ALANA WOKE UP with a sinking feeling that something was wrong. She stared at the ceiling, at the window. Beautiful sunny day again; what was the problem? Sawyer? Melanie? What was today? Tuesday. Hurricane day. She wished she’d gone with her instincts and traveled down to Florida. It was horrible being here unable to help, knowing Gran and Grandad were in danger and probably afraid. Hurricane Cynthia had made a slow, steady track directly for Orlando, in the center of the state, then suddenly veered north, staying a Category Two. But when Alana had spoken to Gran and Grandad the previous evening, it had already started raining, winds were up, there were reports of an extended storm surge at the coast, and it was still hours until the official landfall.
There was nothing worse than having to worry about loved ones in a situation she couldn’t control. How often had she and Melanie lain in Alana’s twin bed in their two-bedroom apartment in West Allis, wondering where their mother was, when she’d be coming back. Whether she was getting herself in trouble, drinking too much, being taken advantage of by some jerk. Whether that jerk would come home with her and live with them for a while, whether he’d be nice to them or bring creepy friends around who ate, smoke or snorted various substances and were generally terrifying.
A knock sounded at her door; Alana struggled up on her elbows. “Yes?”
“Are you decent?” Sawyer’s deep voice.
“Sort of.” Her blush was starting already, as was the adrenaline rush that leapt into action. He’d been gone a good part of yesterday—which gave Alana plenty of time to make minor repairs Melanie had neglected, and to clean more—but he’d come back to help haul stuff to Goodwill that Melanie had tossed into the basement rather than deal with. Alana had managed to avoid being in any intimate situations with him after dinner—and then was so tense and unsatisfied she’d had to take a sleeping pill in order to drop off.
Sometimes she felt like a mental case.
“Can I come in?”
“I don’t—Yes, you can come in.”
The door swung open. The white corner of a lap desk appeared, then arms carrying it, then a body. A fabulous body in jeans and a blue-and-white-striped shirt. On the lap table, a dish covered with an inverted bowl, a bud vase with a pink rose from the garden. “Breakfast is served, Madam.”
“What—” She laughed in delight. “I’ve never had breakfast in bed. Unless I was sick.”
“Then it’s time you did.” He whipped off the bowl covering the plate. “Scrambled eggs, toast with butter and honey, two strips of bacon, extra crispy, and a bowl of blueberries, raspberries and strawberries. Coffee is from Jamaica, with seconds available in the pot.”
“I can’t believe…” She gestured at the food. “Did Melanie help you?”
“Melanie is still asleep. But I quizzed her yesterday on your favorites. And here—” he produced the Milwaukee Journal Sentinel out from under his arm “—is your paper.”
“Sawyer.” She was oddly close to tears, even while she couldn’t stop grinning. So far she’d resisted the horrendous temptation to become involved with him, knowing she had to leave. But if he kept up this perfect-man stuff, she didn’t know how long she could hold out. “I don’t know what to say. This is all amazing.”
“And so am I.” He winked and backed toward the door. “Enjoy your breakfast.”
“Thank you. So much.” Alana only just managed to stop herself asking him not to go. Why would he want to stay here and watch her eat breakfast? She could deal with her worry all by herself—only now she’d get to worry on a full stomach with a fragrant and high-quality source of caffeine, brewed by a man she was afraid she’d fall for no matter what her common sense told her.
The eggs were delicious, creamy and rich, the toast crunchy and sweet, berries fruity and tart. She sighed blissfully at the last bite and unfolded the paper. An envelope fell out, For Alana written on the front in unfamiliar handwriting.
Inside, a single sheet of paper:
Your day belongs to me. Be at the Milwaukee Public Museum at 10:00 a.m. Enter through the parking garage. Sawyer
Oh, wow. She glanced impulsively at the clock. It was just past nine. But what did he mean, her day belonged to him?
“Alana?” Melanie this time.
“Yes, good morning.” She hastily hid the note, not sure why she wanted to keep it from her sister.
“Hey.” Melanie’s blond head peeked around the door, eyes sparkling. “Isn’t it time you dragged your butt out of bed and got going?”
“You know about this?”
“Oh, yes.” She nodded somberly. “I was entrusted with the important job of making sure you didn’t stay home out of some misguided sense of duty.”
“Misguided?” Alana shoved the tray away and got up onto her knees. “Gran and Grandad—”
“Will be fine. You know they will. And even if they’re not, what can you do about it? Last I checked, weather was one of the few things out of your control.”
“Oh, so funny.” She scowled at her giggling sister and sat back on her heels. “Look, I can’t go. I have to—”
“I figured you out, you know.” She came into the room, arms crossed over her chest, looking smug as hell. “Oh, really.”
“You’re scared.”
“I’m—” She gaped. “Uh, what?”
“You’re scared of what you feel for Sawyer,” she repeated oh so patiently. “Scared that he’s something really special. You want to stay and run away at the same time. You are drawn to being with him and also panicked at the thought.”
“No, I’m—” Alana blinked. She was right about the feelings. But Alana wasn’t going to admit it. “What makes you say that?”
