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He crossed his arms over his chest. “What wrong idea would that be?”
He didn’t say another word and watched her wrestle with her own discomfort, trying to answer his question without answering it. She mumbled something and he leaned in. “Excuse me? Didn’t quite catch that.”
She glared at him. “I didn’t want you thinking that I was coming on to you—you know, with the dream thing. They’re only dreams. That’s all.”
It made him itch to find a way to show her how prim and proper she wasn’t. Whether it was coming out in her dreams or not, he glimpsed the passionate woman who lived beneath the uptight facade. For some reason, beyond his own denied libido, he wanted to bring her out.
“Joy, maybe you need to loosen up. I know you take your work seriously, and you have a lot of stress, but do you ever have any fun?”
She looked up, frowning. She hadn’t expected that, he could tell.
“Of course I do. I have plenty of fun.”
“Doing what?”
“I like to read and watch TV, when I’m not working. Sometimes I go to a movie, or go out. Walk on the beach.”
“Do you do those things often?”
“When I can, like most people. Work takes up a lot of my time. You don’t get promotions by working forty hours a week.”
“You sound like you’re good at your work, but sometimes people get too wrapped up in their work. I love being an EMT, but it’s my job, not my life. I think knowing that is what allowed me to be good at it. Do you love PR?”
“You don’t have to love your work to be good at it. I love being good at it.”
“Why would you do something that doesn’t make you happy?”
Her eyes widened. “Uh, because we’re adults and we work, we pay bills, and do what’s expected of us. Keeping my house makes me happy.”
He blinked—the way she’d said it sounded like someone else talking, not her. He wondered where someone got the concept of work that Joy obviously clung to so strongly.
“Well, that’s true, but you can be happy in the meantime.”
She shoved her fingers through her hair, and he found himself wondering how soft those strands were.
She yawned. “I’m sorry, I’m tired. It’s been a tough day and I have to be up early. Not all of us are on vacation, able to stay up to all hours debating the nature of life and happiness,” she said sarcastically but without bite.
“Listen, I have an idea,” he said, deciding to ignore the fact that she was withdrawing from him again.
“Does it include walking toward the door?”
He grinned, liking her smart-ass side, even if it was being directed at him at the moment.
“Eventually. You know, if you go to bed now you’re only going to be screaming my name in an hour or so,” he said teasingly.
“That’s not funny.”
“No, it’s not, but I know a little something about sleep disorders, and maybe yours is caused by all this stress.”
Her eyebrow quirked up in the sexiest way he’d ever observed. “Oh, and I suppose you’d like to help me relax?”
He took a step closer, close enough to catch the scent of her soap and shampoo. Her eyes widened, but she didn’t look away as he responded.
“Yeah, actually. I’d like that. I have time, I like you. I think you like me, even if you won’t admit it. We could have some fun.”
“Exactly what kind of fun are you talking about?”
He didn’t bother hiding his attraction as he spoke. “Anything you’d be open to.”
“So you did all this, tonight, just to come on to me,” she accused, but he shook his head.
“No, I didn’t. I promise. I’m honest enough with myself to know that I’m attracted to you—how could I not be? Look at you,” he said. “You’re a beautiful woman.”
“Give me a break,” she huffed.
“I’m serious—I haven’t been able to get your hair out of my mind since I saw you by the car with the groceries, how you had it all wrapped up tight. Even now, it’s pinned back, when you’re here alone, at home. Don’t you ever want to let it down?”
He tugged a random strand and it fell forward across her ear. He rubbed it between his fingers, and he went hard again. Her gaze was fixed on his, and her lips parted.
“I—I like my hair like this. It’s out of my face,” she said, her voice catching as she tucked the rogue strand back behind her ear.
He smiled. She wasn’t unaffected by him, and that gave him the signal to push a little harder. He wanted her. Maybe it was her dreams that stoked his imagination, but he wanted to loosen her up.
“Joy,” he said softly, moving a little closer. “Just let go for a minute.”
Before she could stop him, he had tugged off the band that held her hair back, and watched the silky sheet of auburn fall forward, sweeping across her cheek, then back to settle along the gentle curve of her chin. He was entranced with the motion, and touched her hair again.
“Rafe.” Her tone held objection, but she didn’t step away.
Instead, she closed her eyes, as if she couldn’t bear to watch as he slid the palm of his hand underneath the curtain of her hair and curled his fingers around the nape of her neck, pressing slightly before threading back out through her soft tresses. The strands felt like fine ribbons, and he swallowed hard, his hand trembling.
“It’s like silk, or softer, actually,” he said.
