Every Waking Moment Page 7

  That left Gail seated next to Blake in the front. Somehow, without Heather sitting between them, she found it much harder to relax.

  The best way to avoid feeling self-conscious with someone, she’d learned long ago, was to ask that person questions about himself. She’d tried that tactic before with Blake, and he’d avoided answering her. Maybe now that he knew her better, he would answer some of the questions she was dying to ask.

  She waited until Heather had settled down with her drawing, then asked the obvious question first. “How long have you been in real estate?”

  He didn’t answer right away. For a long, awkward moment she thought he wasn’t going to answer at all. She stole a look at his profile. He stared straight ahead at the road winding in front of them, his hands resting squarely on the wheel.

  Finally, after the pause had gone on much too long, he said quietly, “Not very long. I found my previous job too stressful, and I finally quit. It took me a while to find something else.”

  “What was your previous job?”

  He must have expected the question, yet his jaw tensed, as if he resented having to reply. “I was a teacher.”

  She sensed there was more behind his words than he was saying. She wondered if he’d been in some kind of trouble, and if that was why he was reluctant to talk about his past.

  “What did you do before you sold books?” he asked suddenly, startling her out of her thoughts.

  Now it was her turn to act evasive. Her mind floundered while she sought for an answer. “I was an accounts clerk for a...department store. I wrote up contracts on purchases, processed credit cards; that kind of thing. All very boring.”

  She glanced at Heather over her shoulder. The little girl was still absorbed in her drawing. “So tell me about the East Coast. Whereabouts did you live? You don’t have much of an accent.”

  “I’ve lived in a lot of places.” His laugh sounded a little strained.

  “Really? Which place did you like best?”

  “I guess it depends on what you consider a perfect environment. For me, that’s always been the Northwest.”

  “I’ve never been farther east than Montana, but so far I haven’t seen anyplace I’d rather live.” She sat forward, scanning the highway. “There’s a turnoff up here on the left. If you take that you’ll cut off about ten miles.”

  He slowed the car and made the left turn. “You must find Mellow Springs pretty dull after living in a city.”

  Her pulse skipped. She stared at him, but saw nothing in his expression to alarm her. “I didn’t live in a city,” she said, her voice rising just a little. “I lived in Newberg. It’s a very small town about thirty miles southwest of Portland.”

  He glanced at her. “You told me you lived in Seattle once.”

  “Oh.” She felt foolish for jumping on his innocent remark. “Well, that was a long time ago, when I was growing up. I left Seattle as soon as I was old enough to fend for myself.”

  “That must have been tough, growing up in foster homes.”

  “It was.” For an instant a picture of a small child flashed across her mind. The child was herself, and she was crying, clinging to the broad hips of a woman with a kind face and a sad smile.

  She felt the lump forming in her throat and forced back the memories. Twisting around, she reached out a hand and ruffled her daughter’s hair. “How is everything going back there, honey?”

  “Fine.” Heather picked up the sheet of paper and studied it. “I’m all done.”

  “That’s good. You want to come up front with me now?”

  “Okay.” Heather scrambled over the seat and slid between Gail and Blake.

  If he realized that she had deliberately ended the conversation, Gail thought, he showed no signs of it. He chatted with Heather, making her laugh with silly jokes, until finally Gail joined in.

  The rest of the journey went much faster than usual. In no time at all, it seemed, they were driving down the main street of Parkerville, looking for a place to eat lunch.

  Heather, for once, was on her best behavior. Although eager to get to the children’s museum, she sat quietly, wading through an enormous plate of spaghetti, while Gail did her best not to notice the way Blake’s eyes lit up every time the child spoke to him.

  How sad that he’d had no children of his own, she thought, feeling an ache in her heart for him. He would have made a wonderful father. She wondered why he hadn’t married again, then remembered his terse reply to her question. “I was a teacher.”

  Again she wondered what kind of tragedy lay behind those brief words. Obviously something he didn’t want to talk about. It seemed as though they both had secrets they wanted to keep.

