The morning following their moonlit walk, Kelly stood and watched from her bedroom window as Dean drove off. He'd left early, before anyone could conceivably have come down to breakfast, before Kelly could conceivably have gone down to use the gym. And it was a Sunday, no less.
In the dawn light, Kelly leaned against the window frame and rubbed her thumb against her lips as, through the paned glass of her bedroom window, she watched his Lexus disappear down the drive. But was he running? Oh, it was too hard to believe that after last night and their nice walk, he would start playing that game again.
Kelly shrugged and stepped away from the window. She decided to hang cool, wait and see.
Mid-morning, Maggie came into the gym with a telephone. "For you," she told Kelly.
Kelly stepped off the treadmill. It could be her chorus line friend, Valerie, on the phone, with the latest gossip, or her boss, Rudy, with yet another complaint about her replacement. So Kelly calmed the leap in her heart as she reached for the telephone. "Yes?" she asked, casual.
Dean's voice on the other end sounded husky. "Would you like to have lunch?" He paused. "A real lunch, that is."
Kelly's heart took another leap, but she forced her voice to remain casual. "Why, I'd love to."
"Jackson will drive you into town." Dean made this clear. "He'll deliver you to the restaurant, say, around noon?"
Kelly cleared her throat. "Noon will be fine."
"I'll see you then."
Kelly hung up the phone and handed it to Maggie. She waited for the housekeeper to leave and close the door behind her before throwing her arms into the air and dancing a jig. Those good vibrations hadn't steered her wrong.
Dean had just asked her out.
###
They had lunch. Kelly was delivered by Jackson to a posh little café on Beacon Hill, a small place with heavy-duty prices. Dean was waiting for her. He pulled out Kelly's seat for her. She got the first glass of wine. Their eyes met, fell away, met again. After clearing her throat, Kelly asked how his day was going. After clearing his throat, Dean wanted to know if she'd had much traffic coming into town. They both made some kind of an answer and afterwards simply sat at their chic little table and looked at each other.
Kelly was delighted. The nerves meant they each cared about the impression they were making. This was like the start of a real relationship. Dean didn't seem too sure about the situation, true, but things were definitely moving in the right direction.
She sat back and sipped her wine, enjoying herself immensely. Dean, on the other hand, was not nearly so serene. He kept frowning and looking down, as if afraid of holding Kelly's gaze for too long. But that was okay, Kelly thought. It was part of the whole beginning-of-things package.
In time, their lunches came, were suitably gourmet, and were consumed. Dean paid, then rose to pull out Kelly's chair.
As she stood, she looked over her shoulder at him. "Do you have to go right back to work?"
He went very still. "No."
"Good." Kelly smiled. "I know just what I want to do with you."
###
She made him ride a swan boat. In all the years Dean had spent in the Boston area, growing up, going to college, and building his business, he'd never ridden one of the swan boats in the public garden.
Kelly said it was a scandal. She made him purchase two tickets and they had to stand in line with the families on vacation and the European tourists. Dean felt silly. He'd imagined she was going to take him to the Parker House.
Not that he should be making love to the woman. On the contrary, he'd asked her to lunch in order to call the whole farce to an end. He'd intended to explain to her, calmly, logically, over a bowl of lobster bisque, that the idea of any kind of real relationship between them was ridiculous. Especially if Kelly was imagining hearts and flowers. Dean didn't do hearts and flowers.
But watching her over the peach linen tablecloth, Dean had been unable to find the right words. She'd looked so happy, so contented, sitting there in her off-the-rack sundress, drinking the expensive wine that he'd ordered out of guilt.
And now, well, he should have been putting Kelly into a cab for a handkerchief-sopped ride home. Instead Dean was picking his way over the rickety floorboards of a flatboat along with a dozen other chumps, about to get transported around the pond by yet another chump, who pedaled from a seat that looked like a swan. Dean's grumbles faded, however, when he saw Kelly settle onto her portion of the bench seat with an amazingly happy smile on her face. He sank down next to her and closed his eyes with a sigh.
