CHAPTER SIX
WHAT HAD SHE DONE? Rhiannon wondered as she sped away from Shawn’s house. What had she been thinking, kissing him like that? Letting him kiss her like that? Her lips still burned from where he’d licked and sucked at them.
She didn’t want this. Not now, maybe not ever. And certainly not with a man she barely knew.
After she’d been raped by a source she had considered completely trustworthy, her husband had had a hard time understanding her moods and her phobias. He’d had an even harder time dealing with her fear of being touched by a man, any man—even her husband. He had tried to get through to her, had tried to reach her behind the solid wall of ice she had erected between herself and the rest of the world. But finally Richard had given up, walked away. Divorced her and moved on in a way she hadn’t been able to.
And he had always been a stand-up guy—still was one, if she was completely honest about it. Smart, responsible, loving, he’d been a good husband, all the way until the divorce.
The problem had been within her. Her inability to get beyond the attack, to find her way through the fear and depression and hopelessness to connect with him, had eventually been too much for him to take. If one of the most dependable men she’d ever known could get fed up enough with her to walk away after fifteen years of marriage, it was crazy to think that Shawn—with his crooked smile and life’s-a-party attitude—would stick around long enough to even skim the surface of her issues.
Besides, even if he did stick around, it wasn’t like she could handle his interest, not when some days she still felt like she could fall apart at the slightest provocation.
So, what the hell had she been thinking? Had she really thought she was healed enough to kiss him?
Had she really thought attraction would be enough, when her very handsome, attractive husband hadn’t been able to reach her, no matter what he’d tried?
When the only way she could get through the day was by controlling herself and every element in her life?
She had to have been insane. There was no other explanation for it. She’d known that he was interested when she went over there, had certainly known he wanted to pursue something when she’d realized he’d made her dinner…and bought her a present. And still, she hadn’t walked away.
No, not her. She’d been stupid enough to think that maybe, just maybe, she could do this thing. It didn’t have to be serious, didn’t have to be a big deal. As she’d looked at the red bag dangling from his fingertips, she’d decided that maybe it could be okay. Maybe she could just hang out with a handsome, exciting man who made her laugh.
Instead, she’d kissed him and then totally freaked out, running out of the house like the hounds of hell were after her. It was too humiliating for words.
And if it wasn’t bad enough that she had just completely embarrassed herself, it wasn’t like she could go home and hide away in shame until she found a way to move past the whole, terrible episode. No, she had to see him again in a few days, had to talk to him. Had to go over party plans with him.
How the hell was she supposed to do that?
Stopping at a red light, Rhiannon rested her head on the steering wheel and counted slowly to ten as she reminded herself that this was not the end of the world. She’d gotten through a lot worse than this. She might not be whole, but she was still standing. That had to count for something.
And as for Shawn, from here on out, she would deal with him as she would any other client. She would email him about the party, make sure to keep their phone conversations strictly professional, and in no way encourage him ever again.
Ever. Again. She wasn’t ready to do this male-female thing and she was done trying. Attraction or not, she was taking herself firmly out of the game Shawn had pieced together for them.
It was better that way. She’d spent long enough on an emotional roller coaster. It was time to get off the ride.
RHIANNON WAS DRIVING him crazy. Insane. Completely bonkers with her refusal to pick up the phone when he called or to return his messages. It had been more than a week since she’d yanked herself from his arms and gone running out of his house like the place was on fire and he hadn’t been able to get her to say one word to him. Not one word.
Oh, she’d been in touch with him. She’d emailed him the proposed budget, faxed him a few ideas for the menu that she wanted him to look over, even texted him with a few questions that she needed clarified. But not once had she actually spoken to him, no matter how many messages he’d left her.
It was enough to make a perfectly sane man lose his mind. It was more than enough to drive that same man to do an insane amount of grueling exercise.
Shawn pounded up the last hill that separated him from his house, his steps steady, his breathing easy despite the five miles he had just put in running up and down the hills that surrounded Lake Travis.
Maybe he’d stand a chance in that marathon Robert had signed him up for, after all. It was in four weeks, and like nearly everything else in his life that he didn’t like to do, his training schedule had been haphazard at best. At least until Rhiannon had messed with his mind—and his libido.
But then, why would he want to train seriously for the stupid marathon anyway? He didn’t know why he was running the thing—except for the fact that Robert had issued the challenge. Of course, he’d only done so because he wanted someone to run with him, and he’d known that the one thing Shawn had trouble passing up was a challenge.
That was one of the many reasons he was so interested in Rhiannon—she was a hell of a challenge. Extremely difficult to get a handle on and more work than any woman had ever been for him, bar none.
But with Rhiannon, he didn’t mind the work. He actually kind of liked it, he acknowledged as he ran steadily toward his house, despite the fact that she sent out so many mixed signals that he barely knew whether he was coming or going with her. And he was trying to respect the fact that she didn’t want to go out with him. After the first message he’d left, the others had been strictly professional, focusing on the party and all the questions she needed answered.
