Chapter 11

Sara grabbed Chris’s ringing cell phone from its perch on the console beside him. “It’s Grandma.”

“You can talk to her if you want,” he said.

“But she’ll want to talk to you too.”

“Tell her I’m driving.”

“She’ll tell you to pull over.”

“Then don’t answer it,” he said, a second too late as Sara slid her finger across the phone to answer his mother’s call.

“Hi, Grandma, it’s me, Sara.”

Chris could only hear one side of the conversation, but it wasn’t difficult to guess what the other side was.

“My new dance class in Canden Valley . . . . It’s not that far. . . . . Uncle Chris doesn’t mind . . . . I love it. I even get to dance in The Nutcracker . . . . It’s not a hick town, Grandma, and the dance teacher is amazing . . . . He can’t talk ‘cause he’s driving . . . . ”

Sara looked up at him, and he groaned and pulled off the highway onto a small turn-out. He could always plead bad cell service in this hick town.

“Hello, Mother.” He pressed the phone to his ear.

“Hello, Christopher. You didn’t call me back.”

“I’m sorry. I’ve been pretty busy here.”

“Taking your niece back and forth to dance classes I hear. What on earth for?”

“She loves to dance.”

“I’m sure there are dance studios in Winslow. When are you coming home?”

Home? Where did she think his home was? He’d moved out of the family house thirteen years ago. He did still have his loft studio in San Francisco, but she’d never even been to visit him there. “I’m working on several articles here.”

“I assume you’re coming home for the holidays.”

“Probably not.”

Her voice softened, and he felt the tension roiling up in his stomach. Guilt. He’d been conditioned to feel responsible for his mother’s feelings. “Please, Christopher. I miss you.”

“I miss you too, Mom. I’ll come home when I can, but it won’t be for Christmas.”

Her sigh cut through him like a knife. “Your father will be very upset.”

Relief hit as the guilt subsided at the mention of his father. And the old familiar ploy of using his father in an attempt to evoke that very guilt.

“As will your grandparents. And the entire family for that matter.”

Right. As if they’d notice. Whether he was there or not, he’d be the subject of the conversation, family disappointment that he was. At least if he wasn’t there, they could speak freely without his defending himself. Much more relaxed meal, he was sure. Especially for him, even if it was a TV dinner.

“I have to go. I’ll call you soon, okay?”

“Okay, darling, but think about it, please? Sara and Shelly are coming. You could drive up with them.”

If he had his way, he’d talk them out of going.

After a couple minutes, Sara broke the silence that had settled over them. “Why don’t you get along with Grandma and Grandpa?”

This was not a subject he cared to discuss, particularly with his niece. He tried to get away with a shrug. It didn’t work.

“Why don’t you like them?”

“I don’t not like them.” How was that for a bullshit response? Apparently Sara felt the same way.

“But you don’t really like them.”

“I don’t like being around them.”

“Because?”

“Because— I just get tired of the conversation, that’s all.”

“You mean when Grandpa and Great Grandpa lecture you about being a photographer instead of working with them?”

“Right.”

“Why don’t they want you to be a photographer? You’re really good at it.”

“Not prestigious enough apparently. And not the family money business.” The disgust and anger in his voice said as much as his words did.

“They do care a lot about money, don’t they?”

“I’m afraid so.”

“I mean, that’s not a bad thing. It’s just that there are more important things.”

Chris was impressed, although not surprised by his niece’s wisdom. He glanced over at her. “Such as?”

“Well, Mom always says you can’t hug money the way you can hug someone you love.”

Chris chuckled. How true that was.

“But sometimes I wish we had both, you know? Plenty of money and plenty of hugs.”

Apparently, despite Shelly’s efforts to protect her daughter, Sara was aware of the fact that money was scarce in their household. 

“I know Mom works real hard and stuff but she doesn’t seem to make hardly any money. I mean, she works at two restaurants and still has trouble paying for stuff. I don’t mind not having stuff like new clothes and all that, but I feel bad when she gets me things she can’t really afford. Especially ‘cause she works so hard.”

Chris reached over and squeezed her hand. “She loves you very much, munchkin.”

“I know she does.” She sighed, then said, “Thank you for these dance classes, Uncle Chris.”

“You’re very welcome.”

“How did you get Mom to let you pay for them?”