He cared about making her happy. Lord, he shouldn't. It was a damned trap. He'd never be able to. Nor would she be able to make him happy, in the long run. They simply had nothing solid to build on. He'd witnessed the way these things played out through his father. Over and over he'd seen passions flare, burn bright, and then crumble into charcoal. It was inevitable, a law of nature.
Oh, it was a mess. He had to explain things to her, make her see. This wasn't real.
The water of the pond gurgled against the sides of the boat as it slipped between the lily pads. A breeze brought the scent of newly mown grass. Dean knew he shouldn't delay his talk any longer. He drew in a breath.
"Oh, look at the ducklings!" Kelly pointed toward a line of the scruffy things, paddling madly to keep up with their mother. "Aren't they adorable?"
Dean glared at her. Couldn't she be unlikable, for at least half a minute?
Unmindful of his problem, Kelly was beaming at the ducks while her hands blindly opened her purse. "I think I have some saltines in here. Oh, look for me, will you?" She thrust the sequined purple purse at Dean. "Hello, sweeties. Oh, don't swim away!"
Dean automatically clutched the purse. Because he didn't know what else to do, he peered in. He fingered aside a metal tube of lipstick and an extra-thin gold pen. His search halted on a Winnie-the-Pooh key chain. He swallowed. "No saltines," he told Kelly.
"Oh, darn. Probably for the best." She sighed and accepted her purse back, all the while peering after the ducklings. "I suppose crackers aren't a part of their natural diet."
"No, I wouldn't think so." Dean watched Kelly watching the ducklings. The woman had a Winnie-the-Pooh key chain in her purse. How on earth was he supposed to explain the hard facts of life to a person like this? Not to mention the way his heart was twisting at the mere sight of her, going ga-ga over some ducklings.
Of course it was this moment Kelly chose to turn and look at him. Her eyes were bright, her smile wide. Dean felt as if two hands reached inside his chest and wrung his already twisting heart.
He wasn't going to do it. Something inside him, some relic, long-repressed, rose in rebellion and prevented speech. The normal part of him knew what he had to do, knew what was proper and responsible. But this older, wilder part of him didn't care.
Kelly tilted her head. A querying look came into her eyes. She put a hand on his arm. "Did you want to say something?"
He certainly ought to say something. He ought to say that a relationship between them would never work. He ought to say they had to stop kidding themselves here.
But, dammit, he wasn't going to.
I like you. Kelly had told him that yesterday. The words echoed through him like precious jewels. Dean wasn't ready to expose them for what they really were, an outer shell, no more. He wanted to keep them, just a little longer.
For one more day.
Dean stared at Kelly while the tension that had been riding him since the previous evening mysteriously relaxed. He felt a slow smile crawl over his face. One day. It was the perfect way to combine his desire with his responsibility. He wouldn't give those marvelous words back — yet. He could do that — tomorrow. Yes, tomorrow he'd go back to the sober, pragmatic fellow who knew better. Tomorrow he'd deal with everything.
But today?
Well, today...wouldn't count.
"Dean?" Kelly asked. "What is it?"
Dean's smile grew. Instead of telling her how these matters really worked, instead of warning her not to get too attached, he let the sun warm his face, he heard the pleasant lap of water against the boat. He luxuriated in the sensation of Kelly's little hand on his sleeve.
"Yes, I want to say something." He heard a laugh in his voice. "I want to say I'm having fun."
For today, a small inner voice reminded him. Dean ignored it. He knew what he had to do tomorrow. But for now...? Feeling reckless, feeling almost giddy, he touched Kelly's cheek. "Today," he said, "I'm going to have fun."
Kelly smiled. Dean laughed. Swiveling at the sound, mama duck headed her brood quickly back toward the shelter of the lily pads.