“Ah.” Melanie held up a finger, the brilliant lecturer getting to her most powerful point. “Because it’s exactly what I do. I’ve figured this out, Alana, with Edgar’s help. You and I exhibit opposite symptoms, but it’s the same problem.”
“Opposite symptoms…”
“I go out with wildly unsuitable men. You go out with boring unsuitable men.”
She made a noise of outrage. “No, I—”
“You’re telling me Sam was half as fun as Sawyer?”
“Well…” Oof. Not even half.
“Plus, take note, you dumped him the second he asked for commitment. And before him there was Alan, the economics major. Oh my God, I wanted to take a nap just from the way he said ‘Hello.’”
“Alan was sweet.”
“Yes, he was so-o-o swww…” She pretended to doze off, then jerked herself “awake.” “He wasn’t right for you. You’re spirited and funny and indomitable. You need someone who matches you, not someone you can lead around by the nose.”
Alana folded her arms defiantly. “I did not lead—”
“They all but whined ‘Yes, dear’ to everything you said.”
More outrage noises. “No, they—”
“Alana.” Melanie climbed onto the bed, knelt on her heels opposite, pulled Alana’s arms uncrossed. “In every relationship you’ve ever had, who was in charge?”
“It was always fifty-fifty.”
Melanie shook her head, eyes intent but not angry and thank God no longer smug. “Think about it. Just think. Major decisions, minor decisions, where you lived, where you ate, what you had in the refrigerator, how you spent your weekends…”
“No, Melanie, it was—”
“Don’t answer yet.” She took Alana’s hands, gave them a little shake. “Just think. Honestly.”
Alana made herself relax, closed her eyes, frowning, went back over memories, who decided what, how, when…
“Oh. Well…Maybe.” She opened her eyes. “Yes, okay. I’m a dominatrix bitch.”
“You haven’t ever met a guy who really challenges you, who really is up to your level until Sawyer.” She squeezed Alana’s fingers. “It’s exciting, isn’t it.”
Exciting? She felt absolutely miserable. Since when was Melanie the one giving romantic advice? Had Alana fallen this low without noticing?
“It takes you over, makes the world brighter, more exciting, like a drug rush without the bad health effects.”
“Sort of.” The words barely came out. Melanie’s theory better turn out to be as ridiculous as it sounded.
“Welcome to my world. Except no, your world is ten times better. Because Sawyer is an incredible guy.” She dropped Alana’s hands. “A guy who could make you happier than anyone ever has. And if you ask me, you’re already half in love with him anyway, so why not—”
“Wait, whoa, Melanie.” She rose to kneeling in a ludicrous bid to be bigger than her sister. “I’m going to Florida, probably tomorrow, so what’s the point?”
“You don’t have to go.”
Et tu, Melanie? She bounced off the bed, started pacing. “Of course I have to go. I have an apartment, a job, Gran and Grandad to take care of…”
Melanie shrugged. “Okay.”
Alana stopped pacing. Not like her sister to give up that easily.
“Buk…buk…” Melanie started a weird jerking motion with her head, doubled her arms and flapped them like a chicken. “Buk…buk…buh-keek.”
Alana giggled in spite of herself. “Cut that out.”
“Just keep in mind what I said, okay?” Melanie waddled on her knees off the bed and clamped her hand on Alana’s wrist. “I’ll be home if they call. You get dressed and go to the museum. I’ll call your cell if I hear anything. No, don’t object, let me take some of the duty for a change. It will be good for me. Heck, maybe I’ll even freak you out completely and clean up my room since you’ve done the rest of the house.”
“Not the attic yet.” Or the windows. She hoped it wouldn’t come to that.
“God, Alana, you need serious help. Go. Git. Don’t come back until Sawyer is done with you.” She swatted Alana on the hip, then gathered her into a warm, impulsive hug. “And promise me. Promise me you’ll think about how many people it’s really your job to keep happy besides yourself.”
ALANA PULLED INTO the public museum parking lot, nervous and jumpy. She assumed she and Sawyer were going to spend a sedate hour or two inside—what was so threatening about that?
Obviously Melanie’s little talk had left Alana feeling off balance, vulnerable, uncertain. She hadn’t felt this way in a long time. Once Gran and Grandad gave her life ballast, she’d thrived, applied herself to her studies, to her work with Grandad, to her dream of becoming a brilliant, famous and well-compensated photographer.
Yes, well, everyone needed dreams.
When her relationship with Alan went belly-up, she was on the verge of graduating and moving to Chicago; when her relationship with Sam ended, she’d eventually decided to move to Florida. Always a clear purpose. Always a clear idea of who she was and what she wanted and why.
Now…fear of commitment? Deliberately seeking out unsuitable men who wouldn’t challenge her safe version of herself? She could laugh the whole thing off except Melanie’s theories definitely struck some kind of chord.
Since when was Melanie the “together” sister? Since when was she the one stepping back to figure life out rather than drifting from moment to feel-good moment? Maybe she really was turning over a new leaf, Sledge notwithstanding. Maybe she really would evolve. Why did that make Alana feel stuck behind in her old rutty self?
