A Love Worth Living (5 page)

And their routine had been born. If there was one thing she loved more than her personal and emotional space, it was a predictable pattern. No surprises, no spontaneity, and if sexual tension simmered underneath their routine, she was capable of ignoring it.

And the whole time their companionship was growing, she’d dodged panic attacks. Her nightmares—except for Thursday’s—had even abated some.

Once David had woken her, though, the nightmare panic faded, only to be replaced with anxiety about the state of their friendship. She didn’t want to push him away, but she might have done it by sleeping with him. He’d made it perfectly clear he wanted more from her than she could give. Would he be satisfied with going back to the way things had been?

The pen in her hand clattered to the desk. She wouldn’t be getting any paperwork done until she figured out why it would even bother her to stop spending time with David. That used to be her
modus operandi
, her preferred way of living—alone, with no deep friendships to tangle her emotions or split her loyalties. Work came first. Always.

Analyzing the evidence, she examined the circumstances around her night with David. This case, uncovering too many small, innocent bodies to fathom, had shredded her to the point of dangerous vulnerability. She’d not been able to block out her desire for him, not when his strength and his vitality called to her. He was so alive, and she’d seen too much death to ignore him.

She’d always been admired for her stoicism—was criticized, even, for being unfeeling—during investigations of some of the most gruesome mass graves and grisly murders for which the UN War Crimes Commission contracted her company. But this was the first time she’d dealt with children—not bones, but flesh-and-blood children, since Grace.

Her daughter.

She slammed the lid on that box. Not here, not now. Not ever, if she could help it. She’d learned more than a few times on her expeditions that unearthed skeletons often brought trouble. She shut the file she was working on and returned it to the towering stack of unfinished paperwork that cluttered her desk alongside the paper clips, pens and other supplies normally tucked away in their respective places, hidden out of sight in drawers and cabinets. If she had any hope of catching up on paperwork before their next consult for the UN or local law enforcement, she needed to calm her mind.

In the past decade, she’d tried to give psychologists another shot, on the chance that it had been her youthful stubbornness that had stalled her progress. Each new therapist had provided her with alternate coping mechanisms, but none—even with her eagerness for results—had helped.

One former therapist had insisted she meditate. She was “former” for a reason. Another had suggested long walks, or hot showers. Another “former”. They were all “formers”, for one reason or another. David was the only psychologist she could stand, and that was only because he kept his psychobabble to himself.

She’d found her own ways of coping with the anxiety, some healthier than others. Alcohol had worked while she was in high school, but her decision making under the influence was so questionable she’d long ago written that off as a solution. Sleeping pills helped, but they made her groggy, which only increased her panic upon waking. Banishing her emotions to their corner of her mind had become a solid solution, but it exhausted her. Which left sex—intimacy—with David.

Dammit.
It should have been the easiest solution, because what guy turned down no-strings sex? Carrie jolted from her chair and paced her office in the hopes that it would help her think.

Long weekends in bed with David flashed through her mind. Him bringing her breakfast in bed, laughing at stupid reality TV shows, long kisses for pure enjoyment…

But sex buddies didn’t do all that. Her excitement deflated, and she clunked her head back against the nearest wall. An alternate future presented itself. She would show up at his place after work, strip, get down and dirty, and leave. Simple, mechanical and…not fulfilling at all.

If she was being honest, she had left David’s that night with the edge of desperation gone, but it had been replaced with a deep-seated longing. Like she’d missed out on something important she’d later regret.

A knock sounded, and she saw two shadows through the frosted-glass panes of her office door. Thankful for the distraction, she stood to open it, but paused with her hand on the doorknob when she heard her boss talking with David.

Crap.
It was as if her thoughts had summoned him.

Carrie opened the door to usher in the men. She’d banked on hiding in her office all day to avoid David, but that plan was out the window now. She stepped back and patted her hair, then scowled at the self-conscious gesture before she turned away from David to talk to her boss.

“Dr. G, how can I help you?”

He wore the look he reserved for the families of victims or interns who weren’t cutting it in his lab.

Unease snaked through her. She sat at the desk, knowing she’d need the support once The Talk started, and she was pretty damn sure this discussion would be unpleasant for her. Tension choked the room like yellow smog.

Gunnerson sat across from her and David leaned against the closed door, staying in the background, technically, but still overwhelming her senses. She could smell him—the scent that occasionally trailed down the hall to her condo and made her crave him even more.

He looked so solid, his tall, lean figure clad in a business suit. Reliable, with shoulders broad enough to cry on.

But Dr. Carrie Farrow never cried. Except where David was concerned, it seemed.

When David stared at her, his brown eyes took in the bags under her eyes and the lifeless strands of her hair. She stifled a curse and returned her attention to Gunnerson. David always seemed to know what she was thinking, which made him the most dangerous person she knew.

“Carrie, you are not ready to be back at work.”

Gunnerson’s words hit her like a sledgehammer to the chest. “I took the long weekend. I’m here now, working. I’m fine.”

She wouldn’t look at David, didn’t want to see his pity.

Gunnerson continued as if she’d not voiced a protest. “You are the hardest-working forensic anthropologist we have, Carrie.” He patted her hand as if soothing an edgy animal. “But your work is slipping.”

Hackles up, Carrie struggled to keep the frustration from her voice. “I’d think you’d appreciate a dedicated employee.”

He sighed and looked at the stack of work on her desk. “Dedicated, yes. Heading for burnout? Likely. I’d rather not lose one of my best team members.”

Pride bloomed in her chest, alongside panic. “Why don’t you let me worry about that? I have it under control.”

