In Love and War (5 page)

“I think I’d better go.” He wrenched away from her. “I want to leave you with a good opinion of me. That’s not going to happen if I stay.”

Nice to know she wasn’t the only one impossibly aroused. She walked him to the door and they stared at each other, both still susceptible to the powerful pull, buzzing like electricity, between them.

“My e-mail
,” she reminded him, feeling as weak as she sounded.

“Tomorrow.
Give it to me tomorrow. I really need to go—
now
—or I won’t be able to leave. I’m sorry.” He fled, pulling the door closed behind him.

Stunned,
Ariela waited, listening as his car drove off. She’d been so wrapped up in the moment, she hadn’t even recognized how dangerously close she’d come to tossing away her principles in a moment of sexual haze. It was good he’d left. She wasn’t a casual-sex kind of person, and to her relief, neither was Dylan, apparently.

Five minutes later, her telephone rang. Ariela hurried out of the bathroom with her toothbrush in hand, a frothy mint rim circling her lips.
She picked up, assuming it was Jean. It wasn’t.

“I’m closing in on six months here,” Dylan explained without preface.

Ariela blinked in surprise. “Pardon?”

“I haven’t had sex in six months. My self-control was pretty strained when I bolted. I was ready to pin you to your couch like a butterfly in a bug collection.” He caught his breath, as
if he’d been running. “I just thought you should know. It’s not a rejection, far from it.”

Relieved, s
he smiled. “Thanks. I wondered.
Six months
?”

“Just about.”
There was a pause on his end before he added, “There were opportunities. But they weren’t offers I was willing to follow up on, if you get my drift. Besides, until recently, I’ve been on the fly for so long, relationship sex was out.”

“I think I understand.”

“Good. I just thought you should know.”

“I can beat you by two months," she told him with a slow smile.

“Seriously? Eight months?”

“Much to my chagrin.
I sort of lapsed back with an old boyfriend for convenience’s sake, but after two days, I remembered why I found him so irritating in the first place.”

He
laughed. “I think we both need to work on this. Why don’t we discuss it more tomorrow? I’ll give you a call after eleven, if that’s okay with you.”

“I’ll pencil you in.”

His chuckle deepened her grin. “Sleep well, Ariela.”

“Fat chance now.”
She hung up to the sound of his laughter.

Chapter 5

Ariela shuffled into the kitchen
Saturday morning and found Jean already at the table having her morning toast and coffee.

She was just about to take a sip when she snorted at the sight of Ariela and had to set down her cup or spill. Looking up with a grin, she asked,
“Rough night? That’s some impressive bed hair. Should I get my camera?”

“Ha ha.
I’m a little rumpled. Get over it.”

“
How’s your head?”

Ariela stifled a yawn. “
Better. When did you get home?” She headed over to the stove and lifted the kettle, shaking it to gauge how much water was in it before turning on the burner.

“Two hours ago. Ron wanted to get to the garage early so he’d be done by four. We’re going to a comedy club tonight
—catch a little dinner first.”

While Ariela set up her bowl of instant oatmeal
, Jean returned for a refill on coffee. She kindly poured a cup for Ariela as well and slid it down the counter to her.

“
Looks like you could use it.”

“
Thanks.” Ariela let out a deep groan at her first swallow of the day.

Returning to her seat,
Jean pointed to the plate on the table. “There’s toast if you’re interested.”

“Now you
’re talking.”

By Ariela’s third bite, her brain
had finally booted up. She stopped eating and frowned at Jean. “Why did you say you’re home?”

“Ron wanted to get to work early, and I didn’t want to hang around his place.”
The shrill whistle of the kettle make both women jump. Laughing at herself, Jean said, “Stay put. I’ve got it.” A minute later she set the steaming bowl down in front of Ariela with the spoon already in it. “There you go. But you can stir your own oatmeal.” Jean dropped back onto her chair and picked up her mug. “So, I never got to ask you about that guy yesterday. When I came back upstairs later you were zonked out.”

Ariela
felt her cheeks heat.

Jean’s eyebrows
shot up. “Oh yeah? What am I missing?”

“We went out to dinner last night.”

“You did not!”

Her eyes cast down,
Ariela licked her spoon clean. “Did too. He called and asked me out. He said he was going to call. I just didn’t expect it so soon.”

“And?”

