Unguarded (6 page)

“H
EY, HAVE YOU BEEN
holding out on me?”

Rhiannon looked up from the plans she'd been finalizing for a sixtieth wedding anniversary to find Logan leaning against her doorway, an inquisitive look on his too-handsome face.

“Of course I have—in every way possible.” She grinned. “So you're going to have to be a little more specific if you want me to know what you're talking about.”

Logan raised one sardonic eyebrow, then reached behind him for a huge arrangement of tulips in a beautiful, crystal vase. “I was referring to these.”

“Oh, wow! They're gorgeous.”

“They are.” He walked over and set them on her desk. “So, I ask again, are you holding out on me?”

“What do you mean?” She stared, puzzled, at the flowers. “Why are you bringing those in here?”

“Because they're for you, Ding Dong.”

“For me?” She was dumbfounded as she stared at the gorgeous array of tulips. There were red ones and white ones, hot pinks, yellows, purples and oranges. A regular cacophony of colors that shouldn't have gone together but did, beautifully.

“Well, they certainly aren't for me.”

It had been so long since someone had sent her
flowers, and such exquisite ones at that. Sure, Richard had given her flowers at the beginning of their relationship, but nothing in the past few years of their marriage, as they'd settled into a rut and he'd been more concerned with saving money than making her smile. And never had he sent her anything like these.

These flowers looked like a party in a vase. Cheerful, whimsical, elegant—exactly how she'd always wanted to see herself but had never been able to.

Rhiannon reached tentatively for the card, unsure she wanted to read it. There was only one man she could imagine sending her flowers like this. Only one man who seemed to understand that there was more to her than the mask she wore, and she'd spent the past eight days dodging his phone calls.

In the end, she couldn't resist. Ripping open the envelope, she pulled out the small white card and braced herself for whatever it might say.

Because I don't know your favorite color—yet. Enjoy, Shawn.

A silly smile passed across her face, one she was wont to stop, even knowing that Logan was studying her with the concentration of a cat on the trail of a very plump mouse. She leaned forward, burying her face in the tender blooms and breathed in their subtle, sophisticated scent.

“So, are you going to spill the beans or what? Sandy will launch a full investigation when I get home and I need to have something to tell her.”

“It's no big deal—just a thank-you from a client.”

Logan snorted. “I've seen client thank-yous before, and very rarely do they encompass a hundred dollars worth of sexy, elegant flowers.”

“Well, that's all it is.”

“Okay.” He held up his hands, as if surrendering as he settled into the chair on the other side of her desk. “So which client is this?”

Rhiannon tucked the card into her pants pocket, and pretended to be looking over the budget for the Waters' anniversary party. The fact that she couldn't see the numbers—couldn't see anything but Shawn's smiling face—was no one's business but her own.

“Shawn Emerson.” She kept her voice casual.

“Really? He's more interested than you originally thought, hmm?”

“It's not like that,” Rhiannon protested, a familiar sense of panic starting to well up inside of her. It had been nearly a year since she'd had a panic attack—although the whole debacle at Shawn's the previous Saturday had come close—but she recognized the beginnings of one now in her too-fast heartbeat and the fine trembling that seemed to be working its way through her body.

She pushed away from her desk, dropped her head to her knees and tried to breathe.

Why is this happening now?
she wondered frantically.
Why am I losing it today when it's been so long since I've had one of these things?

She was stupid, a total idiot. How could she expect to ever actually date Shawn when the mere act of getting flowers from him sent her into a full-blown panic?

She could tell herself she was ready to date all she wanted, but coping with a physical relationship with a man—any man, even the very attractive Shawn Emerson—was too much for her to handle.

She was aware of Logan's footsteps crossing the
room, aware of her office door closing, though she knew he hadn't left. Extremely conscious of Logan watching, Rhiannon tried to sit up, to look normal, but the room was spinning and it was all she could do to force her lungs to accept air. Pretending that she was fine was completely beyond her.

“Oh, sweetie, it's okay.” Logan came around the desk and crouched down beside her. He ran a hand over her hair, down her neck to her back, where he rubbed in soothing circles.

Suddenly it was all too much—the idea of stepping outside the safe world she'd made for herself these past few years, of actually moving on with her life—and she launched herself at her oldest, dearest friend.

Logan caught her, his arms coming around her as she buried her face in his neck and started to sob. He settled on the floor, pulled her onto his lap and started to rock, back and forth, as he made soothing sounds.

