The Bridge to a Better Life (12 page)

They weren’t the Fraser colors, but it didn’t matter. And she didn’t even laugh when Blake uttered the worst Scottish accent imaginable. Later her laughter died completely when he kissed his way down her body and made love to her with the kind of intensity she’d always imagined between Jamie and Claire.

Jerking herself out of her reverie took effort. Her heart was drumming in her chest now, and there was a pool of lust in her belly. Blake’s gaze was hot, and she knew he was remembering it too.

“I’m only suggesting we watch the show, Nat,” he said quietly, but his body language told her a different story.

No, he wanted her to remember. His nostrils were slightly flared, and the pulse in his neck was beating strong. Despite working for Mac Maven, she wasn’t a gambling woman, but if she took the picnic basket away from his waist, she was sure she’d see evidence of his arousal.

Her breath stopped in her lungs.

“It’s a start,” he said in a gentle voice, one that told her he wouldn’t ask for more unless she wanted it.

He’d never pushed for more while he was marooned in her friend zone all those years ago. Sure, he’d looked at her with longing and lust plenty of times, but he’d always honored her wishes. She was the one who’d finally leaned in to kiss him one night as the credits to
The Mirror Has Two Faces
scrolled down his big-screen TV. He’d watched one of her favorite chick flicks without protest—like it was the biggest prize in the world. And that was it for her. Her control fell away, and she’d poured all the yearning and desire she’d repressed into their first kiss.

“Okay, you can stay. We can watch the first couple episodes.” She’d already watched them all, of course. And it would be safe. Jamie and Claire didn’t kiss until much later in the series, when they were married. Now that was one episode she could not watch with Blake. She’d go up in flames if she sat there watching it with him, remembering how much joy she’d always found making love with him.

At least until Kim’s diagnosis. Then, she hadn’t wanted anyone to touch her, least of all Blake, and sex had become awkward and strange between them until he’d stopped trying to comfort and reach her that way.

“Did you already eat?” she asked, not seeing his favorites in the basket.

He set it down on the kitchen island. “I got myself a Cuban sandwich and some veggies while I was there. I…ah…left them at the house. I’ll just run and get them, if that’s okay.”

So, he hadn’t assumed she’d succumb to his invitation. She felt her lips curve into a smile before she made her mouth go flat again. “I’ll grab some plates and warm up my fries.”

“Good. Great.” His head bobbed like he realized he was overdoing it. “Be right back.”

He ran off, so eager he left the back door open. Touchdown raced after him. She watched Blake through the windows. Good God, he was moving so fast he looked like he was running the option to score a touchdown.

Her heart careened in her chest, and she spun into action, crossing to the stove to flick on the broiler and set the table. No, she decided, setting the table would be too weird and date-like. Better to eat on the couch and start the show right away. That way there’d be less talking.

She wasn’t sure she could handle more talking.

When Blake returned, he wasn’t even breathing hard. Poor Touchdown headed for his water bowl and slurped greedily. Blake stood in her kitchen with his take-out bag in his hands, shifting his feet like he was unsure of himself.

Well, join the club
, she wanted to say, but she ignored her own unease by checking on her sizzling French fries.

“What would you like to drink?” she asked.

“I’m good with water.”

She shut the oven and opened the cabinet to the right of the sink, but he stepped in and took the glass before she could grab it.

“You don’t need to wait on me. Keep your eyes on the fries.”

Picking up a spatula, she opened the oven again to turn them. “Yeah, I’d be heart-broken if they burned.”

“I’d drive up there to get you some more,” he said, filling his glass with water from the tap.

Her throat closed, and she stirred the fries quickly, trying not to analyze the funny feeling in her heart. When the fries were done, she grabbed a potholder and took them out and set them on the granite countertop. Blake reached a hand out playfully, watching her face, waiting to see if she would slap it away—an old game they played. He would order a salad or veggies and steal some of her French fries. She let him have a couple, and his grin spread as he popped them into his mouth.

“Never imagined anything could taste so good.”

Hmm…that was a euphemism if she’d ever heard one. “Are you planning to succumb to the food dark side now that you’ve left football?” she asked before she thought better of it.

His grin faded, and she could tell he had to force a smile to return to his face. “Some would say I have to be even more careful now that I’m not burning five to six thousand calories a day.”

That number had always boggled her mind. She was lucky to burn two thousand in her most strenuous workouts.

“Like you’d ever get fat,” she said.

“Your mom said the same thing.” He finally set his take-out bag on the counter, like he’d only just decided she would let him stay. “She visited me today. I wanted you to know.”

She ate a French fry, hoping it would counterbalance the bitterness in her mouth. It didn’t completely. She scooped the fries onto a plate and claimed her burger from the insulated compartment in the basket.

“I had them keep the bun separate so it wouldn’t get soggy on the bottom. I know how you hate that.”

That familiar intimacy with him was weaving itself around her. Dangerous and yet tantalizing. “Thanks.”

She handed him a plate, and he unwrapped his Cuban. Sure enough, he had paired it with the spinach and pear salad, which
was
delicious, and their roasted beets with pistachios.

“I thought we could watch the first episode while we eat,” she said as she finished assembling the burger on her plate.

“Sure. Is the silverware where you always kept it?”

She paused for a moment, feeling tension settle between her shoulder blades. “Yes.”

He pulled open the cabinet to the right of the sink and procured two sets for them. “Can I grab anything else for you?” he asked, picking up her plate and his own, balancing his water in the crook of his massive arm.

God, the bulge of muscle there made her want to trace the angles and curves all the way to his shoulder.

