Читать книгу Lost and Found Husband - Sheri WhiteFeather - Страница 10
ОглавлениеChapter Two
Eric drove to Dana’s place and parked at the curb. She lived in a cozy, tree-lined neighborhood. The bungalow house in front boasted 1930s appeal with a sloping roof, a stucco exterior and a stone walkway. He assumed that was where her landlord lived. He didn’t see anyone peering out from behind the lacy curtains, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t being watched.
He picked up her gift from the passenger’s seat and got out of the car. He’d stopped by the florist and gotten Dana an orchid because of her obvious love of flowers. But suddenly he’d realized he’d made a mistake. Not necessarily for Dana, but for himself. Corrine’s wedding bouquet had been made up of the same type of orchids.
How could he have overlooked that? Eric scowled. Maybe he hadn’t. Maybe it was deliberate. As to why, he couldn’t be sure. But it didn’t sit well with him.
He headed for the side gate Dana had mentioned and opened the latch. Her yard was an explosion of greenery and festive blooms. Her tiny house sat amid the garden, which also contained a three-tiered fountain.
He knocked on her door. She answered and sent his libido into a tailspin.
She had the wow factor.
She’d donned a white dress with a bold red print. The slim-fitting garment hugged her in all the right places and was just low enough in front for him to see how bountiful her breasts were. Her shoes, a pair of flesh-colored heels, added about three inches to her height, elongating her already shapely legs. But what really enticed him was her hair. He’d never seen it loose, and tonight it tumbled around her shoulders in a mass of golden waves, making him itch to touch it.
Her makeup was stunning, as well, her eyes lined in a manner that reminded of him of an old-time movie star. Her lips were painted the same shade as the print on the dress, which he now realized were red dahlias. Instead of wearing a flower in her hair, she was wearing them on her dress.
“You look incredible,” he said.
“Thank you.” She spun around and showed him every curve. “I primped for hours.”
“It paid off.”
“Is that for me?” she asked.
The accidental orchid. “Yes.” He handed it to her.
“Thank you. It’s beautiful.” She hugged it to her chest, much too close to her heart. “Come in, Eric.”
As he entered her home, she put the potted plant on the windowsill, where a host of herbs created a fragrant mixture. Everything in her young vibrant world was tuned to the senses. A mosaic-topped café dining table was paired with mismatched chairs, and a mint-green loveseat that served as her sofa was bursting with tassel-trimmed pillows. A wooden coat rack held a collection of fringed shawls, and glass lamps were draped with feminine scarves.
“You have flair,” he said. “This is like an antique gypsy cart.” Gypsy included, he thought.
“Oh, thank you. I always thought it would be exciting to be an artist, but I don’t have any talent in that regard. So I try to make up for it by keeping artistic things around me.”
Did she keep artistic men around her, too? Was that part of her attraction to him? By most creative standards, Eric was on the conservative side. But he still fit the bill, he supposed, with his art-teacher vibe.
“You could be an interior designer,” he told her.
“Really? Do you think so? That’s something to consider. I’m torn about what to be when I grow up.” She flashed her twentysomething smile. “If I ever do grow up.”
“Being grown-up is overrated.” Nonetheless, he was as grownup as it got. “Are you ready to head out?”
“Sure. Just let me get my wrap.” She removed one of the shawls from the coat rack. They weren’t just for show.
Before they exited her yard, she led him to the fountain. “Isn’t he adorable? He’s one of the reasons I want to see the Valentine art show. I love angels, and cherubs are my favorite.”
He studied the statue in question. “People often mix cherubs up with putti. Unless you know the origins of the art, sometimes it can be difficult to tell.”
She made a face. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Putti is plural for putto. They’re childlike male figures, predominantly nude, and sometimes with wings.”
“So what’s the difference?”
“Cherubs appear in a religious context and are angels, whereas the genesis of putti is mythical or secular, like Cupid.”
“So what is Tinkle?”
“Tinkle?”
She gestured to the fountain, and he smiled. She’d named the little guy after his antics. “I’d say he’s a putto. They’re prone to naughty deeds.”
Dana laughed. “And here all this time I thought he was a misbehaving angel.”
Eric laughed, too. “I’m sure we’ll see plenty of cherubs at the gallery. And putti, too.”
“It will be fun trying to tell the difference. We can make a guessing game out of it.”
They walked to his car, and he opened the passenger side and watched her slide onto the seat. She was fluid and graceful, and he was still hoping that he could handle their date.
He got behind the wheel, and she gave him the address of the gallery. He typed it into the navigation system and drove into the night.
They barely spoke on the way. Mostly they listened to the female computer voice giving directions.
Finally Dana said, “I don’t have one of those. I just take the chance of getting lost. Besides, sometimes you end up in interesting places when you go the wrong way.”
