When You Wish (Contemporary Romance) (6 page)

He watched her, eyes wary; he wasn’t so dumb, or perhaps merely more attuned to feelings than she’d thought. Grace turned and stalked toward her car. Dan followed on her heels.

“Grace, wait.” She kept on going. “I’m sorry.” She growled. “I-I mean, I’m not.”

She spun around with her fists upon her hips. He stopped before he rammed into her back and knocked her into the next county. “Which is it? Sorry or not?”

He tilted his head and stared at her for a long, contemplative moment. “Which would you like?”

Her lips twitched. Definitely not so dumb, after all. Still, she wasn’t going to let him off so easily. Dan was after her dream, and if she started to like him too much, she might just let him take it without a fight.

That could not happen. Too many little people needed Project Hope—and little, sick people were what mattered to Grace. Not the curve of Dan’s lips, the scent of his skin, the tangle of his golden hair beneath the silver moonlight.

She cursed and yanked open the door of her car, leaping inside to get away from him. He caught the door and held on with his typical, superior strength, tugging outward while she pulled inward. “Let go,” she demanded.

“No. Not until you tell me why you’re so mad. Is it the grant?”

“Partly.”

“What’s the other part?”

They both held on to the car door, as if afraid to let go and allow the
other one to win even the smallest tug-of-war. Grace sighed. It was going to be a very long three weeks.

She wasn’t about to
tell Dan that his blasted apology had reminded her of the last man she’d taken to her bed. The last man who had broken her heart. The last man she’d vowed ever would. A man who had always apologized for touching her as if wanting her were his deepest, darkest, guiltiest secret—which had turned out to be the truth.

“Grace?” Dan’s hand slid along the door, and he rested his big, warm fingers atop her smaller, cold hand.

She started at the contrast and would have yanked her hand free, then he rubbed his thumb along the hollow of hers and the gesture soothed her speeding pulse. How could the man set her heart a-racing with one touch, then calm it with the next?

“I didn’t mean—”

“What? To kiss me?”

He frowned. “No. I didn’t mean to upset you. I
meant
to kiss you.”

“Why? You can’t think I’d give in for a kiss.”

“Give in?”

“Give up the grant.”

“That’s not why I kissed you.” He frowned. “Is that why you kissed me?”

His voice had that lost quality again, which kept her from snapping “yes,” a lie to soothe herself.

Could Dan really be this gentle? This sweet? This utterly clueless?

Probably, which meant Grace was in big trouble. Lost boys were her specialty. She couldn’t resist a sad-eyed male.

Before he could entice her any further away from her goals, Grace yanked the door from his grasp. It slammed with a bang, and she clicked the lock shut. Then she pushed her key into the ignition and twisted her wrist, planning to spin out of Mrs. Cabilla’s drive and leave Dan in the dark.

The only problem with her plan was that when she turned the k
ey in the ignition, nothing happened. Grace rested her forehead on the steering wheel.

Tap, tap, tap.

She turned her head to the side. Dan’s face hovered in the dark outside the window. “Need a ride?”

Dan wasn't sure what he'd done to make her so mad. He'd tried to be a gentleman, after nearly turning into an animal, and she’d acted like he’d done just the opposite.

She’d kissed him back, damn it! She’d kissed him back and liked it. She had not flinched from his body’s response to her. She’d welcomed him, wooed him, wanted him. Or at least when her mouth had been against his, he’d believed that. Now he wasn’t so sure. With Grace, Dan wasn’t sure about anything.

She was earth
and fire, woman and passion—different from anyone Dan had ever known. He wanted to know more, even though she’d probably kick his teeth down his throat if he tried.

As he watched her
get out of the car, and discovered how the slit in her white skirt skimmed back from her bronzed thigh, Dan thought a kick in the teeth might just be worth one more kiss.

He followed Grace across the driveway toward his pickup truck. Before he could open the door for her, she did it herself and got inside. Unfortunately the position of the door kept Dan from watching her skirt again. He really liked that skirt.

Can’t have everything, although something, once in awhile, would be nice,
Dan thought.

Abstinence had been his choice for a long time. He had priorities, and women were far down the list. He hadn’t minded—until today. Why, suddenly, with this woman,
did he think of nothing but tumbled sheets, naked bodies, and the scent of her all over him?

With a sigh of d
isappointment, tinged with exasperation, Dan crossed to the driver’s side and got in. Grace perched as close as she could get to the passenger door, as if she’d leap out if he so much as slid an inch closer. Dan was used to people keeping their distance from him, because of both his size and social ineptitude, so why did Grace’s distance hurt?

Maybe because he wanted nothing more than for her to slide across the bench seat and cuddle up against his shoulder as he drove her home—like the conclusion of a date to a drive-in movie?

Dan shook his head at his own foolishness. He’d never been to a drive-in movie. Heck, he hadn’t been on that many dates. As a kid, he’d been too big and awkward for the girls to like. While he was still big, though less awkward, dating didn’t appear like very grown-up behavior, even if he had the guts to go trolling for women in Lake Illusion.

“This doesn’t seem like your kind of car,” Grace ventured.

Dan glanced her way. She still hugged the door, but if she wanted to try polite conversation, he was game. “No? What does? A Ferrari?” He’d always wanted one—fancy, exotic, sleek—three things Dan Chadwick could never be.

“No.” That single word deflated his fantasy. He should have known Grace didn’t see him as a Ferrari kind of guy. Her gaze wandered over his large body, and she bit her lip, concentrating. His eyes fixed upon white teeth against russet lips and stuck there. Her mouth moved. “Not a Porsche, either.”

