fuzzy and blurred at the edges, her neighbor was downright dazzling.
Spence sank into the webbed lawn chair across from her and stretched out his long legs. Suit and tie were typical workday attire for him, but at some point he’d jettisoned the suit jacket and tie. He was still wearing formal, navy suit pants, though, and his white shirt was opened at his sun-bronzed throat.
The first time Gwen had met him, her hormones had a heart attack. Still did. Spence was a six-foot-one-inch depth charge of virility, built lean and elegant, with dark hair as thick as a mink’s and chocolate brown eyes. Energy and drive seemed to seep from his pores. Lots of character and intelligence were written in the character lines on his face, but to heck with that, he had the slowest, sexiest smile on a man that she’d ever seen. He owned a marketing firm. Gwen had no trouble picturing him as an unstoppable dynamo in business—or with women.
If he’d been any less intimidating, Owen doubted they’d ever have made friends. And they weren’t precisely friends, more good neighbors and cosufferers in the single parent life. She knew little about his ex-wife, beyond that her name was May and she’d literally dropped the baby in Spence’s lap and taken off on him. He’d moved here a couple years ago, motivated to find a house in a good school system and a neighborhood with kids. Chicken pox had initiated their first conversation—his April came down with it at the same time as her Josh. Spence had been beside himself and had come knocking on her door for advice.
Gwen curled up her legs, well aware that her hair was an unbrushed mop and her feet were bare. Her ex had been an overwhelming hunk—Ron had dominated every room he walked into—but Spence made her ex look like an untried boy. These days Gwen usually had the good sense to plaster herself against the nearest wallpaper anywhere near that type of intimidating man.
With Spence, that maestro intimidating factor iconically made him comfortable to be with. He’d seen her patchwork skirt and pink T-shirt before. He’d seen her looking like she’d been through a daylong train wreck before. Talking to him had always been easy, simply because she’d never suffered an ounce of nerves that he could conceivably be personally interested in her. A dazzling panther was hardly likely to notice a cookie maker and a born den mother. He could be a feast for her housewife eyes without a kernel of risk. He already knew she was a mouse. There was nothing to hide, nothing to worry about.
It wasn’t the first evening he’d sprawled in her lawn chair to waste a few minutes relaxing. “So... you looked lost in serious thoughts when I walked up. Were those dark thoughts all for Mrs. Cox?”
“Nope. To be honest, I was thinking about being rsckless.”
“Reckless, huh?” Spence’s smile was lazy, easy, but there seemed a sudden flash of something in his eyes. When he saw her reaching for an empty glass, he leaned over and swiftly poured her another splash of rum. “Did I hear right from the kids that it’s your birthday today?”
“Yup. Three-oh.”
“Uh-oh. I just passed thirty-four a few months ago. That was bad enough, but those birthdays that end in zeros are always killers. Big soul-searching time, hmm?”
“’Fraid so. In fact, it was just occurring to me that I’ve made a total mess of my life.” She frowned, unsure how that had just slipped out. Sharing chicken pox and carpooling dilemmas came a lot more naturally with Spence than anything seriously personal. She lifted her rum glass and then uneasily clunked it back down. Temporarily there seemed to be three full moons in the sky, two sets of swing sets in the backyard, and the expression in Spence’s eyes seemed deep and caring and... intimate. Almost sexily intimate.
There seemed to be a teensy bundle of evidence mounting up that she’d passed her tolerance limit for rum—about two glasses ago.
Spence settled back in the shadows, but she could still feel his gaze on her face. “Now what’s this about making a total mess of your life? The last I noticed, you had two damned terrific kids—”
“Yeah, I do. And I couldn’t adore my monsters more. But they’re about the only thing in my life that I’ve done right.” For some unknown reason, her skirt had hiked up to her thighs. She leaned forward to push the material down. A terrible mistake. Even that slight movement made her head swim. The way Spence was looking at her made her blood sluice through her veins faster than a sled in the luge. She was, of course, imagining that look. For dead sure, she had fully intended to level part of that rum bottle, felt no guilt at all about it. But who’d have guessed a little liquor could addle her brain this fast and this foolishly?
“What is it you think you’ve done so wrong?” he asked gently.
“Everything.”
“Like what?”
It was like a genie had opened the trapdoor on her tongue. A demon genie. Gwen was positive she never meant to answer, yet all this stupid nonsense bubbled out. “I make a living as a bookkeeper. It’s a good living. Only I hate working with numbers and have always hated working with numbers. I come from Vermont, but I’m living in St. Augustine in a house my ex-husband built. It’s a great house, and I love the whole area as far as raising kids. But I never chose that, either. He did. I can’t think of one thing I ever chose to do—or be—on my own. Even in my family. I have two fantastic sisters. The older one’s a powerhouse in business, the younger one is an incredible artist. And then there’s me. The mouse.”
“Gwen,” Spence said quietly, “you are not a mouse.”
“Yeah, I am,” she said stubbornly. The words were slurring; so were the thousand thoughts catapulting through her mind. But none of that dizziness seemed to soften the truth. “I’ve spent thirty years letting things happen to me. Instead of standing up for myself, I just followed in the back of someone else’s line. I can’t even remember if or when I had any dreams or goals of my own. There just never seemed the time to figure them out. The best I can say is that I’ve aced the course in responsibility.”
“You’ve had a mountain to handle alone, Gwen. And the last I noticed, being responsible was a hell of a fine quality.”
“Maybe. But it’s tedious and boring. I feel boring.” She pushed a hand through her spring-loaded curls. “Even trying to talk about this is pretty ridiculous. I don’t have any choices right now. My kids are everything to me, so it’s not like I could suddenly run off and join the circus. I don’t want to join some silly circus, but darn it, Spence, I’ve never done one reckless thing in my entire life.”
Undoubtedly it was more of her runaway imagination, but Spence suddenly seemed immobile, sitting there utterly still. “What kind of...reckless...are you thinking about?”
“I don’t know. Just foolish stuff. I’ve never tasted caviar. Never danced in the moonlight. Never done anything so wantonly indulgent as having a manicure or a massage. Never taken off on a motorcycle and just ridden with the wind on my face, not giving a damn where I was going. And men. I’ve never once...”
“Never what?” Spence prompted the instant her voice trailed off.
But no amount of that demon, sweet rum could have dulled her brain into completing that thought aloud. It was in her heart, though, an itchy, unsettling awareness that she’d never known any other man but Ron, and they’d been childhood sweethearts. She’d never flirted, never been hunted and chased and romanced, never played with a grown man—and for damn sure, never felt a yearning that brought her to her knees. She doubted that feeling existed outside her dreams—and her dreams had been dominated by less-than-reputable fantasies lately. Embarrassing fantasies. Nothing like
