Warm Hearts (10 page)

It became a ritual—a welcome home, a shared drink, a sweet good-night. She had come to depend on it, as they reached what she thought of as their first-week anniversary. When Friday night rolled around, she was particularly needful of that silent shared drink.

She'd had a rough week. The heat had held up—an unusually static high-pressure system, said the weatherman—and she hadn't slept well on many of those nights when the air in her apartment had been hot. It was hot tonight, too. She'd changed into shorts as soon as she'd come home and was reclining against the window, a glass of iced tea in her hand, while Tall-Dark-and-Handsome took his beer from the fridge.

He wore a charcoal tank top over lighter gray running shorts, which, despite their color, made his hips look sleek and narrow. He paused only to take a quick swig of beer and kick off his sneakers before sliding onto the fire escape.

Hi
, she thought breathlessly.

Hi, yourself.

How was your day?

He drew away from the wrought-iron railing and flexed his upper back before relaxing again.
Hot. And yours?

Ditto.

At least it's the weekend. What say we take off and go someplace cool?

Like…?

Alaska.

She gave a sultry half smile.
Mmm. That sounds nice.

Ever been in an igloo?

No, but it sounds real good right about now.
Sweat dotted her neck and pooled between her breasts. She took a drink, then held the cool glass to her cheek.

Would you really go there with me?
she imagined he'd ask.

Sure.

Don't have any other plans for the weekend?

No. I told Elliot I needed a break.

He put the can to his mouth and tipped his head. In silhouette, his Adam's apple bobbed gently as the cool liquid flowed past. Turning his head slowly, his eyes found hers.
How did he take it?

Not well. I feel guilty.

You shouldn't, you know. You have every right to refuse an invitation.

Still …

He's a big boy, Caroline.

That's the first time you've used my name. I wish I knew what to call you.

Tall-Dark-and-Handsome is fine.

But it's not real.

None of this is real.

That's not true.
She sucked in a shaky breath and admitted what she'd been trying to ignore.
What you make me feel is real.

Tell me what you feel.

She pressed her lips together, then slowly moistened them with the tip of her tongue.
Excitement. I look at you and my heart pounds.

In this heat?

Crazy, I know.

What else?

Heat inside. I can't really see your face, but your eyes make me sizzle. Or maybe it's the set of your shoulders or the shape of your chest.
She watched him wipe a damp palm on his thigh.
Or your legs. You have beautiful legs. Do you know that?

They're not beautiful.

Maybe not to you, but to me they are. Lean and tight. They're hairy, too.

I'm beginning to sound like an ape.

No. Just a hairy man.

Do hairy men turn you on?

I never thought they did, but the hair on your skin is masculine. So different from a woman's.

I should hope so.

Her insides were beginning to knot. Closing her eyes for an instant, she arched her back, then brought the glass to her forehead.
I don't know why I'm doing this to myself.

Maybe you're sex starved.

No. Sex is nice, but I've never really hungered for it, if you know what I mean.

And you do now?

With you. But maybe you don't feel the same way.

Are you kidding?

You do want me?

Why do you think I've got my knees bent up this way?

Oh.
The color in her cheeks deepened.
That's nice.

It's not nice. It's damn frustrating. What are we going to do about this?

I don't know.

He shifted, straightening one of those knees, seeming to find comfort elusive. Not once did his gaze leave hers; it penetrated the night and the distance between them, searing straight into her heart.
Maybe if we just give in to it and make love, we'll get it out of our systems.

Maybe.

Should we try it?

Her breath was coming faster.
I don't know.

You could invite me over there.

She bit her lip.
We're strangers.

I could invite myself over there.

I don't even know your name.

Or you could come over here.

I couldn't.

We have to break the ice somehow.

I know. I know.
She whipped her head toward the door in response to a loud knock.
I don't believe it. Someone's here.

Maybe it's Connie.

She returned her gaze to his.
No. She's gone for the weekend.

One of your other neighbors?

Maybe.

Or Ben. Maybe he's still at it.

I hope not.
The knock came again, even louder this time. Again she glanced toward the door.

You'd better get it.

I know.

Go on. I'll be here.

With a sigh of frustration, Caroline set her drink on the window seat and went to the door.

*   *   *

Brendan couldn't take his eyes from her. She looked so sweet, so agile as she trotted across the floor. And sexy. Her shorts were short, but her thighs and bottom did them proud. And that T-shirt … If she was wearing a bra, he'd eat his hat. Not that he owned a hat, but the bet stood; he was that sure of winning. Her hair was caught up in a clasp that left loose strands caressing her damp neck. He could think of all kinds of things he'd do with those loose strands and her neck and his tongue.

Damn. It wasn't a neighbor. It was the guy she dated, but she didn't look pleased to see him. She had a tight grip on the doorknob, and her back had stiffened. Brendan's eyes narrowed. He could see that the man was talking, gesturing toward the inside of her apartment. She shook her head, but he ignored her and took several steps into the loft.

Brendan felt his body grow tense in ways vastly different from the sexual tension of moments before. He watched closely. Her guest continued to talk. She shook her head again, more slowly this time, but whatever she was saying seemed to annoy the fellow, who proceeded to rake a hand through his hair, then fling his arms wide in frustration.

Brendan could almost sympathize with the man. He didn't look like a mean sort; he was clean, nicely dressed, and there was a defensiveness about him. If he was half as hung up on her as Brendan was himself and she was denying him what he most wanted, Brendan could indeed understand the frustration.

His feelings of sympathy vanished, though, when the man clasped her arm. She quickly pulled from his grip and took a step toward the door, but her visitor kept pace, kept talking, kept gesturing. She pointed to the door. The man shook his head. When he snaked an arm around her waist and brought her body flush with his, she arched away and tried to push.

