Ruth Dale - Family Secrets

“Okay,” he said as easily as if she’d refused another slice of bread.

She blinked. “Okay?”

“Sure, why not?” He picked up the dirty dishes. “I’m glad you’re sticking to your principles.”

“You are?”

“Hell, yes! As long as you refuse to listen to reason, I get a free Colorado vacation. Because Margaret Lyon has made it clear that if I don’t come home with you, I’m not to come home at all—period, end of discussion.”

She laughed. “That’s ridiculous.”

“Maybe, but who am I to argue with Iron Margaret?” He winked and carried the dishes into the kitchen. He returned with two steaming mugs of coffee.

She shook her head regretfully. “I can’t.”

“Decaf.”

He put hers down and she saw that he’d already added milk to make a primitive version of café au lait. So he remembered what she liked. But did he remember all of it or just this?

She looked away. “I’m too tired to argue.”

“Is that the secret, then? Wear you to a frazzle and you turn all soft and agreeable?”

She didn’t like being called “soft and agreeable” when in this man’s company; it was just another way of saying “vulnerable,” and she never intended to be that with him again. But she couldn’t quite think of a way to reprimand him so she hedged. “I’ve had a hard day, if you must know.”

“Poor Sharlee. Drink your coffee and you’ll feel better.”

She took a sip, then lifted her gaze and said impulsively, “Dev, why did you quit your job at WDIX—really?”

“I told you, I—”

“No, I don’t want some vague explanation.” She shook her head vigorously. “I honestly want to know. I thought that’s all you ever wanted to do—work in television.”

His face grew serious. “Politics,” he said finally.

“What did you have to do with politics? You weren’t a newsman or anything like that.”

“Family politics,” he elaborated.

“I’m afraid I don’t understand.” She stifled a yawn, although she was intensely interested. A hard day and a fabulous meal had conspired to make her drowsy.

“They all wanted a piece of me,” he said finally. “I couldn’t be loyal to everybody, and I couldn’t bring myself to make a choice and cut off the rest. So I quit.”

She regarded him with new respect. “We come from a complicated family, Dev,” she said with a sigh. “I can sympathize with you, but why a restaurant, of all things?”

“A café, really. It was funny how it happened. I was looking around for a business opportunity and ran into an old school friend. He’s a chef, and since I practically grew up with the restaurant business, it was a natural.”

“Is this your secret ambition—to own a restaurant of your own?”

He shrugged. “To be perfectly honest, I’m still not sure what I want to be when I grow up. This is something to do until I make up my mind. I liked television, but in New Orleans...” He shook his head as if rejecting his years at WDIX.

“You could leave New Orleans,” she said softly. “It’s not the only city in the country.”

He frowned. “It’s home. Everybody I love is there.”

She felt a pang at his words. Everybody she loved was there, too, but she’d left regardless. Maybe his ties were stronger than hers, although now that his mother was dead...

“I’m sorry about your mother,” she said suddenly. “Leslie told me.”

“Thank you, but don’t change the subject. Is Calhoun your idea of paradise?”

“Not hardly.” She laughed dubiously. “I want to work in California eventually, but so does everyone else in journalism.” She felt a twinge between her shoulder blades and straightened.

“You could always just move out there and start looking.” He walked to the love seat, where he scooped up several small corduroy pillows.

“What would I live on until I found something? My financial situation...is not good. I’ve had a lot of expenses lately.” Like keeping her car running, paying off credit-card debts she’d run up years ago when she’d still had expectations of a juicy trust fund. She’d scissored all her plastic more than two years ago, but it had still taken forever to get out of debt.

“You could always live on charm.” He flashed that grin again. Dropping the pillows onto an area rug on the hardwood floor, he beckoned her with a crooked finger.

She automatically leaned away. “What?”

“You’re a mess. I’m gonna straighten out a few of those kinks.”

“What kinks?”

“The ones in your back...your shoulders...your neck. C’mon, Sharlee, we don’t have all night.”

She couldn’t believe he was serious. “You want me to lie down on the floor and turn you loose on my back?”

“That’s right. You won’t regret it, either. I dated a physiotherapist for a long time—six months, at least. You can trust me. I’m good.”

She couldn’t trust him, not about this or anything else. He was too slick; she’d forgotten how slick, or maybe he hadn’t been quite so polished before.

She said a dignified, “No, thank you,” and stood up. Then, despite all her good intentions to the contrary, that ache between her shoulder blades made her groan.

“Jeez,” he said, “you are one headstrong woman.”

Before she could resist, he had her by the elbows, maneuvered her into place and pressed her gently down. Confused and off guard, her panicky gaze met his.

“It’s okay,” he said softly. “I won’t get out of line, I promise.”

“I never thought you...”

He flipped her over onto her stomach and her protests died away. She lay there on the middle of her living-room floor like a sacrificial lamb, waiting for the ax.

What she got was not cold steel but the press of warm strong hands. That initial contact literally took her breath away.

“This would work better if you’d take off that blouse,” he murmured. “I mean, it’ll work fairly well this way but—”

“It’s this way or forget it,” she said. And then she did groan. “My God, that feels wonderful.”

“Thanks. It’ll feel even better once you start to relax.”

Relax. Even those strong fingers kneading the clenched muscles of her shoulders couldn’t make her relax.

“I saw Leslie the other day,” he said, sliding his hands down her sides while his thumbs dug into the channels on either side of her spine. He settled himself astride her, his thighs tight to hers.

Sharlee felt as if she’d been immobilized by an electrical shock. His hands moved across her back, pressing and kneading, while his legs imprisoned her. Somehow he seemed to be relaxing her exterior while arousing her interior.

“Uhh...that’s probably enough,” she ventured weakly. “You don’t have to keep—”

“Just a minute more.” Those magic hands skimmed over her shoulder blades and slipped between her arms and her torso, pressing against the sides of her breasts before moving down to her waist. She wanted to scream at him, tell him not to try anything, tell him to keep his cotton-pickin’ hands where they belonged, tell him... that what she felt wasn’t really a rush of surrender and he was wasting his time if he thought so.

“Better?” He paused with his hands on either side of her waist.

“Yes.” It came out a strangled groan.

“We’re almost finished, then.”

His hands left her body to settle on either side of her head, fingers threading through her hair. The press and pull mesmerized her as he worked across her scalp and down to her neck. She felt limp as a wet dishrag, tight as a dry sponge. She felt so many things that her mind reeled.

A quick pat on the rump yanked her back to reality and his weight lifted.