“Do you have a bad sense of direction?”
“The worst.” She grinned like an imp. “That part of my brain never developed, I guess. But we all have something not quite right about us.”
His “not quite right” was his attraction to her. She didn’t make sense in his organized world. She was too young, too free, too far from his norm.
They arrived at their destination, and he drove around to find a parking space.
“I love this area,” Dana said.
Eric kept quiet. He used to love it, too. The oceanfront hotel that hosted his wedding was nearby.
He nabbed a parking spot, and they walked a block or so to the gallery.
They entered the reception area, where food and drink were being served. But they didn’t make a beeline for the buffet. To do so would have been tacky and insulting to the artist, or, in this case, the group of artists being showcased. Eric did opt for the bar, though. He needed a drink. Dana accepted a glass of wine, as well.
Together, they wandered around. The Valentine theme played out in different ways. Some pieces were warm and whimsical, others deep and epic. One spicy collection presented a sensual tone, whereas another was tragic.
The tragic art impacted Eric the most. Love found, love lost. He was morosely drawn to it.
Dana stood beside him as they gazed at a painting of a man reaching toward the sky, where a woman was fading away from him. The emotion it evoked hit him square in the gut.
“Have you ever been in love?” he asked her.
“No, but I hope to fall madly in love someday. It must be an incredible feeling.”
“It is.”
As he continued to study the piece, she studied him. He could feel her blue eyes burning into his soul.
“I’m sorry if this is difficult for you,” she said softly.
He denied his pain. “I’m fine.” He turned away from the painting. “Do you want to sample the buffet now?”
“Sure. That sounds good. But afterward, I’d like to go through the other parts of the exhibit again.”
The other parts. The non-tragic works. “And play a cherub/putto guessing game?” They hadn’t done that yet. There had been too much to look at, too much to take in, especially with Eric spending so much time on the sad images.
“Yes, I want to see the cherubs and putti again, but I want to take a closer look at the sexy artwork, too.” She flashed her scarlet-lipstick smile. “I wasn’t expecting to see that sort of thing included in the show.”
Her mouth looked downright lush. To keep his brain from fogging, he tried to say something intelligent. “Sex is an important aspect of love.”
“And sometimes sex is just sex. That’s the only kind I’ve known. Not that I’m an authority on the subject or anything. I’ve only had a couple of boyfriends. Men I liked, but didn’t love, obviously.”
“I used to have uncommitted sex before I met Corrine. I barely remember those affairs now. But it was ages ago.”
“Time slips by.”
“Yes, it does.”
He led Dana to the buffet, and they put appetizers on their plate. He tried not to watch her eat. But it was impossible not to be fascinated by her mouth. The kiss they’d promised to exchange was still imbedded in his mind.
She nibbled on an array of fruit. As his attraction to her heightened, he said, “You could be an artist’s muse, looking the way you look tonight.”
“Thank you. I think it’s the nicest compliment a man has ever paid me.”
“Young and nubile, as they used to say.”
“You better stop talking like that or you’re going to turn me into a seductress.”
She was already a seductress, tempting him with her beauty and flair. He swigged his drink, doing his damnedest to cool off. They finished their food and wandered the gallery once more. He wasn’t looking forward to seeing the sensual art again, not with the way she was affecting him.
The cherubs and putti were first, and he forced himself to play their game, comparing two illustrations that hung side by side. “So, which is which?”
“That’s a cherub,” she replied, about a heavenly-looking little guy. “And those are putti,” she added, referring to the other drawing, where mischief ran amuck.
“How about that one?” He gestured to a painting that wasn’t as easy to define.
She gazed at it for a while. “I don’t have a clue.”
“Truthfully, I don’t, either. Sometimes it’s tough to know what the artist is trying to convey.”
They moved onto the sensual art, where lust reigned supreme.
Dana approached an alluring picture. “Look how beautiful it is.”
Eric was looking. He wished he wasn’t, though. The image was a photograph of a bewitching redhead reclining on a satin-draped bed with her hair coiled around the pillow and shaped into a heart. A tall, leanly muscled man tossed red dahlias onto the bed, only he was in shadow, his presence adding an air of mystery.
“I think she’s dreaming about him,” Dana said. “And that he’s not really there.”
Eric could see why Dana was attracted to this piece, especially with the inclusion of the dahlias. It made him want to kiss her, here and now, but it was neither the time nor the place, not when they’d agreed on a good-night kiss at her door.
He said, “The flowers are the same as what’s on your dress.”
“I noticed that, too. I can imagine being her, lying in bed, thinking about my lover. If I had a lover,” she amended.
To keep from envisioning her in the same pose as the model, he asked, “Why do you wear flowers in your hair at work?”
“They make me feel happy, bright and pretty. I always wear them at my right ear because I read somewhere that it means a woman is available. Once I switch to my left ear, it will mean I’m taken.”