At the same time, he couldn’t help remembering the way she’d kissed him—with a passion so hot it had nearly burned him. He wanted to feel that heat again, wanted to feel her again. Giving her time to work things out in her own head was driving him nuts, especially since he was afraid she’d already done so—just not in his favor.
He wanted to get to know her, wanted to find out what was underneath that cool, collected exterior. Maybe that’s all she was—calm and competent, through and through. But that kiss last week had been anything but calm. Anything but collected. He’d dreamed about it the past several nights—had dreamed about her—and had woken up each morning hard and aching and desperate for her.
It was crazy, he thought again as he slammed into his house and headed straight for the shower. Crazy how she’d gotten under his skin. Even crazier how he couldn’t get her back out again.
So what was he supposed to do? he wondered, as he stepped under the hot water and let it beat out the tension in his shoulders. Was he supposed to chase after her like a puppy, hoping for a little of her time? Or should he move on, forget all about the fact that she made his mouth dry and his hands shake? It wasn’t like he needed that kind of complication right now, anyway. Wasn’t like he wanted to fall for her. Walking away was definitely the smarter move.
Yet smarter didn’t always equal best, and he couldn’t help wondering if this was one of those times. Closing his eyes, he shampooed his hair before letting the warm water sluice the suds away. That was the problem—from the minute he’d seen her at Robert’s party, he hadn’t been thinking clearly, hadn’t been on his game. And while he normally liked to just take things as they came—to fly by the seat of his pants—everything inside of him told him that wasn’t going to work with Rhiannon.
For her, he needed a very detailed plan, much like the mock-ups he did for his novels before he actually started the artwork
. He needed to lay down his battle strategy according to the rules she’d provided, sketchy as they were. Because if he’d figured out anything at all while he’d been running his ass off this week, it was that he wasn’t ready to see the last of her. Not even close.
Turning the water off, he stepped out of the shower. Grabbing a towel on the fly, he headed straight for the phone on his nightstand, with only one thought in his mind.
Game on.
By the time he was done, Rhiannon wouldn’t even know what had hit her.
CHAPTER SEVEN
“HEY, HAVE YOU BEEN holding out on me?”
Rhiannon looked up from the plans she’d been finalizing for a sixtieth wedding anniversary to find Logan leaning against her doorway, an inquisitive look on his too-handsome face.
“Of course I have—in every way possible.” She grinned. “So you’re going to have to be a little more specific if you want me to know what you’re talking about.”
Logan raised one sardonic eyebrow, then reached behind him for a huge arrangement of tulips in a beautiful, crystal vase. “I was referring to these.”
“Oh, wow! They’re gorgeous.”
“They are.” He walked over and set them on her desk. “So, I ask again, are you holding out on me?”
“What do you mean?” She stared, puzzled, at the flowers. “Why are you bringing those in here?”
“Because they’re for you, Ding Dong.”
“For me?” She was dumbfounded as she stared at the gorgeous array of tulips. There were red ones and white ones, hot pinks, yellows, purples and oranges. A regular cacophony of colors that shouldn’t have gone together but did, beautifully.
“Well, they certainly aren’t for me.”
It had been so long since someone had sent her flowers, and such exquisite ones at that. Sure, Richard had given her flowers at the beginning of their relationship, but nothing in the past few years of their marriage, as they’d settled into a rut and he’d been more concerned with saving money than making her smile. And never had he sent her anything like these.
These flowers looked like a party in a vase. Cheerful, whimsical, elegant—exactly how she’d always wanted to see herself but had never been able to.
Rhiannon reached tentatively for the card, unsure she wanted to read it. There was only one man she could imagine sending her flowers like this. Only one man who seemed to understand that there was more to her than the mask she wore, and she’d spent the past eight days dodging his phone calls.
In the end, she couldn’t resist. Ripping open the envelope, she pulled out the small white card and braced herself for whatever it might say.
Because I don’t know your favorite color—yet. Enjoy, Shawn.
A silly smile passed across her face, one she was wont to stop, even knowing that Logan was studying her with the concentration of a cat on the trail of a very plump mouse. She leaned forward, burying her face in the tender blooms and breathed in their subtle, sophisticated scent.
“So, are you going to spill the beans or what? Sandy will launch a full investigation when I get home and I need to have something to tell her.”
“It’s no big deal—just a thank-you from a client.”
Logan snorted. “I’ve seen client thank-yous before, and very rarely do they encompass a hundred dollars worth of sexy, elegant flowers.”
“Well, that’s all it is.”
“Okay.” He held up his hands, as if surrendering as he settled into the chair on the other side of her desk. “So which client is this?”
Rhiannon tucked the card into her pants pocket, and pretended to be looking over the budget for the Waters’ anniversary party. The fact that she couldn’t see the numbers—couldn’t see anything but Shawn’s smiling face—was no one’s business but her own.
“Shawn Emerson.” She kept her voice casual.
“Really? He’s more interested than you originally thought, hmm?”
“It’s not like that,” Rhiannon protested, a familiar sense of panic starting to well up inside of her. It had been nearly a year since she’d had a panic attack—although the whole debacle at Shawn’s the previous Saturday had come close—but she recognized the beginnings of one now in her too-fast heartbeat and the fine trembling that seemed to be working its way through her body.
