Dream of You (15 page)

"I doubt that. I think we all appreciate the
reminder that love is fleeting, and that we should embrace every
moment of it while we have it."

"Yes."

"Thanks for calling in," he said softly
before he switched to another caller. He wished he could leave
right then. The urge to go to her and hold her—to protect
her—overwhelmed him.

So he texted her as he was wrapping up his
show.
Can I come over?

Her reply was immediate:
Yes
.

Lola was waiting for him in her doorway when
he arrived. She wore monkey pajama bottoms and a tank top with pink
bra straps showing. Her hair was in a haphazard bunch at the back
of her head and her face was free of the war paint most women wore
all the time.

She was stunning.

She held her arms open and he walked right
into them.

He nestled his head in the crook of her neck,
inhaling her, taking comfort in her. Then he hoisted her into his
arms and took her inside straight to the bedroom.

Lowering her gently onto the bed, he covered
her and pressed a soft kiss to her ready lips.

He felt her sigh, a breathy caress against
his skin, and he held her closer.

"I'm happy you came," she whispered.

"So am I." He lifted his head. "I didn't know
about your mom."

"How could you? I never told you."

The sadness in her eyes slayed him. "Why is
that?"

"It's not exactly something you introduce
into every day conversation."

"We're beyond that."

She gazed at him, her eyes wide and
searching. "Are we?"

"Yes," he said definitely. He touched the
corner of her mouth, where all her sadness seemed to gather.
"What's your mom's name?"

"Sally." Lola sighed. "She was diagnosed with
dementia shortly after my dad died. The doctors don't think the two
are related, but I always wondered. My parents were the most in
love couple ever."

He rolled onto his back and took her with
him, so she draped over his body. "Where does she live?"

"In a home." She shook her head. "I hate that
she's there, but taking care of her became too much for me alone,
and they're one of the best care facilities in the country. It's
why I moved to San Francisco. We lived in Seattle before."

"So you uprooted yourself for your mom."

"No." She frowned. "Well, yes, but it wasn't
like that. I wouldn't be a writer if it weren't for my mom."

"How so?"

Lola sighed. "I've never told anyone this.
Not even my agent."

His chest swelled with pride. He wanted to
encourage her, but he waited for her to tell him on her own
time.

"I started writing because of my mom. Most
dementia and Alzheimer's patients respond to photos or music, but
my mom didn't respond to anything except the sound of my voice. So
to help her remember, and to keep her engage in the present, I
wrote the story of her courtship with my dad and read it out loud
to her. A nurse overheard part of it and encouraged me to get it
published."

"And the rest is history?"

"Yes." She looked him in the eye. "If it
weren't for my mom and her sickness I don't think I'd have become a
writer."

"That's tough," he said quietly,
understanding the dilemma in what she was confessing. The
guilt.

She cupped his face. "Thank you."

"For?"

"For coming over. For listening. For
comforting." She inched closer. "For kissing."

He held her tighter. "I haven't done nearly
enough of that."

"Well, what are you waiting for?" She nipped
his lower lip with her teeth.

He recognized an invitation when he heard
one, and he accepted.

Over and over again, until they were
breathless and sweaty, sadness replaced by ecstasy.

Tonight was the night.

Kristin looked at herself in the mirror.
Little halter black dress. Big girl shoes. Dark red lips and smoky
eyes.

But it was underneath that she was really
decked out. She'd stopped by Romantic Notions, and Olivia had sold
her lingerie that was sure to bring Rob to his knees. It propped
and accentuated and tantalized.

She was ready.

She smiled at her reflection. Rob wasn't
going to know what hit him. He expected her—she'd called to tell
him she'd finished the project and wanted to deliver it to him. He
just wouldn't expect her like this.

Wrapping a red shawl around her, she picked
up her laptop case and walked out the door.

The cab she'd called arrived. Giddy with
anticipation, she gave Rob's address and counted the seconds till
they reached it.

She tipped the driver excessively and hopped
out. Trying not to teeter on her heels, she rushed to the front
door and rang the bell.

A moment later Rob opened it. He was still in
some semblance of his work clothes: slacks, slightly undone shirt,
but with bare feet. No tie.

Bummer.

"Hi." She smiled brightly, trying not to
shiver in the chilling Laurel Heights wind.

"Come in." He let her pass, taking her laptop
from her as she entered. "You look amazing."

"Thanks." Exhilaration rose in her chest,
threatening to bubble out, but she kept it together.

"Are you going out tonight?" he asked,
surveying her head to toe.

She was hoping to stay in. "I'm open to the
possibilities," she said.

He frowned at her. She could tell something
displeased him, but before she could ask, he ushered her in and to
his study.

He set her laptop down on his desk. "Would
you like anything to drink? Water? Wine?"

"Why don't I show you what I created first,
and then we can go from there?"

Gesturing to the executive chair behind his
desk, he pulled another seat close and sat down. "And then I have
something I want to say. About the other night."

The night of innuendo and desire, as she'd
come to think of it. "Okay," she agreed eagerly.

Kristin took the larger chair, withdrew her
laptop, and booted it. "It'll just take me a sec to get online and
show you the database." As she logged in and waited, she told him
about the bells and whistles she'd added.

When she finished, he was staring at her like
she was an alien. "That's over and beyond what I expected," he
explained.

"Wait till you actually see it." She turned
her laptop to him so he could inspect the beta interface. "That's a
copy on my own server. I didn't want to mess with your databases
until you greenlighted everything I've done."

She let him go through the site, testing out
all the featuring, while she watched his face. She recognized the
nuances of his expressions, so she knew the intensity behind his
gaze was excitement.

At least she hoped it was.

She resisted the urge to run her foot against
his leg. For good measure, she sat on her hands to keep them to
herself, too.