“Remember the rose you gave me on the day I told you that I was a widower?”
She nodded.
“I took it to Corrine’s grave. I try to bring her flowers when I can. It’s weird, though, because I’ve probably given her more flowers in death than I gave her in life.”
“I’ve never been to a funeral or a cemetery or anything like that. No one close to me has ever died.”
He’d seen more than his share of death. “You’re lucky.”
“I’m lucky to be on this date, too. And I love that you brought me an orchid.”
“I probably shouldn’t be telling you this, but I think it’s only fair to say it. Corrine’s bridal bouquet had orchids in it. But I’m not sure if I chose it for that reason or it was subconscious.”
“You said yesterday on the phone that I was confusing you. I guess that holds true for tonight, too.”
“So it seems.”
She smiled her usual smile. “I still love that you gave me the orchid.”
“You don’t care that I’m confused?”
“I just want you to be enjoying yourself.”
Strangely enough, he was. “When we leave here, do you want to go for a walk on the pier?” Confusion aside, he wasn’t ready for the evening to end.
* * *
Dana breathed in the sea air. Although a few of the restaurants remained open, most of the shops were closed. The connecting amusement park was shut down for the night, too, keeping winter hours.
“Did you know that this pier opened in 1909?” Eric asked.
“I knew it had been here awhile, but I didn’t know the exact era. How different it must have been back then.”
“I’ve seen old pictures of it with the men wearing suits and the women in long dresses. People used to fish here, too. Of course, they still do.”
She nodded. She’d noticed people fishing on previous visits.
He said, “On a clear day, you can see Catalina Island. I used to spend a lot of time here as a kid.” His hair blew across his forehead. “I even got married near here. The ceremony was on the beach.”
“That sounds beautiful.” She watched the nighttime waves crash onto the shore, the wind whipping across the water. She didn’t mind that he talked about his wife. She was actually touched by how easily he confided in her about Corrine. “How old were you?”
“Twenty. We got married while we were in college.”
She tried to picture him at that age and decided that he probably looked pretty much the same. Some people didn’t change dramatically. Dana’s mother had, but Mom had lived a tough life.
He said, “After we graduated, we pursued similar career paths. Me as a teacher and her as a youth counselor.”
“You had a lot in common.”
“Right from the start.”
The breeze blew a little harder, fluttering the fringe on her shawl.
“Are you cold?” he asked.
“I think the air feels good.” Being in his presence made her warm. She was wildly attracted to him: his tall, dark appearance, his cautious mannerisms. She especially liked the way he looked at her when he wasn’t aware that she was stealing glances at him. She could only imagine how he used to look at his wife. She’d never known anyone who’d seemed to be that much in love. Eric was so deep and intense, so different from Dana. She’d seen how strongly the tragic artwork at the gallery had affected him. It was odd, too, how this date was playing out, with them ending up at the same beach as where he’d gotten married.
“Are you hungry for dessert?” he asked, his voice cutting into her thoughts. “Or do you want a cup of coffee or a soda or anything?”
“I wouldn’t mind having a milkshake. Chocolate always does the trick for me.”
“I think the soda fountain place is getting ready to close. But I’ll hurry and nab you one.”
He left her standing at the rail with her shawl billowing and her mind on his wedding. She was also thinking about her own life and the part of her future that mattered most to her family.
When he returned with her milkshake, she thanked him, took a sip and said, “I want to get married and have kids someday. I promised my mom that I would never repeat our family history.”
“What history?”
“Of unwed mothers. My mom was a single mother and so was her mother. It’s not a very romantic legacy. Women raising children by themselves.”
He frowned. “Why weren’t the dads involved?”
“I was the product of a one-night stand so I have no idea who my father is. That was the only time Mom had ever done anything like that, and she’s ashamed of her behavior, even until this day.” Dana drank more of her milkshake, taking comfort in the chocolate. “She loves me and she’s been a good parent, but there was still shame attached to my birth.”
“I’m sorry.”
“My grandmother’s story is worse. She slept with a married man and that’s how she got pregnant with my mom. She had a reputation for being a loose woman in her day, but it wasn’t true. He’d seduced her into believing that he would leave his wife for her, and she paid the ultimate price when he spurned her afterward and refused to claim the baby. So you can see why they’re pinning their hopes on me to have children the legitimate way. Mom calls their experiences sins of the past.”
“I don’t think there’s anything sinful about having babies.”
“Me, neither. But I still don’t want to be an unwed mother. It would crush my family. Actually, it would probably crush me, too. I felt tainted as a kid, and I’d never want my child to feel that way.”
“I’m sorry,” he said again. He reached out as if he meant to stroke her cheek, but he lowered his hand before contact was made. After a moment of silence, he added, “My daughter’s birth parents weren’t married. They were only sixteen when she was born.”
