Chapter Four

He brought a date.

Two days earlier Candace had watched with pride and more than a little envy as Ben and Tara exchanged vows and a renewed commitment to sharing their lives. Neal had stood with another woman by his side.

It didn’t seem to matter that Dana Oliver appeared uncomfortable and on edge all afternoon or that Candace rarely saw Dana and Neal together throughout the simple reception.

Everything between her and Neal had been going so well. She’d spent the better part of a quiet hour in the hammock held close by the man she loved. She’d managed to chase away the wariness in his gaze when he woke, even convinced him to have a friendly dinner with her that evening. True, he’d turned down her offer of a tour of her new home, but he’d promised to come by this week. They’d talked on the phone several times, though mostly about tonight’s inaugural meeting for the youth center renovation.

And that was what she needed to concentrate on. Candace turned the corner and felt cheered by entering the subdivision. It was, after all, the first time she had driven from work to her new home.

Though she would have to do so in a sleeping bag on the floor, tonight would be the first night she slept here. Wanting the full impact of this experience, she slowed her speed and took a survey of the noise and activity of a suburban neighborhood.

A man who had obviously enjoyed more than one weekend beer mowed his front lawn. Candace made a mental note to check into purchasing a lawn mower. Three young girls in bright orange numbered shirts with white shorts that were permanently stained with red clay dirt tossed a softball back and forth. Two women stood by talking while their toddlers chased a puppy around the yard. The odor of a backyard barbecue hung in the air.

These were the sights and sounds Candace had looked for, craved, while she’d searched for a home. Someday it would be she who took pride in her yard. Someday she would, hopefully, stand by chatting with a neighbor while her children enjoyed the safety and security of playing with friends.

After parking in the driveway, she opened her front door and immediately spotted the container of daisies sitting in the middle of her barren great room.

Because she did question how the flowers came to be inside her locked house, her first thought was the flowers were a housewarming welcome from Grandmother, or perhaps Ben and Tara. She frowned down at her hand but then shook her head. While it wasn’t a habit she’d needed to perfect while living in her childhood home, she knew she’d locked the front door yesterday when she came by to put some of her clothes in the master bedroom closet.

A little cautious, she crossed the room, opened the card and read. Soon.

“Neal,” she sighed, her heart beating with giddy joy. All thoughts of exactly how the flowers had come to be inside her new home were dismissed. Who else but Neal was she expecting to see—soon? Who else but Neal did she want to become her lover—soon?

Believing he was coming around to her way of thinking, she hurriedly changed clothes and all but skipped back out to her car. She sang along with the radio she turned up loud as she drove to Ben and Tara’s to make good on her promise to water the plants she and Neal had planted.

****

It wasn’t like Candace to be late.

Neal might at times believe her to be spoiled; he might often be aggravated by her behavior. He could even be accused, because it suited his purpose, of questioning her motivation about being part of the youth center renovation. But the one thing, the one unshakable truth he knew about Candace Hart was that when she made a commitment she stuck to it.

At least that’s what he’d always believed before she divorced her husband.

“Do you think we should go ahead and begin?” asked Mayor Hope MacFarland.

Neal glanced at the other committee members sitting around the table and then at the time on his cell phone. “Let’s give her another five…” He trailed off as the door opened, and Candace hurried inside.

“I’m sorry I’m late,” she apologized. Neal’s brows knit together at the shake to her voice, then concluded it was probably little more than her own annoyance at running behind schedule.

She appeared cool and composed enough as she greeted everyone waiting for her arrival. She wore a caramel colored blouse—silk again—with khaki linen slacks and strappy tan sandals. Her hair had been pulled back into a braid and there were tiny gold knots at her ears.

“Shall we begin?”

She concentrated on taking notes rather than dominating the discussion, inserting only an occasional comment or prompting Sandra and Corey’s suggestions and opinions at every opportunity. Plans and dates were scheduled for a couple of community fundraiser activities as well as a workday to paint the interior walls of the center.

Not once during the entire course of the meeting did she look his way.

After the meeting concluded, she thanked everyone for their time and input, chatted with some of the others, subtly made sure Corey and Sandra walked home together. Neal should have been relieved by her behavior, pleased she gave no one any reason to suspect she felt anything more than their old friendship for him.

For reasons that escaped his understanding, it irritated the hell out of him.

He lingered after the meeting. “It went well tonight.”

“Yes.” She continued to avoid looking at him by collecting papers and arranging files. He had to admit he’d always been impressed by her organizational skills. “If everything else goes this smoothly—”

“Are you mad at me?”