###
Kelly had hoped the quiet ride on the swan boat would relax Dean. She wasn't prepared for the transformation, however, once they got off. He didn't reach into his jacket pocket for his cell phone. He didn't look at his watch. Instead he rearranged his palm around her hand to get a better grip and smiled.
"So," he asked, looking down at her. "What's next?"
Kelly's lips parted. He wasn't going to run back to his office? He wasn't going to plead some kind of business emergency to sort through his emotions? She closed her mouth and cleared her throat. "Um, well..." An afternoon at the Parker House occurred to her, but she knew they weren't ready for sex. Dean had turned some sort of corner, to be sure, but it wasn't yet love.
If it was love, he would have said so.
He wore a big grin, however, an appealing one, as he turned to face her. Still holding Kelly's hand, he began to back up the path. "Have you toured downtown Boston yet?"
"Have I toured?" Other than the walk between his office and the Parker House, that was? "No."
"Good." Dean's smile broadened. "Then I can show you the sights."
"Oh." Kelly couldn't help staring. He really had turned a corner. He seemed happy, eager...relaxed.
Dean turned to face forward again. He pulled her along. "The Freedom Trail. That should be sufficiently hoke — er — " He broke off and his face turned red.
"Hokey?" Kelly guessed, and tilted him a look.
To her surprise, Dean laughed. An outright, unconsidered laugh. "All right, hokey," he admitted. "But I think you'll enjoy it."
"Because it's hokey."
Dean threw her sidelong glance. "If the shoe fits..."
"Then I ought to wear it?" Kelly laughed, too. Then they shared a look, smiling, connected. Kelly felt a hiccup of pleasure. Well, this was...unexpected, a truly different side to Dean, joking and spontaneous.
She found herself stepping closer, hooking her arm with his. Okay, maybe she should question this new side of Dean, maybe she should wonder what was really going on. Maybe she should, but she wasn't going to. Heck, why ruin a perfectly good moment?
For one day, she could just enjoy whatever was.
###
It was the closest Kelly had seen Dean come to the Dean she'd first met in Las Vegas. He looked happy, he had a sense of fun, he laughed.
They started out on the Freedom Trail, the red-brick line that wound through downtown. After two churches and a cemetery, however, they decided to abandon the formal, tourist path.
"Maybe I didn't have you pegged so well, after all," Dean said, coming up behind Kelly where she roamed, frowning, amidst three-hundred-year-old headstones.
She looked up at once, alert and concerned. But he seemed to be taking his miscalculation in stride.
"Let's try the Haymarket," he said, and took her arm. Adaptable, unruffled. And casually taking possession of her as if — well, as if they belonged together.
That felt awfully good. "Let's," Kelly agreed, and held onto him.
Arm-in-arm then, they strolled through the Haymarket. Buyers and sellers argued over the price of vegetables, and fish lay in gleaming silver piles. Dean steered Kelly around spilled vegetables and the odd fish head.
"Two hundred years of rats have been cleaning up here after hours," he told Kelly. "Speaking as an expert in the field, I can tell you by now it's built into their genetic code."
She laughed.
From Haymarket they ducked into the relative sanity of Faneuil Hall, where carts lined up under glass awnings sold everything from Red Sox banners to hand-carved sculptures. Dean waited patiently while Kelly debated between buying a straw scarecrow or a wooden chess set for Robby. Not once did he evince a desire to be out of her presence or doing something else. Not once did he check his telephone or his watch.
As Kelly paid for the chess set, she felt a deep contentment. She didn't know what had prompted this about-face behavior on Dean's part, but she did know she liked it. This was good for him.
And it wasn't so bad for her, either.
She felt wanted, she felt appreciated. She felt like she was getting to know a man who might actually come to care for her.
She turned, wrapped bag in hand, to find Dean watching her with an arrested expression. "What?" she asked. Lord, she hoped the castles she'd been building in the air weren't showing on her face.
To her relief, Dean shook a smile back on. "Nothing." He lowered his head closer to hers. "I'm just enjoying myself."
