All I Ever Wanted (28 page)

“Watch out, here it comes!” Ian yelled.

The bird came sprinting out, wings flapping, and Angie lunged again, barking for all she was worth. I caught a glimpse of hideous bird legs, felt the wind from its wings and couldn't help but shrieking. “Ian! Get it out of here!”

“Easy for you to say!” he called, scrambling after the bird.

Then the bird must have finally smelled freedom, because it turned its ugly head, spotted the great outdoors and sprinted through the front door, down the porch steps. I heard Bowie's explosion of barking. “Is it safe?” I called after a minute.

“Yes,” Ian answered, so I let his dog go. She immediately began sniffing all the good turkey smells. I hoisted myself onto my feet.

Ian stood in the great room, breathing hard. I went over and stood next to him.

“I don't think it's dead after all,” I said. Ian cut his gaze to me, and I doubled over with laughter, clutching the doorframe.

“Very funny,” he said drily. “Why don't you let Bowie out of the car? He can go in the backyard with Angie. It's fenced in.” He turned and went into the kitchen.

I obeyed, still laughing. “I'm sorry you missed all the fun, Bowie,” I giggled, unclipping my dog. “But now you can play in the back with Angie, how's that?” I followed my dog inside, and the smile slid off my face.

Ian's house, his perfectly ordered, beautifully furnished house, was a wreck. Two tables were overturned, a vase or wineglass or something had broken, and shards of glass lay in a puddle. Feathers littered the floor here and there. A few books and a picture or two had fallen from the bookcase. The kitchen table was askew, and one of the chairs had tipped. A glimpse into the den showed similar damage.

Angie was already in the backyard, so I ushered my dog through the slider, then closed it behind me. “I'll clean up, Ian,” I said, biting my lip as I surveyed the wreckage. Several envelopes were scattered about, and I picked them up. Interspersed with the expected phone bill and such were a few other addresses… Heifer International, Doctors Without Borders, Hole in the Wall Gang. “Pledge week?” I asked, setting them down.

“Guilt,” he answered. He was rolling up his sleeve. His bloody sleeve.

“Ian, you're cut!” I exclaimed, leaping over to him.

“Yes,” he said.

“What happened? Was it the turkey?”

“No,” he answered, glancing at me. “I caught it on the edge of the bookcase.”

I took his wrist and turned it so I could see. It wasn't too bad, a long scratch, but it was bleeding a fair amount.

“Where's your first-aid kit?” I asked.

“I can do it,” he said.

It suddenly occurred to me that I was standing close enough to him to feel his warmth. That he was wearing jeans and a white oxford. That his lashes were long and straight and somehow tender. That he was looking at me steadily, and that even though he could probably clean up this cut in a New York minute, I really, really wanted to take care of him.

“I insist,” I said, my voice a little husky.

Ian reached for a paper towel and held it against his forearm. “In there, then,” he said, nodding to a cabinet.

There it was, a blue plastic case, neatly labeled
First Aid.
I took it out and looked at the patient. He was leaning against the counter, still holding the paper towel against his arm. Watching me. Intently.

My knees started to tingle. Face felt warm. Girl parts on the alert.

I opened the first-aid kit, which contained a small bottle of hydrogen peroxide, a roll of gauze, some ointment, Band-Aids, the usual. “So,” I said, then cleared my throat. “Um, let's wash it off, okay?”

“Okay,” he said, a trace of amusement in his voice.

I took his hand—it was such a good hand, big and strong and capable, just like you'd want a vet's hand to be. And holding his hand meant I was close to him, which was definitely having an effect on me. My heart thudded harder as I turned on the water and held his arm under it, our sides pressed together. He felt awfully wonderful, all warm and big and…
Focus, Callie. First aid, remember?

Yes. Well. The bleeding had stopped…it really was just a scratch, but you know what? I was going to take good care of that scratch.

