I’ve already thanked you for the tickets, but I want to do so again. I had a nice time tonight, Dawson.”
“You’re welcome. I did, too.”
“I’m glad you’re still able to say that. I’m sorry about …” She waved a hand, opting not to plow that rocky ground a second time.
He caught her fingers and gave them a gentle squeeze. “Let’s forget about that, okay?”
Eve didn’t think forgetting was wise. Indeed, it was at the crux of his problem. But for the moment she agreed. No more pushing tonight. She smiled. “All right.”
Dawson had yet to release her hand. Though they both wore gloves, she swore she could feel the heat from his skin warming hers through two layers of lined leather.
His thumb began to rub the palm of her hand. She’d never considered her palm or any other place on her hand to be an erogenous zone. It turned out she was wrong. Way wrong.
Eve swallowed a moan and stammered, “S-so, should I walk you to your front door? I promised to be a gentleman, after all.”
“No need for that.”
The palm caress continued. “Mmm-kay,” she managed to say.
“If you walk me to my door, I’d only feel obligated to walk you back to your car afterward.” One side of his mouth lifted. “Can’t let you be the only gentleman.”
“Well, I guess I’d better stay here then. Otherwise it sounds like we could pass the entire night walking back and forth between my Tahoe and your front porch.”
“That would make for a long night.”
“Very long,” she agreed.
“And it’s cold outside.”
“Below freezing.” She shivered, though the reaction had less to do with Denver’s current temperature than the ministrations of his thumb.
“We’d have to move fast to stay warm,” he said. In contrast the smile he offered was slow, seductive.
“If we jogged, I suppose it could be considered aerobic exercise.”
“Exercise, hmm?” His thumb stopped moving and Dawson released her hand. Gaze steady, expression serious, he removed his gloves, tugging one finger free at a time. Anticipation hummed until he reached for her across the vehicle’s console. Big, warm hands framed her face, drew her forward.
“I can think of more interesting methods of increasing my heart rate while in the company of a beautiful woman,” he murmured just before kissing her.
Soft. That was Eve’s first thought. Though so much of the man was hard and uncompromising, his lips were soft, their pressure gentle. She thought he might end things as quickly as he had the night of the ball, leaving her to wonder and to want. He didn’t.
“Eve.” Dawson whispered her name as he changed the angle of their mouths.
His hands were in her hair now, fingers weaving through it. Slow? Soft? Nothing about the man’s demeanor fit these descriptions now. Urgent was the word that came to mind as he fumbled with the fat buttons of her wool coat. She shifted in her seat to improve his access, her elbow catching on the steering wheel. The horn blasted loudly, blowing a hole right through the intimacy of the moment. Romance took a backseat to reality.
Eve sucked in a breath as Dawson pulled away. Her body was sizzling, snapping like an exposed electrical wire. Had she ever been this turned on? A glance in Dawson’s direction had her swallowing the suggestive remark she’d been about to make. He was slumped back in his seat, scrubbing a hand over his face.
Regrets.
She could see them as clearly as if they had been tattooed on his forehead, hear them even though he had yet to say a word. Eve closed her eyes, mentally kicked herself. To think for a moment she’d thought the only thing that had come between them during that passionate exchange had been the vehicle’s console and their layers of clothing.
“You’re not ready for … this. Are you?”
His laughter was brittle, bitter. “That’s not exactly the issue at the moment.”
“I’m not talking physically, Dawson.”
“No.” He swore, stared straight ahead and admitted, “I don’t know.”
“It’s okay,” she assured him, even as her own heart began to ache a bit.
“It’s not okay!” He cursed again, this time with more force, and turned to face her. She saw anger and frustration, neither of which was directed at her. “None of this is okay, Eve. None of it.”
His strident words seemed to echo in the vehicle. She remained silent, waiting for him to continue. After a long moment, he did. His tone was missing its angry edge. Now Dawson just sounded tired and a little lost when he told her, “Some people are able to just go with the flow. Not me. I had my life all figured out, you know? I made plans and then I followed through on them.”
“You’re talking about before the accident?”
“Yes. I made plans,” he said a second time.
Of course, he had. Dawson was the sort of man who needed to take charge, to be in control. But tragedy and grief wouldn’t follow orders. On the contrary. Once they were on the scene, they called the shots.
“It’s time to make new plans,” Eve said softly.
He faced her, his gaze glittering hard in the meager glow cast by the landscaping lights. “I did. After the accident I made new plans. I’ve been living my life according to them ever since.”
She swallowed. “And?”
“You seem to be botching them up, Eve.”
Her mouth fell open. Before she could ask what he meant by that potent statement, however, Dawson was opening the door and getting out of the Tahoe. He slammed it shut without another word.
It was several minutes after he disappeared inside the house before she felt steady enough to drive away.
The weekend proved long, as did the following week. Dawson had plenty of work to keep him busy and he finalized his plans for his trip to Cabo San Lucas. Eve called a couple times, but he made excuses not to speak with her.
You’re not ready for this, are you?
That damned question seemed to taunt him.
He was glad when Friday dawned. Another week down. Just two more to go until he boarded that plane and left everything familiar. Then he glanced out the window, saw the snow and cursed. The forecast had called for it, so the accumulation blanketing his lawn hardly came as a surprise. Even so, he didn’t like it. After showering and dressing in more casual clothes than he would wear to the office, he headed downstairs to his study. As he always did on days when the weather turned inclement, he would work from home.
As a child, he’d loved the white stuff and not just because
