Return of the Runaway Bride (19 page)

Daniel actually blushed. Shrugging, he explained, "My afternoon appointment canceled and I thought..."

She couldn't hold her laughter any longer. Finally recognizing her teasing for what it was, he shot her an
embarrassed
grin and shook his head.

"Didn't your mother ever teach you that it's not nice to poke fun at people?"

Placing a hand on his forearm, she said, "You don't need an excuse to come here."

Glancing at the paper he'd handed her, she squealed and jumped into the air.

"This is the list of caterers Ida promised me," she said. "I can't wait to get started calling them." She looked into his face. "The dinner plans are going so well, Daniel."

The aura of boyish charm that had surrounded him a split second earlier dissolved before her very eyes. His gaze, although not exactly hard, no longer twinkled with openness and friendship. His whole demeanor turned cautious and restrained, and she hated this seemingly
unscalable
mountain that suddenly separated them.

"I'm sorry," she mumbled, fighting the part of her nature that screamed for her to confront him. "Let me just put this on my desk. I'll look at it later." She turned and took a step toward the den.

"No. Wait."

Daniel's quiet voice stayed her.

"I'd like to hear what's been happening with your plans," he said.

She didn't miss his choice of pronouns. When he'd spoken to her of the hospital budget difficulties, he'd used the phrase "our problems." But when it came to her ideas for a solution, he used the description "your plans." He separated himself. Maybe not consciously, but he separated himself nonetheless. And Savanna couldn't deny that it hurt.

His asking for an update on the fund-raising dinner, however, did lighten her spirit a little. Maybe there was light at the end of the tunnel, even if it was dim.

"Well," she began, "we booked the country club. And the manager called me just yesterday with news. They've decided to donate the use of the club." She couldn't help her wide smile. "I'm so excited. That means we don't pay a penny."

Absently she hitched the neckline of her T-shirt back onto her shoulder. "The tickets are being printed as we speak. Free of charge, I'm proud to add. And I've contacted three florists, all of whom have offered to donate flowers. I've promised to print the names of all contributing businesses in the program and mention them to any newspapers considering a write-up about the dinner."

"That sounds great."

Savanna tried to ignore the fact that his smile didn't quite reach his eyes.

"And now," she went on, "Ida's come up with a list of caterers in the area. I can't expect to get the food free, but I'll do what I can to keep costs as low as possible. The lower the overhead, the more profit for the hospital."

Watching his jaw muscles work, she thought,
He has so little trust in me
.
If she could only make him see...

"Daniel...I wish there was something I could say..."

But there wasn't. Trusting her was something he had to learn on his own. The realization made her spine straighten. It was so true. Nothing she could say would make one iota of difference. Daniel had to learn he could believe in her all by himself. All she could do was continue to pursue her goal, continue to work toward overcoming Fulton General Hospital's problem. And hope that Daniel realized she was worthy of his trust.

"Something you could say about what?" he asked, unaware of or unwilling to admit that she realized just how uptight he was.

She shook her head.
"Nothing."
Then a thought came to her…an idea that might alleviate the tension between them and, at the same time, show Daniel how committed she was to this dinner.

"I've been thinking," she said. "Would you consider going on a date with me?"

His brows raised a fraction.
"A date?
Haven't we been out three nights this week?"

"I meant a few weeks down the road." She could see his confusion, so she hurried to explain. "I'd like for you to be my date for the dinner."

He said nothing.

"The fund-raising gala," she said as a gentle reminder.

"Sure."

"Listen…"

They spoke simultaneously, but Savanna heard the curtness in his too-swift acceptance.

"…if you'd rather not,
it's
okay. Really," she finished, giving him a chance to rescind.

"I'd like to go to the dinner with you," he said. "It's a date." He stuck out his hand to shake as though it were some kind of business deal they were sealing.

Savanna bit her bottom lip to keep from smiling and looked down at his outstretched hand. "Do you think that's really necessary?"

He gave a self-conscious shrug and lowered his hand to his side.

She felt it would be prudent to change the subject to a more neutral topic.

"Have you had lunch?"

"Yes," he said. "But thanks for asking." Eyeing the white spatters on her arms, he commented, "You've been painting. I'm free the rest of the afternoon. Can I give you a hand?"

"Oh, no," she said, a frown firmly planted between her brows. "You'll ruin your suit..."

"No problem." As he spoke, he shrugged out of his jacket. "I'll just ditch the tie, roll up the shirtsleeves." His hands worked fast as he talked "And, voila! I'm ready to go to work."

"But your trousers.
Your shoes," she complained. "I can't let you risk getting paint on your dress clothes."