Now she did look at him, puzzlement more than evident in her gaze, in the furrow of her brows. “Mad? No, of course not. Why would you think so?”

Neal shrugged, uncomfortable with the way she studied him. “I don’t know. You seem, uh, a little out of sorts or something.”

Her eyes fluttered closed for a second. “I guess I’m still a little shook. Someone tried to run me off the road after I left Ben and Tara’s.”

“What?”

She waved off his concern. “It was probably just a teenager being careless.” She looked at him and the line of her mouth softened, curving until it went from polite and mannerly to warm and inviting. “I did want to thank you for the flowers.”

“Flowers?” he asked, confusing clouding his features.

“Yes, the daisies.” Her smile dimmed a little, her cheeks faded to that pale color she’d worn when she first arrived. “They weren’t from you?”

“What flowers?” he demanded, stepping closer. “When? Where?”

“Daisies,” she repeated. “There was a container of daisies in the center of the living room when I arrived there tonight to change before I went out to water Ben and Tara’s garden. There was a card, but it wasn’t signed.”

“Your grandmother,” Neal said. “She must know who sent them.”

“Neal, the flowers were at my new home. Tonight I’m staying there for the first time.” She shrugged. “I guess my first thought was right after all. They’re probably a house warming gift from Dawson.”

“You can’t be sure.”

“No, but it seems like a reasonable explanation. He has this uncanny ability to know what’s going on in all of our lives.”

“They could have been from anyone. Did you call the florist to see who ordered them?”

“They weren’t delivered by a florist. They were in the kind of container from a nursery and no, I didn’t take the time to call.” Her lips curved wide again; her eyes sparkled with amusement. “Why Neal,” she all but purred. “If I didn’t know better, I’d swear you were jealous.”

“This isn’t funny, Candace.”

First unexplained flowers and then someone tried to run her off the road. Every imagined threat he’d tried to ignore, every possibility he’d relegated to over-reaction roared through his mind. That damn picture left in his truck remained clear in his mind.

“Someone came by your house. What if you’d been there? What if,” he said and had to pause as he swallowed down the image, “someone comes back tonight while you’re there?”

“You offering to stay with me, Neal?”

She still smiled. Damn her.

Maybe he had downplayed the potential of a threat, but she had no right to shake off the possibility with such casual disregard. To make matters worse she taunted him further by tracing a fingertip down the center of his chest.

“You want to come home and protect me?” Her finger moved to trace along his biceps. “I’d be only too happy to spend the night safe and warm in these big, strong arms of yours.”

It was more than he could withstand. It was bad enough to stand by and hear that the perceived threats were a stronger possibility than he wanted to believe, to know and fear she could have been hurt. Or lost to him.

The image of holding her, coupled with all the others that haunted him since she announced she wanted to be his lover, pushed aside his reserve. Fueled his desire.

His hands closed around her arms and jerked her against his chest. Before she could protest, before she could struggle out of his hold, before he could come to his senses or remind himself that she should be treated with care or restraint, before he could question more thoroughly this need to possess her, he set the animal within him free.

This was no sweet seduction; this was no tentative first taste. This was desperation fueled by attraction, long dormant desire awakened by the sudden realization he might have waited too long. Years of suppressed longing raged free in the way he held her, in the force of his mouth on hers.

He didn’t settle for simply the press of lips to lips; he invaded her mouth, taking long thrusts with his tongue, giving her little choice but to accept. And to demand in return.

His hands, as well, were neither still nor gentle. He skimmed the sides of her breasts, shivering himself when she trembled in his embrace. They moved up her arms, over her shoulders to grip. Still his hands moved, now down her back to cup her butt where he squeezed once before pressing her tighter against him. Her hands ran over him as well before they fisted in his hair and held on.

She was more than he had dared dream. Any lingering doubts he might have harbored about her claim of wanting to become his lover were obliterated by her complete and total response. She vibrated within his embrace. She arched against him. She all but devoured his mouth in response.

The thin thread of hope he’d woven about her being too sheltered and demure to handle the strength of his needs snapped clean.

Neal wanted to hate her for stripping bare and exposing the illusions he’d hidden behind, but he was too busy enjoying.

All of Candace’s dreams, hopes, and fantasies were shattered. How could they hold up under such an onslaught of need and desperation?

He didn’t scare her with the force of his desire. Candace had waited her whole life to feel a passion—his and her own—this strongly. Her blood rushed like a wild fire; her nerves exploded with bolts of electrical current at each separate sensation. There was a magical wonder in the feel of being held by him, of her mouth being assaulted by his.

