Trouble (27 page)

And he only had eyes for her.

“I'll have the veal marsala.” She handed the server her menu and smiled her thanks.

The server turned to Mike, waiting patiently. “And for you, sir?”

Mike didn't seem to hear him. His gaze remained fixed on Dara's face. Her lips, actually. Dara's skin felt hot, like when she fell asleep on her towel at the beach and woke to find the sun blazing down on her.

The server cleared his throat discreetly. “Sir?”

Mike blinked. “I'll have the lasagna.” He held the menu up in the man's general direction, without ever looking away from Dara. “Please.”

Dara smiled at him as the server left. “You didn't even look at the menu.”

“I have more interesting things to look at. Anyway, I always order the lasagna.”

This gave Dara pause. “What do you mean, you always order the lasagna?”

“English
is
your first language, isn't it?”

“There's spaghetti, scampi, marsala, manicotti and ravioli.”

“I'm aware of all that.”

“So how can you always just order the lasagna, without looking at the menu?”

He shrugged. “It's my favorite meal.”

“But what if there's a better meal out there? You'll never discover it!”

He laughed. “I'll have to learn to live with that tragic possibility.”

“You're very set in your ways,” she noted thoughtfully. “If we're going to be spending more time together, I think I'm probably going to drive you crazy.”

“We
are
going to be spending more time together—in fact, the phrase ‘glued at the hip' comes to mind—and I look forward to you driving me crazy. If you'll recall, I told you the night we met that I knew you would drive a man crazy.”

“And I said maybe you should run while you have the chance.”

“Dara,” he said mildly, “you've got a better chance of being abducted by aliens in the next ten seconds than you do of getting rid of me.”

“Good.”

Every inch of her skin tingled. When he looked at her that way—like she was the most fascinating creature on the planet, those eyes focused on her to the exclusion of everyone else in the room—she felt like a moth drawn to a flame, unable and unwilling to fly away. Ready to throw herself into the fire.

He slid even closer to her in the booth until their hips touched and his thigh, impossibly muscular and long, pressed against hers. He slid one arm around her shoulders and lifted her hand with his free hand, twining his long, warm fingers with hers.

Within seconds, her insides had gone all melty. She'd never known hand-holding to be a sexual act as intimate as intercourse itself, but then she'd never held hands with Mike in the candlelight. He stroked her fingers, rubbing his thumb over her knuckles. If he kept it up, he'd have her moaning like Meg Ryan in the deli scene from
When Harry Met Sally
, only she, Dara, wouldn't be faking it.

“I've been wondering something,” she told him.

“Shoot.”

“What attracted you to me?”

He'd released her hand long enough to take a quick sip of merlot, and now he snorted and almost choked. “Are you serious?”

She blushed like an idiot. “So that's it? I'm toast the second a prettier woman comes along?”

Another snort. “I reiterate: Are you serious?”

Dying of embarrassment now, she buried her face in her hands. “This conversation isn't going the way I imagined it in my mind.”

“You're spectacular,” he said simply.

“I'm not
spectacular
,” she said, her voice muffled.

“I disagree. And your looks are only part of it. I knew that right away.”

“You did?” she asked, curiosity making her drop her hands so she could see him. “How could you?”

He grinned and looked away. “I can't … I can't.”

“Now you have to tell me.”

He shook his head and opened and closed his mouth. Surely, this was the first time in recorded history that the great Mike Baldwin was at a loss for words. He picked up her hand again, then slid his other hand from her shoulder to her nape, which he stroked until she nearly leapt out of her skin.

“I don't think I can explain it.” His face and voice softened at the memory. “When I saw you that night, I felt like I recognized you. And when I looked at your eyes …”

He broke off. Another head shake.

But Dara was mesmerized. “Please tell me.”

He paused, gathering his words.

“When I saw you, all the other people in the room disappeared. And when I looked in your eyes, I thought, ‘There she is.' I thought you were exactly what I needed, even though I hadn't realized I needed anything. And when we talked, you confirmed all of my initial impressions. I knew you were smart and funny and strong and willful. I knew … I wanted you.”

He wanted her now, too; his smoldering eyes were a dead giveaway. He lifted his arm and half glanced at his watch. “It's getting late.”

She nodded somberly. “I wouldn't want to stay out past my bedtime. Why don't we take our food to go?”

“I thought you'd never ask.”

On the way home, though, Mike was a little quiet, and by the time they'd climbed the stairs to her apartment, the silence was deafening. Dara unlocked and opened the door, determined to ask him about it as soon as they went inside. But when she stepped over the threshold, juggling the shopping bag filled with their dinners, he hung back, eyeing the interior of the apartment as if he feared a velociraptor crouched somewhere inside, waiting to dismember him at the first opportunity.

“I, uh … I think I'll just go on home.”

“What?” she cried, wounded and disappointed. “Why?”

