Warm Hearts (3 page)

It was the responsibility that was so awesome, she decided. Clients came to her with issues of mental health. When she let them down, she felt let down herself. Which was pretty much why, she mused as she cast a glance at the telephone, she felt guilty about the answering machine. She had a responsibility toward her family, too.

Wishing she could be a little more selfish, she set down her tea, went to turn off the machine, then returned to her perch. How could she say no when they wanted to talk? She might not be the alarmist her mother was, but if her mother felt in a panic, then the panic was real. Likewise, she could remind her sister that no one had forced her to juggle a marriage, a law career, and a pregnancy, but still she was proud of Karen and had encouraged her from the start. And as for her brother, Carl, her sadness over his pending divorce was made all the worse by her fondness for his wife, Diane, and the knowledge that she'd been the one to originally bring the two together.

Little complications? She supposed. But they weighed her down. From the time she'd reached her teens, she'd been the Dear Abby of the family. Just as she couldn't heal her father's leg, erase her mother's worries, ease the burden of pregnancy for Karen, or miraculously mend Carl's marital wounds, she couldn't turn a deaf ear to their pleas.

She gave a great sigh, then a tiny moan. Her shift was quickly growing damp from perspiration. Leaning forward, she peeled the light fabric from her back, gave a lethargic twist, then returned to her position against the window frame. She straightened each leg in turn to wipe moisture from the creases behind her knees. Then, planting her feet flat and apart, she gathered the short hem of her shift and tucked it with some decorum between her legs.

One part of her wished she'd taken Elliot up on his offer of air-conditioned solace, but the greater, saner part knew she'd made the right decision. She and Elliot were on their last leg as a couple. He wanted sex; she didn't. If that little complication hadn't cropped up, they might have continued a while longer in a pleasant relationship. But it was only a matter of time before he pushed the issue too far. She would be as tactful as possible, but there was no way she'd go to bed with him out of pity.

Breaking off was going to be awkward. Elliot happened to be the brother of one of her partners. Another little complication. And now Ben had popped back into the Washington scene, apparently willing to pick up where he'd left off. So she needed Elliot a while longer. But she hated to use him that way. She hated it.

With another soft moan, she shifted languidly on the window seat. Sweat trickled down her neck. She pushed it back up with a finger that tangled in loose tendrils of hair fallen from her ponytail. When the wisps fell right back down and clung damply to her nape, she left them alone. Closing her eyes, she tipped her head toward the night and raised the glass of tea to her neck in the hope that the condensation would cool her heated skin.

Then she opened her eyes and saw him—a stranger, far across the courtyard. He was sprawled on the tiny fire escape just beyond his own third-floor window. The night was dark, but the pale golden glow from his apartment outlined his shape, and she couldn't look away.

His hair was thick, spiked damply on his brow. His legs were long, lean and firm, bent at the knees and spread much like hers. He had large shoulders, one slightly lower than the other as he propped his weight on a hand. The other hand dangled over his knee, fingers circling what she assumed to be a beer can. Other than a pair of brief shorts, his body was bare.

Caroline had no idea who he was or where he'd come from. Though she knew her immediate neighbors, his row of town houses faced a different street. She wouldn't have passed him coming or going, and since she didn't own a car, she wouldn't have bumped into him in the courtyard.

She'd never seen anyone on the fire escape before, not that she'd done a lot of looking. Only the heat had brought her to her window tonight; she wondered if it had been the same for him.

With fifty feet of night separating them, she couldn't see his face. But she wanted to. She wanted to see his eyes, or at least his expression, which would be telling. She imagined that he was every bit as hot as she was, and every bit as tired. Was he as frustrated with the little complications in life? Was he feeling the brunt of a million demands? Was he, too, wishing he could escape from it all for a time?

There were no answers to her questions, of course. He was an unknown, a man she had little likelihood of actually meeting. The pace of life in the capital kept people on the move and wasn't at all conducive to leisurely run-ins.