“And…” said Ariela, slowly carving swirls into her cereal, “I had such a great time.” Looking up, she made a scary and heartfelt confession. “I felt like Cinderella, you know—when she goes out, expecting to have a nice time, and she’s still blown away?”

Jean’s mouth dropped open.
“No kidding?”

Ariela nodded. “He…is…something.”
Erasing the swirls with the back of her spoon, she started over. “Dylan has table manners too. You know how much I value those.”

Jean
sighed and rolled her hand impatiently, coaxing Ariela to go on.

“He’s a journalist, so he’s been everywhere. He had me laughing most of the time.” Then Ariela
’s eyes went soft. “Oh Jean, he’s so nice. I mean, so, so nice.”

Jean
stared at her, an expression of wonder on her face. “Wow.”

“Is it crazy to be so hopeful about him already?”

Jean shrugged. “I don’t know. Doesn’t every date start hopefully?”

“Not the ones I’ve been on,” Ariela reminded her.

“I’ll give you that.”

“I wish I knew. I feel like a tornado is cutting through my insides.” Ariela looked bleakly at her friend.
“Of course, his job is a big problem for me.”

Jean cocked her head, a frown of confusion on her face.
“He’s a journalist.”

“
A journalist who’s been covering war zones for years.”

“
Seriously?”

“
I wish I were kidding.”

Jean was understandably sympathetic
, but there wasn’t much she could offer as far as help went. She took another swallow of coffee and asked instead, “So what’s on your agenda today?”

“I’m waiting for Dylan to call at eleven.”

“You’re going to bend your rules and see him again?”

Ariela threw up her hand, equally amazed.
“I know. I’m insane. This makes no sense at all.”

“Well, I suppose you know what you
’re doing,” Jean said with obvious skepticism. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need a nap. We didn’t get much sleep last night.” She set her cup in the sink and sauntered out.

“Sure, rub it in,” Ariela called after her then sagged in her chair, suddenly worried she was losing her marbles over a gorgeous pair of eyes.

***

Ariela went down to the office to use the computer just before ten. She wanted to
create a card for Dylan, small enough to fit in his wallet, but with everything on it. Of course she realized she’d probably gone a bit overboard when she started playing with styles, fonts, colors, and various borders. It looked cramped—and needy.

“Geez, why don’t I tell him my blood type while I’m at it?”

Huffing out a breath she tapped the backspace key until all evidence of her mailing address and business number were gone. Better. It was a waste of cardstock, but she didn’t care once it came out of the printer looking fabulous.

Only now did she glance at the
clock. She’d spent forty-five minutes on this so far? Oh well. Committed to the project, she trimmed it down and tossed the scraps into the recycling. Too bad she couldn’t laminate it. As she stood there regretting the absence of a plastic sleeve for the card, she realized how insane it suddenly seemed. All told, she’d wasted an hour working on this. No way would she ever admit that to anyone—especially Dylan.

His call came right on time, something else to like about him. Dare she hope he’d been counting the minutes too?

“How are you feeling today?” he asked.

Smiling, she spun slowly back and forth in her office chair.
“Much better.”

“Feel like helping me with something?”

“That depends. If you’re thinking about moving furniture, forget it.”

He laughed. “No, Max needs a bath.”

No kidding
.
He could use a
toothbrush too
.

“Ariela?
You don’t actually have to help. Really, I was just hoping you’d hang out with us today. I’ll fire up the grill afterwards,” he added, sweetening the deal.

She harrumphed, but she was smiling off into space when she did it. “Well, if you’re going to twist my arm, okay. I have something for you anyway.”

“How soon can I come get you?”

“I’m ready now.”

“Cool. I’ll be right over.”

Ariela went back upstairs and
swapped out her tennis shoes for sandals. If there was any chance her feet were going to get wet, the last thing she wanted to deal with later was uncomfortable shoes.

She saw Dylan’s car coming down the alley from
her bedroom window so she hurried out to meet him. With Jean home, and both of their cars already parked in back, there wasn’t space for him. Anxious about blocking the alley, Ariela ran around to the passenger side and hopped in without fanfare. She played it casual when she handed over the little card as soon as she was buckled.

“Here
, this is for you.”

Dylan looked it over.
“Very nice. It’s going right in my wallet.”

“That’s the idea.”

He was wearing a gray, zippered sweatshirt over an old, washed-out T-shirt. It was so beat up the detached collar hung around his throat like a necklace. His bare legs made quite an impression on her. He was wearing shorts and running shoes—no socks—so there was a nice, long stretch of manly leg showing. He had great legs. She kept stealing glances at them as they flexed and moved on the pedals. She couldn’t help it.

