A Love Worth Living (6 page)

David set the food down on the passenger-side floor then slowed to listen to their argument.

“Not true! I borrowed her pencil in math class.” The kid swiped at his red hair before he turned to the blond boy. “I dare you to ask Ashley to the dance.”

The blond went bug-eyed. “Well…well I double-dog dare you to ask Mindy!”

They tussled, like he had done all too often with his brother. On the coattails of guilt came his revelation.

He had to dare Carrie into her vacation. He recalled her betting him for the last piece of pizza, wagering over who would win
The Bachelor
, and taking the big half of the most delicious cupcake because she’d correctly guessed the first dance mom to break down in tears. For the record, no cupcake was worth watching that show again, but he’d give anything to spend hours watching Carrie’s reactions to it.

He zipped back to the condo, formulating his plan along the way. A couple of blocks from home, he stopped at a red light and the sign for a flower shop caught his eye.

Cherry on the sundae.

Before she left for Rwanda, Carrie mentioned she’d never been given flowers “just because”. A floral-delivery commercial had come on while they watched some reality TV show, and her offhand comment had pierced him. Every woman should get flowers, at least once, and if Carrie liked them, he’d send her bunches every week.

Getting flowers would, at worst, throw her off her defense. At best, it would soften her up—if he didn’t screw up and get the wrong flowers.

Inside the humid shop, he waved off the young girl behind the counter and browsed on his own. He gravitated toward the exotic blooms, evocative of the far-flung places she’d worked, until he remembered the day their coworker had received a potted orchid from her boyfriend. Carrie had crinkled her nose and said the flowers reminded her of a grim case she’d worked in South America.

Roses were also off the table. On Valentine’s Day when Gunnerson’s wife had sent him a dozen, the whole office gave him a good-natured ribbing. Carrie stared at them like they were poison and called them “funeral flowers”. That had broken his heart to hear and left him wondering exactly when she’d given them that name.

Carnations were too plain, daisies too cheerful. On the verge of giving up, a collection of potted plants caught his eye. Succulents jutted up from dark soil, their thick, fleshy leaves standing out because of their subtle beauty.

Just like Carrie.

A copper pot at the back of the display held four different varieties, one of which had tiny white blossoms on its tips—perfect.

Cradling the pot, he headed to the counter to pay.

The brunette cashier leaned in. “Good choice.” She swiped his card and handed it back with a smile. “These will live a good long time. I love the cut flowers, but they die too soon.”

Well if that didn’t cement his decision, nothing would.

At 5:59 p.m., Hurricane Carrie blew into his apartment.

“I’m here, not late!” The door slammed behind her, and he watched her from the kitchen as she set her small purse on his entryway table. She’d come straight from work.

Her hair had been pulled back into a ponytail, but wisps floated around her face and drew his attention to the tired creases around her eyes.

Shoulders sagging, she pulled out a seat at his small dining room table and leaned her elbow onto the top, her chin cupped in the palm of her hand. She was weary, yet beautiful, and he was torn between begging her to take a real vacation and kissing her until she went pliant in his arms and let him show her one time-tested way of relaxing.

He would do both if he had his way, but saving her would always come first, even if she hated him for it.

While he moved their dinner from the waxed cardboard boxes onto plates and bowls, Carrie reached for the succulents he’d placed in the center of the table, a blue bow precariously balanced on the arrangement.

“Beautiful. Who’s the gift from?” She drew her finger down one of the thick stems, and he bit back a groan. Damn him, he was jealous of a plant.

“It’s for you.”

Carrie sat up straighter. “What?”

Balancing two plates and the salad bowl, he brought their food to the table. Carrie had pulled the pot in front of her and was so busy studying the arrangement she barely acknowledged the chicken tetrazzini he set in front of her.

He let her examine the plants for a moment longer while he grabbed a bottle of her favorite white wine from the fridge and poured two glasses. Once those were set on the table, he kneeled next to her chair and waited for her to come out of her analytical zone.

At last, she turned to him. “Thank you, David.” Her smile lit up the dusky room. “I don’t know why you did it, but thank you.”

“Because I knew you’d smile at me like that.” His teasing words pulled a chuckle from her.

“Am I so predictable?” Her hand almost reached towards him but she dropped it, clenched, in her lap.

He took her fist and pried open her fingers. When he kissed the pad of her thumb, she gasped. “Not predictable, no. But I know what you like.”

Watching her face for anything but
yes
, he lifted her hand to his mouth and nipped at her index finger. Her pupils dilated further as he kissed his way down her fingertips.

“Much better. You shouldn’t be so tense, Care.” As soon as he released her hand, she snatched it back and cradled it against her chest.

David stood and turned from her. She’d need a minute to gather herself again, though he’d only give her a small reprieve.

By the time he’d grabbed utensils and salad tongs, she’d recovered, her placid mask back in place, but she had removed the bow from her succulents and situated the pot next to her water glass.

They ate in strained silence. Of all the times Carrie could have pushed her feelings under the rug, this would have been a good one. Instead, their unfinished business hung between them like a noose.

With a soft
clink
, he set down his fork. The normally delicious tetrazzini did nothing for him tonight. He might as well forge ahead. “What are your plans for the week?”

Carrie froze, fork halfway to her mouth. Instead of biting into her chicken and pasta, she pursed her lips and pointed at him with the food-laden utensil. “I chose vacation. You don’t get to shrink me now.”

“It was an innocent question.”

“Nothing with you is innocent.” Her cheeks reddened as the double meaning sank in. “You know what I mean.” She set down her fork and started toying with her succulents.