Kelly met his eyes. "You're enjoying yourself." She dared to add, "for a change."
Dean's smile went crooked. "For a change." He straightened and took the bag from her hand. "Are you hungry?"
"I'm ashamed to admit it, after that fancy lunch..."
"Gourmet food is notoriously unsatisfying. Come on. I'll take you to a place where they know how to fill you up."
###
A neon sign in an upstairs window of the North End building announced this was 'Josefina's.'
Dean led Kelly through a street-level door and up a narrow staircase. Wonderful smells drifted down to meet them, garlic and tomato and basil. At the top of the staircase stood a large woman in a white apron. Her eyes widened when she saw Dean.
"Signore!" She opened her arms. "We have not seen you for ages. You eat somewhere else, you bad boy?"
"No, no, Josefina. I haven't eaten a thing since I last saw you, not one bite."
"Pagliaccio. A liar on top of everything else."
"It's the God's honest truth. "
Josefina gave Dean a mock box on the ears, something Kelly was amazed to see him put up with, much less appear to enjoy. The older woman blinked when she noticed Kelly bringing up the rear.
"Oh-h-h." Her expression turned astonished. "Look what we have here."
"Kelly," Dean supplied.
"Kel-ly." Josefina took hold of Kelly by the shoulders and beamed. "My, but this is — Don't you worry, signore. We take good care of your girl. We give her the extra-special treatment. We put out all the gos."
"Pull out all the stops, I think she means," Dean confided to Kelly.
"I'm sure anything you do would be great, Josefina. It smells wonderful in here." Kelly smiled, liking the woman immediately.
Josefina's beam managed to pick up wattage and she let loose a stream of happy-sounding Italian. "Come, come," she said at last. "I give you a place to sit. Sit, sit, sit."
The upstairs room looked to have been originally the living room of an apartment. One wall had been torn down to add the living room of the next apartment over. The lighting was dim and the décor simple.
Josefina led them to a table by the window, intimate, candle-lit, and with a view of the village-like North end. The way Dean took his seat told Kelly this was a usual spot.
She picked up her linen napkin and raised her brows. "Something tells me this isn't where you take investors for power lunches."
"No." Dean smiled faintly as he rearranged the placement of candle and flower vase. "I come here alone."
Kelly's ironic smile faded. She'd assumed this was a trysting spot, a place to bring the odd lover. Instead, he'd brought her to his private haunt.
She tried to think up something flip to say in response, but couldn't. Dean was letting her into his real life, deeply into it.
Their eyes met over the checked linen tablecloth. Kelly felt her heart beat fast and hard. "Well," she said at last, her voice no more than a whisper. "You aren't alone tonight."
"No." Dean's faint smile faded. "I'm not."
###
The day Dean had chosen for his enjoyment was quickly drawing to an end. He'd strolled through the time aimlessly, basking in Kelly's emotions. He'd let her joy and her affection wash over him like so much rare elixir. Deliberately, he'd refrained from questioning the endurance of such emotions. What did endurance matter when he was only counting on a single day? For the span of one day their emotions weren't going to change.
But the day was nearly over. The dial on the dashboard of his Lexus read 11:53 when he pulled the car into its spot in the garage. It took a few minutes to gather Kelly's purchases from the trunk, a few more to walk up to the house. Dean figured it had to be past midnight by the time they got to the hallway outside Kelly's bedroom door.
His day was officially over.
It was time to return to reality. Reality was the temporary nature of emotions. Reality was that passion and all its by-products didn't last. Reality was the huge mistake it would be to rely on mere feelings.
But reality was awfully hard to come by when Kelly turned at her bedroom door, when her tremulous smile made his insides clench.
"I want to tell you," she whispered huskily. "I had a really nice day."
I liked you. You were good for me. As good as I was for you. Drawing in a deep breath, Dean tried to still her fantasy voice in his head. "Yes," he said gruffly. "It was a nice day." And just one day, he struggled to remind himself. He had to get away from fantasy, back to reality.