  The afternoon passed by much too quickly. Usually Gail kept one eye on the clock, judging how long Heather could stay without overtiring both of them. With Blake there, however, the visit to the museum took on an entirely new spirit of adventure for both Gail and her daughter.

  Blake had enough energy for all three of them, it seemed. He appeared to be tireless as he explored prehistoric jungles with Heather, played computer games and taught her how to play “Jingle Bells” with her feet on a giant keyboard.

  Heather was ecstatic she’d found such an enthusiastic playmate. As for Gail, she had never before found the exhibits quite so interesting.

  When Blake challenged her to a race through an intricate system of mirrored mazes, she eagerly accepted. Heather dashed ahead, though, experience giving her an easy victory.

  Gail found herself alone in a narrow corridor facing three possible openings, with dozens of her reflections staring back at her from every conceivable angle.

  From somewhere on her left she heard Blake chuckle, and hurled herself at the opening—straight into his arms. Whether he had planned it or not, she couldn’t be sure. He held her for a brief instant, then let her go. Unnerved by her reaction to the unexpected contact, she jerked back, out of his reach.

  His gaze seemed to burn into her soul, then his features relaxed in a grin. “I win.”

  Grateful to him for being sensitive enough to ignore the awkward moment, she raised her chin in a challenge. “We’re not out yet.” She darted past him and plunged once more into the maze of mirrors.

  Seconds later she saw the exit and headed for it, well aware that he could easily have outdistanced her. Heather cheered when she saw her mother emerge victorious from the garishly painted exit, followed closely by “Uncle” Blake.

  “You let me win,” Gail protested, laughing.

  “No way.” His smile suggested otherwise, however, and once more she had to fight the urge to throw her arms around him and give him a warm hug.

  When she finally checked her watch, she was horrified to see that it was almost closing time. “We should leave,” she told Blake, over Heather’s loud protests. “It’s a school day tomorrow.”

  “Quite right.” Blake swung Heather up to sit on his shoulders. “Come on, squirt, let’s race Mommy to the car.”

  Heather slept most of the way home in the back seat, while Gail did her best to sort through her chaotic thoughts. The more time she spent with Blake, the more she was learning to trust him.

  She sensed that he was a man of high principles, and whatever trouble he’d faced in the past, it had hurt him badly. It could have been his divorce, or something to do with his abandoned teaching profession. Whatever it was, she was certain he was above reproach.

  She had thought she could never trust another person again as long as she lived. She’d been wrong. She knew now that she would be willing to trust Blake with her life.

  The question, though, was whether or not she could trust him with her secret. Being a man of high principles, would he be able to accept her story and believe in her innocence, when so many didn’t?

  He was beginning to care for her, she could tell. It was in his eyes when he looked at her, and in that sudden stillness whenever she got too close to him. Was she throwing away a chance of happiness by k
eeping him at arm’s length?

  On the other hand, if she told him her story, she ran the risk of disillusioning him. It would be terrible to see that warm look in his eyes turn cool and watch him struggle to let her down gently.

  “I hope I’m not the reason for that scowl,” he remarked, scattering her thoughts.

  She glanced at him, feeling a little self-conscious. “Of course not. I was thinking about all the chores that didn’t get done this weekend.”

  “I guess I should apologize for that. I’ve monopolized your time.”

  “Not at all. I had a wonderful time, and so did Annie. She’ll be talking about it for days. It was definitely worth a few missed chores.”

  “I’m glad about that.”

  She stared back at the road, trying to make up her mind if it would be a mistake to invite him back to dinner. It would seem ungracious if she didn’t, under the circumstances, she decided.

  “I have a couple of steaks in the freezer,” she said, trying to sound indifferent. “If you haven’t anything better to do, you’re welcome to stay and have dinner with us.”

  Again she waited through one of his long pauses, her heart racing with apprehension. Perhaps it hadn’t been such a good idea after all.