Pop
went the fantasy of nibbling that lip himself. Dan snorted. In a Porsche he’d resemble a sardine in a can. That’s why he had a pickup—a big guy’s car—meant to get him where he needed to be, any time he needed to be there. Even in the dead of a north woods winter when hardly anyone got anywhere, ever.

“Maybe a Lincoln,” she said. “Navy blue.”

Dan scowled. His father had a navy blue Cadillac—too close for comfort. “Not up here,” he said.

“Then one of t
hose fancy four-by-fours—a Navigator, an Expedition.”

“A car’s a car,” he said, a bit irritably, as he reached under the floor mat for his key.

“Not really. My father and I always played this game when I was a child.” Her voice took on a dreamy quality as she remembered. “We lived in a town very like Lake Illusion. On sunny summer days we would sit downtown, pick a tourist, then try and figure out what kind of car they drove. Dad was very good at the game.”

“Was?”

“He died about eight years ago.”

“Sorry.”

She shrugged. “Long time passing.”

“So how come he was so good at the car game?”

“Figuring out why people did what they did, what they were hiding, if they were lying, that was his job.”

A sudden insight dawned. “He was a lawyer.”

Grace rewarded him with a smile. Dan resisted the urge to stick out his chest and preen.

“Yes, from the inside out. When we played the car game it was one of the few times he played with me, and I ate up the attention. It wasn’t until years later that I realized observing people wasn’t a game to him but practice. And he was right. A car says quite a bit about the owner if you take the time to look.”

Dan glanced through the windshield at her leaf- green Bronco. “If that’s true, then your car doesn’t match you either.”

Her lips curved a bit, and she sat up straighter, away from the door and closer to him. Perhaps small talk wasn’t such a bad idea if it made Grace relax. And he liked hearing about her family. Not only was Grace different from any woman he’d ever known, but her family was fascinating, too. He’d never been interested in people before. Maybe he just hadn’t met the right people.

“Why doesn’t my car match me?”

“If anyone should own a Ferrari it should be you.”

She tilted her head. “Why?”

Didn’t she look in a mirror? “You’re so, so . . .”

“What?”

The word was clipped, irritated. Dan wasn’t sure what he’d done now. “Beautiful, exotic, sleek, and lovely.”

He was proud he’d gotten those words out without stumbling over a few, and proud he’d complimented her without being asked. In his former world, women adored compliments. He’d never quite mastered the knack of giving them, though.

Grace’s face went still, all the animation of their silly conversation wiped free, and she glanced out the window away from him. Somehow he’d screwed up again. “How I look has nothing to do with who I am,” she murmured.

Hmm,
Dan thought,
a woman after my own heart
. How many times had he felt just the same when judged upon his appearance?

He wanted to apologize, but apologizing seemed to be a bad idea with Grace. He wanted to reach across the distance and touch her, but in the close confines of the cab, touching her would be a bad idea, too. If he touched her, even a bit, he’d want to do a whole lot more.

Instead, he said softly, “You have a Ferrari inside, too, Grace. Top of the line.”

She turned and studied him for a long moment, as if she were seeing him for the very first time. “How would you know?”

How
did
he know? Like he was such a great judge of character when he spent most of his time with bottles and beakers? Today was the first day he’d ventured into Lake Illusion in months, and one of the reasons he did what he did was that he wasn’t very good with people Call it a curse—his parents certainly did.

Studying Grace’s intent face, Dan wondered why his second compliment seemed to matter more to her than the first. In his experience, having a Ferrari inside was not as im
portant as having a Ferrari outside. Where he came from, having a Ferrari at all was the important thing.

“Dan?” She wasn’t going to give up. “How would you know anything about my inside, except in a medical chart sort of way?”

He shrugged, hesitated, then told a truth that surprised him. “I just know. Call it a feeling.”

A small smile lit her face. All was forgiven, just like that. He blinked at the sudden change. Every woman he’d ever known held on to a grudge and worked the thing for all it was worth. And they would never have let him off the hook with that “feeling” defense, even if it was the truth.

“I couldn’t afford a toy Ferrari,” she said, “let alone a real one.”

Dan put the key into the ignition. “In that we’re the same.”

“Really?” Her brow creased. “I pegged you for a wealthy guy.”

Dan’s heart did a slow roll, and his hand fell back to his knee. “Why would you think that?”

“You have the air of the raised rich.”

She was right, but he hated that she’d seen it. The environment in which he’d been raised was nothing to brag about. That was another reason he was a researcher, and al
so why his parents had disinherited him years ago. He was an embarrassment to them. He did, however, miss his little sister.

“You’ve seen a lot of the raised rich, have you?”

“Yes, I have. Look around you, Doctor. Lake Illusion is a tourist town—the playground of the wealthy who look for a place to pretend they’re in the woods.”

Dan peered into the dark of the trees surrounding them. “Looks like the woods to me.”

“Out here it is, but that’s only because Mrs. Cabilla has enough money to keep it that way. Back there . . .” She pointed at the distant lights of the city. “Nature is just an illusion.”

Dan didn’t know what to say to that, so he just nodded, then turned the key. Nothing happened. They both turned to look at each other with their mouths hanging open.

“Uh-oh,” Dan said.

“Yeah, uh-oh. A bit too much of a coincidence, wouldn’t you say?”

“Yes.” Dan stared at the dark house, remembering how the electricity had gone off right before Perry’s car disappeared down the drive. What was the little weasel up to?

“Aren’t you going to check on the car?”

“Me?” He glanced at her wide-eyed.

“Maybe you can fix it.”

“Me?”

“You’re a guy, aren’t you?”

“Last I looked.”

“Last I looked, too.”