Cammie laughed so hard she had to put her hand over her mouth. “Neither. With my red hair…” She flicked her curls. “I would have looked like Pippi Longstocking.”
He blinked. “Who’s Pippi Longstocking?”
The inane conversation was delightful, even making her heart flutter. “She was the nine-year-old heroine in a series of children’s books I used to read when I was a kid.” Then she turned the questioning back on him. “What about you when you were a little boy?”
With a straight face, he said, “My hair wasn’t long enough for pigtails or braids.”
She slapped at him playfully. “I didn’t mean your hair. What did you like to do?”
He held her hand as they walked, nonchalantly, almost as if he didn’t notice what he was doing. But she felt the warmth of his palm and the strength in his grip. “I was all about animals. I had a pony. Later on, a horse. And if there was ever an injured animal out there, I found it.” He tapped his chest as if he was proud. “And made sure I healed it. Then I released it back into the wild,” he added with a flourish.
She knew he’d wanted to be a vet, that he’d been in his third year of college, with veterinary school in mind. He’d never made it.
“What was your favorite pet?”
He tipped his face skyward. “There are so many to choose from. I had a wild turkey with an injured leg. I found her when I was hiking and walked right into a flock of wild turkeys with all these chicks. Turkey chicks are called poults—and they were so damned cute.” His eyes shone when he looked at her. “She was their heroine, hobbling off in the opposite direction, squawking and shrieking, trying to draw me away from the poults while the other female led them to safety. She thought I was some sort of predator, and I admired her heroism.”
When he looked down at her, she could almost see the little boy in his face, the young child chasing after a turkey so he could heal her leg.
“I caught her, took her home. I thought I could fix her.” His voice rose as if he still remembered his hopefulness. “But she’d been born with a deformed leg. She liked to wander around the yard, even though my parents complained—at least when they were home—about the poop on the grass.”
“Did you at least clean up the poop?”
His eyes still glittering, he shook his head. “You can’t just clean up turkey poop, let me tell you, especially when the whole flock joined her. Now that really drove everyone crazy. But she was great, even ate out of my hand.”
“What did you name her?”
“Stumpy.”
She stopped in the middle of the sidewalk. “Stumpy? That’s just plain mean.”
Dane’s smile shone down on her, as warm as the sun on the top of her head. “She always came when I called, so she must have liked it.”
“You’re terrible,” she complained, walking again. “What happened to her?”
He shrugged. “One day, the whole flock just moved on. I’m not sure why. Could have been a predator that drove them away.”
“Did you miss her?”
“For a while.” He sighed. “I hoped she’d come back. But she never did. Sometimes you just have to accept that the things you love don’t always come back to you.”
She thought how incredibly sad that was.
But then Dane smiled. “I figured she’d gone on to enjoy life elsewhere. That’s what I hoped for all the animals and birds I rescued. That they moved on to a better life. If I didn’t do that, it would have been too depressing.”
She suddenly wanted to hug him. Because, really, how many men could there be who just wanted their protégés to move on to a better life?
Just like her, with the way he’d so readily agreed to give her the project and a promotion. But that was Dane.
They reached Lloyd Lake, where Dane stopped at a spot with a clear sight line across the water. With him standing behind her, his body close enough for her to feel his heat against her back, his whisper sent a sweet little quiver down her spine.
“Over there.” He pointed. “See it?”
The structure reminded her of a columned doorway from Roman times, standing by itself on the other side of the lake as if it might lead to another world.
Dane murmured, “It was the front entry to railroad tycoon Alban Towne’s Nob Hill mansion. It’s all that was left after the 1906 earthquake. Just the entryway. It was moved here as a reminder of all that was lost that fateful day in San Francisco, when our fair city burned to the ground after the great earthquake.”
She felt his heat everywhere along her skin, the timbre of his voice resonating deep inside her. She wanted to lean back, to lay her head on his shoulder and look at him. But all she could do was whisper, “It’s beautiful.”
“You’ve never seen it before?”