She needed to shake off the uneasiness, have casual fun with Sawyer today and leave for Florida first thing in the morning, back on track. She hadn’t watched her mother throw her life away on one man after another without having learned the importance of counting only on herself. She was strong, she was woman, she could enjoy this day without getting irretrievably deep into feelings for Sawyer, and have fun memories when she moved on with what she was meant to do. What she wanted to do. Someday she’d meet the right man at the right time who fit in with her plans.
Good.
She eased her Prius into a parking space, crossed the garage to the museum entrance, heels tapping sharply on the concrete, barely audible over the noise of the air circulation system. Once inside, she strode down the long corridor, past the colorful museum shop, toward the staircase to the exhibit space.
Would he meet her there? He hadn’t arrived yet. She turned…and saw him behind her, halfway down the hallway, approaching in his loose, masculine gait, comfortable and at ease as usual. She grinned and felt herself relaxing. This would be fun. She could handle keeping things light between them and emerge unscathed to tell the tale, not out of Melanie’s “fear of commitment,” but just because it was the healthiest and most sensible way to handle her feelings.
“Hi there.” He kissed her cheek, apparently having done away with his no-touching rule. She wouldn’t object.
“Two surprises in one day, breakfast and now a museum expedition. What have I done to deserve this?”
“It’s more what you don’t deserve.” He held out a green paper entrance bracelet for her to wrap around her wrist. How had he managed to buy tickets already? “You don’t deserve to stay home cleaning on your last day.” The phrase last day twisted her stomach.
Steady.
“C’mon.” He took her hand and they started up the stairs to the second floor.
“What are we seeing?”
“Butterflies. The live ones.”
“I don’t know that exhibit.” She’d been through the museum countless times. “Wait, yes, I remember reading articles when it was built.”
“You’ll love it.” He pulled her close as they mounted the stairs and put his lips to her ear. “And by the way, you look incredibly sexy in those red shorts. Almost as sexy as you looked in bed when I brought you breakfast. It was all I could do to leave the room.”
It was all Alana could do to laugh off his compliment when she wanted to say to hell with her resolve, drag him home, strip him and beg for sex.
Was this what Melanie felt? Was Sawyer Alana’s “dangerous” man? Her Sledge? Maybe she needed to have a little more compassion for Melanie’s…active social life.
“Hey, Alana.”
“Mmm?”
“I know that face. You’re overthinking.” He shook his head sternly. “Today is about fun. Leave the cerebral stuff for tomorrow.”
She smiled and collected herself again. He was just a man she’d met and enjoyed. Nothing about her life had changed. She was going to be fine. “It’s a deal.”
They got into line for the popular exhibit, then spent a few minutes with their designated group in a small transition area before they were admitted, to make sure no butterflies escaped.
The two-story glassed-in room was swarming with all types, colors and shapes, including, behind one special pane, various stages of caterpillar, chrysalis and emerging adults. In the open room around various flowering plants and trees adult insects fluttered free, landing on walls, greenery and awestruck visitors, who’d lowered their voices instinctively once inside, adding to the enchantment.
The creatures were so beautiful, so delicate, and right here, all around. Alana wished she had—
A cold metallic rectangle was put into her hand. She looked down, then up at Sawyer in amazement. “What’s this?”
“Thought you’d want to take a few pictures.”
She was beside herself. “How did you know?”
“Because you’re a visual person with a lot of talent.”
“Wow.” She swallowed hard. “Wow. Thank you.”
She turned away, ostensibly to find her first shot, but more to steady herself again. His understanding and belief in her was a precious gift that made her even more vulnerable than his attempts at seduction.
A swallowtail on the edge of a leaf caught her focus—hers and the camera’s. She got the shot, repositioned for a better angle and took another, then another. She’d so missed having a camera as her second set of eyes. Why had she abandoned it? Catching fire, she started working the room, watching, observing, letting the pictures come to her. Two of the same orange species side by side on the edge of a planter, one with wings out, one with wings folded. The small yellow butterfly clinging to the letter T of the word Death on a teenager’s jet-black T-shirt. The dark-eyed little girl barely containing her joy at being face-to-face with a monarch. Energy and effortless concentration, marred only by her constant awareness of a certain man watching her enjoy the immense satisfaction of creation.
She was happy. Truly and deeply happy in this moment, doing what she was doing. With Sawyer.
Just call her Melanie For a Day.
He came up close behind her, where she stood hoping a blue butterfly would move ju-u-ust slightly to its right. He put his hand on the curve of her hip. She felt his size, the warmth of his body, the power of the Alana-magnets. This time she didn’t resist, moved back pretending to need photographic perspective, pushing her rear gently into the fly of his jeans. Feel good in the moment. To hell with tomorrow. Sawyer and his camera had freed her to do that.
A low groan came out of him. “What are you doing to me?”
“Oh, sorry, was I doing something to you?” She clicked her camera, even though she had no idea what she was shooting.
“Evil, evil woman.” He pressed hard against her and released, tugging quickly on his jeans. “Here I was just trying to stimulate your…creativity.”
