Warm Hearts (25 page)

He dropped his gaze to the papers. “What're these?”

She was standing straight, fists clenched at her sides. Her voice had that higher-than-normal pitch that it always got when she was upset. “I was hoping you could tell me. They were delivered to my office a little while ago.”

Brendan read the papers, then looked up at Caroline in confusion. “Who is Paul Valente?”

“He's that client I told you about, the one whose wife walked out on our sessions. He's been seeing me alone since then—remember, I told you?—and now
she's
naming me in an alienation-of-affection suit! Have you ever heard anything so stupid?”

Brendan had heard plenty of things even more stupid when it came to the law and would have told her so, but before he'd had a chance, she was racing on.

“Nothing like this has ever happened to me before! It's insulting—to think that I'd actively pit a husband and wife against each other. I'm a
professional.
A professional doesn't do things like that!”

Brendan held out a hand to calm her, but she thought he was arguing, so she said, “I know what you're going to say—that the papers are full of stories of psychiatrists taking sexual advantage of their patients—but that isn't applicable here. I've only seen the man four times, and each time it was in the middle of the afternoon, with my partners in adjoining offices. Other than those four times, I saw Paul and Sheila together. I thought I had a reasonable working relationship with them both. How could she turn on me this way?”

Brendan was thinking of the adage about a woman scorned, which would explain some of Sheila Valente's fury, but he remembered Caroline saying that Sheila walked out on Paul, rather than vice versa, so the adage didn't apply. “She's probably—”

“There's no ‘probably' about it,” Caroline cried. “She's
crazy
, and the thing that bothers me most is that through all those months of therapy I didn't see it. I regarded her as an egotistical but basically rational woman. Now look what she's done!” She pointed a shaking finger at the accusatory papers. “Correct me if I'm wrong, but when someone is charged with ‘alienation of affection,' they're being charged with more than talk. That witch is accusing me of chasing after her husband. The implication is that I
slept
with him, which is the dumbest thing I've heard yet!”

“Caroline—” Brendan began. He sensed that she was on the edge of hysteria, which wasn't like her at all. She might be a sight for his starving eyes, but that didn't mean that he couldn't see how tense she was.

“Do you know what this could do? This could ruin my career!”

“It won't—”

“If word gets out that I'm seducing my clients, I could be finished. I don't think I could bear that, Brendan,” she said. Tears were quickly gathering in her eyes. “Because I'm not guilty of a thing. I tried my best with Paul and Sheila, and when Sheila gave up, I tried my best with Paul alone. Isn't that what you said—that what really mattered was whether you've tried your best?”

He was up and rounding the desk. She'd begun to tremble, and he needed to touch her. He'd gotten as far as clasping her arms when her composure started to crumble.

“I mean, the charge is absurd,” she said brokenly. She was looking up at him, pleading, and the first of her tears had begun to trickle slowly down her cheeks. “The idea that I c-could have been with someone else … that I could have tried to seduce Paul or even wanted to do it … when a-all along I couldn't possibly think about any other man because I've been in love with you…”

With that, she lost it completely. She closed her eyes and tucked her head low. Her hands came up to cover her face and muffle the sobs she couldn't control. In the next minute, those sobs were muffled against Brendan's shirtfront as he wrapped her tightly in his arms.

“Shh,” he whispered into her hair. “It's okay, baby, it's okay.”

Incredibly, she began to cry even harder. Her arms slid around his neck, and she clung to him as though someone would be taking him away any minute. “Bren … dan…”

He held her tighter and murmured soft, soothing sounds. Her tears hurt him, but he knew that she needed the outlet. He'd seen how closely she'd guarded her tears on Sunday night, and he guessed that she hadn't let herself cry even after he'd left. He wondered when she'd last cried, really cried as she was doing now.

“Brendan … oh…”

“I love you, sweetheart.”

“I've been … so … stupid.…”

“No, you haven't.”

She burst into a new round of sobs, and he could do nothing but hold her tightly until she'd calmed a bit. At that point, he backed up to sit on the edge of the desk. Digging into the small purse that hung from her shoulder, he fished out a Kleenex. Then he shifted her sideways against his chest, handed her the Kleenex and watched while she blotted her eyes. He used the tips of his fingers to smooth her hair back from her face.

“Don't worry about the lawsuit,” he said softly.

She sniffled.

“I guarantee you the charges will be dropped long before anything comes of it.”

“Mmm.”

“It's not uncommon for a husband or wife to go a little bit off the deep end in the course of a divorce. We'll explain the facts to Sheila Valente's lawyer, and if she persists in going forward, we'll threaten to countersue. She'll change her mind.”

“I know.”

“You do?”

Caroline nodded. Her head was still bowed, and the Kleenex was a tight wad in the fist that was pressed to his chest. “I just needed to see you.” She took a breath that was so uneven he thought she was going to start crying again. She didn't. Nor did she look up. “It's been an awful week without you. Getting those papers was just one more lousy thing, but if it hadn't been that, it would have been something else. I've felt stifled not being able to talk with you. I've looked across the courtyard—”

“Only after you turned out the lights,” he interrupted. “Before that, you never looked once. I was watching.”

“After I turned out the lights,” she admitted softly.

“Why not before?”

She thought about that for a minute. “Because—” she took a breath “—because I was afraid you'd see me looking, and I wasn't ready to say what you wanted to hear.”

His hand fell away from her neck. “I don't want you to say only what I want to hear.”

“That came out wrong,” she said quickly. She began to fiddle nervously with the button of his shirt. “What I meant was that I wasn't ready to say what I felt, even though I knew it was what you wanted to hear.”

“Why not?”