But he was at the right place at the right time. She needed an escape, an outlet for secret thoughts. Features softening in a shy and feminine way, she tipped her head a bit more and gave vent to her fantasies.

He'd be tall. At five-seven, she needed a man who topped six feet. She liked feeling petite and protected, though she hadn't had much experience in being either. She'd always been the protector, it seemed. Granted, it was a psychological distinction, but it wouldn't hurt to set the stage right.

He'd be dark. She fancied that their coloring would be similar. She rather liked the idea that people might take them for brother and sister, while they shared secret smiles at the truth. Her own hair was dark brown, often mistaken for black. His would be the same. And it would be on the long side. There was something rakish about a man with long hair. She could see that it was thick, because it capped his head well, but the shadows on his neck hid its length. Which was okay, because she was only dreaming.

He'd be handsome. His features would be well-defined and boldly cut, giving him a distinctly aristocratic look. Mmm. An aristocratic look. She liked that. She'd never mingled with the aristocracy. Her parents were solidly upper middle-class, but aristocratic? Not quite. Not that she had aspirations of running with the hounds or boogying with the jet set. She'd be bored to death—not to mention the fact that she thought the hunt was cruel and discos gave her a headache. Still, it'd be nice to know that he could have had that and had opted out.

But she was getting away from looks, and she hadn't finished with handsome. His nose would be straight, his cheeks lean, his jaw firm and his lips expressive. She could read a lot in people's lips—relaxed or tight set, chewed or sucked or pursed, curved up or down or drawn into straight lines. Not that she'd have to rely on his mouth to convey his feelings, because he'd have the deepest, most inviting and eloquent brown eyes.

The last thought surprised her. She had brown eyes. She'd never thought them particularly gorgeous. But his would be, she knew, because of all that went along with them.

Oh, and he'd have a heavy five-o'clock shadow. That was because he'd just come in from work or from running. She pictured him a runner. Of course, if he were coming to pick her up, he'd shower and shave first. He'd want to look his best for her. She'd have to tell him that he looked fantastic all grubby and sweaty.

She brought the glass of tea to her cheek and rubbed wet against wet. Tall, dark and handsome. That was what he'd be. People would look at them when they passed, thinking what a stunning couple they made.

She smiled in self-mockery. She wasn't stunning. Attractive, yes. But with him, she'd be stunning. Or she'd feel it, and that would be all that mattered.

Having dispensed with physical attributes, she moved on to other vital statistics. He'd be in his late thirties, just about right for her thirty-one years. She wanted someone older than she was, someone more experienced. If he was in his late thirties, even early forties, he'd be well established in his chosen field. He'd be successful, of course, but more important than that, he'd be confident. She needed a confident man, because she was, overall, a confident woman. She was also introspective and insightful, qualities that intimidated a man who was less sure of himself.

She intimidated Elliot, who compensated by artificially inflating his strengths and successes. To some extent she'd intimidated Ben. At least, she'd assumed that was what she'd done, because she couldn't find any other reason why he'd always felt the need to come on so forcefully. She was by nature a watcher and a listener; when she spoke, she had something pertinent to say. Some men found that to be a threat.

He wouldn't. He'd be a strong man but one who welcomed her opinions. He'd appreciate the fact that she thought about things, that she was fascinated by her own motives and those of others. He'd be able to listen without getting defensive. At the same time, he'd be able to offer his own opinions without insisting that they were law.

Open-minded. She figured that summed it up. He'd be open-minded, thoughtful and intelligent. His career? She straightened one leg on the seat and flexed her toes while she thought about that for a minute. He'd have to be in a caring profession. A doctor? Perhaps. Maybe a psychiatrist. That way they'd be able to bounce cases off each other. Then again, many of the psychiatrists she knew were weird. Chalk psychiatrist and put in teacher. Mmm, that idea appealed to her. He'd be involved with kids. Maybe college kids. She had her share of clients from local colleges and found her work with them to be particularly rewarding. They wanted help. They could respond.

