a break.”
She smiled, providing them each the attention they wanted. “It’s kind of nice to know I was missed.”
Mike had missed her, too. But he was glad she’d gotten out of the house and treated herself to a new hairstyle and a pedicure.
“Why don’t you two go play,” he told the dogs as he reached for the rubber ball he’d left on the porch railing a while back and hurled it to the back of the yard.
As the dogs raced to the corner of the fence, his words echoed the instructions his parents used to give him and the other children on nights the couple had sat down to watch a movie on television. Mike hadn’t realized how difficult it must have been for his parents to juggle a love life around a houseful of rugrats, and his admiration for them grew.
“The dogs seem to be getting along much better now,” Simone said.
“I agree. We should be able to start leaving them alone when we both have to work.”
“Speaking of work,” Simone said, “we had an interesting case the other night. A little boy found a stray bullet in his backyard and apparently decided to put it up his nose.”
“Crazy kids. I’ve seen them put jelly beans and crayons up there. But a bullet? That must have been a bit tricky to get out.”
They continued to talk about some of the interesting cases they’d had while working, as well as a couple of humorous situations they’d come across.
“My dad’s birthday is Monday evening, so we’re all going to get together at my parents’ house. Sometimes, it’s a bit of a zoo, but it’s always entertaining. If you’re free, I’d like you to go with me.”
“Thanks, but I’ll pass this time.”
He nodded, focusing on the fact that she’d said this time, which implied she might be up for it in the future.
They made some more small talk, and before long, the chicken was done. After Mike placed it on a clean platter, they left the dogs in the yard to eat outside and went indoors to enjoy their own meal in the dining room.
Mike pulled out Simone’s chair so she could sit down at the antique oak table. “I’ve got a bottle of merlot on the counter. If you give me a minute, I’ll pour us each a glass.”
“That’s okay. I’d rather have water.”
Was she still worried that the alcohol would lower her inhibitions and make her more susceptible to temptation? If so, she didn’t need to be. He wasn’t trying to go that route. He just wanted to set the mood and add a romantic touch.
He felt a bit funny drinking alone, but he didn’t want the wine to go to waste. “I’ll pour myself a glass, then. Do you want ice in your water?”
“Yes, please.”
When he returned to the table, she seemed pensive, introspective. She bit down on her bottom lip, furrowed her brow and stared at her plate. He watched her for a while, intent upon keeping his mouth shut. But as they ate in silence, curiosity finally got the better of him.
“Who hurt you, Simone?”
She glanced up, her gaze snagging his. “What do you mean?”
“Who broke your heart? I get this feeling that a man did a real number on you, and you’re not about to put yourself in that same position again.”
She studied him for a moment, as though pondering what to say, what to reveal.
About the time he’d decided that she wasn’t going to tell him, she said, “I dated this guy in college. I can’t say that he did any real number on me. But he certainly made me aware of my deficiencies in a relationship.”
Mike couldn’t think of any flaws that she might have, other than refusing to let her feelings go and give love a chance. “The guy was a fool.”
“No, Tom might have been brash and insensitive. But he pretty much got it right. He called me an ice queen, and it hurt—a lot. But I knew what he meant, and there wasn’t anything I could do to change that.”
“You weren’t cold or unfeeling the night you and I slept together.”
Her voice softened, even if her resolve didn’t. “How about the next morning?”
Yeah. There was that.
She blotted her lips with a napkin, then pushed her plate aside. “I don’t connect very well with people, Mike. I always hold back. And while I care about you—far more than is in my best interests—I can’t give you and me the chance you want us to have.”
“Why?” he asked, wanting to understand.
“Because my mother hated my father. Because she never wanted me in the first place. Because she decided to be noble and carry me to term, which I appreciate, but she was hell-bent on keeping me when she should have given me to someone who would have loved me.” Simone stood, picked up her plate, glass and silverware, then carried them into the kitchen, leaving Mike to second-guess what she’d just told him and to wonder what, if anything, she might have held back.
He, too, got to his feet and made his way to the kitchen with his own place setting.
“Hey,” he said, sidling up to her as she filled the sink with hot, soapy water. “I didn’t mean to pry.”
She turned to face him. “I know. But it’s best that you understand something. I didn’t have the love that you had growing up. I’m not sure if you put any merit in child psychology, but I never bonded with my mom. I didn’t learn to trust. Whenever I was hurt, no one gave a damn. So on the outside, I might look okay and act professionally. But on the inside, I’m scared and not so sure about things. And for that reason, I’m happier being alone.”
Mike gently gripped her shoulders, the silky strands of her hair brushing against his knuckles. “You’re a queen, but you’re not made of ice. And I’ll give you the time you need. Just don’t shut me out because you have some wild-ass notion that you’re looking out for my best interests.”
Then he kissed her, long and hard and thorough.
Their tongues mated, their breaths mingled. Their hearts pounded out in need.
And when he was done, when there was a flush of arousal along her neck and chest, when her lips parted and her eyes widened, he excused himself for the evening and left her alone.
To think.
And, hopefully, to yearn for all that they could be together.
Chapter Eight
On Monday, Simone was asked to work an early shift to cover for Maureen Wiggins, an E.R. nurse who’d called in sick because of food poisoning.
So far, the morning had been relatively quiet, so while she took a lunch break, she carried a fantasy novel into the solarium, where she planned to spend some quiet time reading.
The solarium was a convenient place to take a break—and a cheerful one. An abundance of windows provided sunlight, as well as a view of the garden and the various elms, oaks and maples that had been growing on the hospital grounds for nearly forty years.
For the first time since the winter months had stripped the bushes bare, the roses had begun to bloom in a colorful array of buds and blossoms.
Because of the solitude and the view, the solarium had become Simone’s favorite place to steal a little reading time and escape into another world. Once inside, she planned to find a little alcove of cushiony chairs and make herself comfortable for the next twenty minutes or so. She’d even set the alarm on her watch so that she’d know when to end her break.
As she’d hoped, the solarium was nearly empty, other than a man talking on his cell phone in the corner.
She’d