To Win Her Trust (3 page)

She tossed the small needle nose pliers onto the workbench and slid from the stool. On bare feet, she padded across her studio to the tiny fridge in the corner. After selecting a bottle of cold water, she twisted off the cap and sipped deeply.

Men like him, with rock solid bodies and tough guy good looks, emitted a mysterious, come-to-me-baby lure that drew women in. He had that certain something. A kind of irresistible force a woman couldn’t quite put her finger on but responded to just the same.

No doubt he’d broken his share of hearts. She gulped another sip and scowled. But damn. He sure knew how to kiss.

She rolled her eyes and wandered back toward her bench to eye the finished sculpture. Of course he did. Practice made perfect, and from what she’d experienced this morning, he’d put in plenty of time in his quest for perfection. Kisses like his could take a woman’s breath away, or give it back, as in her case.

Faced with the double whammy of finding herself in his lap
and
her rush of memories, the panic attack didn’t surprise her. She’d faced them under far less stimulation. What
did
surprise her was the effectiveness of his kiss in cutting it off. Sure, her mother and Kris had experience pulling her back from the edge, if they happened to be around when an attack hit, but a complete stranger?

Years of therapy, breathing techniques, and avoiding potentially stressful situations hadn’t come close to accomplishing what Kevin Tucker had with the brush of his mouth. Geez, if she’d known the answer to heading off the debilitating attacks was kissing a man, she’d have tried locking lips long ago.

Yeah, right
.

The physics of kissing required a woman to allow a man close enough to touch. For a girl who froze at the mere thought of a man’s strong hands holding her captive, kissing wasn’t an option, and yet… Her brows crowded together on a thoughtful frown. She hadn’t froze when Kevin Tucker’s large hands roamed over her arms and then her back. Quite the opposite. Not only had she survived his warm embrace
and
his shocking kiss, she’d found pleasure in both.

The revelation wouldn’t leave her alone, and the stunning implications lit a fire of cautious optimism in her belly. With her one year time limit approaching, she’d begun to doubt her ability to fulfill the promise she’d made herself on her twenty-fifth birthday, but now… For the past eleven months, she’d worked hard to overcome the constant, clammy fear she’d lived with for years. Through sheer force of will, she’d achieved a measure of success. Each trip to shop, dine out, or simply pick up a cup of coffee was an in-your-face, screw-you to the kidnappers…
and
her father. She’d made important strides, but had she let old fears rob her of the complete recovery she desired?

Hope hit her like a solid fist and stole her breath. Had she accidentally found a solution to her worst, lingering neuroses? Could she overcome the spidery fingers of dread clawing their way through her hard-won sense of safety whenever a male got too close? Until she did, she’d never be able to claim complete victory.

This morning’s events proved she wouldn’t fall apart if a man touched her, but what exactly had happened? Had shock over Kevin Tucker’s kiss allowed her to not only gain control of her breathing but to accept his touch without shattering into a thousand shards of cowardice? Or had the genuine concern in his eyes been responsible for her astonishing response? Logic said it was a combination of both.

He might be a player, and God knew his kiss was enough to jolt her out of her panic, but his unexpected protectiveness had played a part as well. They were complete strangers, and yet, he’d taken one look and instinctively sized up the situation correctly. Without hesitation, he’d come to her aide and banished her demons with single-minded purpose.

No one had ever done that before.

She ran a fingertip over the smooth wire of the sculpture. The question was, could she recreate the scenario, harnessing the ability to overcome the attacks in the process?

Before she could answer the question, a key turned in the front door lock and drew her attention. She spun around as Kris breezed inside. The tall redhead crossed the foyer into the studio in her typical lazy stroll.

“Are you still at it?”

“Just finished.” CC nodded her head at the sculpture. “What do you think?”

Her cousin stopped at her side and pursed her lips. “It’s beautiful. Kind of sad, but gorgeous.”

“It’s
Yearning
.”

Toenails clicked against the condo’s hardwood floor, and Walter rounded the corner from the hallway. He loped into the studio, then slid to a stop at Kris’s side. The jerking stub of his tail telegraphed his pleasure as he bumped up against her thigh.

She rested a hand on his wide skull and stabbed CC with narrowed eyes. “Okay, what’s up?”

“What do you mean?”

“You came barreling in here this morning and started twisting your wires like one of those crazy dead artists you idolize.” She jerked her chin toward the sculpture. “You always dive for your workbench when you’re upset.” A militant gleam sparkled in the hazel eyes, pinning her in place. “I heard Curt’s message on the answering machine. Are you going to see him?”

A grimace tightened CC’s lips. After the unprecedented events of this morning, she’d forgotten all about her father’s message. Of course, Kris would blame his call for the frenzied work session. More sisters than cousins, they’d grown up together. While panic attacks and neuroses were CC’s legacy of having survived her dysfunctional childhood, Kris tended toward overprotectiveness, especially when it came to dealings with Curt Jensen.

She shrugged. “Probably not.”

Disapproval creased her cousin’s brow. “Don’t let him pressure you. You know how he is.”

“And you know me better than that.”

Kris smirked and leaned forward to lift a hank of curls at one side of CC’s head.

She slapped at her hand. “What are you doing?”

“If you’re not upset over Curt, then it must be some kind of crazy artist thing. I’m checking to see if you still need a
pair
of earrings instead of just one, CC Van Gogh.” She grinned at CC’s snicker. “Hey, you know I’ve been lusting over your pearl studs for years.”

“And you’ll be lusting for years to come.”

Walter padded off toward the shallow basket holding his toys. Her cousin slouched against the edge of the workbench and raised a questioning brow. “What whipped you into a creative frenzy?”