“I think,” she said, “because things have happened so fast, and because what we have seems so … perfect … that I assumed there had to be a hitch.”

“I thought you were an optimist.”

“So did I. I guess I was nervous because nothing has ever meant so much to me before.”

“Nothing?”

She shook her head. “Our relationship was like a dream. There were times when I knew that I wanted it to be forever, but I was afraid to think that way for fear of jinxing it.”

“Superstitious, to boot?” he teased.

“No. Just dumb.”

“What wised you up?”

“Missing you.” She twisted the button back and forth. “And thinking about the struggles other couples go through.” The backs of her fingers grazed his shirt, absorbing the warmth and strength of his body. “And realizing that I couldn't conceive of being with any other man but you.”

“Caroline?” he asked in his softest voice.

“Mmm?”

“Why won't you look at me?”

She flattened her fingers over the button she'd been worrying. “I'm embarrassed.”

“Because you've been crying?”

“No, because I've been a ninny. I'm supposed to know what I'm doing in situations like these. But I blew it.”

“
Nearly
blew it,” he corrected. The beginnings of a smile were in his voice and on his lips. “You've come to your senses in time.”

Her head came up a little way, just enough so that she could focus on the pulse at his neck. “Then you forgive me for being dense?”

“On one condition.”

Her eyes reached his mouth. “What's that?”

“That you stop taking the full responsibility for things that go wrong. You weren't the only one at fault here. We didn't talk. Neither of us. If I'd been open earlier about what I'd been thinking and feeling, I wouldn't have reached the point of frustration that I did.”

“You're right,” she said as her eyes touched his.

“I was a bastard to give you an ultimatum like that.”

She considered that, then nodded. “You're right.”

“Forgive me?”

“On one condition.”

“Hmm?”

“The ultimatum sticks,” she said with determination and promise. “It's either all or nothing. I've decided I want all. Can you give it?”

“Can I give it? Can I
give
it?” His eyes took on a breathtaking glow. “Oh-ho, baby, can I ever.”

*   *   *

That night, Brendan wasn't wondering how much he could give but how much he could take. It was dark out. He stood before his window, staring across the courtyard into Caroline's loft. She was looking her seductive best, and it was driving him wild.

They had a date. They'd decided to dress up and go out for an elegant dinner to formally celebrate their love, but at the rate they were going, they'd never make it. Brendan was newly shaved and showered and had drawn on his dark suit pants, but those pants weren't feeling terribly comfortable at the moment. Fresh from her own shower, Caroline was leaning against the window jamb wearing nothing but a silk teddy. One of her arms was bent and braced against the wood by her head; the other rested loosely in the half lap she'd made by propping one knee on the window seat.

Well?
he asked with a grin.

She returned the grin.
Well, what?

Are we going out?

Sure.

His eyes made a sweep of her body, lingering at the swell of her breasts and the spot where her nipples pushed at the teddy.
You're not dressed.

Her own appreciative eye wandered over his chest, leisurely following the tapering trail of hair to the spot where his pants waited to be fastened.
Neither are you.

I can't get dressed when you stand around that way. It distracts me.

You don't look distracted. You look attentive. And warm.

So do you
, he thought as she slowly brought her hand from her lap and curved it around her neck.

Brendan?

Hmm?

When we buy our house, can we get one with air conditioning?

You bet.

I want four kids. Is that okay?

Of course it's okay. Caroline, please get dressed.

Do you play baseball?

Baseball? What does baseball have to do with anything?

I have this image of you coaching a Little League team.

Sweetheart, I will do anything, anything you want, if only you'll put something on. This is torture.

Drawing her hand down her neck, she dipped two fingers into the hollow between her breasts.
I love you, Brendan.

I love you, too, but if you don't get dressed soon, I won't be held responsible for my actions.

Do you really want to go out to dinner?

Caroline …

She took a long, slow breath that expanded her rib cage and lifted her breasts.
We could call and put the reservations back an hour.…

He blotted beads of sweat from his forehead with his arm.

She smiled.
I could fix you something to tide you over.

Tide me over? Ah, hell.
Backing away from the window, he thrust his feet into his loafers, grabbed his shirt and made for the door.

Across the courtyard, Caroline, too, backed away from the window. With a smug smile, she turned and started slowly across the room. Before she reached the door, she'd turned off every light in the loft except the small one by her bed. Then she opened the door and waited for Brendan.

a special something

1

Hello?

How's America's answer to Michelangelo?

Feeling more like a frustrated David.

After last night?

After this morning. I was hoping to wake up with you in my arms. What time did you leave?

Just after dawn. You were sleeping so soundly I didn't have the heart to disturb you.

Some lover. Leaves me all alone to fight the Monday-morning blues wearing nothing but a bed-sheet and the very last of my Homme Premier cologne.

Mmm. Sounds enticing.

That's the point. When will you be back?

Tomorrow night. What would you like from New Orleans?

Just you. Dressed in soft pink. With a silky white negligee in your bag. And … darling?

Yes?

Bring a bottle of Homme Premier, will you? No David should be without it.

Rogue!

*   *   *

Fascinated, Leslie Parish stared at the advertisement for a long time. He was magnificent, this one whose lover had deserted him at dawn. A sculptor, his tools lay scattered atop the distant workbench at the base of a half-finished piece of art. A man, his studio apartment was a blend of muted browns and charcoals and sunlit whites. A lover, his bed was large and strewn with a sensual array of sheets barely covering one leg, and that part David hadn't tried to hide. Again and again Leslie's gaze returned to the taunting strip of flesh at his hip. Sucking in a wistful breath, she let her eye creep back up, over the broad and sinewed expanse of his lightly haired chest to his face.