She knew she should stop, knew she should be embarrassed—she was acting like a complete basket case when she'd promised herself that she wouldn't do that anymore. But she couldn't stop. Neither the tears nor the panic nor the pain that was racing through her like a runaway semi. So instead, she melted into Logan and let herself pretend, for a little while anyway, that she was safe.

She didn't know how long they sat there, Logan comforting her as she fell apart, but eventually the panic receded and her sobs quieted. She started to pull away, but he held her to him, refusing to let her go yet.

“I made a mess of your sweater.”

“Screw my sweater.” But he shifted her weight a
little, reached up and pulled some tissues out of the box she had resting on her desk.

She wiped her eyes, blew her nose. Did everything she could not to look at him. Finally, when she could avoid it no longer, she murmured, “I'm sorry. I promised myself I wouldn't do this anymore.”

“Wouldn't do what?” he asked, still rubbing her back in soothing circles.

“Fall apart like this. I feel like such a jerk.”

“You're not a jerk—an idiot, maybe.”

“Hey!” She leaned back, punched him in the shoulder.

“And she's back.” Logan climbed to his feet, settling her in her desk chair as he did. “Nobody expects you to stay in control all the time, you know. Nobody but you, that is.”

“It's been almost three years—”

“So what? Is there some kind of timeline for getting over something like this that I'm not aware of?”

“You can say it, you know. I won't break if you say the word.”

“No, but I might.” He settled, grim-faced, onto the side of her desk. “Rhiannon, have you ever thought that maybe you should cut yourself some slack?”

“I have! I've done nothing but make excuses for my behavior for two and a half years, done nothing but let you and Matt and the rest of my family make those same excuses.”

“That is such bullshit. Such self-pitying bullshit that I can't even believe it came out of your mouth.”

Rhiannon felt her mouth literally fall open as her eyes jerked to Logan's. “What did you say?”

“You've been healing, Rhiannon. Getting a little bit
better with every month and year that passes. Pretending differently just makes you look weak—something we both know that you aren't.”

“I just had a panic attack on my office floor because some guy sent me flowers. I wouldn't exactly call that strong. Or healthy.”

“Why not?”

“What?”

He shrugged. “You've spent more than two and a half years hiding from men, denying your own sexuality.”

She started to protest, but he stopped her with a raised hand. “And that's perfectly understandable. What happened to you—” His voice shook with repressed anger, but he took a breath. Shoved it back. “What happened to you was terrible. Awful. And then what Richard did on top of it? Is it any wonder that the idea of a man seeing you as desirable stresses you out?”

“I can't do this, Logan. I thought I could, I thought I was ready, but I just can't.”

“No one says you have to. Thank Emerson for the flowers and tell him you aren't interested in him that way.”

She didn't answer right away and Logan's gaze turned speculative. “But you can't do that, either, can you? Because you are interested in him.”

“No.”

“Yes. We've been friends for twenty-four years, Rhiannon. Do you really think you can lie to me? You're doing that pencil trick again.”

“I am not!” But damn it, she was. Shoving out of her chair, she paced from one end of the small room to the other, then turned and worked her way back. Again
and again as she tried to get her thoughts together, to formulate what she wanted to say.

“You keep turning yourself around like that and you're going to make both of us dizzy.”

She pinned him with an annoyed stare. “You sound like my therapist.”

“I'm just trying to figure out what you're really upset about—that you don't want to go out with Emerson or that you do?”

“I don't know, I don't know, I don't know!” She leaned against the wall, banged her head into it a couple of times. “He's smart, funny, good-looking—and years too young for me. I swear, I could practically be his mother. Not to mention the fact that he's completely ridiculous, all about fun, all the time.”

“In other words, the complete opposite of the guys you used to be attracted to.”

“Exactly. Which makes me wonder why I'm interested in him.
If
I'm even interested in him, or if I'm just using him to hide from the kind of men I really like. The kind I could build a real relationship with.”

“First of all, you're thirty-nine—nowhere near old enough to be this guy's mother. And secondly, you're not the same person you were before. Maybe Emerson is exactly the kind of guy you need right now. Every relationship doesn't have to go somewhere, you know.”

“Says the man who's been married to his high school sweetheart for almost twenty years now.”

“Hey, just because I got lucky doesn't mean I don't know how the world works.” He paused, seemed to consider his words. “Do you think Emerson is serious about you?”

“No. Of course not—he isn't serious about anything.”

“So what's wrong with going on a date with him? It's not a lifelong commitment, just an agreement to spend a couple of hours together. If you like him, fine. If you don't, no harm, no foul.”

