birth and death? Was this why she hadn’t been able to conceive naturally with her husband?
How long had they been trying before they’d resorted to IVF? Treatment for infertility could put an enormous strain on a couple’s marriage. The divorce made more sense to him, now.
He looked up from the current task he was working on—arranging platters of crackers, cheese and dips; he didn’t even remember Jillian asking him to do it—and there was Stacey herself, following Jillian into the kitchen with a big, glass-lidded casserole dish in her hands. He wanted to confront her with a hundred questions about her marriage, the fertility treatment, the divorce, and almost had to bite his tongue to keep them back.
He’d never felt such a powerful need to make sure that someone was all right. It stunned him that he could still feel so protective toward her, that he obviously at some level considered he still had, oh, visiting rights to her heart, the way Dr. Jake Logan, specialist in ob-gyn, had visiting rights to Portland General Hospital.
“Hi, Jake,” she said, her eyes huge and bright and…yeah…aware. Nervous. It must show in both of them.
She wore a short-sleeved cream top in some silky, lacy fabric that clung to every curve on her body. A full skirt in a light, patterned fabric swished around her legs and emphasized the swing of her hips when she moved. Her cheeks were pink from the cold outside air between her car and the house, and her honey-toned hair glistened with drops of rain like diamonds scattered over gold.
“Hi.” His voice didn’t come out right. His body felt angular and awkward, and forbidden parts of it throbbed.
“In the oven?” Jillian asked her, talking about the casserole.
“Yes,” Stacey said, “because I made it this morning and it’s chilled from the fridge. Don’t make the temperature too hot, though.”
“Jake?” Jillian gestured at the sleek stainless steel front of the wall oven, with its row of control knobs.
“Do I know how to switch it on? No clue.” He stepped toward it just as Stacey put her casserole down on the countertop and did the same.
They stood side by side, studying the situation. He knew he’d swayed too close to her, but he couldn’t help it. It felt right, standing close, where he could smell her sweetness and glance down at her pretty profile. He noticed she didn’t move away. Her skirt brushed his legs.
Chemistry, again.
Memories.
Needs.
“Hmm,” she murmured. “Five separate controls, and none of them have words on.”
“This one?” He reached toward it.
“Maybe.” She seemed skeptical, and tilted her head. At thirty-five, the fluted line of her neck was still smooth. “But which setting? Do we want plain rectangle, or rectangle with horizontal line near the top, or rectangle with—”
“You’re right,” he agreed. “What happened to words? And what idiot designs these symbols?”
“I’m going out on a limb, here. I’m going with rectangle with horizontal line near the bottom and Mercedes-Benz symbol in the middle.”
“I think the Mercedes-Benz symbol must mean the fan, although I’m sure the car company is appreciative of the publicity.”
Stacey laughed, then turned the control to the setting they’d agreed on.
Nothing happened.
She shrugged at him and smiled. Not the million-watt smile, but the crooked one with the dimple in one cheek. Her sarcastic smile. He remembered it very well. Only Stacey Handley produced dimples along with her sarcasm. “Any new theories, Sherlock?” she asked.
Right now, he didn’t want theories. He didn’t care if it took their combined brainpower another hour to work out how to switch the oven on, as long as it meant they could keep standing close—flirting, remembering the good times instead of the bad—and he could watch her mouth as she spoke.
More people had arrived. What was it about parties that made everyone crowd into the kitchen, when he had that whole professionally decorated great room through the doorway, where they were supposed to congregate? He heard greetings, including the voices of his brothers Ryan and Scott, but didn’t turn around.
“This one must be the timer setting,” he said to Stacey, as if the oven controls also governed the whole solar system.
“And this is the temperature control. It does actually have numbers, if not words.”
They both reached for the remaining knob at the same time, and Jake’s hand landed on top of hers. They turned and looked into each other’s eyes. “I—I’m not prepared for this,” she said, breathy and gabbling. “I know I’m responsible for it just as much as you are. But I’m not prepared.” Still…she left her hand where it was, beneath his. He let the ball of his thumb make slow circles over her knuckles.
“Let’s assume it blows up Russia and go with the rectangles instead,” he said softly.
“I—I didn’t mean the control.”
“I know, and you’re losing yours a little, aren’t you?”
For an answer, she just closed her eyes.
“So am I,” he muttered, intending that she should hear, and she did. She pressed her lips together into two tight lines and he wanted to kiss them and soften them and make them part, using his own mouth.
Hell, what was he doing?
He couldn’t afford this. Neither of them could. They shared a past but there was no way they could share a future, which meant that following up on his instinctive, powerful, astonishingly familiar attraction just wasn’t on. There’d be nowhere for it to go. The attitudes that had separated them hadn’t changed. There were feelings they’d never talked about or dealt with.
“Turn it,” she said. He couldn’t even work out what she meant, for a moment. “I think the first setting has to be for the broiler plate, and the second is for the oven.”
“Right. Yes.”
“If we put the temperature at about 320…” She did so, and at last the oven responded. They heard a fan start up, and when Stacey picked up the casserole and Jake opened the oven door, they could already feel warmth spilling onto their faces.
“Bingo!” he said.
“Great things happen when two powerful minds work together, Lo—Jake.”
She’d almost called him Logan, the way she had yesterday in her office, but she’d read the same danger into those old teasing habits as he had, so she’d quickly changed course.
Changing course wasn’t enough. She was frowning now, as if playing out memories of the far darker times they’d shared. They needed to get this out in the open—the ongoing attraction, the sense of familiarity, and all the important things they’d never said.
“Let’s get a drink and go somewhere where we can talk,” he