Ian didn't talk as I poured some hydrogen peroxide on a cotton ball, patted the scratch, then blotted his arm dry. It was disconcerting, being so close to him that I could see the steady rise and fall of his chest. His forearm was perfect, muscled and tan, sprinkled with blond hair, the tendons moving under his smooth skin as he moved his hand.

“I'll just…um…just put on a little of this…gooey stuff…how's that?” I asked, reaching for the…gooey stuff.

“Sounds good,” he said.

I sneaked a peek at his face. There was a hint of a smile in those blue eyes, and I looked down quickly, feeling my cheeks prickle with a telltale blush.

Still holding his hand, I smeared some bacitracin (that was the name!) on his cut, running my forefinger from just above his wrist to his elbow. The skin was perfect, the muscles solid beneath. Lovely. The inside of his elbow was soft and tender by comparison, and I ran my finger across the skin there.

Realizing my first-aid application had morphed into vet-fondling, I yanked back my hand and groped for the roll of gauze. It was either use the gauze or use about nine Band-Aids, because the scratch was pretty long. But my hands were clumsy, and it was harder than it should've been. I wrapped his arm up firmly, then began tying the gauze ends in a knot.

“That's a little tight,” Ian said. I looked up. His mouth pulled up in the corner, and he held out his hand, which was turning quite red, the veins in his wrist starting to bulge.

“Sorry!” I said, hastily untying the knot and unwrapping the bandage. “Okay. Ian's boo-boo, take two.”

This time, the gauze was too loose and kept slipping down. Plus, it was a little soggy from overapplication of the gooey stuff, so I grabbed a Band-Aid, tore it open and used it to hold the gauze in place. Added another one. This bandaging job was starting to look like Josephine—or Bowie—had done it. Not to mention that those Band-Aids were going to take some arm hair with them when Ian took this thing off. And still it was droopy! I adjusted the gauze wrap a bit, but it slid right back down, so I just patted his arm instead.

“How's that?” I asked, looking up at him.

He was smiling. Not a lot, just a little, and more than enough. “Perfect,” he murmured.

Without another thought, I wrapped my arms around his neck and kissed the living daylights out of him.

His arms, injured and otherwise, went around me, pulling me against him. One hand slid through my hair, and he kissed me back fiercely. He was solid and, oh, just wonderful, his arms strong, his body hard, and he smelled like soap and rain. I leaned into him, my hands going through his soft, short hair, and deepened the kiss, getting a most satisfactory groan in return. My God, he felt so good, so…reassuring, somehow, so real and warm and safe, and his mouth was soft and hard at the same time, and he kissed me with such heat and intensity that I could barely stand. In the turkey struggles, my shirt had come untucked, and Ian's hand slid under it, hot against my skin. My leg, my ruttish leg, was wrapped around his, and in another minute, I'd be pulling a Bowie. His mouth lowered to my neck, his hand moved to cover my breast, and my knees buckled and my head fell back, and for a second, I thought I might just slide to the floor in a boneless heap, pulling him on top of me.

Then his mouth found mine again, and oh, that kiss, that life-changing kiss, because really, that's how it felt, a kiss that meant something, promised something, made you want all sorts of things. It took me a minute to realize he was looking at me. My breath came in short little gasps, and underneath my hand, I could feel Ian's heart thudding fast and hard.

He didn't say anything for a second, just tucked some hair behind my ears and looked at me, right into my eyes.

“Would you like to stay?” he asked, running his thumb over my lower lip.

I swallowed. Then I nodded. “Should we clean up first?” I whispered, glancing at the devastation the turkey had wrought.

“No,” he said, then he took my hand and led me upstairs.

I
WOKE UP ROUGHLY
twelve hours later, completely and delightfully unrested. Oh, no. Not a lot of sleeping going on last night, no sir.

I was smiling before I even opened my eyes. Purring, too, a bit. Felt like maybe I should be given a medal. And Ian…he
definitely
deserved one, too.

