A Love Worth Living (15 page)

“I guess so.” She flashed him a quick smile. “You just keep feeding me delicious food, and the oh-so-terrible sacrifice of spending time with you will be worthwhile.”

“Deal.” Keys in hand, they walked around the corner of the building and into the underground parking garage.

He drove over to a park on the Potomac a few miles away from Reagan National Airport. Sometimes he rode his bike along the trail that paralleled the river. This was one of his favorite spots to stop and take in the view, because it was less obscured by the thick trees lining most of the path.

“Well that was quick.” She sat up in her seat and craned her neck to take in the view.

“Let’s hope it’s the only time today you have to say so,” he joked as he got out of the car.

They met at the trunk. Carrie wore a sexy little blush. “That’s got my vote too.”

Thoughts of losing himself inside her stole his sanity. He slammed his hands down onto the trunk on either side of her hips and trapped her between the bumper and his unmistakable desire for her. “You’re teasing a desperate man, sweetheart. Do we need to go home so I can show you just what’s in store for tonight?”

Her pupils dilated, and her small hands slid up his chest. “I was excited about exploring.” Her fingers locked behind his neck and pulled him closer. “But I wouldn’t object to a preview.”

He threw himself into the kiss, marveling at the change in her. He knew one day wasn’t enough to keep her this happy, to challenge the demons of her past, but it was a resounding success in his book. She hitched her hips against him, and he groaned against her mouth, before he backed off and held her at arm’s length.

“I’ve created a monster.”

She ducked her head and smiled. “I can’t seem to help myself around you.”

Sweeter words were never spoken. Letting her statement ring in his ears, he grabbed a blanket and two water bottles from the trunk. Hand in hand, they walked across the parking lot and onto the big grassy area abutting the river. He shook out the blanket and settled onto it.

Carrie stood over him, hands tucked into the back pockets of her jeans. “What are you doing?”

“Absolutely nothing.” He patted the space between his thighs. “Join me?”

She settled in, legs sprawled out and back flush against him. Her head tilted back to rest against his shoulder, and she stared up at the sky. He stared at her, knowing nothing in the scenery would be more beautiful.

Her suntanned skin warmed in the sunlight and wisps of hair blew free of her clip to tease his jaw.

If only he could freeze time and stay in this moment for eternity.

The roar of an airplane shook the air. “Oh my God!” She pointed upward. “Look how low it is!”

He nodded against her hair. “A lot of the flight paths are right over this park. I love coming here to watch the planes land.”

Her joy didn’t cease as a second, third and fourth plane landed while they lingered in the park. In between landings, he pointed out buildings across the river in DC while they shared speculations about the other park goers.

A psychologist and an anthropologist made for dangerous people-watching partners, as he learned during their third argument about why a particular person was spending their day in the park.

“Fine.” He conceded the point, not because he cared about being right or wrong, but because he loved the look of triumph on her face when he did—and because that look turned him on.

With his hands on her hips, David nudged her tighter against himself. “Feel what you do to me?” He nibbled her ear, thrilling at the shiver that ran through her. “This is what happens when you argue with me.”

She arched against him, the vixen. Her pulse fluttered and betrayed her arousal. He kissed her exposed skin and ran his thumbs under the edge of her waistband. Her skin was so soft, everywhere.

“It would make for some interesting lovers’ quarrels, hmm?” Her breathy voice screamed sex.

Before she could think too much about what her words had just admitted—that she thought of him within the context of a relationship that would last long enough to have fights—he dipped her back into the crook of his arm and laid a good, long, deep kiss on her.

When he finally let her up, her hair had come free of her clip and floated around her face. She looked slumberous and needy, just from a kiss.

“God, Care, you’re just fucking perfect.” He held her against his chest so she would be close to his heart.

When their breathing returned to normal, he adjusted to their original position and pointed at a newcomer to the park. “Cute kid. What’s their story, Dr. Farrow?”

A young mother, probably just out of high school, spun her little redheaded girl in a circle and pointed at the jumbo jet coming in for a landing. The little girl clapped her hands together and squealed in delight. “She’s about two, right?”

Carrie froze in his arms, then gave a jerky nod.

He lasered in on Carrie, forgetting about the family for a moment. She stared intently at the pair with such pain etched on her face that his breath was knocked from his lungs.

Three times he said her name before getting her attention. “What’s wrong, sweetheart?” He turned her sideways so her legs draped over one of his and he could crowd her vision, breaking her line of sight.

As if coming up for breath after being tumbled in the ocean tide, Carrie inhaled and shuddered. “It’s noth—”

“Don’t lie to me. Tell me you don’t want to talk about it, or you’ll tell me later, or it’s none of my business. But don’t pretend it’s nothing.” Fierce and quiet, his words were almost drowned out by the incoming plane, but her expression said she’d heard—and understood—him.

“It’s ancient history, and I don’t want to talk about it.” Without another look toward the river or the young mother, she got up and headed towards the car.

David folded up the blanket and followed. What emotional land mine had he stepped on this time—and how could he disarm it?

After they got in the car, he cut through the heavy silence. “I have one thing to say, and then I’ll drop it, okay?”

Jaw tight, she gestured for him to go on.

“When you told me about your father last night, did you feel better afterwards?”

Her eyes roved outside the car and he waited for a reply, but none came.

He finally started the car and headed back onto the parkway, giving her the chance to decide whether she trusted him with her past.