She shook her head, her hair brushing his cheek. “Never heard of it.” It wasn’t far from the soccer field where they’d played the game that Sunday in January.
“You said the tulip garden was serene. I feel that here, like it’s a peaceful place.” His breath washed over her ear as he chuckled. “Except Pebble Beach, of course, when we’re hiking in the woods.”
On a spring weekday, just the two of them were at the lake, and the beauty and harmony enveloped them. The intimacy of his body so close and his breath in her hair shot tingles to all her erogenous zones.
“Thank you for showing me this.”
“Thank you for showing me the tulips. Sometimes we forget to stop and smell the flowers.”
She couldn’t even laugh at the cliché. The moment was too perfect. And she nodded against him, reluctant to step away. If only they could stay this way forever.
How long they gazed at the portal she couldn’t say. A path led around the lake, and they could have walked through the columns, but somehow the memorial was best seen from afar, as if you could step through into the San Francisco of the early 1900s. Getting too close would ruin the effect.
“Where to now?” he finally asked, even as she remained mesmerized by his nearness.
To his bed, she thought. It was the only place she really wanted to be.
But it was the only place she could never be. Not ever again.
“We should ride a cable car.” The words almost burst from her, as if she needed the clickety-clack of a cable car and the laughter of other people to burst the bubble in which they stood.
She called another Uber. It dropped them off a couple of blocks from the cable car turnaround near Union Square so they didn’t have to wait in the long line with the other tourists. And soon they swung up onto the running board of an overpacked car, Cammie’s heart in her throat when she thought her foot might slip. Dane was right there, helping her grab a pole and paying the fare in exact change when the conductor came by. They went up, up, up the monumental hills of San Francisco, turned left on California and then right on Hyde, the car swaying as she held on tight. At the top of Lombard Street, the crookedest street in the world, the crush of bodies eased as many of the passengers jumped off for their turn to walk down among the blooming hydrangeas.
Dane pulled her inside, where it was still standing room only. “Unless you want to get off here and walk down Lombard.”
She shook her head. He was so close behind her she didn’t want to move, not even an inch. “I’ve done that. Let’s ride all the way to Ghirardelli Square.”
“Sounds good to me.” His breath whispered across her hair. The cable car’s jolt as it took off again pressed her against him. And somehow she just stayed there.
Even above the clank and clang of the car, she was sure she heard him breathe deeply, as though he was sniffing her hair. His heat caressed her spine, sending more tingles through her, all the way to her fingers and toes. And other parts.
It was crazy. It was unprofessional. And it was exhilarating.
* * *
Dane breathed her in as if she were a life-giving elixir. Allowing the cable car’s gripman behind him plenty of room to work the manual brakes, he used it as an excuse to hold her close. And he felt her everywhere.
It was enough to make a man want unthinkable things.
With her body flush against him, he could let his imagination run wild. He could imagine hauling her high against his body until she wrapped her legs around him. Until he pressed her against the office wall. Or laid her out on his desk.
Dane knew he’d truly gone crazy when he imagined kissing her right here on the cable car. Imagined undoing her blouse and tasting her. Imagined taking a seat and pulling her down to straddle him.
Hell if he wasn’t fully, temptingly aroused when they stepped off the cable car near Ghirardelli Square. How many blocks had that been from Lombard? Five, maybe. He wished the ride had been longer.
“Where to now?” His voice almost cracked.
She looked at him, her gaze dreamy. If he didn’t know better, he’d think she felt the same agonizing need that he did. But of course she didn’t. Cammie was always in control.
Except for that one night twelve years ago.
She grabbed his hand and pulled him, walking backward. “I want an ice cream sundae at Ghirardelli Square.”
He would have given her anything she asked for.
They shared a banana split with butter pecan, cookie dough, and rocky road ice cream, lots of chocolate sauce, whipped cream, nuts, and sprinkles on top.
