A Match for the Doctor (14 page)

And somewhere along the line, while all this was going on, though she did it against her will and most definitely without her consent, Kennon lost her heart to him.

Completely.

T
he thunder had stopped. The rain continued, tapping on the roof in a steady rhythm. The house remained bathed in darkness as somewhere outside, slicker-clothed crews from the electric company valiantly struggled to restore power to the downed areas.

Simon had no idea what time it was, only that it was night and that for the first time in many months, he was not alone in his bed.

The perfume that Kennon wore subtly drifted into his consciousness. He held her in his arms, waiting for the beating of his heart to settle. Waiting for order to be restored to his body. To his world.

Eventually, the short, heavy breathing became longer, easier. He banished all thoughts from his mind, struggling to enjoy this moment in time for as long as he could.

Kennon lay beside him, curled against his body,
listening to Simon breathe. Listening until his even breathing told her that he was asleep. It took a long while, but she was finally satisfied.

Afraid of the conversation once he woke up, afraid of detecting regret in his eyes and most afraid that Simon would see something altogether different in hers when he looked, Kennon slowly slipped out of his bed.

Picking up the discarded sweat suit, she laid it across a chair, then quickly went into the bathroom, where she'd left the wet clothing she'd stripped off hours ago.

A lifetime ago.

The clothes were still damp, but that didn't really matter to her. It was an inconvenience, not a problem.

What mattered right now was making good her escape before Simon opened his eyes again and shattered this lovely interlude she was holding close to her heart.

She was behaving like a coward, a role that was not just foreign to her, but odious, as well. But right now, she just couldn't face reality. This way, if she left before Simon woke up, she would be able to cling to the sensation that making love with him, not once, but three times, three
glorious
times, created within her.

There would be plenty of time down the line to come to her senses, to place tonight on the shelf with the other broken dreams that littered her life. For now she just wanted to go on being happy, and she knew that she could only do that if she continued to maintain this world of illusions that was swirling around her.

Using her fingers to comb back her hair, Kennon deliberately avoided looking at herself in the mirror. With her shoes pressed to her chest, rather than on her feet, where she would risk making noise and waking him up, Kennon sneaked out of first the bathroom and then his bedroom.

Once outside Simon's door, she eased it closed again and made her way down the stairs.

Mercifully, the dying light from the fireplace illuminated the living room, so the search for her purse went quickly enough. The sound of harmonious, even breathing told her that the girls were still asleep.

There was no one to impede her getaway.

She had no idea why that thought saddened her, when making a quick, soundless escape was all she told herself she wanted. But a sadness did descend over her, taking her prisoner and making it hard for her to even breathe.

The oppressive sadness all but flattened her as she stepped outside. Kennon closed the front door behind her in slow motion, the tempo created by an overwhelming reluctance to leave.

Snapping out of it, she forced herself to make her way quickly to her car. She hardly noticed—and cared less—that the rain was beating down on her.

Kennon was completely drenched by the time she reached her vehicle and got inside. It made no difference one way or another. She was too busy struggling to keep her tears from falling to care about the small puddle forming on the floor mat beneath the pedals.

No doubt about it. She'd failed miserably at hanging on to the euphoria that had been so strong just a few minutes earlier.

Putting her key in the ignition, she started the car and immediately backed out of Simon's driveway. Flooring the accelerator, she drove away quickly before she could change her mind and go back.

As the rain beat down on her windshield, Kennon gave up trying not to cry.

 

The shifting bed had roused him from what had been a light sleep at best. Before he could open his eyes, Kennon had slipped out of his bed. Simon assumed that she was just visiting the bathroom.

He pretended to still be asleep. The ruse bought him a little time. His mind raced about, searching for something to say to her in the aftermath of their lovemaking.

Something that didn't express regret, or hint at the fact that he was silently battling a surge of guilt. Surprisingly enough, it wasn't as big a surge as he'd anticipated.

He'd honestly expected to drown in the emotion. Since his wife had been killed, he hadn't so much as taken a woman out to dinner, much less completely lost himself in her to the point of making love with sheer abandonment.

But that was what had happened tonight. He'd completely lost himself in Kennon, not just in the act of lovemaking, but in the act of making love
with
her and
to
her. What had happened here wasn't just about a body, or a face, or about an unaddressed urge that had demanded attention.

This involved a great deal more.

Kennon actually
mattered
to him.

The fact that she did surprised him, as well. He hadn't thought himself capable of having feelings, much less feelings so strong that they delved down to his bones. Feelings that demanded he act on them or wind up disintegrating right where he stood.

Simon didn't know how to handle that. He didn't know what Kennon would expect him to say once they
were facing each other and the passion had cooled down enough to be manageable.

So he lay there in the dark, listening to the rain and straining to hear the sound of her returning to his bed. And trying to think of something to say that would entangle neither one of them until he could decide what this actually meant to him.

When the bathroom door had opened and he'd narrowed his eyes to tiny slits, still pretending to be asleep, Simon had been surprised to realize that she was intent on slipping out of the room without waking him.

She wasn't just stepping into the bathroom to respond to a call of nature, she'd gone in to put her clothes back on.

She was leaving, otherwise she would have put the sweat suit back on.

That bought him more time to sort things out. What it didn't bring him was a sense of peace.

Even though he was somewhat relieved, he couldn't help wondering why she was leaving. Why, after the time they'd spent together, after the way their souls had all but touched, did she suddenly feel so compelled to leave his bed and his house without a word?

It didn't make sense to him.

Neither did his quick surrender to the demands that his attraction to her had evoked. But there was no denying that both had happened.

Simon sat up. For a split second, he thought of going after her, of bringing Kennon back before she could walk out the door. But if he did that, then he'd have to say something to her and he had absolutely no idea what that would be.