Kelly's smile crooked. "And now it's over."
Yes, it was over. All over. That had been the deal Dean had promised himself on the swan boat. But as his groin stirred traitorously, a voice whispered slyly in his head. It's not quite over yet.
Kelly's lashes lowered. "Things are different now, aren't they?"
Whoa. Even as desire stirred, Dean knew he couldn't have her believing anything was different. Hell, he might start believing it, himself. Yes, he'd let down his guard, he'd allowed himself to enjoy her company, but that didn't mean anything essential had changed. Whatever they'd felt for each other today wasn't real. It wasn't lasting. Such things never were.
Before he got a chance to say anything of the sort, however, Kelly reached out to put a finger in the middle of Dean's chin. He stood immobilized. The smell of the salt of her skin reached his nose, the leather from the car seat, and even a hint of the garlic they'd had with their dinner. The whole magical day seemed encapsulated in Kelly's finger.
Reality began to slip.
Kelly smiled softly. "I don't know what it took for you to let go, to loosen up today, for you to trust me, but I know it was a lot. And so...thank you." Her eyes came up to meet his.
Reality continued its downward slide. Swiftly. The look in her eyes... She'd had a good time, as good a time as he'd had. He'd done that — for her. He'd been able to do that. The ancient part of Dean, the part that had elected to take the day off, surged upward again.
He didn't want this to go.
Not yet.
As Kelly gently lowered her finger and made to step back, he cast frantically for something, anything, to prolong the moment, the time — the connection.
"I like you."
Kelly froze. It took Dean a second to realize he was the one who'd uttered the words. He'd just told Kelly he liked her. Out loud.
Terror warred with the most bizarre access of joy. It was true, of course. He did like her. A lot. But — Oh, there were so many but's. Nevertheless, his joy continued to grow, along with his terror. What would she think of this?
"Oh, Dean," she murmured, while her face went all soft and warm.
That was it. The end. He affected her. He did. The ancient warrior inside Dean, the rebel who refused to face reality, charged in with the strength of an armed battalion. Any thought of being responsible flitted into nothingness.
What was responsibility compared to this, this new and incredible sensation?
Dean set down the bags. The air seemed to hum around them. Through the hum, he reached for her. She leaned toward him. Their noses briefly fumbled for space before their lips touched.
Magic. Power. Immensity. Dean closed his eyes and let it all wash over him. Deep, deep down, in the darkest heart of him, he knew he was continuing the pretense. This was neither smart nor honest.
But, God, he did like her! And she'd liked that. She'd liked it!
Kelly's arms went around him. Dean pulled her close. Reality? he thought, his chest nearly bursting. The hell with reality.
Deeper. He kept letting her in even deeper, Kelly thought, as Dean's arms closed around her. He'd told her he liked her. That was — it was —
Not enough.
Some voice inside her, not yet seduced, spoke up. There were rules governing this kind of situation, rules she'd thoroughly flouted last Monday. She wasn't supposed to be going to bed with him, not giving so much — or at least not giving so much until he gave something back: a proposal of marriage, or in their case, the words that ought to go with one. Words of love, words of commitment. She'd promised herself she would go back to the rules that would protect her.
The resistance of the door behind Kelly gave way. She suspected she'd been the one to grope for the knob. But it was Dean who walked her backwards into the room. Kelly didn't protest, however, when he turned to lean her against the inside of her bedroom door, when his mouth descended desperately to devour hers. She twined her arms behind his neck.
Perhaps there were rules, but the situation seemed strikingly familiar. Five weeks ago with Dean in her car in Las Vegas, she'd felt the same thrill of discovery, the same pulse of need and giving. That night, Dean's touch and his words had sparked Kelly's infatuation into love. Marry me, he'd said. I love you, he'd said.
