A Love Worth Living (7 page)

After a cold shower, David paced his apartment and waited for her to come over, as she’d agreed. Now that his plan was in action, his patience had disappeared. He’d get it back…somehow. He’d have to, if he knew anything about Carrie.

She would test his control, and he’d have to press his advantage with utmost delicacy, until she had no other option but to do things his way. He braced himself for her to fight him every inch of the way.

He understood her gut reaction. She was in uncharted territory—not being in complete control of her world—but he had seen his brother walk this path and he would not back down.

Before she’d left for Rwanda, she’d been warmer towards him and a little more connected, and it had given him hope. In hindsight, maybe that had been his wishful thinking. It was hard to remain impartial when your patient—even if she never had more than one appointment—wrapped herself around your heart.

At this point, he knew he wouldn’t be able to maintain the professional impartiality required to take her on as a client. What he could do, though, was help her open up and guide her in the right direction, away from the isolated depression she was sinking into. He’d seen the same thing in his brother, though in Aaron’s case substance abuse—not numbness—was his coping mechanism. His brother had reverted to his binge-drinking habits in an attempt to drown his PTSD. When that didn’t work, he’d turned to prescription pills.

Carrie wasn’t at that desperate point yet—and he’d never let her get to that point—but something had to give. She either needed better ways to cope with her cases, or she needed to take different assignments. As it stood, she was setting herself up for failure by standing in the mental line of fire.

Carrie took the cases their other forensics experts shied away from: mass graves of women, villages shredded by gunfire, the ugly stateside mob hits. Carrie topped the list of experts for each one, both in the US and overseas.

But in spite of everything she’d seen, she remained one of the most idealistic people he knew, though she’d never admit it. Her determination to make a difference and her drive to get answers for the families of victims were what had initially drawn him in.

That was the woman he wanted to save—the brilliant scientist who hadn’t let her work cloud her passion for humanity.

But each time she returned, the desperate light in her eyes brightened as the rest of her dimmed. After the first few cases she’d worked at the DC office, this change in her had only been temporary—she’d bounced back faster than any of the other employees at Gunnerson Forensics.

The rest of her team would see him almost daily for the week after they returned from a case, but not Carrie. She’d wiggled out of her psych debriefing each time.

While he commended her focus and self-control, he’d wager the consequences of this most recent assignment were ones she couldn’t handle on her own. He needed to convince her to lean on him—lean on
someone
who could help—sooner rather than later, because if she went back into the field this vulnerable, the strain of each case would only accumulate. She’d carry the weight until the burden got too heavy, and he knew the likeliest outcome of that scenario.

This time, he recognized the signs. This time, he wouldn’t lose someone he loved. David would take great satisfaction in helping Carrie, even if she never returned his affections.

At 8:10 a.m., he grabbed his wallet and keys, intent on hauling her out into the world. Before he could knock on her door, it swung open and Carrie barreled into him. David grabbed her shoulders to steady her.

“David.” Her words wisped to his ear. He loved the way her voice went husky when she was surprised. Or aroused.

He almost groaned at the memory of her riding him. His pants tightened around his growing erection, and he let her go, despite every instinct screaming not to.

Keeping his mind off a naked Carrie would be more difficult than he’d anticipated. He’d kick himself for underestimating her sex appeal later.

“You were taking your time, so I came to check on you.” He traced a finger down one cheek, unable to keep his hands off her. A flush graced her tanned cheeks. He wanted to see what other parts of her body would blush under his touch.

For a moment, she looked ready to smile, until she changed her mind and scowled at him instead. “You’ve got some nerve, using a double-dog dare to get your way.”

He wrapped his hand around her delicate wrist and led her back into his condo. “I won’t apologize for anything when it’s for your own good.”

“But—”

“Your health has taken a hit from this last dig. And don’t try to tell me otherwise, because you know it’s true. You’re a good ten pounds lighter than you were before you left, and you seem…worn out.”

She shut her mouth with an audible
clunk
. “So what exactly is the plan for the day?” Her tentative voice almost did him in. She sounded so off-kilter he wanted to sweep her up and kiss away her nerves.

He managed to restrain himself from kissing her, but he couldn’t hold back his laugh. “It’s not a death sentence.” It was well worth the punch to his arm.

“Why don’t you sit and we’ll talk about it.”

He settled her onto the couch and brought over the pot of succulents she’d left last night.

“I forgot them!” She snatched up the pot and resumed her intense study of the different variations. While she was absorbed, he let his gaze wander her body. He hadn’t exaggerated her weight loss. Her pants barely clung to her bony hips, and her button-up fit more loosely than before. He knew most women would rejoice, but Carrie didn’t need to lose a pound.

In fact, part of his plan was to feed her until she gained back the missing weight, though he’d never explicitly tell her so. Women were funny about that kind of thing.

His thoughts fractured when Carrie turned to him, her back stiff and eyes bright. She leaned in, her upper body stuttering toward him, starting and stopping as if she couldn’t make up her mind.

He made the decision for her by pulling her into his embrace.

“This is so much better than getting flowers, not that I’ve gotten a lot, at least not for anything but consolation.”

He felt her swallow against his shoulder and again wondered when people had been obligated to give her flowers. He winced, remembering all the bouquets that rotted in his parents’ house after his brother’s funeral, and prayed that hadn’t been her experience.

A woman who spent her career around death didn’t need it at home too.

He held her close to saturate his memory with this feeling. Who knew the next time he’d get so lucky. Before he was satisfied, she broke away.

