The Very Thought of You (15 page)

Swallowing a sigh, she stared down at the white napkin. Maybe it was time she threw in the towel and surrendered? Maybe if she spent the night with Caleb, it would get him out of her system. Yep, just took him to bed and kept him there all night. A secret smile tugged her lips upward. Dr. Blackfox was about to get exactly what he wanted and he didn't even know it.

 

Later on that night, after getting home from church, Miranda warmed up Darren's plate in the microwave and grudgingly delivered the meal to his room. With Kelly in her room happily occupied with a Sodoku book, Miranda began to tackle the chores.

First she finished the laundry, and then vacuumed the living room, dining room, then the den. Still awake and preoccupied with keeping her thoughts off the upcoming week of seeing Caleb every day, she opened the dishwasher and began to put away the dishes.

“Kelly told me to tell you good-night.” Darren's voice startled her and she looked up to see him struggling to put the plate on the open bar. When he'd successfully landed the plate, Darren had managed to drop his crutches and maneuver himself onto the bar stool.

“Why didn't she come in to tell me herself?”

“She was afraid you might make her clean,” he stated matter-of-factly.

Miranda aimed a quizzical glance his way. “Why on earth would she think something like that? She has school tomorrow.”

“I was scared to come in myself. What kind of woman vacuums at eight o'clock at night?”

“A clean one,” she replied tartly.

“Whatever. I heard about the show you and Caleb put on at the church this morning.”

“Did Aunt Pat call you?”

“No. I got a call from one of my buddies.”

“Look, Darren.” Miranda cut in quickly, not wanting to hear again the list of Caleb's limitless sins. “I know what you're going to say.”

“No, you don't.”

“Really?” She aimed a skeptical glance his way, and then returned to the task of putting up the plates.

“Yes. I'm here to tell you that it was my fault.”

“
Your
fault?” she repeated. “What are you talking about?”

“I was the one who broke up you and Blackfox all those years ago.”

Miranda froze with shock and then unfroze. She turned, crossed her arms over her chest and stared at her brother. “Go on.”

He looked down at his fingers. “I had a good friend at Morehouse. You probably never met the guy. I drove down over spring break and we went to a few parties, had some drinks. I mentioned that I didn't like the boy my sister was dating and I wanted to break them up. It just happened that he had a cousin at Spellman who had her eye on Blackfox.”

“Let me guess, Jessica Greene wasn't it?” Miranda said flatly.

“Yeah.”

Her emotions at that moment ran the gauntlet from disbelief to anger, and finally settled on resignation. “Why, Darren?”

“I never thought I'd hurt you the way I did. Or that you'd leave the state.”

“No.” She shook her head. “I meant why are you telling me now?”

“Because I was wrong. Because I can't deny the fact that Blackfox loves you. And as much as I hate to admit it, he makes you happy,” he grumbled.

“Repeat that first part. I didn't hear you.”

“I was wrong, damn it. If someone were to do something to try and break up Grace and me, I would…”

“Kill them,” Miranda supplied.

Darren swallowed and looked guilty. “That's a little dramatic, don't you think?”

“Maybe…maybe not,” Miranda threatened, even though she didn't mean it. She couldn't put a hundred percent of the blame on her brother's shoulders. The seeds of insecurity and distrust had been planted in their relationship long before that night. Not to mention that neither Miranda nor Caleb had been ready for a serious relationship. But now? She shook her head. Not as long as she couldn't come clean about her bogus ex-husband and adopted daughter.

“Come on, Randa,” her brother pleaded. “Say something. It's not like I did it to deliberately hurt you.”

“But you did hurt me.”

“I'm apologizing. It's a ‘fifteen years and I wish I could do it all over again and I would do it differently' kind of apology. Please don't leave me hanging, because I really need some forgiveness.”

She didn't say a word for a moment longer, enjoying watching him squirm. She walked over and, careful of his braced arm, delicately hugged him.

“Does that mean you're forgiving me?”

She pulled back and smiled softly. “Of course, knucklehead.”

Darren let out a loud breath of sheer relief. “That was easy.”

“I just hope it's that easy when I tell Caleb the truth.”

“It will be,” he said simply.

Miranda chewed on her lips and released a sigh.

If only she had his confidence.

S
he'd finally given in and agreed to come to Caleb's house to discuss the search for his great-uncle only to be left standing alone in the man's foyer.

Miranda smiled ruefully—the minute he'd opened the door for her the hospital had called. It was great that she had a healthy dose of self-confidence or she'd be jealous of his work.

Although she'd dated numerous men in Washington, D.C., Miranda had never ventured into their homes and had assumed that they'd be Spartan bachelor pads. But what she found walking through the door to Caleb's house had momentarily taken her breath away. Beyond the entranceway, the foyer stretched for yards in front of her, continuing into a high-ceiling anteroom. Open arched doorways lined each side, and the end of the hallway was a large window filled with the light of the setting sun. The house was just as she might have imagined it would be: fit for a doctor and beautifully designed and decorated.

