A silhouette appeared in the window
near the front door. Dylan stopped abruptly, recognizing the shape as
though he came home to this house every day. Gwen. Ah, darlin', meeting
you was fate. Seeing you again...
His chest tightened. He couldn't get
himself out of the moment of seeing her again, overwhelmed with bittersweet,
sad, erotic memories. You showed me love the way no else ever had.
Not before. Not since.
The door opened, and he heard a dog
yipping like mad, then his name floated down from the portico, "Mr.
Mitchell?"
The voice that called him was cool,
edgy, not the soft, startled tone on the phone that morning. A voice
that dictated the rules of their engagement, without collected confidence,
merely with determination. He wasn't sure he wanted to know what drove
Gwen to accept his publisher's request after so many years of ignoring
it.
Dylan forced himself forward, up the
stairs, keeping Gwen and her daughter in sight at all times. Allison
was kneeling beside a miniature Pomeranian, trying to calm her.
Gwen had changed, subtly, he noticed.
Her black hair wasn't as curly as it'd been before. It fell just as
long and thick over her shoulders, though, in loose spiral curls, swept
back to one side now.
He swallowed with difficulty when
he saw the large, sparkly earring on her exposed ear. Hell, he didn't
need to remember tugging gently on her earring with his fingers, sucking
on it and her tiny earlobe, as she lay naked in his arms. He didn't
need to remember the toffee color of her skin, her deceptively fragile
body that moved like a sensual panther on the prowl. He didn't need
to remember her delicate face, so beautiful with those thickly-lashed,
exotic brown eyes. She'd had tears in her eyes when he'd said he had
to go. All he'd wanted to do was stay forever. The only way he'd gotten
himself to leave her was by telling himself he'd be back soon, just
as soon as he tied up the loose ends of his former life.
Say something! I can't stand here
and stare at her forever...hell, anybody could forgive me for wanting
to do just that.
"Hey, Gwen. Allison. I'm Dylan
Mitchell." Smooth, you idiot. You're a professional, not an
old friend.
Gwen didn't seem to notice his lack
of professionalism, nor his nervousness. She didn't smile either while
she invited him in.
She didn't remember him. It was so
damn clear, he wanted to howl in agony. You don't want her to remember
you. Not now. You can't start this biography with that between you.
You'll send her running in a heartbeat.
Dylan forced himself to assume the
role of biographer once they were inside the house, in a huge white
kitchen. Detach yourself as much as you can from the subject.
"I want to thank you for calling me, Gwen," he said, reaching
for her hand. As her fingers fitted against his, her wedding ring cold
against his palm, the polite courtesy he'd hoped to extend dissolved.
The connection between them surged with the power of a live electrical
current.
Rain--soft, gentle, like an embrace--falling
from a purple sky all around a meadow that stretched as far as the eye
could see. But all he'd cared to see was the woman who was with him.
He hadn't imagined any of it.
Her eyes widened, then filled with
fear. "No," she whispered. "No. I can't. I can't do this.
I'm sorry, but I can't. Please, just go."
As suddenly and unexpectedly as she'd
spoken, she turned and fled the room. Dylan didn't get a chance to utter
a single word to stop her. Even when Allison turned to him, he was too
shaken to speak.
"My mom isn't over my dad's death.
I think maybe it's too soon. She's not ready to talk about him and their
life together with anybody who's not close to us. I'm sorry you came
all the way over here for nothing."
Allison didn't sound like a fourteen-year-old.
She sounded like an adult. She sounded like she genuinely regretted
that this biography wouldn't happen.
"It's all right," he muttered,
too stunned to do anything else. "It was nice to meet you, Allison."
She pursed her lips sympathetically,
in a semblance of a smile. "I'll walk you to the door."
"Thanks." He had the presence
of mind to dig out a business card and give it to her, wordlessly asking
her to have her mom call him if she changed her mind.
He got back into his car and sat staring
forward at the house numbly.
My life's been on hold since the first
time I left you, darlin'. I'll never have this chance again. Because
you're not over your husband. In fourteen years, you're not over Tommie
yet. If that's the truth, then this wouldn't have worked no matter what.
Was I actually stupid enough to subconsciously believe it was me you'd
never get over? |