Wasn't that exactly what she had told herself before Shawn had kissed her? That she could just have fun with him, see how things went? Of course, that was before she'd run away like an idiot and then freaked out so badly her best friend had had to talk her down off a ledge. “You know, not everything in life can be settled by a baseball metaphor.”

“Maybe not. But the world would be a better place if it could be.”

She scrubbed her hands over his eyes. “He's a client, Logan! The whole thing is inappropriate anyway.”

“He's probably a one-time client—you said fancy, planned events weren't his thing. Besides, if neither of you is planning on pledging your undying love for the other, I don't see the problem. And I'm the boss—if I say there's no problem, there's no problem.”

“Oh, really? Since when did this become a dictatorship?”

“Since you needed it to be. Now, get off your butt and call him.”

Before she could come up with any more arguments, there was a frantic knock on the door. “Come in,” Logan called, and the receptionist, Terri, shoved the door open, sticking her head into the room.

“There's a guy here to see you,” she hissed.

“To see me?” Logan asked with a wink toward Rhiannon.

“No! To see
her.
And can I just say, he is hot. I mean, totally
f-i-n-e, fine.
With a capital
F.
” Terri paused for breath and seemed to take in Rhiannon's disheveled, tear-stained appearance for the first time. “But I've got to say, you don't look so good. Maybe I should tell him you're busy?”

Rhiannon wanted to jump on the lifeline and have Terri do just that. She wasn't ready to face Shawn. Wasn't ready to face herself. But a quick glance at Logan told her what she already knew—if she didn't do this now, she very likely never would. And she just wasn't willing to give up on herself—to give up on living—quite that easily. She'd fought too hard to heal to just give it all up at the first sign of adversity.

“No, that's okay.” She dug down deep, tried desperately to find a little of the courage she hadn't already used up. “Tell him I'm finishing up a call but that I'll be out in a minute.”

As Terri left to convey her message, Rhiannon glanced down at the gray carpet that covered her office floor, wondering why it felt like the whole world had just crumbled beneath her feet.

“H
EY.”
S
HAWN SMILED
at Rhiannon as she made her way through her office's fancy lobby toward him. It was his first time at Parties by L.K. and he was astonished at how upscale the place was. There must be a lot more money in event planning in Austin than he had ever imagined.

As Rhiannon passed beneath the high windows that lined two walls of the lobby, light reflected off the deep auburn of her hair, making him realize that it really wasn't red at all. Or at least, not exclusively red. There were strands of gold and burgundy and silver—and all the colors in between. It suited her, better than plain red ever could.

“Hey yourself.” Her answering smile was more tentative than his had been and as he got his first good look at her face, he realized that she was upset. Even worse, she had been crying.

“Is this a bad time?” he asked warily. He didn't like it when women cried, didn't have the first idea of how to deal with it when they started leaking—which was why he'd always made it a firm policy to be out the door long before the tears came. He hadn't followed that policy when he'd lived with Cynthia and in the end, she'd nearly destroyed him along with herself.

As he looked at the tearstains Rhiannon hadn't been
able to hide, he waited for the old, familiar urge to run to kick in. But it didn't come. Its absence was as concerning as Rhiannon's tears and had him wondering—for the first time—if he was in deeper here than he'd ever thought.

But that was ridiculous. No matter what he said when he teased her, Rhiannon and he had never even had a proper date. How deep could he possibly be into this thing? Besides, his lack of desire to flee probably came from the fact that he was coming in on the other end of the deal—Rhiannon's eyes were red and a little puffy, her skin still a little blotchy despite the makeup she'd obviously just reapplied, but she was obviously done with the tears.

And then it was too late for a graceful exit anyway, as she murmured, “Thank you for the flowers. They're beautiful.”

“They reminded me of you.” As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he wanted to cut off his tongue. How corny could he get? Usually he was a lot smoother than this, but something about her was getting him too worked up to think clearly.

Besides, she didn't seem to think the line was all that corny. Her cheeks flushed a delicate rose and her eyes turned to that deep chocolate color he was learning to watch for—the one that told him she was lowering her guard.

“I think that's the nicest thing anyone has said to me in a long time.”

“That tulips made them think of you?”

“Yes.”

He shook his head, reached for her hand. “Obviously, you've been hanging out with the wrong crowd.
But that's okay, I'm here now.” He started pulling her toward the door.

“Hey, what are you doing?”

“Taking you out of here. I've got some ideas for our third date and want to see what you think.”

“I can't just leave.” She glanced frantically at the watch on her wrist. “It's not even six o'clock yet. I still have some things to take care of—”

“Is one day really going to hurt you?”