Finally, he looked up. "This is
incredible."

"I know! Did you notice the graphing
functionality I added?"

"Yes, and the choices to toggle between the
different types of graphs." He clicked a couple buttons. "When you
said you could take care of this for me, I never expected
this
."

"I'm really quite good."

"I'm beginning to see that." He pushed the
laptop away and leaned back to stare at her.

She batted her eyes. "Want me to stand up and
twirl or something?"

"I'm just wondering how it is that you work
in a café when you can do this." He waved at her laptop.

Some of her pleasure faded. "I like working
in a café, at least for the time being."

"It seems like some of your skills are lost
there."

"Maybe."

"You'd make more money in tech."

No kidding. Been there, done that. "That's
definitely true."

"Some part of you has to like it, to do it so
well."

"I love coding, but I'm not doing it for
profit," she said resolutely.

"What was this then?"

An act of friendship, and possibly more.

"If you can make money doing this," he
continued, "couldn't you do it at least on a part-time, consulting
level?"

She only wanted to do it for him, to make him
happy. But something held her back from saying that. She simply
said, "No, I really couldn't."

"Not even if I offered you another job?"

She stilled. "Another job?"

He reached toward her. For a moment, her
heart leapt, thinking he was reaching for
her
. But he opened
a drawer and pulled out a checkbook and pen. She watched as he
opened it, scrawled a couple lines, and tore the check out.

Handing it to her, he smiled. "For the work
you did, and there's more where that came from if you'd like
another project."

Reluctantly she took the check. For most
people, it'd be enough to live on for six months. To her, it was
heartbreak.

She swallowed her hurt so she could speak.
"Are you standing by your morals?"

"Excuse me?"

"Are you holding to your credo that you don't
date people who work for you?"

"Of course." His brow furrowed. "That'll
never change."

She nodded, ducking her head so he wouldn't
see the hurt welling in her eyes. "What about our attraction to
each other? What about that morning in Grounds for Thought? What
about the other night on our walk?"

He ran a hand through his hair. For the first
time since she'd met him, he couldn't meet her eyes. "It was a
mistake to go there."

"A mistake," she repeated flatly.

He nodded. "I shouldn't have let it go so
far, especially the other night on the walk. I was out of line. I
got caught up in the moment, with the pier, the moon, the company.
It was—"

"Magic?" she offered sarcastically.

"Unfortunate," he said.

Unfortunate
. He called one of the
greatest nights she'd ever had
unfortunate
. She got up and
began to pace. "Now I know what Julia Roberts felt like."

"What?" Rob stood and took her arm, holding
her still to get her to look at him. "What are you talking
about?"

"Julia Roberts in
Pretty Woman
, when
Richard Gere wanted to pay her off for helping him when all she
wanted was a kiss."

"A kiss?"

"A kiss." She grabbed his shirt and yanked
him forward to meet her mouth.

It should have been bitter and awkward.
Instead it was the most perfect kiss she'd ever shared. The perfect
balance of heat and moisture, passion and tenderness.

She lifted her head slowly, hovering within
reach if he wanted her enough to take her. She looked into his
eyes, half-lidded with desire, and then socked his chest. "How can
you not see this?"

"What?" he asked, catching her hands in
his.

"
This
. I'd gesture to the two of us,
but you're holding my hands."

"I didn't want you to hit me again."

Her gaze narrowed. "It'd have been so
satisfying though."

"Why don't you explain what this is about,
and maybe we can fix it."

"This is about us. About the attraction
between us. About me wanting you, so much I redid your database to
show you I could be a good partner."

He frowned. "In business?"

"In life," she shouted. "Give me my hands
back."

The instant he let go of her she hopped up
and began gathering her things. "I was so stupid. It's my ovaries'
fault."

"I'm not sure I understand that."

"No kidding." She glared at him. "You
wouldn't understand a meteor if it fell right on top of you."

"I hesitate to ask this, but does that make
sense?"

She faced him and growled.

"Explain your ovaries to me," he said in a
beast-taming voice.

"The second my ovaries saw you they went
insane
.
Pick him
,
pick him
," she said in a
sing-song, mocking voice, waving her arms. "But it wasn't just that
I was foolish enough to think you'd make a good sperm donor. I
genuinely
liked
you. I thought maybe you liked me too. So I
was most stupid to start imagining actually being with you."

He stared at her.

"That's
it
?" She dropped her laptop
bag on the desk and turned to him, hands on her hips. "That's all
you've got for me? That implacable stare that says so little and so
much at the same time?"

"You've taken me by surprise," he said.

"Then you're
especially
an idiot,
because I've all but thrown myself at you. And you wanted me
throwing myself at you! Or maybe that's where I was the idiot, in
thinking you wanted me. Only the joke's on me, right? Because I was
wooing you, but you were offering me a job." Shaking her head, she
grabbed her bag and started to leave. "I don't need you to take
care of me. I need you to be a partner who sees me as an equal, who
wants to build and share a family with me."

"Shouldn't you think about cleaning up your
life first?" he asked, following after her. "Then we can discuss a
future together."

She whirled and faced him. "My life is plenty
clean, and that's bullshit. According to you, you won't date anyone
you employ, so how can I believe you're going to make an exception
for me? You know what I think?"

"What?" he asked cautiously.

"You're ashamed of me." She held her hand up
to stop him from speaking. "You like me. You're obviously turned on
by me. So whatever hesitation you have must be my job. You don't
want to date a barista."

"That's not true." He frowned at her,
stepping closer. "I just want you to turn your life around first.
Then we can talk about the future."

"The future is now!" she yelled. "I don't
have time for the future to be later. My ovaries are shriveling
more by the day. I want children, and I want them with you."