said.

She gestured to the couch, probably the safest place to confine him. “Make yourself comfortable.”

She stepped into the kitchen and filled the kettle, then set the burner on high. The stove, like the rest of the kitchen, was a chef’s dream. Major overkill considering neither she nor her aunt liked to cook, but her aunt only bought top-of-the line appliances. She bought top-of-the-line everything.

Clare grabbed two cups from the cupboard and set them by the stove, then pulled out a box of chamomile tea. “Do you take sugar or honey?” she asked him, bracing herself for some sort of suggestive innuendo, but he didn’t say a word. She turned to him, and realized that he hadn’t answered because he was gone.

“Where the heck did you go?” she called, and heard him answer from the second floor.

“Up here.”

She was fairly sure that his voice was coming from her bedroom. So much for having to actually invite him to her bedroom. He’d found it all on his own.

Did the man have no boundaries? No shame?

She should have known. She never should have turned her back on him. Hell, she never should have let him into her house.

She charged up the stairs to her bedroom. She found him sitting at the foot of her bed, looking around the room. It had been a really long time since she’d had a man under, or even on top of, her covers and he looked damn good there.

“What the hell, Parker?” she said, realizing, as his name rolled off her tongue, that as long as she had known him she had referred to him as Dr. Reese. This was her first time addressing him by his first name. It felt a little odd, but also kind of natural.

He flashed her a toothy smile. “Hey there, short stuff.”

At five-five she was hardly short, but she let it slide. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“You said to make myself comfortable.”

“I meant on the couch.”

“But you didn’t say the couch.”

“I pointed to it!”

“Clearly I don’t take direction well. You’re going to have to be a little more specific next time.”

Next time? After this did he seriously think she would let him back in?

Who was she kidding? Of course she would.

She folded her arms. “Get off my bed.”

He grinned. “You didn’t say please.”

“Please get off my bed,” she said, feeling a little desperate. The urge to jump in there with him was almost too strong to fight. She felt a little winded and tingly all over, as if her libido had just awakened from a long hibernation.

“No need to shout,” he said, pulling himself to his feet and walking to the door.

“I don’t like having people in my bedroom. I like my privacy.” She straightened the covers where he’d been sitting. They were still warm from his body heat, and the slightest hint of his aftershave lingered in the air.

She turned to him to say that it was time for him to go, but he wasn’t there!

“Are you kidding me?” she mumbled. “Parker!”

She found him in her craft room next door. He’d switched the light on and was examining the quilt samplers she had sewn and tacked to the wall. “Oh, my God, are you for real? Did I not just say that I like my privacy. You have the attention span of a three-year-old!”

“You said you don’t like having people in your bedroom. This isn’t your bedroom, is it?”

She didn’t justify that one with a response. And her thin-lipped glare only seemed to amuse him further. “The truth is, I just wanted to hear you say my name again. Or shriek it, as the case may be.”

She ignored the warm shiver that whispered across the surface of her skin and raised the fine hairs on her arms. Or tried to at least. He wasn’t making it easy. “I’ll say it a thousand times if it will make you go downstairs.”

“These are fantastic,” he said, gesturing to the wall. She wasn’t buying it. He was the kind of guy who knew quality when he saw it and this was definitely not quality sewing.

“Compliments won’t get you anywhere,” she told him.

“I’m actually serious,” he said, leaning in closer. “Where did you get them?”

“I made them, and for the record, they suck. The fabric is puckered and the rows are crooked. My stitching is totally uneven. Which is why I keep them in here. Where no one will see them.”

“But the colors are striking,” he said, and she realized that he really wasn’t bullshitting her. He was genuinely impressed.

Weird.

“You have a gift,” he said.

“It’s just a hobby. It relaxes me.”

“Did you do these drawings, too?”

He was looking at the pages she’d laid out on her craft table.

“I couldn’t draw my way out of a paper bag. I just colored them in. It’s the new big thing in stress relief for adults.”

“Coloring?”

“Absolutely. There are like a million adult coloring books to choose from.”

“No kidding. It seems a little...pointless.”

“That’s the whole point.” She gestured to a pile of coloring books on the shelf beside her craft table. “I’ve finished all of those. I did a lot of coloring in the park last summer. And look how calm I am.”

“Yeah,” he said with a wry smile. “You looked pretty calm in the stairwell today.”

Of course he would point that out. But it was hard to get angry when he was flashing her that adorable grin.

“May I?” he asked, nodding to the pile.

No one had looked at her coloring books before. It had never even occurred to her to show them to anyone. “Go ahead, but they’re nothing special.”

He took the top book, a panoramic foldout of a magical fairyland. “Wow, you sure do have a way with color.”

The compliment made her feel all warm and squishy inside. “I just pick what looks right.”

“That’s the weird thing. Normally these colors don’t even go together, but you make it seem like they do.”

She shrugged, thinking he was making a way bigger deal about this than he should be. “Maybe I wasn’t clear. You can rave all you want and I’m still not going to sleep with you.”

“You should frame some of these,” he said, looking through a book of flowers, ignoring her completely. Or, knowing him, he was only pretending to. She had the feeling that he didn’t miss much.

“Why?” she asked him. “They’re not art.”

“No, this is definitely art.”

“Okay, but it’s someone else’s art.”

“Yes, the shapes are already there, but the color adds dimension. It brings it to life. That’s the hardest part.”

Maybe, maybe not. Either way, his enthusiasm was giving her warm fuzzies all over the place. Her inability to resist his charms bordered on the absurd.

“How many finished books do you have?” he asked her, flipping through a collection of mandalas.

She didn’t even want to go there. “Too many. I don’t get out much.”

“Me neither,” he said, and she gave him a dubious look. “I’m serious.”

“That’s not how I hear it.”

“Keeping tabs on me?”

She was making it sound that way, wasn’t she? “Word gets around. You’re reputed to have a very busy social calendar.”

“When I first got here I was going out pretty frequently. But I was in a new place and meeting lots of new people.”

“New women, you mean.”

He shot her a sideways glance through the curtain of his unfairly thick lashes, then winked. He actually winked. “Be careful, Clare, you almost sound jealous.”

Probably because she was. A little.

He moved closer, looking like a tiger on the prowl, his eyes shining with male heat. If this were the wild, he would take her in an instant. And because it was the wild she would be helpless to stop him. He looked as if he was going to kiss her, and she wanted him to.

His eyes locked on hers, he started to lean in, slowly, cautiously, as if he was expecting her to hit him over the head with something.

Up until today he had been subtle but consistent. He had never pushed, exactly, but he’d made sure that she knew he was around. Something told her now that all bets were off.