“I don’t think that’s all you were—Look.” She hardly dared move. A brilliant blue butterfly had landed on her forearm. She turned her head as slowly as she could, lifted the camera and tried to frame a decent shot, taking in the visible foliage, the fleshy bar of her arm juxtaposed against the brilliant blue wings, the spidery legs clinging to her skin, delicate fuzzy antennae, buggy eyes. The camera clicked, then again; the butterfly flew away.
Alana turned impulsively and kissed Sawyer on the cheek. “Thank you so much.”
“For?” His arms came around her.
How could she explain adequately? “The camera. This trip. Everything. I didn’t realize how much I missed taking pictures.”
“You’re welcome.” His hand slid under her waist-length yellow top; his palm rested against the bare skin of her back. “Alana.”
“Wait, don’t move.” A butterfly had landed in his thick hair, and was exploring the strands tentatively. “There’s one on your head.”
She stepped back, put the camera up to frame the shot. White butterfly on dark hair of gorgeous man, green branch dangling leaves close to them both. She got the shot, took another. Not surprisingly, he had a face the camera loved. Great planes, angles, good bones, and that look in his eye…
She lowered the camera slowly, allowing some of the warmth of his gaze into hers.
Yes.
Whatever he wanted, the answer was yes. It seemed like a silly waste of time to have avoided him for so long. Who was that uptight woman and what was her problem? To be desired and to be understood was everything a woman could want. Even a short time was better than never. “Were you going to ask me something?”
“If you were finished taking pictures?” He beckoned her toward him, put an arm around her, whispered in her ear. “Because you are desperately sexy when you work, and if I start kissing you now the way I want to, I’m afraid these little guys will be offended.”
The butterfly in his hair bolted.
“See?” He didn’t follow its fluttery path, kept his eyes fixed on Alana’s. “Offended.”
“Hmm.” She pretended to consider. “Were you planning to start this kissing soon?”
“Oh, yes.”
“Well, good,” she said simply. She followed him to the exhibit exit, shaky and giddy-nervous. She’d been kissed plenty in her life. How did the promise of a few more manage to reduce her to gelatin?
Outside the enclosed exhibit, Sawyer strode ahead so fast she practically had to run to keep up. “Are we…going…home?”
“Nope.” He ducked into a small-insect exhibit, made a sound of frustration when he saw a family there. “Wait, I know.”
They went into the rain forest room, climbed the stairs into the virtual treetops and found…too many people.
“Okay. No. Here.” He led her back down the steps and into a dark, abandoned corner. When his lips were half an inch from hers, her body already sparking, two teenagers came by and started examining photographs of cells, talking loudly in half-mature cracking voices.
Sawyer actually growled.
Another corner, this time a projection room where a few tired patrons could sit and watch a short movie. She followed him, pretty sure she’d come here on a school trip and watched it twice to rest her feet. “Hey, I remember this—Mmph.”
Further thought fled with her physical ability to finish the sentence. She was being kissed. And how. Backed against the wall, a long denim leg inserted between hers. She welcomed it, wrapped her left leg around it and pushed rhythmically.
“Alana.” He sounded hoarse, frustrated. She felt the same. “I want you so badly.”
“Me, too.”
“Today.”
“Yes.” She forced herself to think. “Melanie’s home, but if we sneak in quietly, I’ve got clean sheets that we can—”
“Clean sheets?” He pulled back, looked at her incredulously. “I’m ready to go right here against the wall and you want to drive home and change your sheets?”
“I…well…” She made a silly face to hide how crestfallen she was. “I’m no fun, huh?”
He laughed, rested his forehead against hers. “I think maybe it’s been too long since you let yourself have any.”
She wasn’t so sure she’d ever “let herself” do anything he was thinking of, but she wasn’t going to admit that she’d been boring all her life.
Wait.
Not sensible? Not rational? Boring?
Really?
Dear God. This was turning out to be quite the day for destroying illusions about herself. Or maybe it was her turn to evolve.
“Come on.” He kissed her quickly, then took her hand and led her out of the rainforest. “Change of plans.”
“Please tell me you don’t want to hump in the back of your car in the parking garage.”
“Hey, there’s a thought.” He gave a fake enthusiastic thumbs-up. “Nah, I have more class than that.”
“Whew.”
He gazed at her with obvious affection, then lowered his head and kissed her again, differently this time, more the way he had that evening in the hallway outside her bathroom, gently, lingeringly, the way that left her a hollow shell of herself, a brainless, boneless mess of feelings.
One of which was fear.
Please don’t let Melanie be right.
“Okay.” He moved away reluctantly, smoothed back her hair. “We’ll wait. Back on schedule.”
She tried to shake away her odd mood. “Schedule? You do schedules?”
“I’m only Mr. Spontaneous in comparison to you.”
She scowled in mock anger. “Evil, evil man.”
“And to be honest. I have to be somewhere in about half an hour. Now that you’ve ruled out humping in the garage…”
“Ah.” She tried desperately not to look disappointed.
He held out his hand. “But let’s look around more while we can.”