Oh, and his touch. Though light and not still, she felt each and every thrilling imprint of his fingers. There was trust in knowing his big hands would never hurt her. There was delight and pleasure in knowing he would go no further than she allowed.

Even as she was ready to allow him everything.

Then as suddenly and forcefully as he’d taken her in his arms and pressed his mouth to hers, he released her, nearly shoved her away. Even in this gesture, in the pure abruptness, she found satisfaction.

No man would be so desperate to jerk his actions back under control if he’d been unaffected by what just passed between them.

“Well,” she said then paused to press her lips together to hold back the smile she suspected Neal would not appreciate. And to savor the lingering taste of him.

“That set my heart thundering even more than nearly being run off the road.”

She would have pressed her curving mouth to his again had he not taken a step in retreat. Candace didn’t let it diminish her joy over their kiss.

The slant of their relationship had moved to a different level with that kiss. She intended for it to move yet further.

“Obviously it’s all you’ll allow us to share tonight.” When he said nothing, she gathered up her files and purse. Determined to ignore all the longing ping-ponging inside her, she managed a small smile. “I can wait for the next time, especially since I’m betting it won’t take you as long as it did before now.” He said nothing, just continued to stare at her. She finally sighed and moved to the door.

“Candace.”

With a hand on the doorknob, she glanced over her shoulder. Neal looked so isolated, just as he had far too often throughout his life. She wanted, desperately, to cross the width of the room, to wrap her arms around him. To hold and be held. Just that, simply that.

“Drive carefully,” he said.

Like his kiss, these few words had the power to give her hope. She knew if she asked he would follow her home and make sure her house was safe. She knew he’d also worry about the possibility of someone seeing his truck parked in her driveway at a late hour.

“You too,” she managed, then turned and walked out.

****

Candace’s day started early and badly.

For a woman raised on the fundamental importance of proper planning and organization, it was galling to discover she awoke her first morning in her new home without having stocked the kitchen with coffee or a few basic food items. Not to mention the shock to her system from being deprived of caffeine and sugar.

She recalled, with a hungry fondness, the rich dark flavor of the coffee and pastries she’d enjoyed while in Italy. Maybe if she thought hard enough the memory would sustain her until she could get to the bakery.

Her oversight was Neal’s fault, of course. Rather than go grocery shopping, as she’d planned, Candace had stopped by the hardware store. The reality was she couldn’t explain how the flowers had appeared at her home, and Neal’s questions, his concern, couldn’t be ignored. So she’d spent her night installing security chains on the doors and bolt locks on the windows instead of stocking the pantry and refrigerator.

When she’d finally crawled into the sleeping bag, her sleep had been tormented by the memory of their kiss.

A morning shower eased much of the ache of sleeping on the floor. Though it would cramp her schedule, she let her hair air-dry and spent the time walking her home, imagining and planning.

In her bedroom she knew what she wanted, had in fact purchased the bed before her return to the states. Candace had been putting off informing her grandmother of her plans to move out when Ben and Tara’s reconciliation gave her the opportunity.

She stepped into the kitchen, longed again for a cup of coffee and pictured the maple trestle table and L-shaped bench custom-ordered to fit beneath the bay windows. She’d chosen this house in large part due to the openness of the kitchen and the huge great room. Standing there now, with the sleeping bag still spread open in front of the brick fireplace, she imagined the room decorated in colors of navy and cream with furniture chosen more for comfort and practicality than luxury.

The doorbell caused her to flinch in response, making her grateful for the first time this morning that she didn’t hold a steaming cup of coffee. She hurried to the door.

“Don’t you think you should check to see who it is before you open the door?” Neal demanded.

It wasn’t a welcoming neighbor, or her grandmother, as she might have expected. Still, Candace couldn’t think of anyone she was more thrilled to have as the first guest in her new home as Neal.

She did, however, have a purely feminine moment of regret that he’d caught her in a T-shirt and boxer shorts with her hair still damp from the shower. The fact that he’d seen her in similar fashion several times over the years didn’t matter. All of that had been before she’d set her mind and heart on becoming his lover.

“Good morning,” she said, ignoring his demand. Then her gaze narrowed in on the white bag he held in one hand. “Food? You brought me food?”

“I stopped and picked up a whole wheat bagel for my breakfast.”

“Oh.”

He grinned and shook the bag. “I think they tossed in a blueberry muffin also.”