Who could have known that sharing a sundae would be so sexy? The cramped table forced them to sit close, the sundae between them, with only one spoon. Had he failed to ask for two spoons on purpose? He couldn’t say. But they worked their way through the ice cream with him feeding her a spoonful, then taking one of his own. He was so pathetic he actually relished the lingering taste of her on the spoon.
“Good?” he asked. Hell, it was better than good. It was freaking awesome.
Her pupils were wide, as if he’d stolen her breath, as if he’d stolen a kiss.
“It’s so good.”
He felt her breathlessness deep inside.
Giving her the last bite, he watched her lick the spoon clean. How he wanted to lick her just that way, wanted to feel her tremble with desire.
The way he trembled with desire at this very moment.
When they were done, he grabbed her hand. “That was dessert, but we definitely need a starter.” They dodged tourists on the sidewalk down to Fisherman’s Wharf, where he bought her clam chowder in a bread bowl.
“One spoon again?” she asked.
He couldn’t let her know how badly he had designs on her. This day was for fun and games, but if she thought any of it was real, she might balk.
“They only gave me one. Here, take a bite.” He fed her again, and she groaned at the clam chowder’s creaminess. He opened the bag of oyster crackers and held it out. “You need a chaser.” After pouring a few into her hand, he watched her suck them down.
His insides tensed.
He kept on feeding her, wanting her, kept on remembering that kiss on the island, remembering the golf game and that night in his condo. He was close to losing his mind. If he went on tempting himself this way, he’d lose it completely.
And he could very well lose her.
With the chowder bowl empty, they were heading to Pier 39 when she suddenly dug in her heels and pointed. “We need a balloon animal.”
Her hand in his, the two of them watched as a clown sitting on a camp stool blew up balloons, twisted them into shapes, and handed them to little kids walking by.
Chuckling, Dane murmured into her sweetly fragrant hair, “You want one of those?”
When she nodded, Dane stepped up to the man. “Can you make a dachshund?”
The man rolled his eyes beneath his white face paint and oversized fake lips. Then he blew hard on the balloon, twisting, shaping, laughing, smiling. And finally, he held out a dachshund balloon on his palm.
“For a very pretty lady.” He handed it to Cammie.
Her smile grew like a flower opening. “Thank you. I love it.”
Without a thought, Dane tipped the man a fifty. If he’d had a hundred, he’d have given him that, too, just for the smile the clown had put on her face.
He held her hand as they wandered Pier 39, shared a shrimp cocktail, and stopped to watch the seals.
Then Cammie found it. Though it wasn’t a pet shop, it sold dog toys. Her eyes shone so brightly, he could have kissed her right then.
She held out a… thing.
He looked at it for a long moment. “What is it?”
She laughed. He loved it when she laughed at him. “It’s a log,” she said with exaggerated slowness. “With chipmunks inside.”
Her words didn’t make sense. Until she shook the thing and stuffed chipmunks fell out all over the floor.
Dane couldn’t help laughing as she gathered up the little creatures, stuffing them back inside.
“Rex will go wild, shaking out all the chipmunks and chasing them,” she said, demonstrating, hands on both ends so nothing fell out.
He could see her playing with the dog. How she loved that dachshund. He did too. And he loved that T. Rex was theirs together.
She looked at him pointedly, her face tipped up. “Rex absolutely must have this.”
Dane reached for it. “I’ll get it.”
She hugged the chipmunk log to her chest. “No. I’ll get it.”
“But this is my trip. I’ll buy it.”
She glowered at him. “But if you do, it’s not my gift to Rex.”
“It doesn’t really matter who pays for it—it’s from both of us.”
“You don’t get it.”
He opened his mouth, ready to argue with her, but before he could utter another word, she slapped her hand over his lips, shutting him up.
An electric shock zipped through him. He wanted to lick her palm, wanted to grab her and lick way more than that.
But Cammie yanked back before he could get his tongue between his lips.
Her eyes were wide, her face a grimace, as if she’d been scorched by boiling water.
And maybe she had.
Certainly, he’d been scorched.