His brain was numb.

“I had a great time, thanks” was inane and didn't even begin to cover it. But any sentiment beyond that might make Kennon think that they were on the road to “something” and he honestly didn't know if they were. He might not be able to deal with the guilt—and the dire, underlying fear of possible loss. He had no idea if he was strong enough for that.

Simon scrubbed his hand over his face. He'd never felt so confused before, never felt so many emotions running through him at the same time as he did right at this moment.

With a sigh, he fell back on the bed. Who said that getting through adolescence was the hardest part? Adolescence had been a cakewalk compared to this.

And it felt as if things would only get harder.

So he didn't get up, he didn't get dressed and he didn't go running after her. Instead, he remained where he was, willing himself to fall back asleep and let oblivion take over.

It was a long time before he got his wish.

 

As he unlocked the front door to the shop, Nathan appeared perplexed not to hear an annoying, high-pitched noise. That was the warning signal that he had forty-five seconds to disarm the security system before it began making more noise than a puppy dashing through a bell factory.

Nathan stopped, listening. Soon he turned around and stifled a cry. He grabbed his chest to keep his heart from leaping out of his shallow rib cage.

A ragged sigh broke free as he struggled to calm down.

“Damn it, Kennon, you scared me half to death,”
he declared, not bothering to block out the annoyance from his voice. Taking another deep breath, he dropped his hand to his side and crossed over to Kennon, who was seated at her drawing board. “What are you doing here?”

“I work here, remember?” she said glibly. Although, if she didn't come up with something soon, she wouldn't hold on to this place much longer, she thought, frustrated as she stared down at the blank page.

“No, you don't,” Nathan contradicted, drawing closer. When she looked at him sharply, he said, “The woman who works here hasn't been around for almost a month, except to pop her head in a couple of times before dashing off again.”

Her eyes narrowed. She wasn't in the mood for his repartee. “And to give you your paycheck.”

“Well, yes,” Nathan conceded with a quick shrug of one shoulder, “there's that, too. But then, you had to, didn't you? I'm carrying the weight here lately and last I'd heard, the slaves had been freed by that nice, tall guy in the beard and stovepipe hat.” Nathan pretended to scrutinize her as he slowly looked her up and down. “I'd like to see some ID, please.”

She let out an annoyed sigh. “You can be replaced, you know.”

He responded by nodding with satisfaction. “Now, that's the Kennon we all know and love.” He glanced at the empty pad and frowned slightly to himself. Rather than comment on it, he asked, “So what are you doing back—besides slumming?”

As he spoke, Nathan shed his fashionable black trench coat.

“And while we're at it,” he said, circling her slowly
and appraising Kennon from all possible angles, “any particular reason you look like something the cat would be embarrassed dragging in?” In front of her again, he raised a quizzical eyebrow. “Trouble in paradise?”

She really didn't need flippant today. She just wanted to bury herself in her work. There were still things she had to finish up doing at Simon's house before she could move on.

As no doubt he would, too, she thought.

The sun had been up a full three hours and so, undoubtedly, had he and the girls. The phone hadn't rung once. Not her landline—she'd put it on call forwarding—or her cell. If he cared, he would have called. But he hadn't, ergo, he didn't. She was a big girl, she understood that what had happened last night didn't immediately lead to “happily-ever-after.”

Or, in her case, ever.

“There
is
no paradise,” she said shortly.

“That's a matter of opinion.” Taking off his jacket, Nathan began to carefully roll up his sleeves, folding over the material on first one, then the other. “I've seen the way Doctor Hunk looks at you—and the way you look at him. Moreover, when you
have
been in, I've had to suffer through listening to you hum—very badly off-key, I might add. If
that
doesn't have paradise written all over it, then I'm a wooden boy with strings whose nose grows.” The moment Nathan made the pronouncement, he looked at her more closely. A touch of sympathy entered his voice. “There
is
trouble in paradise, isn't there?”

“Stop calling it that,” Kennon warned him, dangerously close to snapping. “Dr. Simon Sheffield is just another client.”

“Uh-huh, and the Olympics are just another bunch of games.” Nathan perched himself on the edge of her desk, careful not to tilt the board. “Talk to me, Kennon,” he instructed. “What happened?”

“Nothing happened,” she insisted.

This was a mistake, coming in today, she thought as despair seeped into her. But she hadn't wanted to stay home, either, alone with her thoughts, examining last night from every angle and regretting it. Work was not just her passion, but her therapy, as well. It defined who and what she was, and there were times, like when Pete had dumped her, that it stitched together her body and soul. But if she was going to be subjected to Nathan's interrogation, then she just wouldn't come around. She might as well be home, eating a half gallon of mint-chip ice cream and playing that CD with the collection of songs she'd picked up several years ago, the one that lamented the stupidity of falling in love in the first place.

Kennon abruptly stood up. Nathan followed suit, reading her mind and blocking her escape.

His fingers were long and bony but surprisingly strong as he clamped his hands down on her shoulders to hold her in place.

“Something most definitely
did
happen and you have to tell me what,” he informed her. When she said nothing, he tried logic. “You know you have to get it out in the open.” When she still said nothing and then shrugged him off, Nathan played his ace. “Don't make me bring out the big guns,” he warned. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out his cell phone and held it up for her to see. “I have your mother on speed dial and I'm not afraid to press the button.”

Kennon closed her eyes and sighed. Oh, God, not her mother. Not now. She just wasn't up to having the woman descend on her. She wasn't up to the questions she knew her mother would fire at her like a discharging AK-47. She wasn't up to the sympathy, along with pity, her mother would display and she
definitely
was not up to hearing the barrage of suggestions that would come at her from every direction.