With her coat still buttoned, Miranda walked forward, her loafers whispering over the marble before stepping onto hardwood floors. To her right, a mahogany wrought-iron staircase curved upward to the second floor. She reached out and trailed a hand over the banister leading up the stairs. Even to her untrained eye, she could see that it was the product of a master craftsman.

Even the air was nicely perfumed with hints of vanilla and sandalwood. She turned to the right and paused in astonishment. The living room, or at least what she assumed was a living room, had exquisitely designed furniture and decorative accents, a large stone-encased fireplace and plush rugs. Miranda kept going and passed through the dining room, gourmet kitchen, and stopped in the last room. Her hand came up to cover her mouth as she laughed. The room was Darren's dream come to life. Leather sofas faced a wall-spanning flat-screen television surrounded by every audio, video and gaming device money could buy. A bar occupied another section of the room and a billiard table stood opposite.

“Like what you see?”

Miranda jumped at the sound of Caleb's voice. “Good Lord, I think you took five years off my life.”

“I didn't mean to startle you.”

Shaking her head, Miranda let out a small giggle. “It's not your fault you move as silently as a ghost.”

“Yep, it's my brother's fault. Marius taught us how to walk quietly so that we could sneak past my parents' room.”

“Why doesn't it surprise me that you snuck out when you were a teenager?”

“Oh, we were sneaking out of the house way before we were teenagers. There was this clear meadow about a mile away from the house. Whenever there was a full moon, we'd sneak out to the barn, saddle the horses and race against some of the neighbors.”

“You're kidding?”

“Scout's honor. I won more than I lost—but I lost a lot.”

“Because your horse was slow?”

He grimaced. “No. My sister either beat me, or the horse crossed the finish line without me. I wasn't much of a rider.”

“But you did it anyway.” She smiled.

“There's nothing like the invincibility of youth. Now can I take your coat?”

His fingertips glanced over the nape of her neck and Miranda barely suppressed an answering shiver as she removed the long coat.

“You have a beautiful home.”

“Thank you, but,” Caleb gently corrected her, “I have a house. Your parents, my parents and my family have homes.”

She followed him into the kitchen and stopped next to the granite-topped island. The room was far from homey. She could have honestly been standing in a Williams-Sonoma print ad. Gray commercial-size anodized pots and pans hung from strategically placed hooks over the stove, and sleek gourmet culinary accessories sat neatly on the countertops, while high-end appliances nestled underneath. “It wouldn't take much to make this into a home, Caleb. I think all you have to do is to spend more time here than at the hospital.”

“My mother and Aunt Lacey tried to make sure that this place had everything I needed. But the point is that I'm not needed here. I'm needed at the hospital.”

“But what if you were needed here, Caleb?” she asked softly.

“Then this is where I would be.” Caleb removed two wineglasses and gently set them down before continuing. “With my wife, with my family.”

Miranda's body was so taut with emotion that she could hardly speak. Just the thought of Caleb with some unknown woman felt like someone had taken a knife to her insides. Ever since they'd reunited at the hospital, her feelings had gotten the best of her even as her better judgment screamed at her not to trust him. Not to trust the sincerity in his voice, the sweet promise of happiness in his eyes. He'd been honest before, but had still ended up breaking her heart. Yet, no matter how many times she whispered to herself that what was between them couldn't last because she had her job in Washington, the fact didn't stop her heart from wanting him or her fingers from itching to touch him and unbutton his shirt.

Recalling the other reason she was at his home, Miranda managed, “Would you like to review the detective's notes on your uncle's case?”

“Of course. Just thought I'd pour a glass of wine and prepare cheese and crackers. Unless you object to having some small comfort while we work?”

“No, not at all.”

“Good. I'll get the snacks together. Why don't you choose the wine. I have white, Zinfandel, Shiraz, you name it.”

“Why would I be the least surprised that this dream would come equipped with a wine cellar?”

“It's not really a cellar.” Caleb grinned as he took both of their glasses and started walking in the direction of the library. “More like a converted closet.”

“Isn't it the man's job to pick out the wine?”

“If I recall correctly, you, madame, dragged me to a few wine-tastings after your twenty-first birthday.”

She smiled and nibbled on her bottom lip. “So I did. Where can I find this collection of yours?”

“Straight through to the entertainment room and it's the second door on your left.”

“Can you at least give me some selection criteria? It's been years since I've had anything to do with wine outside of an occasional glass at a restaurant.”

“Red.”

Okay, Miranda mused, this ought to be easy. That was until she opened the door and walked into a temperature-controlled wall-to-wall bottle-filled wine closet.

“You have got to be kidding,” she shouted.

“You can do it.”

“Good Lord, Caleb,” she muttered as her eyes took in the rows of bottles. “This is too much. No one needs this much wine.”

“It's not for quantity. It's for selection,” he said.

She jumped and turned, hearing his voice so close to her ear. Letting out a shaky breath, Miranda playfully punched him on the shoulder. “You just took another year off my life. Could you make some more noise next time?”

“I'll try.”

“I can't pick a wine, Caleb.”

“When was it? I remember—the night we went out to dinner to officially celebrate the anniversary of our first date.”

“You took me to that wonderful Italian restaurant.”

