Just One Night Part 19

"Very much."

When they entered his bedroom, she barely noticed the decor. All she saw was that splendid Mission-style bed. Already made.

"It looks fantastic," she said.

"I haven't slept in it yet."

To be the first in his bed was a wonderful thing, she decided. "New beginnings are good."

He took her into his arms, kissed her slowly, and then he knelt and scooped her up.

"What are you doing? I weigh a ton."

"No, you don't." And he laid her down on his bed.

He left the bedside lamps on, and for once, she didn't insist on darkness. If he was brave enough to lift her, she figured he knew she had a pound or ten she'd love to get rid of. He hadn't groaned or toppled under her weight. He didn't even seem to be breathing hard. She supposed he could handle her.

He took his time undressing her. When her full b.r.e.a.s.t.s spilled out as he took off her bra, he made a sound of pleasure and reached down to pop a plump nipple in his mouth. She felt lazy, content to be toyed with, as he learned her body, explored her hills and valleys, coaxing her slowly until she didn't feel lazy anymore. He slipped a hand between her thighs, drove her up higher until she crested the first peak crying out against his mouth.

"You're dressed," she said, when she could focus once more.

"Not for long."

She watched him, taking as much pleasure in eyeing his body as he had in revealing hers.

"You don't care at all that I have a few extra pounds on me, do you?"

"I like you exactly the way you are."

She sighed with deep contentment. Then she reached for him. "Let me show you what a woman with a few extra pounds can do with them."

18.

ROB DECIDED TO BE COOL. So Hailey had a date with a smarmy twit who didn't like cops? It wasn't like she would go back to his hotel room or something on the first date.

He upped the weight on the leg press and powered through a few more reps. He didn't even think about the pain, only about getting strong again. Getting his mobility back.

Rob needed his quad muscles to be completely functional. Not only did he need to run a mile in six, he needed to be strong enough to run away from Fremont, from his memories, from Bellamy House, and most of all, from Hailey.

It bothered him even to admit how that woman had burrowed under his skin. No, when he thought about it, she hadn't burrowed at all. She'd blasted into his system with the same impact as that bullet. And there were moments when he thought the damage she'd done wouldn't heal as fast. Or be as relatively painless.

"You using that bench?" a gym-jock grunted at him, indicating the bench where he'd rested his towel.

He shook his head. Kept pushing. Five more reps. He'd do five more reps then he'd take a break. As beads of sweat slid down his temple, he hunched a shoulder and wiped it onto his T-shirt. Three more. He could do it. He'd push through the pain.

The sooner he was out of here the better. He'd head back for New York. Pick up the pieces of his normal nomadic life. He tried to picture a reunion with Romona, but the fantasy wouldn't come. He could only think about Hailey. How he'd started out enjoying the challenge, the teasing to get the woman into his bed and the utter mind-blowing pa.s.sion they'd experienced together once he had.

She'd warned him that she was afraid to fall in love and he'd tried to respect that, backing off out of courtesy to her.

Okay, they'd fallen into bed one more time but neither had planned that. He couldn't stop thinking about those hours in that four-poster and how everything had felt so utterly right. A final puzzle piece had fitted into place. Click.

One more rep. Every muscle in his body was bunched as he pushed up against the weight. It felt as if he were lifting a million pounds with his ankle while someone was stabbing this thigh with a hot poker.

The irony was they'd both worried about her heart. Who'd given a rat's a.s.s about his?

n.o.body, that's who. And now look at him. Trying to build up enough strength to run.

Because the truth was it wasn't Hailey who was in trouble here. It was him.

Mr. Lighthearted, the traveling guy who never stayed in one place long enough to get caught. And here he was, as caught as any man could be.

He was so in love with that woman he ached with it. But that didn't change who he was.

He hobbled off the machine, grabbed his towel and dried his wet face.

And that didn't change who she was.

n.o.body knew better than he did that love wasn't enough.

He showered and returned home, driving Gran's Buick down streets as familiar as his own memories. He was pulling into the drive when his cell phone shrilled.

"I ran a mile in eight minutes yesterday," he said.

"h.e.l.lo to you, too."

"Merv?" He checked his cell again. "What's my agent doing calling from my editor's office?"

"We were talking about you."

"I know he wants me back. I'm ready. Really."