“Sounds good.” No disappointment. Today was about fun, and she was going to have as much as she could, whether she was with Sawyer or not.
They walked through a few more exhibits, cowering playfully from the giant models of battling dinosaurs roaring thunderously through speakers, then picked out their favorite gemstones and minerals from the display case in the Earth section, and peeked into the windows of stores in the Streets of Old Wisconsin exhibit. Her good mood resurfaced from the sheer pleasure of being with him until he looked at his watch.
“I’m sorry, Alana.”
“Time’s up?”
He nodded regretfully. “For now. Let’s go.”
The parking garage seemed twice as unappealing on the way out as it had in, giant blowers roaring circulating air, low ceiling, concrete everywhere, all that was the same. But now she was leaving him, not going to meet him.
“Where’s your car?”
Alana pointed listlessly; they wove their way through rows of vehicles in silence until they reached her Prius. Even humping in the backseat in semipublic was preferable to separating.
She had it bad.
“I had a great time.” Sawyer kissed her sweetly. “We’ll hook up sometime again later on today, okay?”
“Yes, sure.” She started feeling that horrible vulnerability Melanie lived so often. Would he call? Was she being given a signal that all wasn’t well in his feelings?
She turned firmly, opened her door and got into the car, hearing his footsteps hurrying away. This was ridiculous; she was not going to let this man turn her as crazy as her sister. No way. She slammed the door shut, shoved her key in, turned, and noticed an envelope under her windshield wiper. What the—
She glanced around, surprised when the envelope didn’t appear to be on any other windshield. Was it the same type that had fallen out of her paper that morning?
She jumped out of the car, grabbed it and ripped it open. Inside was a piece of paper and what looked like a special key.
Feel like a romantic lunch at Coquette Café? I have a reservation at noon. Take this key and open locker B-7 in the museum before you go. See you there. Sawyer
Alana’s cranky forehead smoothed; her lips relaxed, then curved into a smile; warmth bloomed through her.
Ohhhhh, wow.
She let herself fall back against the car like a lovesick fool, clutching the paper to her chest, grinning foolishly at the ugly concrete ceiling. He must have watched for her arrival and slipped the note on her car before he went into the museum to meet her.
He was sooo good.
Except—she glanced frantically at her watch—she’d need to rush home and change. Coquette Café wasn’t stuffy, but it was fancy enough that she’d feel uncomfortable in casual shorts. Only, damn, she hadn’t brought anything nice to Milwaukee. Hardly any of Melanie’s tiny-boobed, thin-hipped funky stuff would fit her—literally or figuratively. As soon as she retrieved the treasure the key promised, she’d have to run by the Grand Avenue Mall on her way to the restaurant and pray she found something appropriate in ten minutes or less.
She locked the car and hurried back into the museum, got directions to the lockers at the information desk. A small alcove off the main entrance hall…found it…B-7…B-7…there. The key went in, turned. The door opened.
A shopping bag from Boston Store. She pulled it down, hardly daring to breathe, and looked inside. Tissue paper. And a note.
Melanie helped with this. She said you wouldn’t be comfortable dressed casually at Coquette Café. She also said you wouldn’t be caught dead in any of her clothes. Hope you like it. Sawyer
Alana pawed through the tissue paper, then gasped. He bought her a dress?
Yes. Royal blue with a subtle floral pattern, simple lines, scoop-neck, no sleeves. Not too fancy for the casual sandals she was wearing, but dressy enough for the restaurant.
Wow. In most cases she would not have been comfortable with a man she barely knew buying her clothes, but Sawyer—and Melanie—had saved her a mad dash through stores, or worse, feeling frumpy and self-conscious at the white-tablecloth bistro in shorts. She leaned against the lockers, dress held up to her shoulders, shaking her head helplessly. He was one in a million. Why did she have to meet him as soon as she was about to move away?
Because life was often like that—random, unfair, frustrating. She should have accepted that by now. There was plenty of bright side. Namely that the day wasn’t even half over, a handsome escort waited for her at one of her favorite Milwaukee restaurants, and she’d rekindled her passion for photography, a joy that would last the rest of her life now that she understood better what it meant to her. So. No whining.
In the museum bathroom she stepped eagerly out of her shorts and threw off her top, pulled on the dress whose woven material felt soft and forgiving on her body. Hoping she wasn’t guilty of pantylines, she exited the stall and tiptoed anxiously toward the mirror over the sink.
No worries. The neckline suited her; the jewel color flattered her skin even under horrid fluorescent lighting; her favorite silver twist earrings complemented the style; excitement brightened her eyes and flushed her cheeks.
She smiled at her reflection until a woman came into the bathroom with her young daughter, which made Alana bolt back to the stall, pack up her shorts and top in the shopping bag and his camera in her purse, and leave. Not a great idea to stand grinning foolishly at yourself in a public bathroom.
Out to her car in the parking garage which had reverted to being inoffensive, out into the sunshine of what had been and would now continue to be a blissful day, heading toward the Third Ward. On St. Paul Avenue, her cell rang. Melanie. Alana pulled over immediately opposite the Amtrak station and answered with shaking hands, guilty for not thinking about Gran and Grandad every second of the morning. “Did you hear from them?”
