Completely comfortable in Kelly's bed, Dean yawned luxuriantly. It was Monday, he was already late for work, and since the moment he'd walked into Kelly's bedroom last night he'd crossed every line of morality and self discipline he owned.
But somehow, with Kelly curled up under his nose, Dean couldn't work up the energy to hate himself.
Indeed, as he lay there and sensed Kelly's limbs shift, her muscles tensing in a stretch, he felt nothing but pleasure; pleasure to be next to her, delight that they were in bed together, and a pure, mindless contentment with the whole situation.
"Hey, beautiful." Silly words. They just popped out of his mouth.
But they accomplished what he wanted. When Kelly looked up at him she was smiling. "Hey beautiful, yourself," she whispered, morning hoarse.
Dean knew he was grinning like an idiot. He supposed he was an idiot. "You really are drop dead gorgeous, you know."
"Dean." Her tone was half embarrassed, all pleased.
He smoothed his hand over her shoulder and decided he liked embarrassing her, and pleasing her. Maybe he would do more. "Say. It occurs to me that in all this time I still know next to nothing about you." Nothing, that is, besides what he'd learned from the private detective he'd hired at the beginning.
Kelly raised her eyebrows. "And you want to know more?"
Yes! No. Hell. Personal questions. That meant probing, getting closer. Was that smart? And yet — And yet — he did want to know more about her.
Dean shifted onto his side so that he could look directly at her. "First thing I don't understand — " and what couldn't have made its way into the private detective's report.
" — Gorgeous as you are, why Las Vegas?"
She tilted her head. "Las Vegas isn't such a terrible place."
Dean snorted.
She brushed the hair from her eyes with a smile. "It isn't. Not if you love dancing. Besides, my parents encouraged me to move there."
"Your parents?"
"Sure. They wanted me to be able to make a living doing something I loved." Kelly grinned. "And dancers can make a good living in Las Vegas."
"But — " Dean started to frown. But — the detective's report had described her run-down apartment building, had listed her monthly credit card debt. She didn't appear to make a good living. He shook his head. "Even so, what kind of parents send their child — their female child — to the gambling capital of the world?"
Kelly's eyes sparkled. "My Dad was a minister. My mother helped him in the church."
Dean just looked at her.
She laughed, delighted.
"You're not kidding."
Obviously enjoying herself, Kelly tapped his chin. "Call it 'only child' syndrome. All they wanted was for me to be happy."
All they'd wanted was for her to be happy. Dean shook his head. For most of his life, he'd been an only child, too, but neither of his parents had thought beyond their own happiness. His mother had taken off before he'd turned two. To that day, his father was still too busy womanizing to care about Dean's happiness.
"Do you still see them?" Dean asked.
The grin on her face faded. "My Mom passed away three years ago. My Dad went soon after that."
"Mm," Dean gazed at her, feeling like he was getting a window into a world he'd never known. He had the urge to comfort her, though surely there was nothing he could do about her parents' deaths at this late date. "I suppose that was...hard," he essayed anyway.
Kelly's eyes swept back to him. "Yes. Yes, it was, especially with my mom. She...lingered."
Dean reached out to clasp a hand around Kelly's. Emotions rose up in his chest, emotions he had no business entertaining. For the love of Pete, he'd already gone past his deadline. They were supposed to be back in reality again.
He drew his hand away. "I should get up."
Kelly wrinkled her nose and snuggled closer. "Say that again."
"I should get up."
She laughed. "Just as I thought."
"What?"
Her eyes flicked upward. "You don't really want to."
Well, of course he didn't want to. He was in bed with a delightful and fascinating naked woman, one to whom he felt suddenly, perhaps dangerously, closer. "It wouldn't kill me to take a day off," he heard himself say. Am I crazy? I've already taken one day off.
Meanwhile Kelly lifted a hand to his cheek. Her expression sobered. "Do you mean that? I mean, could you?"
Dean looked deep into her eyes. Did he? Could he? He was supposed to have ended this business last night. Instead he'd delved even further into it. It was crazy. Persisting in this thing was only going to hurt them both. This was the moment to tell her.
Dean threaded his fingers through her hair, hair generously mussed from their lovemaking of the night before. He looked into her eyes, eyes that seemed deeper, more three-dimensional than the day before. His insides clenched. This was the moment to tell her.
If he were about to do anything of the sort.
