Needs A Little TLC (Spinning Hills Romance 2) (26 page)

“I know.” He chuckled. “Let’s run with it.”

She laughed a little, too. “Okay then. Here goes.” She breathed in and out. “I once knew a very charming boy. He—he ended up hurting someone. Badly. It wasn’t his intention. I don’t think he ever even realized what happened. He was only being himself. But his light gave hope to someone in a dark place and when he inadvertently took it away . . . well, she couldn’t find her own. There was too much darkness around her. I often think she would’ve been better off if she’d never met the charmer.”

Johnny was quiet for a moment. “Somehow, I don’t think you’re talking about yourself.”

“I’m not. But I’ll never forget the girl I’m talking about.”

The space they were sharing was so small, her words fell over him like a comfortable blanket, even though what she was saying was sad. “You should try to forgive the charmer, you know,” he said.

“Who says I haven’t forgiven him?”

“Have you?”

“I—I don’t know,” she admitted. “I want to. He was only a boy after all.”

Johnny chose his next words carefully. He could relate to someone trying hard to do the right thing and have it blow up in his face, but he didn’t want to say anything self-serving. “Some people defuse stressful or awkward situations with humor. It’s a hard habit to get rid of, especially if it becomes ingrained while they’re children. It’s even harder when people come to depend on them for it.”

“Are you speaking from personal experience or is that a professional clinical assessment?”

Her tone was light but she sounded too curious for comfort, so he quipped, “I was a guinea pig for a Psych major here and was declared too agreeable for my own good.” It was the truth.

He heard her little snort and felt her shake her head. The way her breath had slowed and the tilt of her head, which was close to his shoulder again, made him wonder if she was mulling something over in her head or if she was just tired. “That sounds like it can be a real burden.”

“What is?”

“Unconsciously hurting someone when you were only trying to help.”

It was so dark and so silent that her simple words and the complicated sentiments behind them felt heavy and penetrating. Johnny closed his eyes and gulped down the long ago, still fresh pain that threatened to rise to the surface. He didn’t answer. He couldn’t.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

Johnny schooled his voice and demeanor into lightheartedness like the lifetime pro he was. “You’re a good egg, Dulcinea, and your Don Quixote is one lucky guy. Now I want to hear all about him. Why is he still only
potentially
your guy.”

She let out a surprised laugh. “Wow. You’re really good. You circled back to me.”

“I’m waiting.”

“Fine. But know that I’m
allowing
you to change the subject, you did not charm me into it.”

“Of course not,” he agreed, bumping his shoulder with hers.

“Anyway,” she began, and he could tell she was rolling her eyes at him. “Potential Don Quixote and I just started dating but I know he’s the one and I can tell he feels the same. There’s tons of reasons why but the gist of it is that we complement each other perfectly. Not because we’re opposites, but because we balance each other. My parents are the same exact way and they’ve been very happily married for thirty-three years. It just works . . .”

“Huh. Interesting. In what ways do you balance each other?”

“Why do you want to know?”

“You have an interesting brain.”

“Uh, thanks?” She exhaled a small laugh. “Let’s see. Well, the other day I had this idea of involving underprivileged kids in a musical and to me, the idea feels like it could be life changing for these kids and I was so excited and hopeful, but he gently reminded me about their real-life circumstances while still encouraging me, and so now I still want to do the musical, but I know now to have realistic expectations and to not get my hopes up too high only to have them crushed.”

Crushed by whom?
Johnny couldn’t help wondering, but instead he said, “So, why aren’t you two in a committed relationship yet?”

“I told you. He’s a pragmatist. He will need to weigh it all and be sure he trusts me, that’s a good thing.”

Johnny let out an exaggerated sigh.

“
What?”
she asked.

“What? Did I say something?”

“You want to. Go ahead. It won’t have any effect on the way I think and feel.”

“Okay then, but only because you’re dying to know what I think—”

“I’m not dying to—”

“You know Don Quixote doesn’t see Dulcinea for who she truly is. That’s the story. I’m thinking that if Dulcinea spoke up about what she really wanted instead of always thinking of others, she and Quixote could get to see their real selves.”

“That’s the second time you’ve said something like that. Why do you think I don’t normally ask for what I want? I’m no doormat. And it’s plain crazy to assume anything about me because you don’t know me,” she said.

“I definitely don’t think you’re a doormat.” Johnny wondered if the darkness was making him bold or crazy. “And no, I don’t know you. But in the short time we’ve been trapped here I’ve seen you weigh things carefully when it comes to other people, but then you push yourself aside when it comes to your feelings. You were having fun and you wanted to stay till midnight, yet you left because you were worried about your someone else. You felt bad the moment you thought you’d hurt my feelings and you made up for it by saying all sorts of nice things about charmers. You didn’t invite your new guy friend here tonight because you thought he wouldn’t like it. You pretended to be okay with waiting in a dark elevator with a weird but charming stranger because you know the police have better things to do than rescue you from the darkness and me. You want to make a difference in the lives of underprivileged kids and you still sound sad about a girl you knew who was hurt long ago. You are good and beautiful and you should be with someone who sees that right away. And I’m not hitting on you. I’m only stating the truth.”

A heavy silence fell on them for a few beats. “I want to be mad, but I can’t figure out why. You just said a bunch of nice things about me.” She laughed then, suddenly and unexpectedly. “But I’m wearing a wig, a mask, and an ill-fitting peasant costume and it’s pitch black in here. You might have gathered enough clues to
think
I’m a good person, but there’s no way you know what I look like. If you hadn’t shoved me away so hard when I fell into your arms, I’d definitely think you were hitting on me.”