David shifted away from the wall, and she did her best Medusa impression. He could damn well stay out of it.

David took the seat next to Gunnerson. Visions of being called in front of the principal and school psychologist floated up from her memory, remnants of those awkward weeks at the beginning of her senior year before she’d been put on the home-study track.

“Dr. Cameron shares my concerns.” Gunnerson gave her hand a squeeze. She liked the feel of it, like someone cared for her enough to offer comfort. But she also knew how dangerous that could be. “Your health, mental and physical, is paramount to this company. And beyond that, Carrie, you know I care for you. I don’t like seeing you this worn out.”

Carrie said nothing, because all the words coming to mind were impolite and directed at David. Though pangs of betrayal hit her from Gunnerson’s gentle accusations, it was David’s compliance in this whole ridiculous affair that actually hurt.

David took up the conversation, talking as if he had no idea he was subjecting her to verbal torture. “No matter what you might think—what the rest of us might see in you—you’re not Superwoman. Hell, I’m sure even she needed the occasional break.”

Silence settled over the room until Gunnerson sighed and dropped the guillotine. “You can either attend counseling sessions with David, on a schedule he determines, or make use of your vacation time to relax and refocus.”

She started to protest and Gunnerson cut her off. “It’s not optional, my dear. I can’t take the risk of putting you out in the field when you’re not on your top game. Especially not on the overseas assignments you request. You know how dangerous they can be, and I won’t lose another anthropologist to distraction.”

He had her there, like a stab to the gut. When she had interned with Gunnerson in Egypt one summer during grad school, one of the other interns, sleep deprived and distracted, had fallen down the excavation shaft. His death hadn’t been quick or gentle.

She eyed the files on her desk and wondered how many she could sneak out before Gunnerson noticed what she was doing. However long he intended her to be out, she’d need something to keep herself occupied, aside from the four walls of her condo. “How long do you expect me to take off?”

“A week. At least.”

Her protest died when Gunnerson leveled his most serious look at her. “Sabbatical or therapy.”

Exhausted, battered by the high emotions in the room, she settled back into her chair to take in the two men intent on saving her from herself, even if it killed her. Gunnerson stared her down, as she would have expected. David, though, wore a carefully blank face. His eyes searched her and bared her soul with a look. She flinched away and locked up her stress. No one needed to see that.

“I suppose I’ll see you in a week then.” Therapy was not an acceptable option.

Gunnerson nodded, then rose. “That’s my protégée. You’ll be back in no time, Carrie.”

As soon as the door closed behind him, David took the opened seat.

“How many therapy sessions would you have demanded?”

His fingers slid across his pale-yellow tie. She tamped down the urge to grab it and haul him over her desk for a kiss, anything to distract herself from reality.

“I don’t know. It would depend on your progress.”

“Was this forced hiatus your idea?”

“All Gunnerson.” He shook his head and a lock of hair fell across his forehead. She clenched her fingers around the light wool of her pants so she didn’t reach for it.

“Fine.” She gestured to the piles on her desk. “If you don’t mind, I have a bit to get done with the time I have left today.” Ice weighted her words. David might not have brainstormed this idea, but he was complicit.

Hands up in a gesture of resignation, David nodded at her. “Sure.” He stood and leaned over her. His cologne wafted over her and evoked flashes of sex and deep, wet kisses.

“What else do you need?”

“Come over for dinner tonight. I know you haven’t been eating well, and don’t try to tell me otherwise. If you’re not well-fed, how do you expect to beat this exhaustion?”

Damn the man. Here she was distracted by his mere presence, and he was trying to fatten her up. She shifted in her too-loose blouse and swiped a finger under her tired eyes. Maybe he had a point. Her stomach growled and that settled things. “Only if you get Italian.”

His smile made her blood roar. “Sure thing, Care. But you’d better be there at six, or I won’t save you any garlic breadsticks.”

“I see you’ve found my weakness, Dr. Cameron.” She couldn’t keep the grudging smile from her lips.

Chapter Five

After work, David headed home and set his plan into motion. In the months he’d observed Carrie—first as a professional, then a neighbor, then a friend—he’d learned enough about her to know she would never actually use her “vacation” to relax. He’d bet his diplomas she’d snuck files home to work on, which would defeat the purpose.

At his most unbiased, he recognized in Carrie serious signs of depression and anxiety. As a professional, it concerned him. As a man who cared about her, it was terrifying. When his brother had presented the same symptoms years ago, he’d ignored it, sure his personal feelings had clouded his perception of Aaron’s mental health.

Every year on the anniversary of Aaron’s death, he agonized over that conclusion, even though he knew it hadn’t been his responsibility to diagnose his brother.

He’d be damned if he’d let Carrie slip any farther away, which left him with one option—entice her into taking a true vacation.

She needed to relax, to let go of the mud on her soul she’d tracked home from Rwanda, which meant she needed someone to keep an eye on her mental well-being and handle any emotional fallout as she purged herself of the dig.

Carrie needed…him. God knew, he had enough vacation time stored up to take a few days off. But how could he talk her into not only staying away from the office, but actually forgetting about work?

He assembled every tidbit of information he’d picked up and turned the data over in his mind as he pulled up to the Italian place they preferred. Bribery, coercion, begging on his knees…nothing would drop her defenses enough to achieve his goals.

David returned to his car with the scents of garlic and Alfredo sauce drifting up from the brown paper bag he carried. Down the street, two teenage boys started shouting at each other.

“Chicken! You’re too scared to talk to her.”

“Am not!” He shoved his blond friend. “It’s not like you ever talk to Mindy.”