“They’re fine! No worries. Cynthia is moving quickly, they’re in the shelter, safe and sound. They haven’t even lost power. Gran said people are incredibly organized and patient and there’s a great feeling of community while they weather the storm. Grandad has a chess game going and Gran figures she’ll finish another sweater today.”
“Oh, thank God!” Alana’s spirits lifted even higher. “That’s wonderful.”
“So don’t worry and enjoy your date. Sawyer is a serious sweetheart. And a hottie.” She snorted. “A sweet-hottie. I really can’t believe I let you get him.”
“He’s a good guy.” Alana laughed at the understatement. “Oh, and thanks for the dress, Mel.”
“I wanted to get you something slit to there and tight, tight, tight, but he said no and picked that one out for you.”
“Really?” Her glow intensified, mixing with happiness that her grandparents were safe. That was the main thing. And hey, if, when they got out of the shelter, they discovered their condo was ruined, maybe they’d come back home to Milwaukee and she could stay here with Sawyer and—
She said goodbye to her sister, hung up and drove on toward Milwaukee Street. No way could she wish that on them. They’d chosen their new life in Orlando, they loved it down there, and Alana would, too.
Lunch was perfect, from the chilled roasted tomato soup to the delicious lamb sandwich served with thin, crisp, perfectly salted French fries, to the excellent wine, service and mmm, yes, company. Sawyer’s eyes had lighted up at the sight of her in the dress; they talked easily throughout the meal then lingered over cups of strong coffee to combat wine-induced sleepiness.
“Come on.” He paid the bill and escorted her to the exit. “I want to show you something.”
“Okay.” She said a silent “yes” of satisfaction that he hadn’t finished with her yet and trailed his shiny red Lancer up Lakeshore Drive to the tony suburb of Whitefish Bay.
On Summit Avenue he parked in front of an enormous brick Tudor. She hurried from her Prius to meet him at the base of the driveway, feeling as if they were blissfully reuniting when they’d been apart for all of ten minutes. She could get used—she was getting used to this. If Gran and Grandad were all right, maybe she could put off leaving another day…
What for? To prolong the agony?
When Melanie was seven, she’d managed to cut her finger deeply with a paper cutter. Alana had been stuck nursing her because their mother passed out every time she got a look at the injury—though Mom had come through in other ways, cuddling Melanie and reading to her in bed with Alana snuggled up next to them both, wishing with all her heart that could be a nightly ritual, even knowing it wasn’t possible.
But while Alana had been in charge of changing her sister’s dressings, she’d told Melanie over and over: it hurts less if you pull bandages off quickly, get the pain over with in one quick second rather than drawing it out.
That was how she’d deal with Sawyer. Pull him off her and get the worst of the pain over with in one quick second.
“Welcome to my home.” He put his arm around her and the two of them stood gazing at the impressive structure, shaded by a towering maple that seemed to embrace the house. “I was the only brother who wanted it when my parents moved out, so I inherited.”
“Are all your brothers local?”
“Finn is, he’s an investment banker, lives in Fox Point. Tom is a plastic surgeon in Chicago. Mark is VP of an engineering company, currently working in Germany.”
“Pretty high-powered family.”
“Dad wouldn’t have it any other way.” He smiled wryly. “My grandfather didn’t cut Dad any rich-boy slack, and Dad refused to do it for us, either.”
“You don’t respect that?”
“I do. Deeply. But Dad took it a little too far. None of us were allowed even to consider a career that wasn’t a guaranteed top earner. We all buckled. Finn was a talented musician, Mark loved cartooning. Tom…well, Tom is who he should be. And I became a lawyer.”
Alana winced. “And nearly paid with your health.”
“Yeah, but I’m fine now, and have emerged from the Cult of Dad.” He moved her to the front door. “We all have some dysfunction in our past. Otherwise we wouldn’t be human.”
“True.” She understood better than he knew. She could hear all the pain behind the brief summary of his life, feel the loneliness and frustration of thwarted hopes. She wanted to go back in time and fix it all for him, but no one got that chance. You took what the world dealt and played the hand as best you could going forward.
“Let’s see if you get to meet the nephew horde.” He opened the front door with his key, stuck his head in. “Maria?” No answer.
“Hmm, guess what?” He pulled Alana in and shut the door behind her, took her hands. “We’re alone.”
“Oh?” She blinked innocently.
He locked her hands behind his back, put his on her waist. “In a house.”
“Mmm?”
“With bedrooms.” He moved his pelvis against hers. “That have beds in them.”
“Ohhh.” Her innocent act fled, replaced by hunger. Don’t think, live in the moment and do.
He kissed her, once, twice; passion began to ignite…then they both heard it: the roar of the garage door going up. The sound of an engine, young voices shouting over it out open car windows.
“Oh, for—” Sawyer smacked his hand on the wall above Alana’s head, looking at her in baleful exasperation, which made her giggle.
“This way.” He took her by the hand and led her through to the basement, closing and locking the door behind him. “We’ll hide down here.”