Dean smiled. Everything within him calmed. He was not going to tell her. Not now, and maybe not tomorrow, either. This simply felt too good. And, wrong or right, he wanted to feel good.
"I'm sure," he said. Still smiling, he kissed her.
###
That day, a Monday, Dean drove Kelly up to Rockport, the old fishing village. They wandered the streets of gift shops, then toured the Revolutionary-era mansions. While enjoying herself, Kelly watched Dean. He was spontaneous. He was relaxed. But he also took care of his responsibilities. At one point in the afternoon he bought Kelly a fat paperback, installed her in a quaint café, and went off for forty-five minutes to make phone calls. When he came back he was smiling. Indeed, he was relaxed enough to sit down and order a fancy coffee, after which he suggested a hike.
Kelly found herself waiting for the other shoe to drop. Dean had spent so much of his life behind emotional walls. It didn't make sense for him to act the way he was today, as if he'd overcome all his fear. And yet, one couldn't deny he was having a good time with her, laughing, connecting. And that morning in bed, he'd really seemed to, well, care.
She felt torn between wanting to accept things the way they seemed to be, and wondering if she ought to push the issue.
She ended up choosing not to push the issue. Everything was too nice, too dreamy and marvelous. She didn't even question matters when Dean pulled off the road on their way back home, when they began kissing — and more — in the back seat of his car. If ever there was a time Kelly should have been protecting herself by making sure of a man's feelings, this was it. Yet she did nothing.
All right, maybe there was something wrong here, something off, but most of it felt so good and right. The last thing Kelly wanted to do was ruin what appeared to be Dean's awakening, and the beginning of true love.
###
"Okay, so that's taken care of." Felicia folded the budget request that Andrea, director of the Boston Family Aid Foundation, had just given her, and put it in her briefcase. Then she smiled at Andrea across the functional desk in the tiny office of the family shelter facility. "I'll see what I can do about getting you those folding chairs and call you later in the week."
"That'd be great." Andrea stood to bid Felicia goodbye. Her mop of frizzy brown hair and ubiquitous blue jeans belied the sharp competence of a first-rate administrator. So when Andrea's smile turned questioning and her eyes went past Felicia's shoulder toward the door, Felicia turned around to see what had caught Andrea's attention.
She found Troy Singleton standing in the doorway.
Felicia hoped she didn't gasp. But, for the love of — there was Troy, with his sharp-fitting clothes, his easy grace, and his thousand-watt smile. Troy, who instantly made her stomach sink to her toes and her heart start racing. What on earth was he doing at the Boston Family Aid shelter?
"Hey, Felicia," Troy said, and his smile managed to widen.
As inconspicuously as possible, Felicia cleared her throat. "Hello, Troy." His appearance made no sense at all. Troy had been the one to suggest they never speak to each other. But Felicia recalled her manners and turned to Andrea. "This is Troy Singleton, Dean Singleton's cousin. Troy, please meet Andrea Shapiro, director of the Boston Family Aid shelter."
"Pleased to meet you." Troy smiled and came through the door to shake hands with Andrea. "I've heard so much about this place from Felicia. Thought I'd come check it out." Then he turned to look at Felicia.
It was a request. No, a demand. She was supposed to help him 'check it out,' by offering a tour.
No way. Felicia wasn't about to give Troy a tour. She didn't want to spend five minutes in his company. Or, more accurately, she wanted to spend a great deal longer than five minutes in his company, while committing unspeakable acts with him. Oh, her response to him was so dangerous.
She could easily imagine falling under his spell, losing herself, forgetting that Troy was not the kind of man a woman could trust. He wasn't Dean. Not solid or reliable or safe.
But as she stood there being watched by both Troy and Andrea, she couldn't decently refuse to give him a tour. Andrea would wonder what the problem was. Troy would know. Felicia couldn't let him think she was weak. If he could take being in her company, then she could take being in his.
And besides, there was always the possibility that a tour of the facilities might convince Troy to bestir himself and use his sleeping charm to bring in some badly needed funds.
"Oh," she said, smiling innocently. "Would you like a tour?"
Troy's dark eyes gleamed. "Why, yes," he replied. "A tour would be ever so nice."
Felicia inclined her head. It was anybody's guess why Troy was really here.
"Oh," Andrea said, and winked. "Be sure to show him our 'new wing.'"
Troy turned to Felicia with a lifted eyebrow.
She smiled with even more innocence. "We'll save that for last."
