She practically ran out of the office, and didn't stop till she was in the parking lot where her little yellow VW bug was parked. She opened the door using the remote keypad, and threw her things on the passenger seat, before sliding in behind the wheel and resting her forehead on it. She waited for her breathing to calm, and then started the engine. Her hands still trembled slightly as she shifted into Drive, and headed toward the highway.
She felt like a fool now, as she merged into the traffic going northbound on the freeway. What had possessed her to run out as though the demons of hell were after her? She must have looked like a proper ass to Rick -- how easily his name came to her! The nickname suited his sensual good looks and superstar charm. She could so easily imagine him lounging around a Hollywood set, or vaulting fences and tackling bad guys. She let her mind wander along that path until a big semi flew past her with enough wind to make her little bug rock.
Her imagination had always gotten her into trouble, she realized, as she prepared to exit the freeway. If she hadn't gone in all starry-eyed and bowled over today, nothing would have happened, and he certainly wouldn't have kissed her. And yet she felt, as she turned onto the main drag in her small town, as if that that kiss had been inevitable, as if she could no more have stopped him from kissing her than she could have stopped herself from breathing. He was a force of Nature!
She drove into the supermarket parking lot, parked and went in, glad she had remembered she needed a few more items for the casserole she had promised to make for her friend's potluck party. It was her turn to bring the main dish, and she was making her favorite shepherd's pie, following her mother's family recipe. As she collected the items she needed, her mind went to the lunchtime meeting with Rick. It had been unexpected and, she admitted, delightful. If they were a couple, it would have been a romantic little gesture of affection.
She paid for her groceries, including the butter pecan ice cream she planned to indulge in later, after the casserole was done and she had her feet up, watching her favorite BBC shows. Taking a free real estate guide from the rack on the way out the door, she thought about how she would need to move within three months, and how the search for somewhere else to live had been going.
Back on the road, negotiating the lights, she thought of the last house she had visited a month earlier. It had been ideal in all but two important details -- it had five bedrooms, which drove up the price. What on God's green Earth was she to do with five bedrooms? She wasn't even married, for Pete's sake, and the prospect of children was a fast disappearing dream in her mind, so a house of that size would be a ridiculous expenditure!
But she had to admit that she loved the location, at the bottom of a long, dead-end lane, right by the water, no neighbors visible through the trees that cocooned it. It was a deep red in color, with white shutters on the windows, a wraparound porch, and large, spreading shade trees. The yard was wide, the driveway curving, the wooden bridge that led across the inlet to the other side a romantic extra.
Cara pulled in to the parking lot of her townhouse complex, and gathered her bits and bags. Locking the car, she walked up the three front steps to her door. The automatic sensor light had flashed on as she approached, and as she rested her groceries on the bench so she could open her front door, she thought again about how unsafe she felt in this place, despite its many brilliant lights. No one was ever around when she left, or when she returned, and she barely knew her neighbors.
Inside, the front door locked again, she flipped a switch and warm light pooled in the hallway. If only this townhouse was on that road, she thought again as she unpacked her supplies. She saw the message light flashing on the answering machine that she had on the counter, and she reached over to press the button. Her mother called again, wondering when she was coming by for a weekend, reminding her that she owed them a visit. Kate reminded her to bring ice cream as well to the party. Rick said he was coming over.
What? Hands suddenly shaking, she replayed the last message.
"Bella, I hope you're there when I get there, or else I'll have to camp out on your front porch. We have unfinished business."
Oh good grief! What the hell did he think he was doing? And when had he left that message? The time stamp said half an hour before she walked in. It was after seven now, and he had said he would be there till eight. So she had maybe an hour to clam her breathing, settle her stomach, and prepare her arguments against their going any further down the path of that fleeting kiss. Because she knew instinctively that their unfinished business had nothing to do with her dissertation project.
She had homework to do, and tomorrow she had plans to spend most of her day in the library working on the beginning of her dissertation project. The last thing she needed right now was another close encounter with the one man she most wanted to do the naughtiest, nastiest things to her, the man to whom she wanted to return the favor a hundred fold. She looked around her for a moment, remembering the first time he had taken her home. He hadn't come inside, but this time, she knew, unless she was planning to be incredibly rude, she would have to invite him in.
Which meant she needed to get a move on and tidy up a bit. Finishing the unpacking hurriedly, she went in to take a quick shower and then stood naked before her closet trying to decide what to wear.
"Geez, Cara, it's not a date, for God's sake!" She grumbled at herself as she put on cotton panties and a pair of faded jeans. The sleeveless tee she chose hugged her breasts, but she had wasted enough time deciding how to dress down, and she was hungry. Maybe he would be too? Walking barefooted back into the kitchen, she searched around for what to make that was quick. She had some leftover chicken soup from the day before, and she finally decided that she would have that with some hearty bread. If he was hungry, she'd make him a sandwich.
"You're forty-five years old, Cara! You've had men before. This is NOT a big deal!"
She talked at herself as she nuked the soup, toasted and buttered the bread, and sat at her table, legs curled under her Indian style on the chair. The food warmed her, and eating calmed her nerves. As she was finishing the last of the bread, her doorbell chimed. Taking a deep breath, she eased off the chair and walked to the door. Looking through the peephole, even though she knew who it was, she saw a huge bouquet of variegated flowers.
"Who is it?" she asked perversely.
"Who do you think, Bella?" Rick's voice was dark chocolate.
Cara opened the door and stood back to let him pass her. Closing the door again, she turned to find his eyes on her.
"Hi! Come through, please!"
She led the way out to the kitchen and cleared the dishes from the table, placing them in the sink. She'd pack them in the dishwasher later, when he was gone.
"These are for you," he said, and handed her the bouquet. She took it with a smile, careful to avoid touching him, and reached for the vase on top of the fridge to place them in.
"Thank you, they're beautiful, Rick!" As she arranged them, she turned to look at him. "How did you know that I love peonies?"
"I took a chance," he answered immediately, "especially after reading that last story you wrote."
The warmth in his eyes made her shiver, and she turned away, concentrating on the arrangement. She knew she was fiddling with it unnecessarily, and when she felt the warmth of his body behind her, she knew he knew it too.