“From the barbarian invasion?”
“They’re great kids, all of them.” He turned her toward him, tall and broad in the low-ceilinged, dimly lit room. “But I’m not in a babysitting mood.”
“Mmm, me, neither.” She gazed up at him, grinning, until the emotion became unbearably strong and she had to look away, nervous and unsettled, as if they’d just met. “This must be your workshop. And that’s the table you’re making?”
“None other.”
Alana walked over to examine it, disturbed by how rattled she was, but impressed by the woodworking. She’d done plenty of fix-it carpentry, but never tried making any furniture from scratch. The piece was solidly and skillfully built, spare but graceful with long tapered legs and a single drawer, classic Shaker style. “This is beautiful.”
“Thanks.” He ran his hands over the smooth, flawless wood, and she impulsively yanked his camera out of her purse and snapped a picture, then another when he looked up, startled, and a third when he smiled.
“You’ll e-mail me these pictures in Florida?”
His smile faltered. “Yeah. Sure.”
“I’ll print them out and send you hard copies if you want.”
“Okay.” He was looking at her thoughtfully, as if he wanted to say something, tapping his fingers on top of the unfinished table.
“Yes?”
“What?” He roused himself and moved toward her, that prowling swagger that made her turn shaky with nerves and longing.
“You wanted something?”
He gave her a look that told her exactly what he wanted. “Yes, I definitely do.”
“Me, too,” she whispered. She was still unsettled, but her body was telling her to go ahead more strongly than her brain objected.
“You’re sure?”
She put her hands to his chest. “What would you say if I changed my mind and said no?”
“Too late.”
His lips were familiar by now, but no less exciting. The kisses turned fiery immediately; Alana arched into him, aware of his arousal, wishing they weren’t in a basement among tools and planks of wood, but in her bedroom with clean sheets and candles and smooth jazz on the radio.
Did that make her boring? She didn’t know. But when his tongue explored her mouth, thrusting in a way that turned her central heating up to high, she lost track of the thought and dragged his shirt up, explored his smooth muscled skin. They had to stop sometime, they couldn’t make love here among all this dusty stuff and with kids upstairs, but she wasn’t sure she knew when she’d get the strength to—
“Mo-o-om, Jake hit me with a truck.”
Alana started, then closed her eyes again when his tongue lightly stroked her neck, and his lips followed. She tipped her head to give him access, moaning her pleasure. “I wish we were in my bedroom.”
“No kids?”
“And a bed.”
“Ah, yes, the clean sheets.” He pulled her dress up to her waist. “I think we can manage here just fine.”
“With…no bed?”
He stopped in the act of pulling her dress off. “You’ve never had sex out of bed?”
She froze in horror. Oh my God. Why had she said that? He’d think she was a complete unsexy, unadventurous idiot.
“I’m sorry.” He pulled her dress back down, took her in his arms. “I didn’t mean to shock you.”
No, no, this was worse. Now he thought she was horrified at the idea instead of at her own inexperience. Fix it, Alana. She was leaving in the morning, she wanted to make up for the time she’d wasted and have him as many times as they could manage it, no matter where or how. If she fell for him, so be it.
“I’m not shocked. I just…”
“What?” He rocked her back and forth, his erection pressed against her.
“I must seem pretty…staid.”
“I’d say you’ve probably had staid lovers.”
“Maybe…” She was trying very hard not to panic. He had probably done women all over the city in all kinds of wild and spontaneous places and she’d completely killed the moment worrying about beds with clean sheets, for God’s sake. She needed to work to recapture the feeling in the butterfly exhibit, where she’d truly managed to drop the control freak, let go and be in the moment.
“You don’t remember our night together, Alana, but I do. Every second. Trust me, I was not bored. Never did I feel the need to nap. Not at all. Even on drugs.”
She laughed and felt better. A little. No, a lot. She was going to fix this.
“If you’re not comfortable here, we can—”
“I’m very comfortable.” She pulled her dress off, stopped herself from folding it and hanging it carefully across a chair. In fact, she tossed it onto his half-finished nightstand, then unhooked her bra and did the dress on the night table one better, by tossing it carelessly onto the floor. She didn’t even look to see where it landed.
Sawyer made a surprised and helplessly aroused sound that turned her on even more—and increased her confidence. “You sure you want this here, Alana?”
She smiled seductively, put her hands to the elastic of her panties, eased them down, kicked them across the room. “Do I look sure?”
He sucked in a harsh breath, lunged forward and lifted her onto him. “You look incredible.”
“Thank you.” She wrapped her legs around him, somehow sounding cool and calm when she was wildly, breathlessly excited. She’d never done anything like this. It felt freeing and dangerous and safe all at once—which was the only type of danger she could handle.
Sawyer carried her effortlessly over to a worktable, which she promised herself she wouldn’t inspect for cleanliness, but couldn’t help one peek.
“Wait.” He put her down, whipped off his shirt and spread it on the table, then lifted her onto the soft fabric, nudging her legs apart.
“Are you always this thoughtful?”
“I thought I was being practical. Get splinters in your butt our first time and you won’t want me again.”
