Winning It All (11 page)

“I can be tough when I need to be.”

“He respects that.” Isabel leaned back into the booth. “In fact, I bet you’ve rocked his gloomy little world.”

Darcy felt her face heat. “There are times I think we could really make something of this.”

The timer for the oven sounded, and Isabel rose to take out the scones. The inviting scent of baking bread and sweet blueberries filled the motor home. “If all else fails, bake these scones. Wow, that smells amazing.”

“I’ll take him some.”

As Isabel scooped a few onto a large piece of aluminum foil, she commented, “There are times you still miss your husband, I’m sure.”

Oh, yes, Isabel was sharp.

“I do.” But the warmth of the coffee, and the friendship she’d formed with Isabel made the admission almost comfortable. “I feel guilty a lot. Being with Bryan seems like a betrayal.”

“You don’t think your husband would want you to move on with your life?”

“Sure he would. But I just…can’t. I can’t let go of what I had before, with Tom. Maybe I won’t ever,” she added in a whisper. “Can I really drag Bryan into all that drama?”

“He doesn’t look like a reluctant man when he’s with you. And he has drama—or at least trauma—of his own.”

Darcy nodded. “His failed marriage. There’s a lot for him to deal with still.” She didn’t mention the revenge
pact, since she’d promised Bryan she wouldn’t talk about their routine with anybody. But his desire to prove he’d moved on seemed to give his ex a continued significance in his life. “What if he can’t forget her?”

“I don’t think he will. Just like you won’t forget your husband. That doesn’t mean he wants to be with her. And it doesn’t mean you can’t be together.” Isabel’s gaze cut to hers as she handed Darcy a hot, buttered scone. “Why don’t you lean on each other and see what happens?”

Could things be that simple?

“And, for pity’s sake,” Isabel continued, “he should certainly be able to come up with an actual date.”

A
T THE KNOCK
on the door, Bryan called out, “It’s open.”

Darcy walked inside, holding a foil-wrapped package, and the breath he’d been holding for nearly two hours finally escaped. She barely glanced at him, however.

He flipped off the TV. Cade had qualified third; the other GRI teams sixth and fifteenth.

He couldn’t care less.

Carefully, he set the remote on the side table. “I wasn’t sure you were coming back.”

“Me, either.”

Still not looking directly at him, she set the package on the counter, then opened the fridge and began pulling out salad ingredients.

“I thought you were making dinner at Isabel’s.”

“She wanted to make scones. I brought you some to have for breakfast.”

“No cheese omelets?”

She didn’t smile as he’d hoped. She reached into the fridge again and pulled out the bottle of white wine she’d used to make a marinade the night before. After pouring two glasses, she handed him one. “I think we could both use a break from the protein shake regimen tonight.”

She turned away and started chopping. He held his glass, staring at her back. Why did he have to be such a jerk? Wasn’t it time he admitted when he was?

He set his glass aside and stood. Sliding his arms around her waist, he pulled her back against him and pressed his lips to the top of her head. “I’m sorry about earlier. Constantly surrounded by well-meaning family and this whole mess with Lars has got me crazy.”

“Plus a healthy dose of sexual frustration?”

His hands tightened at her hips.

She turned her head, glancing back at him. Those golden eyes that somehow saw everything, good and bad, regarded him silently for a long moment.

Getting real.

“Just when things get interesting between us,” she said finally, “I pull back.”

“Or Isabel barges in.”

“It’s not enough for you, is it?”

He brushed her hair off her face. “I won’t deny I want more, but, hey, I’m a guy.” The corners of his mouth turned up. “I’m willing to wait until you’re ready.”

“What is this? What are we doing together?”

“I have no idea, but I don’t want it to stop.”

Unsure of her frame of mind, he eased forward slowly, brushed his lips across her cheek, then, when she didn’t slap his face, turn her head or move, he kissed her. He didn’t linger, though he wanted to. She was right when she’d said they were both wary of relationships, just as she’d sensed how much he wanted her in his bed.

But if he wanted her to stick around, which he definitely did, he’d have to be smart about what he did and said. He’d have to make an actual effort to keep her in his life. To talk to her and share his thoughts and feelings.

Nearly everybody else around him was either paid to be there or related to him and had little choice. He was nice to very few of them. That had to change. He had to find a way to make peace with his past, let go of his resentment and appreciate the ridiculously good life he had.

He took the knife from her hand, then pulled her close, pressing her check against his chest. “Forgive me?”

She laughed. “I like how you disarmed me before you asked that question.”

“Sometimes I’m smart. Other times, I’m not.”

“I think that’s true of everybody.” She leaned back. “You’re forgiven. Let me get this salad made, we’ll do our yoga, then eat.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Reluctantly, he let her go, then started down the hall toward his bedroom.

“I got you a present,” she called. “Why don’t you put it on?”

Sitting on the bed, he found a plain brown bag. Inside, was a white T-shirt. Real Men Do Yoga was printed in bold black letters across the chest.

She
had
to be kidding.

He stared at the shirt for several long moments, then, with a sigh, pulled off the one he was wearing and put on the new one. “The things a man does for a little kissing.”

After slipping into a pair of sweatpants, he walked back out to Darcy. “I’m never wearing this shirt outside this motor home.”

She grinned. “But, oh, my, Mr. Garrison,” she said in a fake, sweet, high voice, “look what big muscles you have.” She blinked rapidly. “Can I have your autograph?”

He crossed his arms over his chest. Nice was one thing; sappy was a whole other deal. “If you tell anybody I wore this shirt, I’ll…” He couldn’t think of anything terrible enough to do to her.