“Probably not, but my desk is a mess and I haven't finished confirming flower orders for a party next week.”

He paused, sighed. “If I give you a few minutes to finish things up, will that make it easier for you to leave with me?”

She nodded, nerves and excitement building inside of her. “Yes.”

“So go, do what you need to do. I'll just sit right here and wait for you.”

Rhiannon went back to her office with every intention of completing the things she'd told Shawn she needed to do. Instead, all she did was stand there staring at the wild assortment of tulips he'd sent her. Finally, she gave up, grabbed her coat and headed back to the front of the building.

“That was fast,” Shawn said, as he popped up from where he'd been sitting, flipping through a magazine.

“I decided the work could wait.”

“That's the spirit! Come on, let's go.”

Shawn laughed at the look of complete befuddlement on Rhiannon's face as he swept her out into the bustling streets of downtown Austin. “Come on, slow
poke. We've got too much to do and not enough time to do it!”

“Too much to do?” she echoed, sounding like the parrot he'd gotten as a present for his twelfth birthday.

“Definitely.”

“I thought this was supposed to be a date.”

“It is.”

“Don't dates generally involve food of some kind? Conversation?” she asked as they hustled over the Congress Avenue Bridge and passed a number of large hotels. “I know it's been a while since I've done this, but I do remember that being the generally accepted method of dating.”

So it
had
been a while since she'd dated. He filed the information away, reminding himself that he needed to go slowly with her—which he would do,
after
he got her to their destination.

“We're almost there.”

“Almost where?” she asked.

“You'll see.”

“Are you always so secretive?”

“I don't know. Maybe. Sometimes.” He shrugged. “Yeah, I guess I am. Does it bother you?”

“Not when you're obviously so definitive about it.”

“That's me, Mr. Decisive.”

“I can see that.”

Grabbing her hand, he made a quick right onto the walking trails that surrounded Town Lake.

“Are we going down to the water?”

He shot her an amused look. “I bet you drove your mother crazy as a child. You don't do surprises very well, do you?”

She threw back her head and laughed, and his heart nearly stopped. This wasn't the low, tinkling laugh that she pulled out in socially appropriate situations, but the one he'd heard the night he'd given her the movies, a real laugh, one that lit her up from the inside and transformed her from beautiful to unbelievably stunning.

“I hate surprises. When I was a kid, I was always the one shaking the presents under the Christmas tree, trying to figure out what was in the boxes.”

“Really? I wouldn't have guessed that about you.”

“Oh, I was terrible. I still am, actually. My husband—” Her voice trailed off awkwardly and he nearly had a heart attack.

“You were married?” He used the past tense deliberately, telling himself that she would never have kissed him if she had a man waiting for her at home.

“Yes. For almost fifteen years. We divorced two years ago.”

He wasn't sure how he felt about that, wasn't sure what to say. For the first time since they'd met, their age difference yawned between them. Seventeen years ago he'd been in seventh grade, playing baseball and discovering girls while she'd been getting married. She could have been young when she married, right out of high school, but somehow he didn't think so. Rhiannon didn't seem the type to rush into anything, let alone marriage.

He glanced at her and realized she was watching him carefully, almost as if she could see the thoughts running through his head. Their pace had slowed considerably and as he glanced at the darkening sky, he realized they were going to have to book it if they were going to make it on time.

“Come on, they're going to leave without us.”

He could see the lightbulb come on. “We're going on a bat cruise?” she asked, glancing at the Congress Street Bridge, where thousands upon thousands of bats congregated during the spring and summer.

“That's the plan—but the boat leaves thirty minutes before sunset.”

“Let's go, then.” This time she grabbed his hand and they took off at a near run. “Do you know, except for college, I've lived in Austin my whole life and I've never been on one of these?”

“Really? I come a couple times each year. It's great.”

“I bet. I've always wanted to come, I just never got around to it.”

“All work and no play…”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. I've heard it all before.”

They finally got to the boat—with about two minutes to spare. Shawn paid for the tickets, then led her onto the old-fashioned paddleboat. Rhiannon shivered as they found a couple of seats near the front railing and he slipped an arm around her shoulders.

Her body tensed up and the look she gave him was both startled and wary. For a minute, he was sure she was going to pull away, but then—out of nowhere—she relaxed against him, her body melding to his.

It felt surprisingly good to hold her like this. No expectations, no plans, nothing but the feel of her soft curves against his chest.