She cracked up. “That is such a guy thing to say.”
“Isn’t it? So is this.” He knelt between her legs, his breath warm, kissed her intimately, his tongue and lips wet and wonderful. “You have the most beautiful—”
“Mo-om. I can’t find my Spore disk.”
“Did you check your backpack?”
Sawyer leaned his head despairingly on her thigh. “If it’s not drugs or too-public places, it’s children.”
“We’ll get it right.” She stroked his hair affectionately, lingering on the curl around his ear, the thick strands at the bottom of his neck. She loved that when things went wrong he laughed and rolled with the punches. She could learn from him.
“All we have is today.” He gazed up at her; the emotion smoldered, sparked, then burned clear, bright and steady until she had to look away again.
If this wasn’t love, she had no idea what it could possibly be. She’d never felt anything like this before.
One day. Only one day to explore it.
He stood, moving his hands leisurely along her thighs, kissed her with increasing passion. She unsnapped, unzipped his jeans and pushed them down; he caught them with one hand behind his back and extracted a condom from the pocket.
“Ah, took me for granted?” Her fingers entered the fly of his boxers, catching his hard length in her fist.
Breath hissed between his teeth. “A man can always hope.”
She leaned into his broad chest, played with his nipple, teeth and tongue causing soft moans that pleased her as much if not more than her touch pleased him. She loved the power she had to make him this aroused; the power he had to affect her so deeply. Her hands kept stroking his erection, exploring the juxtaposition of baby-soft skin and jutting hardness, until her need to feel him inside her began to be desperate. She shoved the material of his boxers down and away, setting him free. He was so beautiful, generous and smooth, sleek and eager.
“Now,” she whispered. “While we can.”
He rolled on the condom, then knelt and used his mouth to lubricate her. She arched her back, hands landing hard on the table behind her, while his tongue thrust inside her, painted the outside of her opening with moisture. Her breath accelerated; her heartbeat followed. Oh, what she’d missed that first night together by being asleep.
“Sawyer.” She stopped for a whimper of pleasure. “I’m ready. Please.”
She couldn’t wait, wanted him inside her before they were interrupted, before she stopped to think how much more she’d love him after they were joined this way…and before she got so turned on she started screaming her frustration.
“Yes.” He stood between her legs, wide shoulders, slender hips, solid and so male. One hand steadied her waist, the other guided the head of his penis. He paused as his breath released, then started a slow, strong slide inside her, setting nerve endings on fire.
What she thought would be most distasteful about having sex in a basement turned out to be the most arousing. She loved the hard, unforgiving surface under her, the occasional ache in her tailbone, the creak of the table, the wood and stain smells mingling with the heat they generated together. The sex felt rawer, more powerful, more urgent and animal, which turned her on out of her mind.
Or maybe it was just this man.
She brought her knees up high, loving the depth he could get in that position, loving even the flashes of pain when he moved deeper. She cried out, cried out again. His hand landed on her mouth, his thrusts increased speed. Alana blew out breath, felt the resulting dampness on the palm firmly denying her volume. The suppression, the mildest most innocent version of bondage possible turned her on even more. She grabbed his hips, urged him on. Just when she thought she’d explode with the desire to climax, his finger found her clitoris and within seconds the orgasm rocked her, filling her body with starburst sensations.
Instead of coming down, she was hit with a frenzy of fresh desire. He slowed to give her space to recover, but she shook her head, mumbled, “Keep going,” behind his fingers.
He took his hand away. “Am I hurting you?”
“No,” she panted. “Keep going. Keep going. Don’t stop.”
He groaned and increased his pace. She loved every sweaty, lustful minute.
Leaning back, she caressed her breast in a seductive circle with an open palm, watched his face responding, tightening, going blank as he withdrew into his own climax, then coming alive again as the peak tore through him.
Then his eyes met hers, he was breathing hard, face alight. She returned the smile tremulously, feeling dangerously vulnerable. All the more because of the new, deep emotions giving those feelings a solid foundation.
Please tell her he felt it, too…
“You okay?”
“More than.”
“Did you miss a bed?”
“I will never use one again.”
He chuckled. “They have their place. Come here.”
She put her suddenly shaky legs back down, wrapped her arms around him, laid her head on his warm chest, inhaling his scent, trying to capture the moment, a mental snapshot she could keep forever. He held her tightly, stroked her hair, kissed it gently. “Don’t move to Florida, Alana. Stay in Milwaukee with me.”
Alana stopped breathing. Panic erased her bliss. “My grandparents need me. Gran fell stepping off a curb or something. She could have broken her hip. I would never forgive myself if something happened to either of them and I wasn’t there to help.”
She stopped the second she realized she was babbling idiotically. What was with that?
“I know. I understand.” Sawyer kissed her, drew his thumb from the corner of her mouth across her cheek. “I’d beg for one more day together, but I have a feeling we could be together a hundred more days and it still wouldn’t be enough.”
Alana hid her face, nodding mutely in agreement, trying hard to calm herself, and trying harder not to hear Melanie shouting her told-you-so.