The harsh sound of the beer can crushing in his hand brought Brendan to life. He'd seen enough. Sweet-and-Sexy didn't want that man there. If the guy wasn't willing to accept that on his own, Brendan intended to help him.

Blindly pitching the can toward the sink on his way out the door, Brendan flew down the three flights in record time. He didn't have to pause when he reached the street; he'd traveled the route in his mind so many times that he knew the fastest way around the block. He also knew that since her apartment faced his, her town house had to be the fourth from the corner. He ran there full speed and yanked the door open. When it collided with his toe, he swore, but that was the extent of his self-indulgence. Ignoring the pain, he took the steps two at a time.

He might have taken it as a good omen—to his fantasy or his calculations or whatever—that the door to the third-floor apartment stood open, but he wasn't taking time to think of omens, good or otherwise. He slowed his pace and jogged to the door, coming to a full stop with his hand high on the jamb before calmly ambling inside.

Caroline's head shot to the door the instant he appeared. She'd already freed herself from Elliot's hold, but the threat of his presence remained. Now, abruptly, it was gone and forgotten.

Tall-Dark-and-Handsome? It had to be! The way he looked at her spoke of all she'd imagined and then some.

“Hi, hon,” he said softly. Strolling to her side, he wrapped an arm around her shoulder and pressed a warm kiss to her forehead. “Sorry I'm late. I took a detour. Nearly got lost.” He gave her a smile and a squeeze, then released her shoulder and extended his hand to her guest. “Brendan Carr. And you are…?”

Elliot stood very still. Only his eyes moved, jumping from Brendan to Caroline and back. He looked totally confused, all but paralyzed, and seemed to be rescued in the end by nothing more than the reflex of manners.

“Elliot Markham,” he said, letting his hand be shaken.

“Nice to meet you,” Brendan said, then headed for the refrigerator. “Man, is it a warm night.” He pulled open the door, extracted the pitcher of iced tea that he knew was always there, took a glass from the adjacent cabinet and poured himself a drink. “Anyone else want some while I'm at it?” he asked, shooting a glance over his shoulder.

Caroline could only manage to shake her head. Her eyes were wide, glued to Brendan—
Brendan
—and she doubted she could swallow air, let alone tea.

Elliot wasn't quite as awestruck. Recovering from the shock of Brendan's appearance—more than that, from the shock of Brendan's obvious familiarity with Caroline's apartment—he narrowed his eyes on Caroline and murmured under his breath, “What's going on here?”

Under normal circumstances, Caroline would have shrugged. But these weren't normal circumstances. Brendan, her hero, had come to her rescue. She couldn't take her eyes from him as he calmly downed his drink and set the empty glass on the counter.

“I asked you a question, Caroline,” Elliot said in that same low murmur.

Her eyes flew to his and she blinked, as though surprised to find him still there. “Excuse me?”

“What's he doing here?”

In that instant, Caroline realized that she had to pick up the ball. Brendan's entrance had been stupendous. She couldn't flub her part and let him down. “He's just come in from a run.”

“In his bare feet?”

“It's the newest trend,” Brendan injected nonchalantly. “I think it started with Zola Budd in the Olympics.” He dropped his gaze to the toe that hurt like hell and was beginning to swell. “I have to admit that it has its drawbacks.”

Caroline, too, saw the toe. “How did you do that?” she asked, raising hurting eyes to his.

It was all he could do to think of a response when she was looking at him that way. Her eyes were brown, like his. He'd never thought his own particularly scintillating, but hers were. And so soft. And filled with worry.

“I'm afraid—” he made a face and scratched the back of his head “—that I wasn't watching where I was going. There was this Lamborghini that passed me and I made the mistake of turning my head to look at it. I ran into a trash can.” He shrugged. “I suppose I could blame it on the dark—”

“Let me get some ice.”

“No, no, hon, it's okay.” He came to stand by her shoulder, close enough for her arm to graze his chest. “Will Elliot be joining us for dinner?” he asked softly.

Elliot was staring hard at Caroline. “I thought you said there was no one else.”

“There hasn't been—”

“—until now,” Brendan finished.

“We've just recently met,” she explained, but she didn't feel guilt. She knew that would come later. For now, she couldn't think of anything but the large, firm body beside her. Its warmth, a world apart from the June heat, drew her closer. Its scent, ripe with maleness and sweat, filled her senses. Its sheer size made her feel safe and alive and very, very feminine. “Brendan lives across the courtyard,” she added a trifle breathlessly.

Mistaking breathlessness for weakness, Elliot lashed out. “You told me that you needed a break this weekend. That you wanted to be alone. That you had work to do and sleep to catch up on. Is this what I get for squiring you around town for three months straight?”

“No one asked you to do that,” she said quietly.

“But I did it, and you didn't say boo. Now, all of a sudden you don't need me anymore, so you throw me every excuse in the book.”

“I meant what I said.”

“Is that why he's here?” Elliot shot back with a dagger's glance at Brendan. “How do you think this makes me feel?”

Caroline knew how Brendan's presence made
her
feel—warm inside, a little giddy and very excited. Because of those feelings she was having trouble sympathizing with Elliot. “I'm sorry if you're upset.”

“Upset?” He started to raise a hand to his face but dropped it before it reached its goal. “That's a mild word for what I feel.”

Brendan leaned closer to Caroline. His arm crossed her back, hand coming to rest on her arm in light possession. He liked the way her slender body felt by his, liked the smoothness of her skin, the gloss of her hair, the faint floral scent that was so in keeping with his dreams. Most of all, he liked the fact that she was no longer a dream but real.