She hadn’t opened her eyes, and he took advantage of the moment. He leaned in, stealing a kiss. She startled, and he murmured something, sounds, reassuring her. He darted his tongue out to taste her closed lips, asking for passage beyond. When she opened her mouth, he misinterpreted and took the plunge, moving in for a deeper taste, groaning as he drew her closer, only to find her hands planted between them pushing him back.
“Rafe, no … please.” She was breathless, flushed, and it took a minute for his pulse to settle, her words cutting through the fog of passion that had enveloped him so quickly he was amazed.
“I’m sorry,” he said, dropping his hands but not stepping back. He looked deep into the blue depths of her eyes. “What’s wrong?”
The stiff mask she wore for the world slid back into place, and she wrapped her arms around her middle as if she were cold.
“I was trying to—I was going to say, you have to understand … this won’t work. It shouldn’t happen.”
“Why not?”
He followed her gaze outside the kitchen window toward where the lights strung on Bessie’s house blinked and twinkled merrily. The sight still seemed odd to him in the summerlike weather. Finally, Joy spoke, though she kept looking out the window, instead of at him.
“Because I don’t like it.”
“What? Kissing?”
“No. That … the lights. The decorations, the music, the gifts. Christmas.”
“You don’t like Christmas?”
“No, I don’t.”
He frowned. “Okay. Well, I don’t think you’re alone in that, but what does it have to do with us getting together?”
She aimed a cool, direct gaze at him. “It has to do with us because I don’t feel any of it. I’m annoyed by all the clutter and the lights—all of it. As you observed, I hardly know my neighbors, and they don’t know me. I don’t like my job, particularly, but I like what it gets me. I don’t do presents or cookies or carols, and I’m not really into casual sex, either, or sex in general, so you’re barking up the wrong tree, okay? I’m not that type of woman.”
She’d traveled a long distance in that little monologue, and while he didn’t quite get the bit about her not liking Christmas, or why that mattered, the latter comment caught his attention.
“Why would you say you’re not the type of woman who enjoys sex?”
She shrugged, trying to look nonchalant, but he could see the burden of past pain in her deliberately calm gaze.
“Believe me, I’ve gotten feedback on the issue, and I’m just not very … warm. I’m not a warm person.”
“You’re right,” he agreed, garnering a flash of surprised hurt from her before adding, “You’re not warm—you’re hot. Everything about you is hot, and you’ve got me hot, as well. I hear you at night, and—”
“Those are dreams, Rafe—they’re not me.”
“It is you. Maybe it’s the real you trying to get out. Have you ever considered that?”
She looked absolutely miserable at the possibility, and he took a chance, moving closer to her again.
“Listen, Joy, I don’t know why you have the picture of yourself that you do, and I agree, you’ve closed yourself off from some things in life—no, let me finish—I’m not criticizing, and I don’t want to be your shrink. You have reasons for what you do and how you do it, and I’m not really about changing that. You’re losing sleep, so am I. I’m here for a few weeks, and I like you. I think you might like me. Maybe we can have a little fun together.”
“You mean sex.”
“I mean fun. If that includes sex, great. I’d love the chance to show you how hot you are. How you affect me,” he said honestly. That she could even believe she was a cold fish was beyond him.
“Thanks, but I don’t need you to save me,” she said stubbornly. He could have been offended, but instead he looked straight back at her, and while he didn’t know where the words came from, he knew they were true.
“Who knows? Maybe I need you to save me.”
6
“HEY—GOOD WORK TODAY,” Ken said, popping his head in the office door and grinning. Joy had been up to her ears regarding the last-minute release of a new and improved Toddler Tank, which was being shipped out to families with recall certificates that very day, a full seven days before Christmas. Manufacturing had done triple-time fixing the problem, and the tide of negative feedback was starting to turn. It was costing the company a fortune, but it would pay off in the long run. Joy had been all over the media all day, making sure everyone knew what a good job her company had done.
“Thanks.” She took the time to look up and smile back at Ken.
“Um, how’s that other thing going—you know, with the problem you were having, whoever’s leaving you those, uh, materials?”
She blushed, his comment taking a little of the shine off the moment. “It’s fine—I made sure it was addressed last night,” she said.
The relief on Ken’s face was palpable. No doubt he was glad he didn’t have to deal with it internally. “That’s good. Well, you really stayed on top of things today. I was impressed.”
All was forgiven, and everyone was in a great mood with the great save they’d managed to make. This aspect of the job was much more gratifying than all the negativity she’d been wading through before.
“You’ve been at it all day—it’s six—you heading out soon? I thought I could buy you a congratulations drink,” Ken proposed.