Okay, so he hadn't said that tonight. Kelly admitted this as Dean's hand roved over the bodice of her sundress and she moaned her appreciation. No, Dean had not pronounced his undying love and devotion, but he had admitted he liked her. For the Boston Dean, that was equivalent to an avalanche.
"Kelly," Dean murmured.
"Dean," Kelly whispered back. She reveled in the shudder that went through him when she rocked her hips against the ridge in his trousers. Did it truly matter if she closed the barn door now, when the horses had been let out not once, but several times?
Dean's fingers found her taut nipple through the cotton of her dress. The jerk of arousal pulled Kelly out of her haze. Wait a minute. She'd sort of decided it did matter. Surrendering now, without words of love, would leave her vulnerable and unprotected.
"Stay," Dean then breathed. "Kelly. Stay with me."
Oh, boy. Kelly lifted her lashes. Dean's eyes were closed, his face drawn in lines of stark, heedless need.
He didn't merely want her. He needed her. Kelly's love for him swelled.
"I'm here," she choked out. She brushed her hand against his cheek. "I'm not going anywhere, Dean."
With a low sound, he opened his mouth over hers in a deeply carnal kiss. Kelly kissed him back, while reaching behind herself to draw down her zipper.
Some rules, she told herself, were meant to be broken.
###
It was the kind of a party that was usually Troy's favorite: good booze, loud music, and a wide variety of women. The range of females at this particular shindig went all the way from somebody's wacky grandmother, wearing décolletage and pearls, to a gaggle of terrified-looking Harvard undergrads.
But all Troy could do was wander the many rooms of the mansion of a friend of a friend and feel...bored.
He forced himself to come to a stop in the main room of the house, the one with the DJ and the dancing. He stood next to the five foot high speaker and lifted his martini to his nose for a sniff. His body hummed with the vibrations of the music, but he felt an overall dissatisfaction. Hell. It didn't make sense.
Troy was always satisfied. He made himself satisfied, whatever the situation. He'd learned to do so at the age of fifteen, when they'd come to tell him that both his parents had died in the same small plane crash. That's when he'd figured out that life was not going to turn out the way he'd like it to, so he'd better learn to be happy with whatever was.
Sniffing his martini again, Troy brooded that he'd yet to learn how to be happy about his last interview — his last kiss — with Felicia. That kiss had been...amazing. But while his body craved more kisses from the woman, his brain knew better. They couldn't have a relationship. Why, they didn't even define the word the same way!
And yet...and yet... Troy's lashes lowered. And yet, there was something very unfinished about the whole business.
Across the room by the bartender, one of the Harvard undergrads lifted her Margarita and smiled at Troy, apparently not as terrified as he'd assumed. Indeed, the girl was on the bold side, considering Troy looked what he was: a dozen years her senior. He smiled back, but turned and walked in the opposite direction, as if he'd just remembered a previous assignation.
As he strode through the next room, the one with the tables heaped with appetizers, he tried desperately to remember. Would he have walked away from a smiling undergrad two weeks ago, before this whole thing with Felicia had started? Had he owned that many scruples? He gnashed his teeth and hoped to God he would have behaved with such restraint.
Otherwise, he had to worry that kissing Felicia might have ruined him for anyone else.
After stalking right through the appetizer room and out onto the lawn, Troy stopped, shuddered, and finally took a swallow of the drink he'd only been sniffing for the past hour. Felicia ruining him. It was a scary thought.
Or was it? Was it actually scary, or was it something else? Maybe it was something he wasn't ready to define — but that he'd forever rue if he didn't explore.
He took another swallow of his drink and looked out over the darkened landscape. He was always satisfied. He never wanted anything he couldn't have. And he probably couldn't have Felicia.
Probably. But then, probably wasn't certainly. And this particular probably was going to drive him crazy. What if he could have her? What if he could experience a fulfillment he hadn't enjoyed in fifteen years? What if?
Troy bared his teeth and tossed the rest of his martini over the lawn. Hell. He had a sinking feeling there'd be no peace for him until he exerted himself and did something about that probably.