Confused, Dana blinked. “Her birth parents?”
“We adopted Kaley.”
She couldn’t hide her surprise. “All this time I thought she was yours.”
“She is mine.”
Dana apologized for the gaffe. “I didn’t mean it that way. It just wasn’t what I expected to hear.”
“That’s okay. There’s no way you could have known,” he quietly explained. “Corrine was adopted, so when we discovered that she couldn’t conceive, we turned to adoption, too. Only Corrine wanted an open adoption for our baby because hers had been closed and she always felt a sense of loss not knowing who her birth parents were.”
“So Kaley’s adoption was open?”
“No. It didn’t work out that way. But Corrine encouraged Kaley to search for her birth parents if she ever felt the need. And recently, she did. Kaley found her birth mother, and soon after that, she met her birth father.”
“Wow.” Intrigued, Dana tilted her head. “How did that go?”
“Remarkably well. For everyone. Not only did they embrace Kaley and welcome her into their lives, they got back together. They’re getting married this summer. Kaley is going to be the maid of honor and I was asked to be the best man.”
“That’s a beautiful story.” Homey, romantic. “Things don’t usually happen that way.” Or she assumed they didn’t. All she knew was her own fatherless family. “I used to wonder about my dad when I was kid. Sometimes I still do. But I could never search for him. The only thing my mom knew about him was his first name. John. Can you imagine me trying to hunt him down?”
“That would be next to impossible, unless your mom was able to remember anything else about him that might lead you in his direction.”
“She doesn’t like to talk about him, and there’s no point in putting her through that or making her relive what she considers her shame. Of course I compensated by becoming a bohemian.” She flapped her fringe and made him smile. She shared her milkshake with him, too.
He drank from the straw and handed it back to her. “Where did you grow up?”
“You’re going to laugh when I tell you.”
“Why would I laugh?”
“Freedom, Ohio.”
As predicted, he laughed. “You’re from a town called Freedom?”
“Yep. The girl who’s determined to be free. Actually, there are lots of Freedoms scattered throughout the States, but mine just happens to be in Ohio.”
“When did you move to California?”
“After I graduated from high school.” She glanced at the ocean again. The waves were getting bigger. “When I was about twelve, we came to Southern California for a vacation. I made up my mind then that I was going to live here someday.”
“Is your mom still in Ohio?”
She nodded. “My grandmother, too. Neither of them ever got married. They’ll probably go nuts when I get engaged.”
He smiled. “The bohemian bride.”
“Marriage is going to be the only traditional thing I’ll probably ever do.” They shared the last of her shake, and she got tingly putting her mouth where his had been.
“I’m glad I went on this date,” he said.
The tingly feeling went off the charts. “It’s not over yet. You still have to kiss me at my front door.”
“That’s pretty much all I’ve been thinking about.”
Her, too. “The buildup is exciting.”
“I hope I don’t let you down.”
“You won’t.” She was certain of it.
And she was right. Later, he took her home, and they stood on her stoop, with a fairy-tale moon in the sky. Eric moved closer, and her heart pounded up a magical storm. As he took her into his arms, she went downright goose-bumpy.
She was going to be kissed the way she longed to be kissed: tenderly, deeply, thoroughly. They’d been waiting all evening to make this happen.
It started off slowly, a flutter of sweet warmth. She wrapped her arms around him, basking in the strength of his body. She parted her lips, and their tongues met and mated.
Then things got hotter.
Dana moaned and pressed tighter against him. He slid his hands down her spine, resting on the curve of her rear. Her moan turned to a mewling, as they continued to kiss like hedonic fiends.
She rubbed against his fly. He swore beneath his breath, but that only made it better. He backed her roughly against the door.
A gust of wind rustled through the yard. She could hear it stirring the plants and flowers. Dana had the wicked urge to remove her dress.
“Stay with me,” she heard herself say.
“I can’t,” she heard him reply.
“Yes, you can,” she countered. They were whispering in between lusty sips of each other.
He groaned and ended the kiss, but his pelvis was still fused to hers. “Do you know what you’re asking me to do?”
“Yes.” She knew exactly what she was suggesting.
“I couldn’t promise more than one night, Dana.”
“It’s okay, as long as I get to be with you.” For now, all she wanted was him warm and naked in her bed.
“It would be too much like what happened with your mom.”
“It’s nothing like that. You’re not a stranger. I know more about you than your first name. And we’re going to be responsible. I have a whole box of condoms in my nightstand drawer.”
“We still shouldn’t.”
“Why? Because of our age difference? We’re both consenting adults, and I’ve been fantasizing about you since I met you.” Fantasies she wanted to make come true.
She turned and unlocked the door. Determined to have him, she reached for his hand, beckoning him to be wild and free with her.
And have the night of their lives.