“I bet you spend the week holed up, working on whatever files you snuck from the office.”

Her eyes narrowed.

“I bet you forget to eat during your ‘vacation’.” He forced a bite of pasta before he snatched the breadstick off her plate and bit into it.

“Hey!”

“For a woman who forgets to feed herself, you sure do like your food.”

She grumbled something but he ignored it. Whatever contained “pig” and “ego”, he didn’t need to hear.

“I bet you can’t even go one day without checking your work e-mail, even though you know the team can handle cases without you. You just don’t know when to quit, do you?”

Boy, she was in a mood, and it was beautiful. Instead of the pale cheeks and cloudy eyes of the past week, her features were sharp with anger. Her sharp breaths pressed at the loose fabric of her white top and enticed him with the outline of her curves.

“For an anthropologist, you’re awfully ego blind.”

Carrie slammed her hands down on the table. “I don’t need to take this from you!” She scooted her chair back and rose, grabbed her plate and headed for the exit, forgetting her succulents on the table.

He followed, lifted the plate from her hand and set it on the edge of the kitchen counter. She huffed and took the last steps toward the door. Her hand hit the knob at the same time he bracketed her against the door with his body.

Going rigid against him, Carrie turned until he could see her full profile. “Let me go, David.”

“No.” He continued to invade her personal space and push her to the edge of patience.

Carrie turned fully and braced her hands against his chest, but he only stopped moving once their bodies were intimately aligned. “I bet you can’t spend one single day on an actual vacation.”

“Oh, and you think you could? Pot, meet kettle. When’s the last time you took a vacation?”

She had a point, which only strengthened his case. “Tomorrow.”

Her jaw dropped, and smug assurance filled his smile.

“Why?”

“Well, I hoped to spend time with you.”

She tried to cross her arms, but he wouldn’t back up to give her the space. “And why, exactly, would I want to do that?” Her tongue flicked out over her bottom lip, and he swallowed a groan.

He wanted to tell her it was so that they could spend the whole day in bed together, forgetting everything outside the walls of his condo. Instead, he stuck to the plan. “Because if you give me one day, I’ll stop bugging you the rest of the time. If you want to ignore Gunnerson and work from home after tomorrow, I’ll back off.” He held up two fingers. “Scout’s honor.”

“One day?”

He leaned closer, watching her pupils darken and her breath hitch. “One day. One night too, if you’d like it.”

He hoped it was enough time to get his foot in the door.

She exhaled and her breath swept across his jaw. “What do you have planned?”

What a loaded question. With his body, he pressed her flush to the door and let his voice go as casual as possible with his dick nestled against her hip. “You know, the whole DC touristy thing. You’ve lived here long enough you don’t have an excuse for not having seen the city.”

She tucked her head against his chest. After a minute, she squared her shoulders and looked at him again. “Why?”

“I want to take you on an adventure. See you smile a little more.”

Her eyes searched his face, even as her hands shifted forward to lightly rest on his hips. “Do you give all your patients this kind of one-on-one time?”

His mouth descended on hers and his hands grasped tight around her hips. When the kiss broke, her lips were swollen and enticing. He refocused, wanting to make her understand. “This is not work, Carrie. You’re not my patient here. I want to spend time with you as a friend.”
As a lover.

“No psychoanalysis? No reporting back to Gunnerson?”

He shook his head. “No Dr. Cameron, no Dr. Gunnerson.” He pulled her even closer. “No Dr. Farrow either.”

The moment stretched tight as a rubber band, and he wondered who would feel the sting if—when—it snapped. He braced for outright rejection, a logical dissection of his arguments—everything but her careful consideration.

“One day?” She bit her lip and looked up at him through her lashes like she was waiting for the other shoe to drop.

He couldn’t let her backtrack now—time to pull out the big guns. “I double-dog dare you.”

“Playing dirty, are we? Fine.” A long, considering look later, she wedged her hand between them and held it out. “Deal.”

He tugged at her hair to tilt her head back. His lips locked over hers and sealed the agreement with a promise of more.

Once he’d kissed her breathless, he left her propped up by the door and retrieved her plate. He purposely forgot to grab her succulents—they’d be a sweet reward for her return the next morning. Besides, he was pleased that she was so off balance she’d forgotten about them. If she stayed any longer, he’d want to get her into bed, and that had to come later, once the static in her mind had dialed down.

“Go home, eat and rest up. Tomorrow we’re going exploring, and I want to get an early start. Come over at eight?”

Mute, she nodded and slipped out the door. He just hoped she’d return in the morning. If not, he might have to pull out a few of his hard-learned psychology tricks.

Chapter Six

On the treadmill the next morning, David tried to burn off the energy buzzing through his muscles. Sleep had eluded him for much of the night, visions of Carrie’s body beneath him interspersed with a choking fear for her.

Chills ran down his spine despite the warm gym air. He’d just finished his first semester of graduate school when his younger brother, who had been recently released from his inpatient PTSD treatment, had committed suicide.

David would not stand by and watch Carrie take the same downward spiral. He had to show her life was worth living—not just surviving. He had to find a way to keep her safe because he couldn’t lose another person he loved.

There, he’d admitted it. At least to himself. The words had stewed in his heart for weeks, and though he’d thought—hoped—her recent behavior would curb his desire, it‘d had the opposite effect. He needed to get inside her head like he needed his next breath.

That was the only chance he could maybe, possibly, have a future with her.

He dreamed of waking up to her, keeping her in his bed and by his side forever. The first order of business, though, was getting her to let him in. Then he had to figure out why she insisted on being quietly, slowly self-destructive.