He chuckled. She knew her mother well. “I just told her I was coming here anyway because I’m featuring Anne in my article on dance.”

“But that doesn’t mean you had to take me along.”

 “I like having company?”

“That doesn’t make sense ‘cause you’re staying in Canden Valley most of the time now. So, what’s the real reason?” She was only eight but she had more wisdom in her pinky than most of his family members had in their entire bodies—put together. She knew how stubborn her mother was. And she knew when he was trying to keep something from her. “It has something to do with Anne, doesn’t it?”

Chris patted her hand. “I promise I’ll tell you everything . . . soon.”

Sara leaned back in her seat. Chris could feel her smiling with satisfaction. Hopefully he wouldn’t have to face any further interrogation the remainder of their drive to Winslow.

No such luck. Five minutes later, she said, “Why don’t you want to go up to their house for Christmas?”

“I’ve heard the dinner conversation enough times. I don’t need to hear it again.”

Sara nodded. “I know what you mean. I kind of like going because I like being part of a big family and all, but I get tired of hearing them talk about you and Mom like that.”

“Like what?” he asked, curious to hear her interpretation of it.

“Like you’re not good enough because you’re not like them.”

The squirt had nailed it.

“But you are. You know that, right?”

Suddenly he felt like the kid, talking to the adult. “Yeah, I know that.” At least most of the time he did. 

“And Mom knows that. At least she says she does. But sometimes I think it would be better just to stay away from there so she doesn’t have to hear about the choices she made and all that stuff.”

“I have to agree with that.”

“But she says we’re going this year.”

“I know.”

“You wish we weren’t, don’t you?”

“Yeah, I do.”

“So you could spend Christmas with us?”

He could hear the sadness in her voice. “It’s okay, sweetheart. I’ll be fine.”

“Do you have someone else to spend it with?”

He was hopeful. “Not yet.”

Sara giggled as she unbuckled her seatbelt when they pulled up to the curb. “Maybe Anne will invite you to her house.”

Again, he was hopeful. “Maybe.”

“You want her to! You do!”

Chris chuckled and reached over to tickle his niece. He knew better than to deny it. Apparently the girl could read him like a book. “It would be nice,” he confessed. “But don’t tell her that, okay?”

“Why not? Why don’t you want her to know you like her?”

This conversation again. “I thought I explained that.”

“No, all you did was admit that you think she’s pretty.”

Oh, yeah, right. “Okay, well, I admit I like her, but she can’t know that, not yet anyway.”

“Why not?”

He put his hand on his door handle, but Sara grabbed his other one and tugged before he could climb out of the car. “Oh, no you don’t!”

She was relentless. And just as stubborn as her mother. And she had a whole lot more energy than either of them. “Okay, but this conversation is confidential.”

“What’s that mean?”

“It means it’s private, top-secret, just between you and me. Promise?”

There was a gleam in her eyes, the one that said she felt special. “I promise.”

“The truth is, I’m crazy about Anne. The truth is, I do think she’s pretty.” The truth was, he did want to kiss her.

He scowled at the sound of his niece’s giggle. “Go on.”

“But she’s not good at relationships.”

“Not good? How not good?”

“Well, she, uh, gets involved with a guy and then dumps him right before she goes out on tour.”

“Oh, that’s not so good.”

“No, that’s not so good.”

“But that doesn’t mean she’d dump you.”

“Odds are not in my favor.”

“So, what are you going to do?”

“I’m going to keep it on a friendship-only basis.”

Sara frowned and scratched her head as if she were thinking really hard. “’Cause you think she’d be better at staying friends with you than if you were boyfriend and girlfriend?”

“Something like that.”

Sara nodded, and Chris actually felt pleased at her approval of his plan. Eight-year-old wisdom went a long way in his book. “But how will that work? I mean you can’t really kiss her if you’re just friends. And you do want to kiss her, right?”

Oh yeah, he wanted to kiss her . . . and a lot more. “I just figure that once we’re really good friends, she’ll fall in love with me and won’t want to dump me.”

“’Cause you’re in love with her?”

“’Cause I’m in love with her.”

“Thought so!”

Chris reached over and tickled her again. “Now can we stop talking about this?”

“Sure, but just one more question. How did you fall in love with her so fast? I mean, you just met her, didn’t you?”