She brushed her arm over her forehead, pushing back damp strands of hair. The stranger didn't move, other than to occasionally take a drink from the can he held. It was a light beer, she decided. He wasn't really a drinker, but he needed something to quench his thirst and beer was the best. Light beer, because he didn't want to develop a beer belly, though he was more health-conscious than vain.

Health-conscious was a good thing to be at his age. It was a good thing to be at any age, but if he was approaching his forties, it was all the more important.

She paused for an instant as a new thought struck. If he was nearly forty, tall, dark, handsome, self-confident, successful and caring, there had to be a good reason why he wasn't married. Because he wasn't. She didn't fool with married men. Besides, if his apartment mirrored hers, it wasn't suitable for two.

Perhaps he was divorced. He may have married young and none too wisely—she'd forgive him that early innocence—then redeemed himself by ending the union before two lives, or more, were ruined.

Maybe he'd never married at all. He'd been too involved in his career. Or—she rather liked this idea—he'd been waiting for the right woman to come along.

Well, Tall-Dark-and-Handsome, here I am.
But she didn't have to tell him that. He'd know. One glance and he'd know. She wasn't looking her best just then, but that wouldn't matter to him. He'd want her for better or for worse. And worse wasn't all that bad. Hadn't Connie said she looked sexy?

Well, Caroline decided with a fanciful sigh, so did he. There he was on his fire escape, tired and sweaty and, really, when she came right down to it, not much more than a full-bodied shadow. Still, she imagined that he was sexy as hell. True, her opinion was tinged by everything else she'd conjured up, but since she was into the fantasy, she'd do it right.

He'd be the epitome of raw masculinity. One look at him close up and she'd feel those awakening tingles deep inside. She tried to remember when she'd felt them last. It might have been with Ben, at the beginning, when she'd been snowed by his style. Or it might have been with Jonathan Carey, her first and only other lover, but she suspected that what she'd felt then had had more to do with the excitement of being a freshman in college and finally “doing it.” Then again, the last time she'd felt those tingles, really felt them, might have been when she was seventeen and necking in Greg O'Malley's Mustang. When Greg had grazed her breasts, her insides had come to life. It had all been so new then—new and mysterious and forbidden.

It would be new with Tall-Dark-and-Handsome, too. New as in mind-boggling, heart stopping and soul reaching. He would be a stupendous lover. Caroline could see it in the way he held himself. His body was well tuned and coordinated. Ropy shoulders, tight hips, long, lean legs … sexy … oh, Lord …

She clamped her thighs together and took a shaky breath, a little shocked by her physical reaction to thoughts alone. And just then, in that moment of reality's intrusion, she noticed something. The profile of the dark stranger across the courtyard had changed. He'd turned his head. He was looking at her.

Her heartbeat tripped. A flush spread over her cheeks, deepening that already created by the heat. For a split second she feared that he knew all she'd been thinking. She wondered how long he'd been looking at her and wondered why she hadn't noticed sooner. Perhaps because it was normal for a man to look at a woman when they were making love?

But the fantasy was over and still he looked. She averted her gaze for a minute, then looked right back. Her embarrassment eased. Her chin came up a notch. She knew that he couldn't possibly know her thoughts. And if he did, what of it? She was an adult. She was free to dream as she saw fit.

That brought her to the fantasy's bottom line. She would be swept off her feet by Tall-Dark-and-Handsome, swept up, up and away from the hassles of her life, but there would be no strings attached. She could come and go as she pleased. She would feel neither responsibility nor guilt. No restrictions. No little complications.

It sounded divine.

But there was another sound just then. She swung her head around. Her telephone. She glanced back at the stranger. He didn't move. The phone rang again. She wasn't sure whether he could hear the ring, but on the chance that he could, she had to answer it. Pushing herself up, she crossed the floor in resignation.

“Hello?”

“Gladys?” asked an elderly male voice.

“Excuse me?”

“Is this Gladys?”

She couldn't believe it. “You must have the wrong number.”