They sat that way for a long time as the boat began its cruise around the lake. As they slowly made their way through the water, he watched the people running on the paths near the lake. Smiled at the families
picnicking under the bridge as they waited for the bats to emerge. Enjoyed the feel of the cool air on his face.

And wondered, incessantly, what was going on in Rhiannon's head.

He had just opened his mouth to break the silence between them, when Rhiannon said, “I'll be forty in a few weeks.”

“What?” he asked, not sure he had heard her correctly. Her voice had been even lower than usual.

“I know you were thinking about it, up there on the path, because I was thinking about your age, too. I'm thirty-nine.”

Knowing it was his turn to ante up, he said, “I turned twenty-nine last month.”

She nodded. “I figured you were close to thirty.”

Now he was the one to flush. “I didn't have a clue you were almost forty.”

“No?” She raised an eyebrow in that way that drove him absolutely crazy. “How old did you think I was?”

“I don't know. Thirty-four. Thirty-five, maybe.”

“Flatterer.” She turned to gaze out at the water. He waited for her to turn back to him, waited for her to say something for what seemed like forever. Just as he gave up and was about to speak himself, she whispered, “I totally understand if you want to change your mind—”

“It doesn't matter.”

She did turn to him then. “Of course it matters. Eleven years—”

“Is no big deal. We're both grown-ups. And really, it doesn't matter to me.” He paused. “Unless it matters to you.”

“If I admit that it does matter, that it
does
bother me, does that make me shallow?”

“No. It makes you honest. But really, does it bother you that much?” He held his breath as he waited for her answer.

“It kind of does. I mean, I used to make fun of men and their midlife crises, running off to buy sports cars and date women way too young for them. Now I'm thinking about dating a man who is way too young for me.”

“Is that what you think? That you're going through a midlife crisis?” He tried to keep the incredulity out of his voice, but it was difficult. Rhiannon was way too grounded to ever be accused of that.

“No, of course not. But that's what people will say about me.” She paused. “Although, now that I think about it, most of those men would probably deny that they were going through one, as well.

“But, no. I had my crisis a few years ago. You have nothing to do with that.”

“So what do I have to do with?”

She sucked in a deep breath, blew it out in a loud sigh. “I have absolutely no idea.”

“Do you mind if I ask you a few questions, then? Maybe we can fumble around together for a while—just to find out where we stand.”

She stiffened, her entire body going so rigid that he was shocked she could still sit. From the way she'd reacted, he expected her to tell him no, but in the end, she just nodded slowly.

“Does what people say about you really matter to you?”

“Doesn't it matter to you?”

He shook his head. “You know, it really doesn't. I think you're beautiful. Really, really beautiful—inside and out—and I feel lucky to be here with you. The fact that you're older than I am means nothing. Life is about the experiences you've had, not how many years you've lived. So far, I think we're pretty well-matched when it comes to that kind of stuff.”

She didn't answer for the longest time, just gazed out over the water, watching as people kayaked next to them on the lake. “This thing between us. It's not going anywhere, right?”

He stiffened at the assumption. “What does that mean?”

“I mean, we're just in this to have some fun, right? It's nothing serious?”

“Does that matter?”

“Of course it does. You say eleven years is no big deal, but those are pretty big years between us. Marriage years. Child-bearing years. That makes a huge difference, doesn't it? Kind of puts things in perspective?”

“Rhiannon.” He grabbed her hands in his and looked her directly in the eye. “Can't we both just take a deep breath and relax? I like you. I really like you and I hope you feel the same way about me. If you do, let's forget about everything else for a while and just see where this goes.”

“That's just it. I can't forget about everything else. You say it doesn't matter, but it does. What are your friends going to say when they meet me? Your parents?”

“My friends are Neanderthals. They'll probably make jokes about how lucky I am to be with a woman
in her sexual prime. And as for my parents, they've never cared about anything but me being happy.”

“Oh, God! I hadn't even thought about the cougar jokes.” She tugged her hand from his and rubbed it over her eyes. “This is
such
a bad idea.”

“No, it's not. And you know it, or you wouldn't be here right now. So come on, what do you say? You want to try this thing for a few weeks, see how it works out?”

“I keep thinking it's not fair to you, Shawn,” she blurted out as she bit her thumbnail down to the quick.

He wanted to kiss her right then, wanted to run his tongue over her abused thumb and soothe any wounds she might have inflicted on herself. But the last time he'd kissed her she'd taken off without so much as a “see you later,” and he didn't relish jumping into Town Lake after her. So he contented himself with just watching her and hoping she'd figure out what she was doing and stop before she drew blood.