don’t want to make you cry again, that’s for sure, Joy. I couldn’t be sorrier about the first time.”
He sat, indicating that he wanted her to start first, his hands at his sides as she took a bite and closed her eyes in bliss.
“Let’s not talk about that. This is so good I can’t even begin to tell you.”
He grinned. “Thanks. Mom would be pleased. Well, maybe not that I helped screw up your day, but that her cooking lessons worked.”
“She must be a fabulous cook.”
“Straight from heaven,” he agreed, digging in to his own dinner.
“Are you an only child?”
“Nope, three sisters, and Mom insisted we all learn to cook, and Dad insisted we all know our way around a toolbox and a car engine.”
“Sounds like a great family.”
“I love them, but I’m biased,” he said, grinning.
She set her fork down, taking a breather and reaching for her glass of water, frowning as she looked at it. “You know, I think I have some wine in the other room—I’ll get it. It was a gift, and I haven’t had a chance to open it. Food this delicious deserves more than water to accompany it.”
“Sounds good,” he added, smiling as she stood to leave the room.
She walked away, weirdly light in her step—after such a terrible, horrible day, she was almost … happy. Reaching to retrieve the wine from the top of the cabinet where she’d set it six months before—she didn’t often drink by herself—she didn’t question why she was so happy, and returned to the kitchen, stopping short of the table.
“Oh … damn.”
“What?”
“I don’t have a corkscrew.”
“No problem—do you have a toolbox?”
She eyed him warily. “Uh, sure. My dad gave me one when I bought the house.”
“Nice thinking. Grab it and we’ll have this open in a jiff.”
She did and came back to watch him poise a pointy-looking tool over the cork, aiming with the hammer over the wooden handle. He smiled at her, full of mischief, and her heart somersaulted, just a little.
“Move back—in case I miss.”
“Maybe we shouldn’t—”
Before she could object, he’d brought the hammer down in three expert taps, never missing a beat, and she watched as he pushed the cork down into the wine, drew back and gently levered the sharp point of the tool from the floating cork. Then they were back at the table, finishing their meal and drinking a spicy pinot noir that had only a few bits of cork floating in the bottle.
“Rafe,” she started, sitting back in her chair, stuffed and not sure how to broach the conversation. He looked at her curiously, but didn’t speak, taking a sip from his glass. The memory of what his mouth felt like—in her dreams, anyway—made her lose her breath for a moment. What was going on?
She never reacted this way to men, even to men she liked. Joy never got the jitters, the quivers and goose bumps other women talked about—in fact, she didn’t experience many of the things with men that other women talked about. It was her nature, and she’d come to accept it, but Rafe was throwing her off.
“I really appreciate this—the food and the company, and the apology, though you know, I’ve been superstressed at work lately. It wasn’t your fault, not really—I don’t know what possessed me to listen to that disk in the middle of the main office. I guess I didn’t think, and that’s my fault, not yours.”
His eyes darkened. “I’m sorry for my part in it anyway. Are you in serious trouble?”
She shrugged. “I managed to save it at the last minute. I came up with an explanation that was more or less true, sorta.” She smiled a little, and he smiled back. “I’m up for a promotion, and I don’t know if it’s going to happen. I deserve it, I’ve worked hard for it, but I’ve been so tired lately, and it’s been hard keeping up with everything that’s landing on my desk.”
“What do you do?”
“Public relations for Carr Toys.”
“Cool! You work for a toy company?”
“Yeah, I thought it would be cool, too. It’s not. Carr is just another big business trying to make its bottom line. There are some really interesting departments, like the toy design or marketing, but my work involves a lot of pressure, arguing and such.”
“How so?”
“I handle toy recalls and company-image issues. You know, like now, with the Toddler Tank, the truck?”
“I saw that story in the paper—that’s you?”
“Well, yeah, I’m the lead on customer relations and media communications. It’s been a disaster, the wheels falling off of the truck that every little boy wants for Christmas, wheels that present a potential choking hazard. Parents hate Carr toys, and I have to somehow make them happy—the parents and the company.”
“That doesn’t sound fun,” he admitted with a frown. “I never really thought about what happened on the company end of one of those recalls.”
“You mentioned you’re an EMT, like for the fire department?” she asked, taking the focus away from herself. The wine was making her warm. She studied the slight sheen of perspiration on Rafe’s brow, finding it sexy, and licked her lips unconsciously, the taste of wine and sauce still lingering there. She wondered if he tasted as he did in her dreams….
“Yeah, in New York City, for a hospital, not the NYFD. Best city in the world, no offense.” He grinned again. “But the insomnia has been dogging me for months—I finally had to take a leave of absence when I almost crashed my ambulance. So, here I am, trying to get over it. Thought a vacation somewhere new, away from the job, might help.”
She groaned. “Only to find a loud woman next door keeping you up all night … I’m so sorry. I wish there was something I could do about it. I keep having these dreams,” she said emphatically and then remembered whom she was talking to—and exactly whom she was dreaming about—and stopped short.
“When did they start?” he prompted softly, but the mood changed between them, crackling with sexual tension. She swallowed hard.
“I was having them for a while, but they were just fuzzy, indistinct, frustrating…. Then when you moved in, I saw you…. Suddenly they were about you. I don’t know why.”
He nodded, and her face turned even hotter, though it wasn’t the wine anymore. She was incredibly embarrassed at what she was revealing—the wine was loosening her tongue a little too much, and she pushed the glass away.
“Hey, don’t be embarrassed. I’m flattered, personally speaking, but on the other hand, somniloquy is a real sleep disorder.”
“Som—what?”