“Yeah, I just met her,” he answered honestly. “Sometimes it just happens that way.”

She nodded as if she understood. “Okay then. Let’s pinky swear to keep it con—con—”

“Confidential?”

“Yeah, that.”

She held up her pinky and waited for him to do the same. He knew the drill and followed suit. He locked his pinky with hers and then scooped her up into his lap for a giant hug. Somehow he actually felt that with Sara on his side there was no way he could lose.

“You’re sure this is a good time?” Anne faced the photographer squarely, wondering why he had chosen evening.

“I’m sure.”

“Okay, but I need to get cleaned up first.”

“You look fine.” Better than fine. She looked wonderful.

She grimaced. “Hardly. I’ve been teaching for four hours straight.” Ignoring his assessment of her appearance, she headed for the private restroom in her dance studio. With no shower, she did the best she could to wash up. She changed into a fresh pair of beige tights and a sleeveless lavender-colored leotard and brushed her hair until it shone. Then she tucked it into a neat pony tail and reapplied a small amount of makeup. He seemed to prefer her with little to none. That was fine, but what he wasn’t going to get was a sweaty image of her after she’d taught all afternoon and into the evening—her advanced classes which demanded more intense participation.

Chris stood staring at the door through which she had exited. He was looking forward to this shoot. He had very few night photographs of her other than those taken inside a theater. She really had no idea how beautiful she looked after an intense session of dancing. She glowed deep in her soul from the passion she felt when she danced. And that’s what he wanted to capture with his camera. He had selected Friday evening because she didn’t have rehearsals after her advanced classes. That would give them more time. If she ever came out of the restroom.

Camera in hand, he walked over to the door and tapped. “Anne, I really want to get started.”

“I’ll only be another minute.”

“I want you now.” He clamped his tongue between his teeth.

Anne smiled at her reflection in the mirror. A Freudian slip? Or did he want her simply as a subject. She opened the door slowly and walked toward him. “Better?”

“You looked fine before.”

“Yeah, but now I feel human.”

And she looked human all right. And irresistible. And she had that mischievous look in her eyes that she got when she was conspiring or at least thinking about doing something. It was the same look she’d had right before she’d kissed him.

Before he did something stupid—or let her do something stupid—he turned and walked away from her, toward the dance floor. He figured he was safer if there was a camera between them, at the very least.

“So, what do you want me to do?”

“Dance for me.”

It was the “for me” that touched her, especially the way he’d said it so softly with his husky voice. It made her want to stop the cat and mouse game, and it weakened her resolve to prove that he wanted her. It tempted her to simply blurt out the words, “Do you want to make love?” But she controlled herself.

Chris took in a slow breath. The moment she stepped onto the dance floor, she was glorious. Grace personified. In the past it was close-ups that Chris couldn’t resist taking, but now with the light moving through shadows in harmony with her body, his focus was more of a professional photographer’s, an artist’s. He was determined to capture the power and control that her body exemplified. The blend of technique and raw emotion.

He would develop these in black and white. They would demand their own chapter in a book. “The Spirit of Dance.”

She danced for thirty minutes straight, allowing the music to choose itself and flow from one piece to the next. Judging from her focus, she had finally come to terms with his presence. Perhaps he and his camera had disappeared for her. That was a good thing. At least for the sake of the photographs.

When she stopped, she was on the floor, kneeling with her back to him, her arms extended high above her head. The music finished with her as if she had silently commanded it to do so.

He couldn’t speak. Neither could she. It was several moments before she stood and turned to face him. He remained motionless, not knowing what to expect. But he knew from the tension in the room that he was in danger. He had no idea how it would manifest—possibly with another kiss, possibly with his telling her that he loved her. Whichever it was, he knew he had to leave. Unfortunately he couldn’t convince his legs of that.

When she moved toward him, his heart started pounding. He had no doubt what was going to happen, and he had no doubt that there was no hope of his resisting her.

Slowly she took the camera out of his hands and set it on top of its case. Deja vu. Still his feet were planted firmly on the floor. His breathing turned shallow when she took another step closer until they were toe to toe, her bare feet against his leather boots. Then her arms reached around his neck, and his arms, despite his command for them not to, enveloped her waist.

“Don’t,” he whispered, his voice barely audible.

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t kiss me.”

“Why not?”