Though tempted to keep this morning’s fiasco to herself, she didn’t bother. Kris would only badger her until she spilled the beans. “I had a panic attack outside the Coffee Clutch this morning.”

Concern bloomed in her cousin’s eyes. “Aw, Cees.”

“
And
I met a guy.”

“What? Wait a minute.” Kris sprang up from her slouch. “
You
met a guy? Like a real guy? Not some pimple-faced bagger in the grocery store who handed your purchases over and said, ‘Thanks for shopping with us’?”

She rolled her eyes. “Yes, he was a real guy.”

“Way to go, Cees! It’s—”

“Not what you’re thinking.” She climbed onto her stool. “I only mentioned him because something kind of weird happened.”

“Weird how?”

She drew a long sip from her water bottle. When she couldn’t stall any longer, she looked away. “He kissed me.”

“Kissed you?” Kris choked.

She nodded, understanding her cousin’s shock. Other than for classes or a rare outing with Kris, up until a year ago, CC barely left the condo. Forget being kissed by a stranger, meeting a pimply-faced grocery clerk would have been a big deal.

“I hate to point this out, cuz, but considering your aversion to guys, letting a complete stranger kiss you goes
way
beyond ‘kind of weird.’”

“I didn’t
let
him kiss me. He just…sort of did it.”

“Why?”

She blinked at the question.

“Don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying that’s a bad thing. It’s about time you put what happened behind you and found yourself a guy, but Cees, a stranger? That’s not like you.”

A soft sigh lifted her chest. “No, it isn’t, and I haven’t found myself a guy. In fact, if I hadn’t been in the middle of a major attack, I probably would have kneed him in the balls.” They shared a grin. “But the weird thing is, I was so shocked at what he was doing the attack just”—she shrugged her shoulders—”stopped. One minute I was fighting off a faint, and the next I was fine. Well, not fine exactly, but I wasn’t sprawled on the sidewalk.”

“Uh-huh. That’s nice.” Kris flapped her hand impatiently. “You still haven’t explained why he kissed you.”

Across the room, Walter’s playful growl drew CC’s attention. Front end lowered to the floor, his backside wiggled to beat the band. A moment later, he pounced on a mauled shoe. His favorite toy slapped against his jowls as he whipped his head back and forth.

She scowled. “It’s all Walter’s fault. We had a little…incident.”

“Define incident.”

Her detailed account of her morning sent Kris into a fit of giggles. She ended with the Bostonian Gigolo’s demand for an introduction and his surprisingly agreeable exit once he’d gotten her name.

“He smelled like sawdust and coffee.” The water bottle paused at her lips. “And cinnamon!” Water sloshed over her fingers as she dropped her hand to the workbench. Yes, the sweet and spicy edge teasing her memory since he walked away all those hours ago had definitely been a hint of cinnamon.

“Um, Cees. You’re scaring me a little.”

She wiped her wet hand on the thigh of her jeans. “I’m scaring myself. I just experienced my first kiss, with a stranger no less, in the middle of a crowded sidewalk. What’s more, I somehow escaped the worst effects of an attack, and what keeps going through my head? The way he smelled.” She frowned. “A man has no business smelling like that.”

Kris's eyes widened. Her mouth dropped open, and her lips formed a silent
O
.

A low growl vibrated in CC’s throat. “Don’t even go there.”

Kris rubbed at her arms as if chilled. “You’ve got to admit, it is a little spooky. Your mom would have a fit if she heard what you just said.”

“Oh, please. A woman knows her mate by his scent? What a crock. Mom’s Hocus Pocus theories are nothing but the wistful imaginings of an aged hippy. A man’s scent is nothing more than leftover fragrances from what he’s consumed that day and what he does for a living.” She aimed the bottle at her cousin’s nose. “The guy is nothing more than a gum chewing carpenter who likes coffee…and flirting. You should have seen him. Flashing dimples at every unsuspecting woman in the place. He’s probably been charming little girls since the playpen.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

She flattened out her lips in a bland stare. “In my experience, that
is
a bad thing, but you’re missing my point.”

“Which is?”

“He stopped the panic attack. Stopped it cold.”

“And?”

“And? Are you kidding me? That’s huge! It has me wondering.” She rubbed her fingers over her chin. “Would it work with just any guy?”

“Would what work?” Confusion hazed Kris’s eyes. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about exploring the possibility of controlling the attacks and getting past my
ick
factor with guys at the same time. My birthday is in less than a month, and I’m running out of time on my promise. Do you think I
want
to be the weirdo twenty-six year old who’s never been on a date? I’m sick of being a scared rabbit, and from what I learned this morning, I don’t have to be. A complete stranger kissed me on the sidewalk, and the world didn’t end. It’s time I put that neuroses behind me.”

“Oh, man. I have
got
to meet this guy. When are you seeing him again?”

“Who said I was?”

“But—”

“I’m thinking of asking Ronald out.”

“Ronald?” Sour disapproval puckered Kris’s mouth.

“Why not?” Though her art agent didn’t have the kind of billboard good looks that made a woman breathless, his quiet and steady manner offered no surprises. “I won’t know for sure if this morning was a fluke unless I test it in theory. To do that, I need to spend some time with a guy. Ronald and I are friends, sort of, and I don’t think he’s seeing anyone right now. I can’t see him objecting to sharing a few dates.”

“He’s a guy. Of course he won’t object, but if you’re going to step outside your comfort zone to test this theory, why not do it with Mr. Cinnamon? You already know he’s got the necessary skills to do the job.” She waggled her brows.

“Mr. Cinnamon works from the same playbook as my father. No thanks. Besides, there are millions of people in Manhattan. I’ll never see him again.”