“So we’re back to that shove.” He
tsked
. “You’re never going to let me forget the shove, are you? You’ll tell our children and grandchildren. . .”

She laughed again and Johnny felt his chest expand and fill. Again he rubbed the area around his heart. He loved making people laugh, but he didn’t usually feel the joy this deeply. “You may not be hitting on me, but you’re flirting. It’s probably part of that dangerous charm. You can’t even help it.”

“I’m only flirting because we’ve established that you’re a kind person, unattached, and a total knock-out. I’d be a fool not to flirt and we’ve also established I’m no fool.”

“That’s not true. We’ve only established that you’re too charming for your own good, that it gets you into trouble, and that I’m
possibly
a nice person.”

Johnny brought one knee up and draped an arm over it before turning toward her. He was thoroughly enjoying himself and wished he could see her smile. “How about I prove you’re beautiful and I’m not a fool?”

“Go for it,” she said, sounding relaxed and happy.

It hit him that he was also relaxed and happy, more than he’d been in a long time, too, and that he didn’t want it to end. “Research shows it only takes most people one-tenth of a second to form a first impression about strangers and men are more visual than women. Magnetic Resonance Imaging shows that a man’s hypothalamus and amygdala are more active than a woman’s when rating, er . . . attractiveness. So keep in mind it’s not my fault I saw so much in a few seconds. I don’t know how much longer you’ll be my roomie, so I’ll only continue if you promise you’ll blame evolution and not me for the thoroughness of my first impression.”

“I promise.” She was giggling so hard, she nearly choked the words out.

“Your ill-fitting costume is cinched at the waist, revealing an ideal waist-to-hip ratio. Again, from a purely evolutionary standpoint, my amygdala picked up on the fact that you’re healthy and fertile.”

She was gasping for air now between laughs and somewhere in the back of his mind, the thought that he could fall for this girl surfaced.

Their shoulders were touching and he knew she was still looking at him. To his dismay, his breathing became uneven and his heart began beating at an unsteady rhythm. “And you have a great mouth. A mouth that smiles often. Your dark eyes are especially glittery. That I noticed right away. And you smell like sweetness.”

She stopped laughing and moved away a fraction of an inch.

“I swear I’m not hitting on you,” he insisted again. Because he wasn’t.

“How did you know what I was thinking?”

“You moved away. I’m sorry I made you uncomfortable.”

“You didn’t.” She inched back toward him and their shoulders touched again. Such a silly thing, yet his heart was now in overdrive. He tried hard to calm it, and noticed her breath was uneven, too.

“I noticed your mouth, too,” she whispered.

He sensed exactly where her lips were. Their noses touched and he felt her hot, sweet breath. “I can’t do this,” she whispered, and it sent shivers down his spine.

“Think about this elevator as Vegas. What happens here . . .” He traced the edge of her mouth with his thumb. She stilled. He touched his lips to hers and sparks shot out to every nerve in his body. It was new in its simplicity and intensity. It was heaven.

He brushed his lips across hers several times, feeling as though he’d go mad if he didn’t devour her mouth. She took his bottom lip between hers in a warm, soft kiss. White hot fireworks went off in his chest, sending light and heat throughout his body. He nipped at her bottom lip before taking a little bite and she sucked in a breath, taking his head in her hands. The feel of her warm, soft hands in his hair was too much. He swept his tongue into her mouth, slow and deliberate. An intimate give and take. How he needed that in his life.

He savored her feel, her taste, and the scent of her breath. He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her closer and closer, until she was sitting on his lap. The kiss became deep, intimate, and moving. They parted, each holding the other’s face in their hands, as he wished desperately he could look into her eyes.

A
ding
sound caught their attention and the woman in his arms jumped an inch and pushed away from him. She puffed out a breath and muttered, “
Ayayay
.” Johnny stiffened. The muttering was familiar in the same, far-off way her scent and voice were, but for the life of him he couldn’t place any of it.

The doors slid open. A group of people stared down at them. Johnny blinked. Apparently, all it had taken to free them was someone pressing the ‘up’ button on the other side.

He shook his head to get his bearings and cleared his throat a few times. Dulcinea scrambled to her feet and Johnny pushed to his. “Er, my date and I have been trapped for the last thirty or so minutes. We were waiting for either the police or fire department to rescue us and condemn this deathtrap.” At the word
deathtrap
, the entire group took a step back. “You’ll have to use the stairs. We’ll wait here and make sure no one uses the elevator until someone official gets here.”

“Thanks, man,” one of the guys said before heading to the stairs. Johnny turned to his ‘date’, wanting more than anything to have to wait all night with her, talking to her, laughing with her, pulling her close and kissing her . . . but when he looked beside him she was gone.

Stunned, he spun around a few times and looked left and right, but there was no sign of her.

Johnny peered into the elevator, wondering if he’d dreamt the whole thing, when a folded piece of cardboard paper caught his eye. He picked it up and opened it. It was the invitation to the masquerade and the name on it gave him a momentary panic attack. He read it again.
MELINDA MEDINA.

His best friend’s youngest sister.

Worse than that, Rosa’s granddaughter. It would explain why so much about her felt familiar in that faded way. And she’d mentioned parents who had been married a long time, like Marty’s.

But good sense soon kicked in. Marty’s youngest sister was supposed to be in California, Medina was a common enough surname and Melinda wasn’t exactly uncommon. It
could
be someone else and it would be easy to find out. Men don’t like to talk to other men about their sisters, so asking Marty was out. Grandmothers, on the other hand, love to talk about their grandkids . . .