Chapter Seventeen

Why did it have to hurt so much after all these years? She lost herself in the roll of the car over the road, seeing nothing of the scenery even though she never looked away from the window. She was trapped in the past, and needed to get the hell out before either David forced the issue or it broke her.

Clawing out of the black memories, she focused on breathing and David’s solid presence next to her.

Miles away from the park, and the past, she spoke. “Talking to you did help.” That didn’t mean she would do it again. Lancing a wound only worked so many times before you had to call it what it was—stabbing yourself.

“All right. We’re heading down to Old Town, Alexandria, now. It’s got great little pubs and shops. Colonial buildings, great views of the Potomac too. It’s perfect for wandering around.”

“Okay.” She spent the rest of the ride picking up the pieces of the wall between her past and present, trying to rebuild with the rubble.

It took forever to find a parking spot, but that bought her more time to center herself.

Once they’d snagged a spot by the river, David helped her out of the car and set off, hand in hand.

As usual, David seemed to know exactly what she needed. While they wandered, he told her about the town’s history, interspersed with anecdotes of growing up in the area. Each tale was a distraction from the confusion festering in her chest.

They walked into the Torpedo Factory Art Center, and he told her about going to art camp there. “I don’t think my mom relished the idea of having my brother and me around full time during the summer. We were a handful.”

Through his stories, she’d developed an insatiable urge to learn everything about him. Not only did she crave knowing about his past, she was a little hurt he hadn’t shared more than superficial things about himself.

Yes, he was offering snippets of his past, but she’d bared some of her ugliest secrets to him, while David had kept his buried. She wanted to know why he hated guns so much and why he was so driven to help her.

Then again, she hadn’t asked, had she? Guilt wrapped around her body. It was more evidence of their relationship—friendship, fuck buddies, whatever—being so one-sided she knew it couldn’t last.

And though she wasn’t sure what she wanted, or what she could give, she knew she wasn’t ready to give him up. If that made her a selfish, hypocritical woman, so be it. But she could try harder, because he was good for her.

She needed him for a little while longer.

As they wandered the studios of local artists, she peppered him with increasingly nosy questions. Her desire to learn about him only grew as he talked.

After she learned how he’d met Dr. G (at a forensics convention) and discovered his favorite childhood memory (attending a comic convention with his younger brother), she delved deeper into his past.

“Where do your parents live now?” They paused in front of one artist’s space and soaked in the current canvases on display.

“Aren’t you just full of questions today. They still live in Alexandria—out by Mount Vernon, George Washington’s estate. Same house I grew up in.”

“That must be nice. My mom moved after my dad died, then again when she moved in with Chris. Same town though.”

Pain slashed across David’s face. “I’ve urged them to move, but they insist on staying. Or rather, my mom does, and my dad has stopped arguing with her.”

She didn’t know how to broach that kind of deep sorrow—that was David’s area of expertise. Instead of prodding, she let it rest and wandered farther down the hall. Discretion, valor and all of that seemed prudent.

She stopped in front of a collection of paintings, beautiful and heartbreaking at the same time. One in particular drew her—fields of wildflowers broken by a pale, lone figure.

The painting called to her, and for a moment she contemplated buying it, then shed the idea as impractical. She didn’t have anything personal at home, except for her butterfly collection and animal postcards. The artwork would look out of place.

Inside the studio she saw a slim figure at work in the back corner and wondered what kind of person could paint such pain. What had she lived through?

“I love watching the artists at work. It’s one of my favorite things about this place.”

Her neck prickled from the weight of David’s attention on her. “I love it. I’ve never been anywhere like this. It’s so raw, watching them work. How can they stand to be so exposed?”

He shrugged. “For some, I think it comes with being an artist, putting that piece of yourself out there. Besides, with the open emotion in some of their works, I’d say that their risks pay off, for better or for worse. Each experience fuels their art.”

They turned away, but a part of her stayed with that painting, however illogical the sensation was. The artist had used her agony to create something beautiful. It could have twisted up inside her, but she chose to let it out.

What would it be like to live so bravely?

Maybe it was time for her to dip her toe in—starting with David. He’d been willing to ask her the hard questions, and he deserved the same from her.

She returned to her earlier line of questioning, intent on muddling her way through. David would stop her if she went too far. “Why did you want your parents to move?”

His fist clenched then released so quickly she almost missed it. “It’s a lot of house, now that they’re alone.”

“But don’t you and your brother go back and visit?”

With measured movements, he paused and turned to her, face empty of all emotion. “He died about a decade ago.”

She pulled him to a nearby bench, sat and settled under his arm, silently empathizing.

He gave her a squeeze. “It happened when I was in grad school.”

She knew there was more to the story. She wanted him to divulge it and to lean on her, but maybe he didn’t feel comfortable sharing with her. It was a possibility that pierced her like a dagger.

She pushed a little, for the sake of building intimacy. “Would you like to talk about it?”

His words slapped her down. “No, Care, I wouldn’t. You don’t need to hear about it.”

That was an answer in itself.

She rose from the bench and continued wandering the space, leaving David to his thoughts and hoping he’d give her the same courtesy. She wondered yet again what he was getting out of their time together.

Her body, for sure, though she couldn’t regret that, not even the intimacy from last night. It had been therapeutic for her, purging some of the despair that had colored her perspective for the past few weeks.

Frustration pressed against her sternum. If he wanted her to bleed history for him, the least he could do was return the favor. She wanted to understand him and erase some of his pain, as he’d started doing for her.