I rolled over and opened my eyes. Ian's side of the bed was empty, and the clock said 7:32 a.m. New day, new boyfriend, new world. Sigh! Ian McFarland was a thorough man, let me tell you. Made sure I was a very happy woman, know what I'm saying? Made sure a couple times.

And I made him
smile,
and just the memory of that had my girl parts tightening. A smile from Ian really meant something. It was worth waiting for, that wonderfully goofy, melting smile.

Somewhere around ten last night, we remembered that our dogs were outside and a turkey had made a huge mess. It was oddly cozy, cleaning up together, laughing, me figuring out where things went. Then Ian made peanut butter and banana sandwiches on whole wheat bread, poured us some milk, put everything on a tray and we had a little midnight snack in bed, the dogs sitting quietly in attendance, waiting for a crust or two to be tossed their way. And then Ian and I made each other
very
happy once more.

So…what now? I wondered, climbing out of Ian's big bed and looking around. Ah. A bathrobe, a rather old flannel robe I thought I'd look quite cute in, as it was Ian's and Ian was now my honey. I pulled it on and breathed deeply. It smelled like him, giving my knees a pleasant wobble.

Checking my reflection in the bathroom mirror, I tousled my hair a bit and grinned. There. Sex kitten. Meow! I fairly skipped downstairs, the smell of coffee rich and dark in the air. I couldn't wait to see him smile again, because those smiles were gifts, they were sunshine after the storm, they were flowers bursting into bloom, they were Betty Crocker Supermoist Triple Chocolate Fudge. A giddy ribbon of happiness danced through my stomach. Ian McFarland
liked
me. Possibly more.

At the bottom of the stairs, I sneaked a peek at my
lover.
What a delicious word! He stood in the kitchen, already dressed in a suit, complete with jacket. He looked…um…well, a little tense. His arms were folded, and he stared out the kitchen window at our two dogs, who were frisking and frolicking. Aw! Maybe they were in love, too. But Ian…Ruh-roh. His face was kind of…grim. Well. Maybe he was just tired. He'd brighten at the sight me, Callie Grey, wanton woman.

“Good morning,” I said, leaning against the wall and smiling.

His head jerked around. “Oh. You're awake. I didn't hear you.” He shoved his fists into his pockets. He didn't smile. He looked, in fact…scowly.

“Hi,” I said again, pushing my hair back. Sort of a reminder…
I'm all tousled and unkempt because we did it three times last night.
It seemed to miss its mark.

His jaw was knotty. Probably not a positive sign. My smile felt a little less confident.

“You probably need to get going, right?” he asked, swallowing.

I sucked in a breath, my excellent mood falling to the ground, shot dead. “Wow. That is
not
what I expected.”

He withdrew a hand from his pocket and scrubbed it over his jaw. “Well,” he said to the floor, “what…what exactly do you expect?”

There was the smallest note of uncertainty somewhere in that question. Or I thought so, anyway. “Oh, gosh, Ian,” I said slowly. “How about ‘Good morning' or ‘Last night was incredible' or ‘Would you like some coffee?'”

Ian didn't answer. Just stared at the floor, as if…well, as if last night had been a huge mistake and he was trying to figure a way out of whatever expectations I might (and kind of did) have. Certainly I had time to wonder about what he was thinking, because he didn't say a damn word.

Crap. A lump wedged itself in my throat. Emotional diarrhea could not be far off.

“There is coffee. If you want some,” Ian said carefully. And that was it. Jeez Louise. He looked at his watch.

“You know what?” I said tightly. “I don't want coffee. I'll just get dressed and leave you alone, since that's clearly what you're after.”

I turned to go back upstairs.

Before I made it to the first step, he grabbed me by the waist. I squeaked in surprise, held there against his chest. “Wait,” he said in a low voice.

I waited. Swallowed. Waited a few seconds more.

“I'm sorry,” he whispered.

“You should be,” I said, my voice a little breathy.

“Are you crying?” he asked.

“I'm very close.” Still, I couldn't help feeling a bit turned on, hurt feelings or not.