It wasn’t the gooey pastry she would have preferred, but at this point Candace wasn’t about to quibble. Her growling stomach as much as her pleasure for this thoughtfulness erased any regret that his choice wasn’t something sweeter. She stepped back to allow him room to enter. Seeing him gave her an enjoyable jolt to surpass any thoughts of nibbling on a sugar-loaded treat.

“Now if you just tell me you have a large coffee to go with it, I’ll gladly sleep with you.”

Neal stopped dead in his tracks. And slowly, almost fearfully, drew out the other bag he had hidden behind his back. Even through the barriers of paper and Styrofoam she smelled the aroma.

Looking at him Candace suddenly knew she was not the only one who’d recalled their kiss during the long, dark hours of the night. That look on his face should have propelled her to move closer, to once again know the glory of having him hold her, kiss her, want her. Only, sadly, she recalled all the gossip she’d heard about Melinda Barrows bartering her body in exchange for pretty trinkets and clothes.

Besides Candace hadn’t waited this long to make love with Neal for their first time together to be on the floor of her barren great room.

“I have to warn you, however, as much as I might be lusting after your body, Neal, I do nothing without having coffee first,” she said, taking the bag from him. “Looks like we’ll be sharing a second picnic.”

As if she had no interest in him beyond friendship she sat down on the sleeping bag and crossed her legs Indian-style.

“Oh, God,” she moaned when she lifted the lid off the cup and drew in the aroma. She actually shuddered with the first sip. “It’s sick, I know,” she admitted. “No one should be this dependent upon caffeine.”

She shrugged in acceptance of the weakness as she took a longer, hot swallow. The light scalding over her tongue and down her throat chased away the last of her fatigue.

“So.” She smiled up at him. “Are you going to just stand there towering over me or are you going to sit and have your breakfast?”

“I spoke to the sheriff.” Neal sat, uncapped his quart bottle of juice, and chugged down half the contents. “I asked him to make sure the house was on the patrol rounds last night but not to bother you.”

He drew the muffin, sprinkled with cinnamon sugar, out of the bag and offered it to her. Candace closed her hand around his, waited until their gazes locked. “Thank you, Neal.”

It was more than appreciation of the coffee and acceptance of her preference for a sugar-loaded breakfast. He’d managed to express his concern for her safety without compromising her need for independence.

“No problem,” he answered. “What else are friends for?”

“Oh, I could think of a thing or two.” She smiled and leaned forward. “And if you kiss me again, I’m thinking you could come up with an idea or two of your own.”

“I have too many ideas about you as it is, and none of them have anything to do with being friends.”

“Do you now?” she asked, absolutely delighted with his grumbled admission.

“You might not be so thrilled if you knew what those ideas were. What they involve.”

There it was again, that dark almost fierce look in his eyes. Candace did, for a heartbeat, hesitate. Could she really be the kind of woman Neal wanted and needed? Did she carry too much old emotional baggage to give him everything? Should she reveal that past to him?

“Neither of us will know if we don’t give it a try,” she suggested.

She looked so serious was Neal’s only thought. Despite his best effort, his gaze lowered to her T-shirt, to the peak of her nipples telling him she wore no bra. Okay, so it wasn’t his only thought. And that was the problem.

He needed to remember his interest in Candace at this time was due to concern about the incidents that seemed to be taking on a pattern. A pattern that hinted at danger for Candace.

Yet the more time he spent with Candace the harder it was becoming to concentrate. Harder to lie to himself about what he wanted.

If he took her to bed, he couldn’t guarantee he would ever want her to leave. But she would. It was simply a matter of time before she tired of him and his modest lifestyle that so contrasted to the one in which she’d been raised.

If he allowed her into his life, into his heart, only for her to leave, Neal didn’t know how he would survive.

“Eat your breakfast,” he suggested.

She broke off a corner of the muffin, then proceeded to torment him, unintentionally this time he felt, by licking the crumbs off the side of her thumb.

“If I ask you something will you answer me? Honestly?”

Wary, he nodded.

“Would you like to kiss me again?”

“What the hell kind of question is that?”

“A simple one that requires a one word answer. Would you like to kiss me again? Yes or no, Neal?”

She sat silent, waiting for his answer. There was no taunting sensuality in her voice, no anticipation of victory in her gaze. That’s when Neal admitted his attraction was based on more than this new, persistent tug of lust or the attempt—however misguided—to protect the sister of an old friend.

Ordinary desire could be pushed aside or accepted as the physical pleasure it offered. The need to protect could be rationalized. It’s just when it was all wrapped tight and bound by the fragile threads of old friendship and the secret hope of a future, he found it impossible to ignore. Or to lie.

“Yes.”