"I want to," he insisted. "Upstairs?" He took her by the hand and tugged her toward the stairs.

As she trotted up the steps behind him, she felt her stomach churn with anticipation at spending time with the open and friendly Daniel who had returned as soon as the subject of the dinner was dropped. It was so obvious that he, too, was playing the ostrich, putting his distrust of her out of his head as much as possible. That fact told Savanna that Daniel liked spending time with her just as much as she liked spending time with him.

He started into the wrong room.

"No, no," she said.
"Next door down."

Then Daniel stopped short.

"What have you done?"

Savanna nearly ran into his broad back. "What do you mean?" she asked.

Peering around him, she studied the room, the drop cloth covering the floor, the paintbrushes and roller she'd left out, the open bucket of paint. Then she saw what made him ask his question, made his tone a mixture of amusement and utter disbelief.

The walls were marred with long, irregular streaks of color. Some of the paint stripes were a bright white, while others were spread so thin that the beige undercoat clearly showed through.

"Who taught you how to paint?" Daniel asked, chuckling.

"No one," she said.

His mouth split into a wide grin.
"Obviously."

"Hey," she said, her ego slightly injured. "I thought I was doing okay."

She walked to the center of the room and looked at the two walls she'd spent a good portion of the morning painting.

"Lord, what a mess," she muttered.

"It's all right." Daniel placed his hand on her shoulder. "We can fix it."

"You think so?" She twisted and looked into his face.

He nodded with confidence. "I'm certain of it."

The next thing she knew, she was painting with the roller and he was brandishing a paintbrush. But she hadn't made two swipes across the wall before Daniel stopped her.

"You can't cover the entire wall at one go. Try painting one small space at a time," he said. "Here, let me show you."

He stepped up behind her, reached around and curled his fingers over hers on the handle of the roller.

"Small strokes," he
instructed,
his voice a scant inch from her ear.

His breath tickled the sensitive flesh of her neck and a delicious shiver raced up her spine. He was so
close,
the intoxicating scent of his cologne overpowered the fresh paint smell that permeated the room. They stood, arm against arm, body against body, thigh against thigh, as he showed her the proper way to roll paint onto the wall.

"The reason you have so much streaking," he explained, "is because you were spreading the paint out too thin."

She barely heard his words; her attention focused on the feel of his hard chest against her back. The springy hairs of his bare forearm tickled her skin. His biceps muscles flexed against her shoulder with every upward swing of his arm. His tight stomach pressed to the small of her back; his taut thigh molding with hers.

Breathless and exuberant, she prayed he wouldn't move away from her too quickly. She enjoyed the closeness, and besides, she doubted her rubbery legs would hold her up
on their own
.

She blinked, realizing that they'd stopped pushing the roller. Instinctively she turned her head and found herself looking into Daniel's sexy, dark eyes.

He studied her a moment, and then commented softly, "We'll never get the room painted like this."

Savanna smiled at him.

Curling his index finger under her chin, he locked his gaze onto her lips.

"You don't know what that smile does to me," he murmured. He hovered there, his mouth a breath away from hers. Then he stepped away from her and picked up the paintbrush.

She refilled the roller with paint, more than a little disappointed that he turned out to be such a conscientious helper.
And a blatant tease.

After a few minutes, Daniel said, "It's good to know that some things don't change." He pointed to the radio. "You still like soft pop."

A flush crept over her cheeks when she realized she was singing aloud.
Badly.

"What can I say? I love
love
songs," she admitted. "Do you still like that stuff from the sixties?"

"Folk music," he said.

She chuckled.
"Folk music, then."

His smile was lopsided as he said, "Give me a good croon from Bob Dylan any day,"

"But he's so...old."

"Oh, you wound me." He pressed his palm to his chest. Then his eyes twinkled as he grinned at her. "You were just doing a pretty good imitation of him, by the way.
In his younger days, of course."

Turning back to face the wall, she feigned a huff and said, "I'll never sing to you again."

As she rolled the paint onto the wall, she was acutely aware of him. His every move demanded her attention. But he seemed totally concentrated on covering the wooden trim with white paint.

She couldn't help but wonder why being with him made her so gloriously happy. It wasn't just a physical thing. Even though she'd thoroughly enjoyed the kiss they had shared, even dreamed of enjoying another in the immediate future, the fact remained that they had shared only one kiss. The other times they'd had together over the past week had been spent in interesting and lively conversation, comfortable silence or good, old-fashioned teasing.

She liked Daniel and couldn't help but wonder if he felt the same about her. A dark cloud overshadowed her sunny thoughts. If he did feel the same as she, why hadn't he mentioned the fact that he was thinking of leaving? Why did he continue to
distrust
 
her
?