statement just by existing." The brush of his fingers on her hair sent tingles through her. What did she want? A partner. A man who could be a trusted friend and lover--the kind she had dreamed of but never found. Rob was in many ways a mystery, yet he had depth, kindness, and intelligence. To hell with the potential complications.
Rising on her toes, she kissed him. His stillness ended and he kissed her back, his hands going to her waist to draw her close. Warm lips, textured beard, a faint, pleasing bittersweet tang of coffee on his tongue.
At first the kiss was tentative, two strangers exploring, but attraction crackled when Val slid her arms around his neck. Her breasts tingled as they pressed into his chest and her blood began to dance with the animal chemistry that addled adolescents. She leaned into him, murmuring, "This is probably a really bad idea."
"No question about it." He began kneading her back, his strong hands caressing and energizing her tired muscles as his kiss deepened.
She tugged him over to the sofa and they went down in a sprawl of arms and legs. Her legs bracketed his as she lay across his hard-muscled working man's body. She felt like a teenager necking on the front porch after a date. She had forgotten how delightful such sessions could be.
No, "delightful" was too frivolous a word. They were communicating on a deep non-verbal level. Under the distracting tides of passion, she sensed a vast, almost frightening need at the center of his being, a hunger he was rigorously controlling. She yearned to dive into those depths, explore his mysteries.
Common sense reasserted itself barely in time. She was reading way too much into a kiss. Reminding herself that she was trying to change her life and relationships, she broke away from Rob, sliding from his lap to the other end of the sofa. "This really is a bad idea," she said shakily.
He checked his instinctive reach toward her and took a deep breath. "I know you're right, but remind me why."
She looked away, struggling to order her tangled thoughts. "I don't know anything about you, Rob, except that you're interesting and attractive. I don't know where you were born, what you've done with your life, why you feel such a powerful desire to help Daniel. You're the mysterious dark stranger, except that you're not dark."
Without moving a whisker he became distant, his expression turning to stone. After the length of a dozen heartbeats, he got to his feet. She thought he was going to walk out. Instead, he began pacing the room, tense with stress and indecision. She sat very still, wondering what internal demons he was battling.
"I don't want your soul," she said quietly. "But I need to know more about what makes you tick. Though I've made my share of mistakes about men, I try not to make the same one twice. This works both ways. You might want to know more about me."
"Harvard Law Review," he said promptly. "Youngest partner ever at Crouse, Resnick. Your father is Bradford Westerfield III, a senior partner at a top New York law firm, and you have two blond half sisters with perfectly straightened teeth. Your mother, Callie Covington, is a textile artist and board member of the American Visionary Art Museum. You are utterly loyal to your friends, a soft touch for stray animals, and your not-so-secret vice is hot fudge sundaes."
She stared, thinking he had just proved his credentials as an investigator. "How did you learn all that?"
"Mostly from the Internet. Some from Kate Corsi when I called her about your interest in renting the church. Of course, the things she said about you were pretty innocent. She would never talk about the really interesting stuff."
"Thank heaven for that. Old friends know way too much about each other to dare dishing dirt." Val wondered if he was trying to change the subject away from himself. He looked as if he would rather be anywhere in the world except here.
But he hadn't run away yet. "Not that there is anything terribly
Rising on her toes, she kissed him. His stillness ended and he kissed her back, his hands going to her waist to draw her close. Warm lips, textured beard, a faint, pleasing bittersweet tang of coffee on his tongue.
At first the kiss was tentative, two strangers exploring, but attraction crackled when Val slid her arms around his neck. Her breasts tingled as they pressed into his chest and her blood began to dance with the animal chemistry that addled adolescents. She leaned into him, murmuring, "This is probably a really bad idea."
"No question about it." He began kneading her back, his strong hands caressing and energizing her tired muscles as his kiss deepened.
She tugged him over to the sofa and they went down in a sprawl of arms and legs. Her legs bracketed his as she lay across his hard-muscled working man's body. She felt like a teenager necking on the front porch after a date. She had forgotten how delightful such sessions could be.
No, "delightful" was too frivolous a word. They were communicating on a deep non-verbal level. Under the distracting tides of passion, she sensed a vast, almost frightening need at the center of his being, a hunger he was rigorously controlling. She yearned to dive into those depths, explore his mysteries.
Common sense reasserted itself barely in time. She was reading way too much into a kiss. Reminding herself that she was trying to change her life and relationships, she broke away from Rob, sliding from his lap to the other end of the sofa. "This really is a bad idea," she said shakily.
He checked his instinctive reach toward her and took a deep breath. "I know you're right, but remind me why."
She looked away, struggling to order her tangled thoughts. "I don't know anything about you, Rob, except that you're interesting and attractive. I don't know where you were born, what you've done with your life, why you feel such a powerful desire to help Daniel. You're the mysterious dark stranger, except that you're not dark."
Without moving a whisker he became distant, his expression turning to stone. After the length of a dozen heartbeats, he got to his feet. She thought he was going to walk out. Instead, he began pacing the room, tense with stress and indecision. She sat very still, wondering what internal demons he was battling.
"I don't want your soul," she said quietly. "But I need to know more about what makes you tick. Though I've made my share of mistakes about men, I try not to make the same one twice. This works both ways. You might want to know more about me."
"Harvard Law Review," he said promptly. "Youngest partner ever at Crouse, Resnick. Your father is Bradford Westerfield III, a senior partner at a top New York law firm, and you have two blond half sisters with perfectly straightened teeth. Your mother, Callie Covington, is a textile artist and board member of the American Visionary Art Museum. You are utterly loyal to your friends, a soft touch for stray animals, and your not-so-secret vice is hot fudge sundaes."
She stared, thinking he had just proved his credentials as an investigator. "How did you learn all that?"
"Mostly from the Internet. Some from Kate Corsi when I called her about your interest in renting the church. Of course, the things she said about you were pretty innocent. She would never talk about the really interesting stuff."
"Thank heaven for that. Old friends know way too much about each other to dare dishing dirt." Val wondered if he was trying to change the subject away from himself. He looked as if he would rather be anywhere in the world except here.
But he hadn't run away yet. "Not that there is anything terribly
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