  “I’d love to join you for dinner, if you’re sure it’s no trouble.”

  She swallowed. “No trouble at all. Annie will be delighted.”

  “I’m pretty good at washing dishes.”

  “Then it’s settled. I never turn down an offer to help with the dishes.” She’d managed to sound casual enough. Now all she had to do was get through the rest of the evening without messing things up.

  Heather chatted incessantly throughout dinner, much to Gail’s relief. It saved her from having to field any more questions from Blake. Just as she was beginning to relax, however, Heather complicated matters again by asking “Uncle” Blake if he would read her a bedtime story.

  “Honey, I don’t think so,” Gail said, before Blake could answer. “You’ve just about worn out Uncle Blake today. I think it’s time we gave him a rest.”

  Heather pouted. “I want him to read me a story.”

  Blake pushed himself away from the table. “I’ll be happy to read a story. I’m not exactly experienced in this sort of thing but I’m willing to give it a shot.”

  “You really don’t have to—” Gail began.

  “I’d like to,” he interrupted. “Now, why don’t you get Annie ready for bed while I do the dishes?”

  She struggled for a moment longer with her doubts. “You’ve just made me an offer I can’t refuse,” she said at last. “But I don’t want to be left out of the fun, so if you don’t mind, I’ll sit in on the story, too.”

  Solemnly Blake leaned toward Heather and whispered, “Do you think we should let her listen to the story, too?”

  Heather looked a little worried. “I think she heard you,” she whispered back.

  “I guess we’d better let her listen, then. Huh?”

  Heather nodded, and looked anxiously at her mother. “You can listen if you like, Mommy.”

  “Oh, thank you.” Gail raised her eyebrows at Blake. “This is indeed an honor.”

  “I hope you appreciate the performance.” He pushed himself away from the table. “Now I’d better get to those dishes.”

  “Come on, Mommy.” Heather jumped down from her chair. “I have to get to bed so’s I can hear the story.”

  Amused, Gail followed her eager daughter to the bathroom. It was usually a major struggle to get Heather to bed on time.

  Blake had finished stacking the dishwasher when she returned to the living room a short while later.

  “That was the shortest bath on record,” she told him, when he looked up from the section of the Sunday newspaper he was reading.

  “Ah, I take it my eager audience awaits.” He folded the paper and stood, looking taller and more imposing than she remembered.

  She’d had trouble all evening dealing with his magnetic presence in her home. Now that they were alone in the room, she could feel her tension increasing again. “Thanks for doing the dishes.” She glanced over at the kitchen. “I’m impressed. Not many men can do such an efficient job.”

  “Comes from years of practice.” He gestured toward the bedrooms. “Shall we go?”

  She nodded and awkwardly led the way to Heather’s room.

  Her daughter sat up in bed, her damp hair curling over her ears as she waited expectantly for her visitor.

  “We’ve chosen the book,” Gail said, handing it to him. “It’s one of Annie’s favorites.” She pulled a small bedside chair forward and motioned him to sit down.

  He was beginning to look self-conscious now that he was onstage, she couldn’t help noticing. The children’s book she’d chosen was just a few pages long, but he leafed through it as if it were a two-hundred-page tome on ancient civilization.

  Heather sat watching him, her lively eyes brimming with excitement. “It’s the story of the Three Little Pigs,” she told him. “And. you have to huff and puff and blow the house down.”

  Blake looked up, his face brightening. “Oh, I know that one.” Settling back, he began to read. “‘Once upon a time...’”

  Gail settled herself on the edge of the bed, helpless to prevent the sweet ache of longing that gripped her as he read the story with all the sincerity of a born storyteller. Heather lay quite still, her gaze unwavering on his face. Seeing the two of them together like that was almost more than Gail could bear.

  As he turned the last page, Heather sighed, and gave up the battle to force her eyelids open. Blake leaned forward and kissed the child lightly on the forehead. “Sleep tight,” he whispered.