While he struggled for an answer, her lips moved in for the kill, pressing hard against his as her body did the same. He inhaled the lilac scent of her and he was lost. His arms pulled her closer as he devoured her mouth.

It was over, he realized. He’d blown it. There was no way he could convince her now that he wasn’t interested. His body was too honest. And he was way too aroused.

He could have taken her right there on the floor of her dance studio. He wanted to. God, how he wanted to. Her lithe body pressed against him and he could feel her breasts aching to be touched. It took every ounce of his willpower to resist.

“We can’t,” he whispered.

“You want to.” She’d stepped back to see his face. Her words were spoken in a challenge. There was no possibility of a lie.

“Yes, I want to.”

Her smile was endearing. She’d won. She liked winning.

“But we can’t,” he said quickly before she could edge closer again.

“Why not?”

Because when it’s time for you to leave on your tour, you’ll toss me aside. “Because we have a professional relationship.”

“Screw professional.”

He took her arms that had once again encircled his neck and lowered them. “No, Anne.”

Startled, she stepped away from him. Not too many men had told her no, she realized. Actually none. “I don’t understand.”

“It’s better this way.” He hated the way he sounded—like an inflexible parent.

“Better for whom? You want me and I want you.”

God, when she put it that way, how the hell did he turn her down?

“Don’t you?” she challenged.

He stopped breathing when he felt her hand on his chest, sliding upward until she reached his neck. She grabbed him and pulled his head toward her until their mouths met again. Only this time she let herself move freely, much the way she did when she danced. Her tongue pressed inside his parted lips, seducing his into an erotic dance. Once convinced he was not going to reject her, she released her hands from his neck so she could run them up and down his chest, swiftly undoing his buttons so it was skin touching skin.

She didn’t stop there. She leaned into his erection as if forcing him to admit his attraction. He didn’t resist. He didn’t pull away. He let himself indulge in the exquisite torture of her touch. How the hell was he supposed to reject her now? He forced himself to visualize her driving off in her little blue Honda sports car, waving good-bye. A permanent good-bye. Damn.

He stepped away from her, quickly reaching for his buttons.

“I really don’t understand, Chris.”

Of course, she didn’t. Because she had no clue what he wanted from her. Everything. “I’m sorry, Anne.”

She shook her head. “Really? You’re walking away from this? From us? From this incredible chemistry between us?”

She wasn’t just bewildered. She was angry. He could hear it in her voice. Clearly she wasn’t used to rejection. How did he fix this? Fix what had gotten out of hand? What he’d allowed to get out of hand?

Just as she turned away, primed to storm off, he grabbed her wrist and held her in place. “You know I want you, Anne.”

She relaxed in his grip. “I know.”

“I just don’t think it’s the right time or place.”

Her smile came slowly and when it did, it was the mischievous one with which he was becoming immensely familiar. “Okay then, tomorrow night? Spend the night with me? At the bed and breakfast?”

He couldn’t help smiling too. “You know what I mean.”

“Maybe. So, after you’re finished with your article, will that be the right time? We won’t be photographer and subject any longer.” He hesitated and she filled the brief silence. “But then, that will be too late. You’ll be leaving.”

No, she’d be the one to leave. “I won’t be leaving right away.”

She nodded. “Okay then, it’s a date. As soon as you’re finished shooting me, we can have a torrid affair.”

God, how the hell would he wait when she was so honest about wanting to be with him?

“How much longer?” she asked.

“Another couple weeks. But wouldn’t you like to get to know me first?”

“Like date?”

“Right. Maybe after I finish the article, we could go out—”

“Naw, dating is overrated, and I know you just fine.”

“Well, maybe I don’t know you well enough.” He hoped she couldn’t hear the blatant lie.

Anne stared at him. Okay, maybe she didn’t know him that well. She’d never met anyone like him. She’d never met a man who didn’t want to sleep with her after they’d kissed her like that. Not that she’d ever experienced a kiss quite like the ones they’d shared. “Well, maybe we can have coffee—or tea—again. Before you finish your article. Just friends.”

Good. “Just friends.” Safe territory. Except that there was nothing safe about the way she was looking at him. And it wasn’t just hunger he was seeing in her eyes. It was mischief. She was up to something, scheming, plotting. Whatever it was, he had a really bad feeling that Skye was right. He was in big trouble.