“Six? Oh, crap—sorry, I mean, thanks for the offer on the drink, but can I take a rain check? I have somewhere to be, and I lost track of time.”
“Hot date?”
Ken was happily married, so she knew he wasn’t coming on to her. “No, volunteer work I do in the evenings.”
“You’re a wonder, Joy. Not everyone would work all day and then volunteer at night. Make sure that’s noted on your employee profile.”
“That’s not necessary. It’s something I do because I enjoy it.”
“Still, can’t hurt to keep building that résumé. Joy?”
“Yes?”
“You really did a great job on this recall—I’ll be sure to make that known to the board when we’re making the promotion decisions.”
She smiled, nodding. “Thanks, Ken, I appreciate that.”
She practically danced to the parking lot—she was back on track, and in line for the promotion. At the moment, she had to grab some dinner and get to Second Chance. She’d offered to do the night shift there and had her change of clothes in the backseat, ready to go.
When Pam had called that morning asking her to cover at the last minute because Rashid couldn’t make it, she’d jumped at the chance, maybe a little too eagerly. There was the small—teensy, really—chance that she was avoiding going home since Rafe might be tempted to come over and see her. The events of the previous evening had been thrumming through her brain and her body all day long, and she didn’t know what to think about it, except that she didn’t want to think about it.
However, Rafe had been wrong about one thing: she hadn’t gone to sleep and dreamed about him because she’d been up, tossing and turning and trying not to think about how he’d tenderly touched her face, the heat in his gaze, or the gentle kiss he’d offered—with the promise of so much more.
If she’d dared let herself fall asleep she would have spontaneously combusted, having been so close to him, his presence following her into sleep. So she’d stayed awake, his words echoing in her mind as she realized she didn’t need to go to sleep to have Rafe Moore—he was offering himself to her on a silver platter. Maybe she was crazy, but it scared her to death.
In her dreams she was a different woman, uninhibited, sensual—not her ordinary, uptight self. She meant what she’d told him—she dated, sure, and she’d liked a few of the guys she’d seen over the years well enough to take things to their inevitable conclusion in the bedroom. She’d dealt with the sting of more than one breakup, as well. None of the men had said she was awful in bed or anything, but what else was a girl to think? She obviously didn’t have the sex appeal she did in her dreams. Dream sex was usually more satisfying for her, too, sadly. Even so, she hoped it would cease soon—her sleep deprivation was wearing her out.
Rafe was interested in her because he’d heard that sexy version of herself, not the real Joy. Joy was willing but awkward, generally not knowing exactly how to respond to a man’s touch. She didn’t want to be like that, but even when she wanted to participate, she never felt natural or carried away by passion. It was a self-perpetuating problem that had converted a rather boring sex life into a bona fide dry spell. Rafe was offering to help her end it, but his interest was based on false information.
That was why she’d pushed him away—he had a fantasy of her and it was so far from reality that it could only lead to disappointment for both of them. Rafe might like her hair down, but it would take a lot more than freeing her hair to thaw out whatever made her so boring in bed. The one thing she was sure of was that she couldn’t face seeing disappointment in her performance mirrored in yet another man’s eyes.
Especially not in Rafe’s hot-chocolate eyes.
She hoped he’d take the hint and back off. Better to nip this in the bud, she thought as she drove into the Second Chance parking lot.
Cheery multicultural holiday decorations were on display in the windows and on the lawn. People who stayed at the shelter came from varied backgrounds. There was a menorah in the window circled by Christmas lights. A Santa stood on the small scruffy patch of front lawn beside a makeshift manger. Joy smiled, realizing this was the only time looking at all the Christmas decorations hadn’t made her wrinkle her nose.
Maybe it was because here the decorations meant something more than the suburban competition to outdo one’s neighbors. Here, this little pastiche of holiday cheer represented hope … and home, if only for the moment. For people who lived here and were working so hard to improve their lives, this was a sign of their belief in something good. Bolstered, she got out of the car. She was avoiding Rafe, but even that couldn’t dim her optimism as she walked through the doorway, looking forward to her evening.
“WOW—LOOK AT YOU!”
Pam spun around, surprised. She hadn’t even heard Joy walk up. She also wasn’t decked out in her usual jeans, T-shirt and Padres cap with a pen stuck behind her ear.
“This looks okay?” Pam asked hesitantly, smoothing the sides of her deep green formfitting dress down for what must have been the fiftieth time, flashing looks in the mirror and then at Joy for reassurance. Pam’s fortysomething curves were still holding up, and she didn’t look half-bad, but she hadn’t dressed up like this in such a long time. She just wasn’t sure.