“Soto's,” he added. “I try to go there when I get down to Atlanta.”

“I loved the ravioli.” Miranda's mouth watered at the mere memory.

“The chefs may have changed, but the owners haven't. And remember what he said when I needed to select a wine?”

Miranda's brow wrinkled as she tried to retrieve the memory. Yet all she could think about was the wonder of that night. The fantastic meal, the romantic candlelit dancing in Caleb's apartment, and making love on a bed of rose petals.

“No.”

“Well, I do. And he said, ‘Light foods go with light wines. Heavy foods go with heavy wines. Delicate meals need a light wine. Heavier meals need a bigger wine.'”

Miranda nodded. “And where does cheese and crackers fit into that?”

“I also forgot to mention that we're having cheesecake bites.”

Miranda groaned. “My waistline, doctor. I didn't come home to gain thirty pounds on vacation.”

“You can use every pound, Miranda.”

“Let's not get distracted. Pick a wine.”

Caleb shook his head and laughed. The sound filled the intimate space and turned her insides to jelly.

“No, beautiful. This is your assignment.”

If possible, he seemed to stand even closer to her. Miranda stood with her back to Caleb and she could feel the warm trickle of his breath on the back of her bare neck. And she so badly wanted his strong arms to wrap around her waist, so she could lean back and indulge in wonderful feelings of contentment.

“You've got to give me a hint at least, Caleb.”

He blew out a choked breath that sounded suspiciously like laughter. “Close your eyes and choose one.”

“Why can't you do this? You're the one with the collection,” she stressed, giving him an irritated glare.

He leaned in closer. “I've a secret.”

“What?”

“I didn't buy any of this, someone else did.”

Her eyes widened. “So you don't know what to get, either…”

“You're wounding my pride right now. All of my brothers think that I'm a wine expert.”

“I won't tell a soul.” Spying what she thought was a nicely decorated bottle, Miranda took a step toward the back wall housing a selection of red wines, and pulled out what she hoped was a good bottle.

“Pinot Noir, 1988. This has to be a good year,” she proclaimed.

“Why's that?” Caleb asked as they returned to the kitchen.

“That was the year I got straight A's on my report card and Darren and I got our braces taken off.”

“You had braces?”

“All of us aren't born blessed with perfect teeth.”

“I had to wear a retainer for three years,” he replied offhandedly.

Miranda's defensiveness vanished as she stared at Caleb. He never ceased to amaze her. He smiled and picked up a serving plate and walked through the open doorway that led to the den. The square hardwood table in the corner was set for two. The curtains had been drawn back to reveal a clear winter-night sky. She took a seat across from him and settled herself in the nice-size wooden chair. He expertly popped the cork. Miranda's eyes never left his as he filled two glasses with deep red wine.

When he handed her a goblet, their fingers touched, and her breath caught in her chest. There was a moment of staring too long, a jolt, a shiver. She shook her head to clear herself of the dangerous thoughts.

“Cheers,” he said and raised his glass. Clicking his glass with hers, Caleb noted the way the lights picked up the highlights in Miranda's thick mane. He'd always been fascinated by her hair. And on more than one occasion he'd enjoyed making her moan with pleasure just by massaging sensitive locations on her scalp.

“Here's to successful careers, safe loved ones, smooth recoveries and to finding your great-uncle,” Miranda responded and took a sip. Her face relaxed, eyes closed, as she smelled and then tasted the smooth pinot noir.

Caleb pictured that look of repletion as she lay beneath him in his bed. Her dilated eyes heavy with lovemaking, her skin flushed and her moans of pleasure arousing.

Just thinking about her had his body tight with anticipation. Maybe he should run upstairs and take a shower and let the cold water calm him down. No. That brought a flashback of the times that they'd showered together at his condo before going to class. He blinked slowly at the image of Miranda peeling off her robe and stepping into the steam-filled bathroom.

Making no effort to savor the wine, Caleb lifted his glass and took a large mouthful in one swallow. “Funny you should toast to successful careers. I've been thinking a lot about the future now that I've been at the hospital for a few years.”

“Any ideas?”

“Private practice, academics or a physician's group. Mom is pushing for me to join with her church-affiliated medical practice.”

“That might not be such a bad thing.”

“It is when you're not married,” he replied after taking a bite of cheese.

“You could specialize in male ailments,” she suggested.

“I don't think that ruse would work any better.” He shook his head. “Besides having every single churchgoing female on the patient list, it would be impossible keeping my mother out of my personal life. I'm having a hard time of it now.”

“Oh, well.” She sighed. “Looks like the nurses at the hospital will be able to sleep better knowing that their eye candy won't be stolen.”

“Eye candy? So you think I'm sweet.” The intent look in his eyes and low voice was drop-dead sexy.

Miranda took a sip of wine and smiled. Tomorrow morning, when she remembered the evening, she'd blame her behavior on the alcohol. Or maybe she would blame Caleb. The only thing Miranda knew for certain was that it was fun to flirt and the way he kept looking at her had started a miniheat wave in the valley in her thighs. “Oh, sorry. I meant to say that their easy-going doctor won't be stolen.”