She slid her fingertip across his forearm. “You won’t show me your big, strong muscles?”

“Darcy, I’m serious. I’d never live down this shirt in the garage.”

“Are you going to threaten never to kiss me again?”

He paused. “Let’s not go crazy.”

“Relax, Mr. Macho. I won’t tell.”

After setting the salads in the fridge, she got out the yoga mats, and they moved through their poses. She added a few new ones. Difficult ones, which told him he might be forgiven for his earlier behavior, but she wasn’t forgetting quite yet.

They ate dinner—grilled chicken from lunch sliced over fresh lettuce, cucumbers and tomatoes. Being Darcy, she also threw in some sliced, roasted almonds, dried cranberries and alfalfa sprouts. With the generous addition of Italian dressing it was actually pretty great. And the treat of having wine was even better.

“About earlier…” he began, wanting to settle things once and for all. “With Isabel, I mean. She obviously wanted to know what was going on between us.”

Looking amused, Darcy sipped her wine. “Obviously.”

“I didn’t say anything to her, because my family asks way too many questions. They think they know what’s best for me. Never mind I’m a grown man and can think for myself. Anyway, I didn’t want to you to feel awkward, but—”

“Oh, I doubt they’ll ask too many questions, since I explained everything to Isabel already.”

He paused with his fork halfway to his mouth. “You—” He set down his fork. “Explained what—exactly?”

“That we were kissing.”

“Kissing?” His face heated. “That’s way too much information. Now Isabel will tell Cade, then she’ll tell Rachel, who’ll tell Parker. And if any of them tell Sam, or my mother, I’ll—”

“Well, I didn’t see any point in not explaining what was obvious when she walked in.”

Her voice had taken on an aggravated edge, and he certainly didn’t want this conversation heading down that road again. “In the future, would you mind keeping things simple? You could have just told her we were dating. She doesn’t need to know details.”

“Since when are we dating?”

Now
he remembered why he’d decided he was through with women. They were the most confusing, frustrating creatures God ever created. “Since last week.”

“No, we’ve been kissing since last week. I don’t remember any dates.”

He wondered if there was any more wine. No, that probably wasn’t a good idea. His head was already spinning. “What do you call this?” he asked, gesturing toward the meal in front of them.

“My job.”

“But…” He tried to find a logical argument for why that wasn’t true and came up empty.

“A date, Mr. Garrison, consists of you calling up the woman of your choice, asking her to dinner, a movie, some social event, then picking her up and bringing her to that destination. After the meal/entertainment, you take her home, and—if you’re lucky—receive a kiss good-night. Women need romance.”

Caught somewhere between annoyance and embarrassment, he said, “Take your cell phone and go stand outside.”

She raised her eyebrows.

“Would you
please
take your cell phone and go stand outside—for just a minute?”

“Can I finish my dinner first?”

Now, she was being a smart aleck. “Would you mind doing this first, please?”

She laid her napkin on the table, scooped her cell phone off the kitchen counter, then strode outside.

Bryan trotted back to the bedroom, found his own phone and called her. “Hi, Darcy,” he said cheerfully when she answered. “It’s Bryan Garrison. Would you like to come to my motor home for dinner tonight?”

“I’d love to.”

“Great. I’ll pick you up in about thirty seconds.”

She giggled.

He ran back to the living area, opened the door, and when she would have walked inside, he shook his head. Instead, he scooped her into his arms and took
her inside himself. After setting her gently on the floor, he swept his hand toward the table. “Dinner’s ready. Please enjoy.”

“Thank you.” She slid into the booth on one side, and he sat on the other.

“Oh, look there’s wine,” he said, lifting his glass. “To us.”

“To us,” she echoed, then tapped her rim with his.

As the ring of crystal sang, he sipped, then told her, “Now, you can tell them we’re dating.”

She seemed pleased with his efforts. “I guess I can.”

“And no more telling anybody related to me—by marriage or blood—what actually goes on during our dates. Agreed?”

“But what if I need to vent to somebody?”

“Why would you need to vent? I’m not going to—” Okay, realistically, was there any
possible
way he wasn’t going to make her mad at some point in the future? “I’m sure you’ve got friends.”

“None who know you.”

“I’ll introduce myself. Can we get on with this?”

Darcy shook her head. “I don’t think I’ve ever had a romantic date that involved the words
can we get on with this
.”

Bryan scowled. “How about if we get right to the kissing part? I’m good at that.”

Either she sensed his complete and utter frustration, or she’d decided he’d suffered enough. She swept out of her seat, then crossed to his side, moving
in next to him. With her hand on his thigh, she leaned over and kissed him so thoroughly he saw stars.

“Better?” she asked when she leaned back.

“Much.” His heart threatened to jump from his chest, but he fought to keep his tone light. “I think I’ll like dating you, Darcy Butler.”

“I think you will, too.” She stroked his cheek. “But we’ll need lots of practice.”

So they practiced by talking about the race weekend while they finished dinner. Bryan cleaned up, then they decided to watch a DVD. She’d really liked the mystery/action one they’d seen together earlier in the week at his house, so he picked something along the same lines.

They sat in his recliner, side-by-side, their legs entwined, and lost themselves in the adventure and historical setting of the movie.

As the credits rolled, he looked at her. “How am I doing so far with the dating?”

Her hand glided up his chest, then curled around the back of his neck. “Pretty amazing.”

So, as seemed to be the norm for them when they were together and not focused on something besides each other, the kissing commenced.