  In the second before he composed his expression, Gail saw such a searing pain in his face, she almost cried out. Now she new what it was that hurt him. He was thinking about his ex-wife, and the child they’d never had.

  Her illogical stab of jealousy shocked her. It was a measure of how deep her feelings for him had grown. She stood abruptly and drew the covers over Heather’s bare shoulder.

  The chair creaked as Blake got to his feet. He moved quietly toward the door and she followed him, her heart beginning to pound.

  The quiet intimacy of the moment had stripped her of all her defenses. She wanted this man, and she wasn’t ashamed to admit it.

  She followed him into the living room, her gaze traveling over his broad shoulders. The maroon knit shirt he wore stretched tight across his back, and she had an almost-uncontrollable urge to slip her hand beneath it.

  The erotic impulse stole her breath, and she felt as if she were suffocating. She longed to be outside, feeling the cold air on her cheeks, yet at the same time she wanted to keep him there for as long as possible.

  He reached for his jacket, which lay across the back of the couch. “Well, I guess I’d better get going.”

  “Would you like a cup of coffee?”

  She wasn’t sure if she was relieved or disappointed when he shook his head.

  “Thanks, but I think I’ll move along. I don’t want to overstay my welcome.”

  “You’ll never do that. You’ll always be welcome in this house.” She crossed the room with him, taking care to keep a distance between them.

  He paused at the door, and she made herself look up at him. To her dismay she saw a shadow of the sadness she’d seen earlier. “Thank you,” she said gently. “You gave one little girl a truly wonderful weekend, which I’m sure she’ll never forget.”

  “I’ll never forget it, either.” His gaze rested intently on her face, and once again she was conscious of the world around her fading into insignificance.

  It was almost hypnotic, the effect he had on her. Never before had she felt so vulnerable in someone’s presence without so much as being touched by him. His hold over her was purely emotional, It was as if he could reach a deeper part of her that had never been invaded before.

  He both frightened and exhilarated her to an almos
t-unbearable pitch. Every atom of her being yearned to be touched by him—to know the feel of his hands on her, of his mouth hard on hers, demanding satisfaction.

  She was terrified he would be able to read her thoughts, yet she was helpless to prevent them from tumbling through her mind. She couldn’t stop the trembling that shook her body. He must see. He must know how much she wanted him.

  Perhaps he did, for she saw his mouth tighten, his jaw tense. His eyes narrowed to slits, and the light that burned in them seemed to sear her soul.

  Nervously she moistened her lips while his gaze moved down over her mouth, her neck, her breasts, as intimate as an actual caress of his fingers.

  Her body responded at once, tingling with anticipation.

  “Kate,” he said softly, “I...”

  She drew in a sharp breath. The sound seemed to intensify the fire in his gray eyes. His nostrils flared, and he made a tiny movement toward her.

  Her head swam with the force of her passion. Her entire body felt as if it were alight. If he touched her now, she thought desperately, she would explode.

  “Damn.”

  The fiercely muttered curse jolted her. Stilt fighting the urgent demands of her body, she watched him spin around and grope for the door handle. “Good night, Kate,” he muttered, and disappeared out the door.

  She thought she would never get to sleep that night. He’d aroused a need in her that couldn’t be denied. She tossed and turned, trying to ignore the gnawing ache deep in her belly.

  She could almost feel his fingers tracing fiery patterns on her bare skin, and the rasp of his long legs entwining with hers. Her lips trembled with the burning need to kiss his shoulders, his back, his chest...until he reached for her with an urgency as intense as her own.

  She had heard about women relieving themselves when something like this happened, yet she had never been driven to try it herself. Now, for the first time, she understood. For some reason, that made her cry.

  Blake had driven the two miles to the hotel in a haze of aching, relentless need. Now, lying in bed and unable to sleep, he cursed himself over and over for succumbing to his physical desires. It had been so long since he’d wanted a woman this badly. If ever.