“No. I’ll just…put the milkshake in the freezer.”
Put myself in the freezer.
“I’ll probably only drink half of it anyway. Since you brought the caramel apple.” God, she was going to be sick after all this sugar.

“I’d be impressed if you could manage both. Can Touchdown sit on your couch while we eat?”

The dog barked, hearing his name. They’d had a power pull over that in the early days of their marriage. She hated having dog hair on their expensive cream-upholstered sofa, but Blake loved to watch game tape with Touchdown on his lap. Ultimately, she was the one who’d caved, though she’d insisted he take over vacuuming the couch, which he’d done. Sometimes. Unless he let the cleaning lady do it.

“Ah…he can sit on it.”

So far she’d kept him off the couch, but tonight was different. If Touchdown sat next to Blake, she wouldn’t have to sit next to him. It was going to be hard enough to keep her eyes off his freaking gorgeous legs. No one had better legs than Blake, not even Beyonce. His massive thighs were thick with muscle, making his legs a portrait of angles and ridges designed to inflame the senses. His legs had been her downfall, and the khaki shorts he was wearing did nothing to hide their masculine beauty.

She followed them into the den after grabbing a glass of red wine and some water. When she reached the couch, she discovered Blake had already outfoxed her. Touchdown sat on his right, leaving the middle seat for her. She set her glasses down on the teak coffee table and laid out the red napkins she’d tucked under her arm.

“I wasn’t sure how to run your entertainment center.”

She turned everything on, then put the disc in and hit play for the first episode. After settling back onto the couch, she picked up her hamburger and bit in, unable to contain a moan.

“Glad you like it,” he said, laughter in his voice. “I always loved how much you enjoy food.”

More dangerous territory. She didn’t need him telling her all the things he used to love about her. “How’s the sandwich?”

“As good as I remembered. Feel free to have some salad or beets.”

“You’re only saying that so you can steal more French fries.”

He plucked one off her plate with a grin. “Only a few.”

She made herself turn her attention from his sparkling brown eyes to the television and prayed the show could distract her from the surrealness and sweetness of eating a meal with Blake again, vegging out in front of the TV. Just the three of them like old times.

They watched in silence, munching on their food. Her hand stole onto his plate to grab the beet and pear slices he’d saved for her. When he didn’t reach for the fries she’d left him, she placed them on his plate. He muttered his thanks and kicked back with his feet propped on the coffee table, giving her a way-too-tantalizing view of his legs. Of course, he knew how she felt about his legs, so she wondered if he’d done it on purpose. But when she looked at him from the corner of her eye, he seemed engrossed in the show. He was idly stroking Touchdown, she noticed, who lay on his right leg, a content expression on his furry face.

Jerking her attention back to the show, she watched the first meeting between Jamie and Claire. Blake winced when the nurse set the Highlander’s dislocated shoulder. She watched as he rubbed his left shoulder, the one he’d dislocated in a game against the Washington Warriors. He’d taken a deadly sack after airing the ball out forty yards for a touchdown that led to a last-minute win. She had to fist her hands in her lap to keep from rubbing that shoulder in comfort like she’d done so many times in the past.

“You’d better grab your shake,” he said, noticing she’d finished her food.

Pausing the show, she rose and poured half the shake into a glass, leaving the other half for tomorrow. She’d already overeaten, but she didn’t care. And she wasn’t going to feel bad about enjoying two desserts. She was so not including her earlier candy binge in her count.

When the first episode finished, she hit play for the next one—afraid to disturb the peaceful silence between them. Even though her bladder was screaming, she didn’t move to relieve it. Touchdown was snoring softly by the end of the second episode, and when the credits rolled, she reached for the remote.

“Maybe we can watch the next one some other time,” Blake said before she could decide whether to stop or hit play. “You have to go to work in the morning.”

He’d always been good about that. He had never asked her to wait for him to shower and dress and talk to the press after his late evening games. Sometimes she’d be asleep when he finally did get home, but he wouldn’t wake her up to talk about the game. He’d save everything he wanted to discuss for when they were both home the next day—even if it was only for a few hours because of his hectic schedule.

Without asking, Blake stacked their plates and glasses and rose, leaving her with nothing to sweep up except a few stray bread crumbs.

He drew a folded piece of paper from the pocket of his shorts as they walked back into the kitchen together. “Some ideas for your menu and times for our meals.”

Their truce was so delicate she could only nod and watch him set it on the kitchen island.

“They stuck pretty well to the book, don’t you think?” he asked, loading the dishes into the dishwasher.

The paper towel she’d grabbed to wipe down the counters fluttered to the floor. “How would you know that?”

He lurched forward to pick it up and handed it to her. “I…ah…read the series.”

Her hand curled around the paper towel. “You did? When?”

Okay, that was a stupid question. She watched with some helplessness as red stained his ears.

“After you left. I…ah…was trying to see if Jamie could give me any ideas about winning you back.”

The paper she was holding crumbled in her fist.
Oh, Blake.
She thought back to what Andy had said…how Kim had believed Blake was the best possible match for her. What other man would read his ex-wife’s favorite romance novel to look for relationship clues?

“And Jamie did,” he added in a voice rough with emotion. “He came back to Claire and laid his heart at her feet even after she made it clear she didn’t want him anymore. He bared his soul to her and asked her to forgive him.”

The vibration of her rapidly beating heart shattered every wall of numbness she’d enclosed herself in, and raw, oozing hurt poured out.

His brown eyes were both hopeful and wary when they met hers. “I hope some day you’ll forgive me too. I’d better be going.”

As he walked to the door to open it, he whistled for Touchdown, who awoke with a snort and leaped off the couch to join him. “Do you want Touchdown to stay for another day or two? You haven’t had him for so long…”