Dylan pulled the car onto the concrete pavers embedded in his front lawn.

“You don’t use the alley?” she asked.

“There’s only one spot, and the upstairs tenant uses it.”

“Oh, I thought you had the entire house.”

“No, I just use the downstairs apartment. We go in through the side door. No one goes to the front.”

Following him through the side gate, she asked, “Did you pick up for me?”

Dylan stopped and turned with a puzzled expression, then broke into a slow smile of comprehension. “Oh ...you mean did I get rid of the stuff I stashed in here from the car?”

“Uh-huh.”

“
It’s put away, but you’re not allowed to open any closets.”

“I’ll try to resist the urge.”

He gave a snort of amusement. “It’s for your own safety.”

The guy could make her laugh. “
Good to know.”

Dylan reached for the unlocked door and pulled it open for
her. She had one foot on the step when, out of nowhere, Max came charging, a dog with an escape plan, and knocked her legs right out from under her. Luckily Dylan’s reflexes were just as fast. He caught her as she fell back and smoothly set her upright again. His swift intervention was most appreciated. She didn’t need a second fall this weekend.

“Damn!” he swore at himself. “I’m sorry. I should have warned you that could happen.”

“I’m cool. Do we need to catch him?”

“No, I closed the gate so he can run free in the yard.”

They walked right into a cozy kitchen and Dylan nodded toward the small, wooden table and chairs along the wall. “You can hang your purse on a chair if you want.”

Ariela did just that
. Turning with a shrug, she said, “Okay, I’m here. Now what?”

“It isn’t much, but come on. I’ll give you a tour.”

Dylan took her hand and towed her into the living room. The decorator in her resurfaced and decided the dull grays and blues were all wrong. They made the room feel smaller than it was. She felt genuine revulsion when she looked at his couch, hidden beneath the ugliest patchwork quilt she’d ever seen. At least the stylish easy chair facing the television was a step in the right direction. It just didn’t go with the rest. Good thing too. There was a rack of TV trays standing against the wall, not two feet away from the television. She had a hunch Dylan rarely ate at his kitchen table.

“Do you know how long it’s been since I saw TV trays?” she asked.

He smiled. “How long?”

S
nickering with amusement, she walked over to them and followed the battered edge of one with her fingertip. “I must have been five or six at the most. They were down in my Grandma’s basement. She’d let me drag one upstairs to use for my art projects. I think she was afraid I'd get crayon on her coffee table.”

“So you’re an artist too?”

“I’m a designer. Crayons, pencils, markers—they’re all in my blood.”

Her gaze returned to the sofa and she stared at it for a silent beat.

“The couch belongs to Max,” Dylan explained, noting her reaction to the quilt.

She nodded. The room was unfashionably comfortable, smelled of dog, but on the plus side, it had very good lighting. She admired the handsome windows—nicely proportioned and in good
condition. However, the glass itself needed a good washing. At least there was decent airflow. She turned to the walls again, interested in the framed pieces he’d hung. Where most people had artwork or family photos, Dylan had showcased news articles, dating all the way back to the Kennedy assassination and Nixon impeachment.

“And you’re a political junkie,” she said with a bemused smile.

Dylan grinned. “Guilty as charged.”

There was a low shelf overfilled with books. Messy stacks sat on the floor in front of it, because there was no room to tuck anything more. A cardboard box was set beside the easy chair, and it was stacked high with old newspapers and magazines, the overflow beginning to crowd a tall, gooseneck reading lamp.

“Homey.” Ariela smiled, all in all, approving his space.

He tugged her along. “And this is my room.”

His bed was made. There was a heaped basket of dirty clothes on the floor beside the dresser, but otherwise it was tidy. His warning about his closets leaped to mind, and Ariela smiled again.

“And the bath,” he said, drawing her away.

Ariela peeked through the door and went into shock. It was newly re-done, sleek and large, with an over-sized shower, huge mirror, and fantastic lighting. Even the towels looked plush. It blew her away. She wondered which of her competitors he’d used, because they’d done a terrific job.

Dylan laughed. “Let me explain. I’ve suffered through some pretty horrendous bathrooms. I can’t even begin to describe some of them. If you’re going to crave luxury when you get home, go with the room that matters most first.”

“This is fabulous!”

“I felt an urge to splurge.”