With a curve of the lips that said he was willing to play along, Troy lowered his eyebrow again.
It was all Felicia could do not to gnash her teeth. Lord, but he was appealing, all lithe and athletic and bedroom-eyed. She smiled her farewell to Andrea and then walked quickly past Troy and into the hall. Fortunately, every room in the place was full of people; volunteers, staff, and clients. She would have no opportunity to give in to the temptation to press her hands against his hard chest or run her fingers through his silky hair.
Felicia's pace was brisk as she strode down the hall. No, nothing that way was going to happen between them here...but perhaps she could make something more constructive happen. If she were very clever she might manage to provoke the sleeping philanthropist in Troy's soul.
She started where the clients would start, at reception. There, under Troy's polite attentiveness, she pointed out the comfortable furniture, the carpeting, and painted landscapes on the walls. Prospective clients, often fleeing horrific situations, should feel safe and at home.
Troy nodded. He was doing his best to appear detached, but Felicia noticed his eye catch on one client who was sitting on the sofa, paging through a People magazine. The client looked about fifteen years old, and had a black eye. Felicia saw a muscle jump, ever so slightly, in Troy's jaw.
After a hike through the kitchen and dining room, Felicia led Troy through the dormitory, where the rooms had been designed to give privacy to family groups. There, touring a one-bedroom suite, Felicia got her second hint she might be getting through.
Occupying the suite was Roberta Brown, a single mother suffering from cancer. With hollowed cheeks, she sat in a rocking chair and slowly read a book to Shane, her six-year-old son. Shane huddled in her lap, his arms clutched around his mother's neck as he peered out at Felicia and Troy.
Felicia could feel Troy stiffen beside her. At the same time, his sleeping charm seemed to leap to the fore. "Hey, buddy, whatcha reading there?" He waltzed easily up to the pair, then leaned sideways to peer inside the book.
Roberta smiled wanly up at him. "It's Dr. Seuss."
"Oh, Seuss is the best." Troy put on a mock stern look and pointed at finger at Shane. "I hope you're paying attention."
Looking cowed, Shane nodded.
"Good," Troy said, and grinning widely, chucked Shane under the chin. The boy laughed in surprise at the sudden reversal in attitude, and reflexively grabbed onto Troy's hand. There followed the kind of tussle Felicia had often witnessed between males, something from which they seemed to derive a mysterious joy.
Both Shane and Troy were beaming by the time Felicia led the latter from the room. But Troy's grin dropped once they were in the hallway with the door closed after them. "What's wrong with her?" he asked Felicia.
"Leukemia. She's getting treatment through government aid, but meanwhile she's too weak to make a living."
"Huh," said Troy, and his eyes flicked away from Felicia's. She suddenly remembered a fact about Troy that she'd long known, and had long forgotten. Both his parents had been killed in a small plane crash when he'd been a teenager.
Quickly, Felicia turned away. Funny, how she'd forgotten that, and funny how it now hit her. How hard it must have been for him to lose both his parents at once, and at such a young age. But he never showed any lingering ill effects.
Or at least, not in any obvious way.
"Ahem. This way." Felicia started down the hall. Unfortunately, the idea that Troy might harbor some vulnerability poked at her. It made him, somehow, more real.
Impulsively, she changed her mind about ending the tour before they got to the 'new wing.' She turned right instead of left. She strode toward the locked door that led to the attached building next door.
Torturing herself? Taking an unnecessary risk? ...Or pushing that final button, the one that was going to move Troy.
Felicia had a key, given to her by the hopeful realtor. She used it now to unlock the door and open it onto the large, empty warehouse space. She walked in and flipped the switch for the set of naked light bulbs around the walls. Her skin tingled as Troy walked in after her. They were now alone together in the big, echoing space. But she put on a serene smile as she turned to face him.
"And this," she told him, "is our 'new wing,' or what we hope to acquire. We could really use it, as I imagine you can now see. But...we don't have a down payment."
Troy hummed and took a polite look around the empty space. Felicia knew he understood what she'd actually said. She could really use his services. Oh, if he would only deign to exert himself, Felicia just knew he could get that down payment together.
Smiling wryly, Troy leaned against the open door jamb. "I was right the other night."
"Excuse me?"
He laughed softly. "About you being a good person. You are that, in spades."
"Oh, please. And didn't we agree, that same night, that it wasn't a good idea to trade compliments?"