"Rob, I'm not the HR department. Gary and I were talking about your photojournal."

"Photojournal?"

"That's what we're calling it. My Neighborhood. A photojournal. We're both excited about the possibilities. You've captured how people have parallel interests and concern wherever they live, whatever their relative wealth or political situation. It works because you always come back to your own hometown. Fremont becomes the central character in the book. And the photos are some of your best work."

"Oh, right. The book idea." He'd almost forgotten he'd sent Merv the photos and idea.

"More than a book idea. Gary and I talked about doing something interesting. World Week's parent company, Anvil Media, also has a book publishing arm, as you know."

"Sure."

"Gary and I are discussing a book that also has a magazine and website component."

He shut the engine off. Got out. Wandered toward the mountain ash tree. "Not sure I follow."

He wanted his grandmother to hear this. He settled himself on the cool ground, his back leaning against the tree trunk, his throbbing leg stretched out before him.

"It's simple. Anvil publishes the coffee-table book, you agree to do a number of features for the magazine based on the same idea. Cross publicity for the book and the magazine. Maybe a few extra pieces exclusive to the web."

"I don't do features. I cover hard news."

"Until a few weeks ago, you didn't write coffee-table books either."

"What kind of money are we talking?"

Merv told him. His eyebrows rose. He repeated the sum for his grandmother's benefit. "That's a nice chunk of change."

"You bet. Think about it. Gary says you'll still be a hard-news guy but this gives you a little more breathing room. Might stop you from burning out."

Or getting bored. He nearly jumped out of his skin. He could have sworn his grandmother's voice had uttered those words.

And, as so often, he thought she might be right.

He wondered how much of his travel bug had been simple boredom? The truth was, since he'd been home this time he hadn't felt bored once. With Hailey trying to sell the house to hordes of the wrong types and My Neighborhood to keep him busy and wanting to get Hailey into bed, enjoying the greatest s.e.x of his life when he did, then wishing he could get her back into his bed, he hadn't had much time to be idle.

He patted the ground where tulips would bloom come spring and he wouldn't be here to see them.

Unless.

He realized he needed to tell Hailey his good news.

He called her.

"Hi, Rob."

"Hi. I want to talk to you about something." He didn't want to tell her his news over the phone. He wanted to watch her face, to share his excitement. "How would it be if I take you for dinner?"

"When?"

"Tonight."

There was a tiny pause. "I can't tonight. I already have a date."

His good mood dimmed as though a light had been switched off. "A date."

"Yes."

"Would this date be with Dennis Thurgood?"

"Yes."

"I don't think you should go. I don't trust that guy."

"You met him for five minutes. You don't know a thing about him."

"I saw him. When you were showing him the house. He turned his head when a cop car went by."

This time the pause was longer. "Were you spying on us?"

"No. Not exactly. I happened to be across the street at the park."

"With a telescope?"

"A telephoto lens. It was purely coincidence."

"And through studying a man through a camera lens for a couple of minutes you've decided...what exactly?"

"I don't know," he admitted. "How he turned his head as the cruiser went by looked suspicious. An innocent man doesn't care if a cop gets a good look at him."

"That's it? That's your entire reason for telling me not to go out with a man? There might be a million reasons why he turned his head. Maybe he thought he was going to sneeze. Or he was checking out the state of the siding. He is interested in buying the house, you know."

"I have a bad feeling."

"You're paranoid."

He traced the words of that poem on the plaque she'd bought. "I was right about your friend and the Nigerian scammer."

"Even she figured that one out."

"Don't go."

"Give me a better reason why I shouldn't go."

"I want to talk to you. I-I..." What was the use?

She sighed. "I need to get going. I'll talk to you tomorrow."

"Where's he taking you? On this date?"

"So you can turn up with your telephoto lens? I don't think so," she said, ending the call.

ROB SHOWERED, CHANGED INTO a clean pair of jeans and a gray sweater and decided that if it was date night here in Seattle he didn't feel like spending it sitting around in the house feeling sorry for himself with nothing better to do than imagine Hailey out with Mr. Slick.

He didn't feel like hooking up with one of his old friends.

There was a neighborhood watering hole not far from here where he could sit at the bar, enjoy a beer, get something to eat and watch the Mariners.

He looked at the keys to the Buick and decided that one beer might too easily stretch into three. He'd leave the car and grab a cab.