“Sorry, I just…”

He stroked a lock of hair out of her face and stared into her confused eyes. “No apologies. You don’t need them with me.” Her eyes watered but before he could figure out if it was a trick of the light or not, she turned away.

“So what’s your evil plan?”

Since returning from Rwanda, Carrie’s moods had flipped from hot to cold so fast he worried about thermal shock. But her voice sounded strangled, like she didn’t have her emotions under control, so he played it light and didn’t give her a reason to replace whatever she felt with anger. “It’s a secret. You’ve just got to go along with it.”

She glared at him and practically growled. “Only for today. But I would be much more amenable if you’d give me some idea what to expect.”

Her consternation made him laugh. “I’m sure you can find some way of bribing the answers out of me.” He waggled his eyebrows, and Carrie pursed her lips, looking like a prim schoolmarm with a lush, kissable mouth.

“Can you at least tell me about one thing we’re doing? Am I dressed for the occasion?” She sank back into the couch, looking somewhere between resigned and ready to run, with a hint of frustration in the set of her jaw.

“Well, I was going to make you breakfast and then take you out. And no, I won’t give you more details. You’ll just have to be surprised.”

He rose to start the French toast, but she grabbed his arm. Her eyes were wet with unshed tears. “Thank you. For the plant.”

He saw how difficult the admission was. Her whole body looked on edge.

He sank back onto his seat, knowing she needed a moment to return to neutral. He wanted to push her interpersonal barriers, but not too hard or too fast. “Why don’t you just settle in,” he said, all concern for her banished from his voice. “We’ve got all day to explore.”

He flipped on the TV and waited for her to relax. Screw breakfast. Right now, he wanted to press his advantage with Carrie. She needed comforting, and if she got distracted by some reality TV show, she’d be much more likely to allow it.

Finally, the tension eased until she sank into the couch and propped her feet on the leather footrest.

He’d moved it closer to his side of the couch after her first visit, to entice her to sit closer to him. It had worked like a charm. Little separated them on the loveseat, but he’d never before felt the distance so acutely.

Her chest rose and fell with fairly regular breaths—she’d recaptured her calm. He reached out and pulled her against his side, his arm slung over her shoulder. Just as he’d worried on first high school movie date, he hoped he wasn’t moving too quickly with her.

A sharp inhale passed her lips and the muscles of her shoulders tightened. Like she was a wild animal, he held still and barely breathed until she relaxed once more.

Perfect.

They watched one episode of some weight-loss competition then started another. Midway through, Carrie’s head tilted to land on his shoulder, ever so gently. Whether she realized her effect on him or just wanted to get comfortable, he didn’t know.

God, she felt good against him. Her soft hair smelled citrusy, even if it didn’t have its usual shine. He’d never again be able to eat clementines without thinking of her.

At last she settled fully against him, and he seriously considered staying like that all day. Who needed food when he had a soft, warm woman in his arms?

They didn’t speak until the second episode finished and she broke their quiet peace. “I’ve never done this, you know.” She kept her face averted, but little shivers ran through her body as she said it.

“Oh?” He kept his words neutral though his heart broke for the young Carrie who had never cuddled on a couch.

She nodded. “Too busy.”

“Ah. Even in high school? I imagine you were the one leading science club and drowning under homework.”

Her sharp laugh sounded awkward, forced. “Sure, that was me. Science nerd.” The bitterness of her response alarmed him.

David shifted away from the topic to ease her discomfort. “I was the dumb jock who got into college on a baseball scholarship and signed up for psychology, sure it would be an easy A.” He stroked a hand down her hair. He’d not simply held a woman and talked with her in a long time. “Best mistake of my life.”

A long stretch of silence made David think Carrie was either done talking, or had been bored to sleep.

When she spoke, he stopped breathing so he could hear her quiet words.

“I was anything but a good student in high school. My parents even pulled me out my senior year so I could do independent study while they kept an eye on me.”

That was the last thing he’d expected to hear. He waited for more. Instead, she tilted to face him.

“Can we have breakfast soon? I’m hungry.” Her tentative smile burrowed into his chest.

“Of course.” He laid a soft kiss on her forehead and she pressed harder against him for a moment, then shied away. He let her escape the discussion of her past—this time. But he suspected they’d have to bare those old scars at some point. Carrie had never been one to talk, but now her reticence was killing him. He was so much closer to finding out everything about her, but he’d never felt farther.

He’d figure her out sooner or later, and when he did, he’d get his answers. He’d save her.

Chapter Seven

While David puttered around the kitchen, Carrie channel-surfed, once again glad she didn’t have a TV in her condo. Otherwise, she’d never have an excuse to linger at David’s. While she did enjoy studying the microcultures that were now the subject of endless TV series, she was really pretending to be caught up in the show while she soaked up his warmth and joy. If spending the day out with him would repair the emotional damage from her last case, even a little, dealing with his surprise plans would be worthwhile.

She divided her attention between the female power-struggle rituals of
The Real Housewives of Atlanta
and David’s clean, economical movements as he cooked. She didn’t know what he was preparing, but it smelled amazing, like home and love and happiness.

She could almost identify the scent, like it had been long ago imprinted on her brain but was now out of reach. “Breakfast smells incredible. What is it?”

“Oh, Dr. Carrie Farrow, you are in for a treat. This is my award-winning Crème Brûlée French Toast.”

Her past reached out from its cesspool and curled clawed fingers around her throat. Every Saturday morning, her father had made French toast for “his two favorite women”. She and her mother would curl up in bed and watch cartoons or talk shows and wait for him to bring them breakfast in bed. She remembered the love that had radiated from his face while they’d eaten together, the tender way he’d treated her mother.