His hands slid up to my shoulders, turning me around to face him. “Maybe I should start over,” he said, completely serious.

“You think?” I asked.

“Yes. I didn't…I should've thought of something to say. Something different.” He frowned, but his eyes were steady on mine.

“Well, okay, then,” I said. “Start over.”

He gave a little nod. “Good morning.”

I nodded back. “Good morning.”

“Would you like some coffee?”

“Not right now, thanks,” I said.

“Last night was incredible.” He swallowed. Didn't smile.

Well, he'd have to do more than echo me to gain back some ground, after all. Just because he had beautiful eyes and a rumbly voice didn't mean I should just…melt. Though it
was
getting a little…melt-ish in here.

“Callie,” he said, taking a deep breath. “I just don't know…I'm not sure…I don't know what…last night…meant to you, and I don't—” His voice broke off in frustration, and he ran a hand through his hair. “I'm not usually an impulsive person.”

“You're kidding,” I muttered.

He didn't smile, just looked at me. “I don't believe in flings,” he said, his expression bordering on somber. “I don't want just a fling.”

My knees softened. My heart did, too. “Me, neither,” I whispered.

He gave a half nod and squeezed my shoulders just a little. “Callie,” he said, looking down. He hesitated, then
went on. “I know you were in love with your boss. At the hotel that night, it seemed…Well, if you still, uh…have feelings for him, I need you to tell me.” He raised his eyes back to mine, and it was like a shock, those eyes and what was in them.

“I'm not,” I said in a half whisper. “That's…that's done.” And it was true. I wasn't sure when it became finalized, but it was true nonetheless.

“Are you sure?”

I nodded. “It's done.”

He let out a breath. “Good.” His gaze dropped to my mouth.

“So,” I said.

He waited, but I said nothing more. “Well then,” he said after a few beats. “Do you want to…go steady?”

I couldn't help it. I laughed, then slipped my arms around his waist. “Yes, I'll go steady with you, Ian,” I said, smiling broadly.

“Good. That's good.” Then he kissed me, softly, gently. “Callie, I'm sorry I'm so…” His voice trailed off.

“Socially retarded?” I suggested.

He gave a surprised laugh. “I was going to say nervous, but I guess yours works, too.”

I pulled back to look at him more clearly. “I make you nervous?” I asked. For some reason, that pleased me beyond measure.

“You make me terrified,” he answered, smiling a little. Oh,
melt!

“Make you anything else?” I whispered, standing on my tiptoes for a kiss.

“Yes, now that you mention it,” he said, then he slid his arms around me, hoisted me up, and I wrapped my legs around him as he carried me back upstairs.

Quite a while later, he finally rolled out of bed. “I'm going to be late for work,” he admitted as he reached for his clothes.

“First time?” I asked, lounging ruttishly against the pillows.

He grinned. “Yes, actually.”

“Do you think the world will keep spinning?”

He leaned down and kissed me, then pulled on his shirt. “I'm finding I don't really care,” he said, and he gave me a smile that kept my heart warm for the rest of the day.

 

W
HEN
I
GOT TO WORK WELL
past the appointed hour, Damien took one look at me and the box of doughnuts I was holding and said, “Well, well, well.
Someone
got laid last night.”

“Hi,” I breathed. “It's a beautiful day, isn't it?”

“Who? Who is he?” Damien asked. “I command you to tell me.”

“Want a doughnut?” I asked dreamily. “I got chocolate just for you.”

“Hey, Callie,” Mark said, walking into the reception area. He glanced at his watch. “Everything okay? You're not usually late.”

“I'm fine,” I said.

“She's postcoital,” Damien said, raising an eyebrow.

Mark's head jerked back in surprise.

“I'd better get to work,” I said. “I'll skip lunch to make up the time, Mark.”

“That's not necessary, Callie, you put in more than enough—”

I barely heard him as I floated down the hall to my office.

Yep. I was in love.

About time.