She pushed away from her desk, dropped her head to her knees and tried to breathe.
Why is this happening now? she wondered frantically. Why am I losing it today when it’s been so long since I’ve had one of these things?
She was stupid, a total idiot. How could she expect to ever actually date Shawn when the mere act of getting flowers from him sent her into a full-blown panic?
She could tell herself she was ready to date all she wanted, but coping with a physical relationship with a man—any man, even the very attractive Shawn Emerson—was too much for her to handle.
She was aware of Logan’s footsteps crossing the room, aware of her office door closing, though she knew he hadn’t left. Extremely conscious of Logan watching, Rhiannon tried to sit up, to look normal, but the room was spinning and it was all she could do to force her lungs to accept air. Pretending that she was fine was completely beyond her.
“Oh, sweetie, it’s okay.” Logan came around the desk and crouched down beside her. He ran a hand over her hair, down her neck to her back, where he rubbed in soothing circles.
Suddenly it was all too much—the idea of stepping outside the safe world she’d made for herself these past few years, of actually moving on with her life—and she launched herself at her oldest, dearest friend.
Logan caught her, his arms coming around her as she buried her face in his neck and started to sob. He settled on the floor, pulled her onto his lap and started to rock, back and forth, as he made soothing sounds.
She knew she should stop, knew she should be embarrassed—she was acting like a complete basket case when she’d promised herself that she wouldn’t do that anymore. But she couldn’t stop. Neither the tears nor the panic nor the pain that was racing through her like a runaway semi. So instead, she melted into Logan and let herself pretend, for a little while anyway, that she was safe.
She didn’t know how long they sat there, Logan comforting her as she fell apart, but eventually the panic receded and her sobs quieted. She started to pull away, but he held her to him, refusing to let her go yet.
“I made a mess of your sweater.”
“Screw my sweater.” But he shifted her weight a little, reached up and pulled some tissues out of the box she had resting on her desk.
She wiped her eyes, blew her nose. Did everything she could not to look at him. Finally, when she could avoid it no longer, she murmured, “I’m sorry. I promised myself I wouldn’t do this anymore.”
“Wouldn’t do what?” he asked, still rubbing her back in soothing circles.
“Fall apart like this. I feel like such a jerk.”
“You’re not a jerk—an idiot, maybe.”
“Hey!” She leaned back, punched him in the shoulder.
“And she’s back.” Logan climbed to his feet, settling her in her desk chair as he did. “Nobody expects you to stay in control all the time, you know. Nobody but you, that is.”
“It’s been almost three years—”
“So what? Is there some kind of timeline for getting over something like this that I’m not aware of?”
“You can say it, you know. I won’t break if you say the word.”
“No, but I might.” He settled, grim-faced, onto the side of her desk. “Rhiannon, have you ever thought that maybe you should cut yourself some slack?”
“I have! I’ve done nothing but make excuses for my behavior for two and a half years, done nothing but let you and Matt and the rest of my family make those same excuses.”
“That is such bullshit. Such self-pitying bullshit that I can’t even believe it came out of your mouth.”
Rhiannon felt her mouth literally fall open as her eyes jerked to Logan?
??s. “What did you say?”
“You’ve been healing, Rhiannon. Getting a little bit better with every month and year that passes. Pretending differently just makes you look weak—something we both know that you aren’t.”
“I just had a panic attack on my office floor because some guy sent me flowers. I wouldn’t exactly call that strong. Or healthy.”
“Why not?”
“What?”
He shrugged. “You’ve spent more than two and a half years hiding from men, denying your own sexuality.”
She started to protest, but he stopped her with a raised hand. “And that’s perfectly understandable. What happened to you—” His voice shook with repressed anger, but he took a breath. Shoved it back. “What happened to you was terrible. Awful. And then what Richard did on top of it? Is it any wonder that the idea of a man seeing you as desirable stresses you out?”
“I can’t do this, Logan. I thought I could, I thought I was ready, but I just can’t.”
“No one says you have to. Thank Emerson for the flowers and tell him you aren’t interested in him that way.”
She didn’t answer right away and Logan’s gaze turned speculative. “But you can’t do that, either, can you? Because you are interested in him.”
“No.”
“Yes. We’ve been friends for twenty-four years, Rhiannon. Do you really think you can lie to me? You’re doing that pencil trick again.”
“I am not!” But damn it, she was. Shoving out of her chair, she paced from one end of the small room to the other, then turned and worked her way back. Again and again as she tried to get her thoughts together, to formulate what she wanted to say.
“You keep turning yourself around like that and you’re going to make both of us dizzy.”
She pinned him with an annoyed stare. “You sound like my therapist.”
“I’m just trying to figure out what you’re really upset about—that you don’t want to go out with Emerson or that you do?”
“I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know!” She leaned against the wall, banged her head into it a couple of times. “He’s smart, funny, good-looking—and years too young for me. I swear, I could practically be his mother. Not to mention the fact that he’s completely ridiculous, all about fun, all the time.”