He put one arm around her waist and brushed her hair back from her face with his free hand. “Well, I, uh,” his eyes lingered on her lips, “I have, you know, some work I need to do tonight, and I need to get to the office early.”

“But tomorrow's Saturday!”

“I know, but Saturday's like any other day for me. I've got a ton of work to do.”

“You're not getting ready to pull away from me again, are you?”

“Hell, no.”

His vehemence was somewhat reassuring but not enough to quash her disappointment. Still, she was determined not to do anything idiotic, like bawl, just because the man had work to do. She was not going to turn into a clinging vine. No, sir. She was perfectly secure.

“Okay,” she said, leaning into him. “Kiss?”

His lips were on hers almost before the word was out of her mouth, leaving her no doubt he still wanted her, even if he did have to leave.

Abruptly, he broke away, pushing her back a little. “Okay. I'm out.”

“Good night.”

Unsmiling, he took off down the hall, leaving her with the distinct impression he was running away from something.

Forty-five
minutes later Mike was back, standing in the hall outside Dara's apartment, staring at her shut door. This was the story of his life and it didn't look like it would change anytime soon: he couldn't stay away from Dara.

For the life of him, he couldn't explain what had happened to him between dinner and when they'd arrived at her apartment. Sure, he had a mountain of work to do, and sure, he did need to be at the office at the crack of dawn. But neither of those excuses explained his sudden feeling of claustrophobia. All he knew was that nagging feeling of generalized panic had come back, stronger than ever. And he'd thought he needed to get away from Dara as quickly as possible.

But then he'd gotten home, and instead of being relieved, he'd felt like he'd arrived for a long stay in solitary confinement on Rikers Island. Dara's apartment—warm, cozy, with the unparalleled benefit of having Dara in it—flashed through his mind like a neon sign. So he'd hauled ass back out to his car at nine fifteen on a cold fall night and come right back.

Too bad he couldn't figure out how to get himself inside, with her.

He'd just raised his fist to knock when, without warning, the door swung open.

He froze, arm suspended in midair.

Dara watched him with coolly appraising eyes, causing his heart to lapse into its familiar drumbeat. She'd showered and changed out of her work clothes into a satiny navy blue robe with a belt around the middle. Her pretty feet were bare, her sweet face scrubbed free of makeup, She smelled delicious, floral fresh.

Predictably, his body heated as though he'd stepped, fully clothed, into a sauna.

Leaning against the doorframe, she crossed her arms over her chest and regarded him with open amusement, which meant a large helping of humble pie was in his near future.

“Were you going to stand out here all night?”

“Possibly.”

“Why are you back?”

“I have a very important question to ask you.”

Her eyes narrowed. “What is it?”

“What kind of perfume do you wear?”

She gaped at him. “I… what?”

Milking his temporary advantage, he edged closer. “I smell it all the time, even when you're not with me. I need to know.”

She started to smile, then seemed to realize she was weakening.

“Gardenias,” she said briskly, starting to swing the door closed again. “So if that's all …”

He flung out his arm, blocking her. “That's not all. I, ah, thought maybe you needed help with your reading tonight. My services are yours.”

Her lips twitched up into a lopsided smile, but she pressed them firmly together until they disappeared in a thin line and hiked up her chin.

“I thought you had important work to do.”

He nodded. “I do. I'm a very important man.”

“Um-hmm,” she murmured.

He cleared his throat. “I thought I could do my very important work here with you, while you study. I brought my laptop.”

“Well, this certainly seems like a good plan, but unfortunately, you have to get to work early in the morning, so I guess you can't stay long.”

Without a word, he picked up his duffel bag and showed it to her.

Giving him the full smile in all its glory, she backed up to admit him and his bags.

But then her smile faded. “I'm not the enemy, you know.”

He stared at her warm eyes for a long time, fighting the panic that wanted to creep back up his throat. Suddenly, his nameless fears seemed ridiculous, like being afraid of kittens or lollipops.

The best parts of his life were with Dara. What the hell was he so afraid of?

“I know you're not the enemy.”

“Are you finished fighting me and running away?”

He let out a relieved laugh. “I hope so.”

She led him into the living room, where he saw her books spread open on the coffee table and heard the low murmur of the television. A wave of contentment washed over him.

He belonged here—or wherever she was.

The swish of the silky robe against her legs and the sway of her hips quickly fogged his brain before he could unpack his laptop. He watched her, his mouth drying out. Pausing to give him a sidelong glance over her shoulder, she untied her robe and let it slide off her arms to reveal a slinky little matching nightgown with spaghetti straps.

“Ah, shit,” he breathed.

“Of course, you'll have to be punished,” she said, smiling.

“What did you have in mind?” he asked, dropping his bags and lunging for her.

“You look great!” On Monday, Dara pulled away from hugging Jamal to survey him critically. He'd already removed the bandage from his temple and therefore looked normal except for the stitched cut. “How are you feeling?”