Troy chuckled and looked down at his shoes. "Yeah, we did, but...why did we decide that, Felicia? That is, it seemed to make sense at the time, but I've been having a harder and harder job remembering our reasoning." His gaze came up to hit hers. "Remind me. Why did we decide it wouldn't work out for us to get together?"
Felicia stilled. Was this why he'd come today? To test her resolve? "You know why."
"Because we're too different?" He sounded doubtful.
Felicia wasn't to be deflected. "Yes, because we're too different."
His head canted to one side. "But that could be a plus, don't you think? Maybe we could, oh, balance each other out."
"No."
It was Troy's turn to go still. Felicia knew then that she'd blown it. She'd dismissed the idea too quickly, betraying she had another, better reason for refusing a relationship with him.
"O-kay," he said, and looked at her.
Felicia expelled a breath and took a pace away, one hand to her forehead. Maybe she should tell him. If he understood, he might go away. With her hand still on her forehead, she spoke. "Look, my mother married my father when he got her pregnant with me. She was wildly in love with him. But my father, well — " Felicia lowered her hand and released a dry laugh. "My father had never wanted to be married. And so...he didn't bother to act like he was married. I don't think he lacked some kind of girlfriend the entire span of my parents' marriage. But my mother hung on...for too long."
Troy's dark eyes watched her, not with the mockery that was so familiar but with something else; close attention, processing, and finally, it appeared, comprehension.
"You don't want to be in love," he said.
Felicia let out a long breath. He did understand. And now she didn't have to say such a difficult thing out loud. She nodded.
Slowly, Troy straightened. "I must admit, it's flattering that you believe you could fall in love with me."
"'Could' being the operative word."
He chuckled. "Yeah. Anyway, I'm grateful for that much, since I'm pretty sure I'm already in love with you."
Her head whipped toward him.
His smile was rueful. "I was halfway there and then Dean dropped out of the running. It didn't take long to fall the rest of the way."
Felicia knew she was staring. "You," she demanded, "are in love with me?"
He shot her a deriding glance. "Don't look too impressed. My being in love doesn't mean as much as some other guy doing it. I must have been in love, oh, a dozen times — just this year."
She laughed, but was painfully certain it hadn't come out right, light and unconcerned. But she should be unconcerned, because he was correct. Him being in love wasn't nearly the serious matter it might be for another man.
Meanwhile Troy lifted a shoulder and leaned against the jamb again. "But now that you've explained, I can see where you're coming from. It wouldn't do for a serious woman like you to get involved with a man who thinks two months is akin to a lifetime commitment."
Their eyes met. Two months, Felicia thought. No, she shouldn't be concerned — or impressed or excited or any other stupid thing — if that's what Troy meant by being in love.
"You were right about me," Troy went on, sobering. "In every respect. What you said about how I don't want to do or be anything because I'm afraid I wouldn't measure up. You were so right. And — And it's safer not to want things." He looked away and sucked in his lips. "Much safer."
Felicia gazed at him as he stood there, so handsome with his hair falling over his forehead. Yes, he was sensual, but more. She'd never again be able to dismiss him as that nasty Troy Singleton. He wasn't a monster, but a human being, with a human being's load of dreams and desires — and wounds.
For the sake of that human being, she smiled and claimed, "Well, for what it's worth, I do think you could be more. And measure up."
Troy looked back at her and his eyes crinkled. "Ah, Felicia. You are never going to give up."
"Excuse me?"
He looked ceilingward. "You are still trying to get me to be your fundraiser."
"Well! I'm sure I — "
"Don't worry." Troy was back to his lighthearted self. "Now that I've seen the place and everything you do here I'll be sure not to ruin things by sticking my oar in the water."
"Oh, Troy." He was impossible.
"But thanks for showing me around." Laughing now, he pushed off the jamb and walked toward her. His hilarity sobered as he reached quickly, gently, to touch her cheek. "And thanks for explaining things to me. It helps...kind of."
He looked into her eyes and she felt punched. There was so much person, so much Troy in his eyes. Then he smiled again, jaunty. "Goodbye, Felicia."
"Goodbye, Troy." She told herself that whatever she'd just seen in his eyes meant nothing. This idea of being in love with her was a mistake or a joke. Or — or just some passing fancy. Two months, right? Whatever he felt, it couldn't be love.
But before she'd even started ironing it out he was gone, striding athletically out the door.