CHAPTER ELEVEN
Andie paused on her way down the staircase, picking up an almost subliminally slight waft of bergamot and jasmine in the air. Rhys and Will were out with Karina now, on her fourth visit, and Andie couldn’t help but wonder how they were doing. She always felt slightly queasy until they returned. She was getting way too attached, she reflected grimly. Somehow they had taken up an immutable place on her psychic-radar screen. Her awareness of them glowed luminously against the black field of her customary solitude.
Her friendship with Rhys had deepened in recent days as they’d ventured out into the world with Will, working to expand his tolerance for the incursions of daily life. They’d taken him for a haircut, made one memorably awful trip to the grocery store, and even went out one evening to brave a meal at a family-friendly restaurant. They’d almost made it through their entrées before Will’s patience ran out, and they had to beat a quick retreat. It was all therapy in action, but somehow Andie suspected she might be the one being most profoundly transformed.
She emerged into the kitchen to find Jillian huffing, lunging, and jogging on the spot as she unpacked groceries, occasionally stopping to nibble on a thin slice of ham from a rolled-up selection on a plate.
“Having a meaty snack?” Andie asked as she pitched in to help.
“Early dinner,” Jillian corrected morosely. “Geoff and I are going bowling tonight, and if I don’t have something now, I’ll cave and eat french fries.”
“Are you sure that’s enough for a meal?” Andie looked dubiously at the small, slippery stack of deli meat.
“Yup, it’s on the Dukan diet.” Jillian performed a squat as she stowed a bag of peas in the freezer. “I’m upping my game. Geoff lost four pounds last week. Four! And he works a desk job. I’m on my feet all day, and all I lost was a lousy half pound.”
“Not fair,” Andie agreed. “But you look great.”
“A friend is coaching me. Next week Geoff will be eating my dust.”
Andie laughed. “It probably beats protein powder.”
Just then, the sound of murmurs and footsteps heralded the arrival of Rhys and Will. They swung into the kitchen looking tired, rumpled, and altogether too good to be true.
“How did it go?” Andie asked.
“Okay.” Rhys shrugged. “We had to brave the indoor playground again because Will was too noisy for the library. The only person who knew us from last time was the woman who runs the place, and she stopped giving us the evil eye after a while.”
“Nice.”
“But the peace didn’t last long,” Rhys said. “Karina trod in some wet stuff. Probably apple juice, but the jury is still out. Her foot was soaked. She didn’t take it well.”
“I’m sorry,” Andie commiserated.
“I hope it was apple juice,” Jillian chimed in.
“Now we’re really banned.” Rhys grimaced, putting Will down so he could toddle over to the train table. “Mrs. Hodge can still take Will there, though, I suppose.”
Rhys started searching through the cupboards. “Will’s starving. He ate his way through two bags of Goldfish crackers and was ready to start on a third. I’d better feed him.”
“And I’d better be off,” said Jillian, popping the last piece of ham into her mouth and chewing efficiently as she surveyed her fitness tracker. “At least I’ll get some more steps in at the bowling alley.”
Soon, Will had been fed, and Andie and Rhys whisked him upstairs for bathtime. If his happy squeals were any indication, the nightly ritual was quickly becoming one of his favorite activities. And why not? He now had enough bath toys to sink a battleship, and he had Rhys and Andie wrapped firmly around his little finger. Despite their best efforts, he still insisted on Rhys actually getting into the tub with him each time.
Andie had hoped the sight of Rhys in his swimming trunks would lose its impact by virtue of sheer repetition, but her central nervous system wasn’t getting the message.
“This is starting to feel pretty high maintenance,” Rhys said, laughing as he lowered himself into the tub for what, by her count, was the fifteenth such exposure. Oh, those arms. And whoever had installed the lighting in this bathroom deserved some kind of medal. The warm glow set off his skin tone to perfection. Andie swallowed down the lump in her throat and tried to ignore the far-more-dangerous ripple of heat in her belly. He’s your friend, remember?
“He obviously doesn’t like having to sit directly in the tub,” Andie said. “I’m not sure if he feels safer being on your lap because he’s held a little above the water, or because it’s you.”
“Maybe a little bit of both?”
“We could try him in an adaptive bath chair. They’re pretty comfortable, and it would sit him up higher but still give us the access to bathe him properly.”
“Sounds perfect.” Rhys nodded as he soaped up Will and rinsed him off. “Why don’t you order one?”
“They’re pretty expensive, and I’m not sure if insurance covers it.”
“Andie, if I need to, I’ll sell my Porsche.” He shot her an ironic look. “Really, it’s not a problem.”
“Okay, then.” Andie grinned.
Rhys lifted Will up and into the fluffy bath towel she held in her outstretched arms, and she hugged the damp, fragrant bundle of little boy, setting him down so she could dry him off.
Rhys looked at her intently through the steam. “How about joining me for dessert or a drink after I put Will to bed?” he asked.
Her reply was out before she’d even processed the idea. “I’d like that.” Of course you’d like it. Just look at the man! But, as lightning fast as her response came out, some quiet part of her was aware that something between them was shifting. Or at least that it might, if she were to allow it. Rhys’s invitation opened the path to new territory, even as she was still trying to find her footing on the old. A stab of panic tore through her.
Rhys made matters worse by choosing that exact moment to unfold his lean form and step from the tub. Rivulets of water trickled down the planes of his chest and stomach, and heat rose from his skin, diffusing his clean scent into the steamy air. Andie inhaled deeply, trying not to show outward evidence that he lit up her senses like a city switchboard.
“Meet you down there in half an hour?” Rhys suggested. “I’ll read this guy a few stories and hope he drifts off.”
“All right. Thanks, Rhys. I’ll see you there.” Breathe. She diverted her attention to Will, reaching out to ruffle his hair before letting herself out of the bathroom. “Good night, Will. Sleep tight.”
By the time she walked tentatively down the staircase toward the den half an hour later, Andie thought she’d done a pretty good job of dousing the embers of her attraction to Rhys. She’d splashed cold water on her face, thrown open a window, and meditated cross-legged on the floor until her pulse had gone back to normal. It was quite simple, she told herself. She just had to remember where the line was in their relationship.
She repeated a decisive mantra as she drifted down the stairs to the foyer. You’re simply eating ice cream with your friend Rhys. Nothing to see here. Fortunately, he’d probably be clothed by now. If there were any mercy in this world, he’d have covered those glorious arms with long sleeves.
Nope. No mercy. She paused in the den doorway, from which she could see Rhys adding another log to the fireplace. He’d dressed in a charcoal-gray burnout T and old jeans, and had set out a tray on the coffee table, stocked with pint containers, bowls, and glasses.
He looked up, spotting her. “Andie, come in. I rustled up a few flavors to choose from.”
As she walked over to him, bathed in the warmth of his attentive smile, she could have sworn some evil sprite had snuck into her jeans and hooked up a live wire that led directly to her groin. Okay, that was weird. Rhys reached out to grab another log, his arm tensing and flexing in the flickering, coppery light. Andie sat down, training her gaze on the fireplace and its licking flames.
“So . . . ,” she began, until she realized that every thought had flown from her head, apparently chased away by her nervous system’s electrical-wiring problem. She searched her reservoir of small talk and came up empty. What is happening to me?
Rhys regarded her curiously. “Would you like a glass of wine?” He picked up a bottle of red that had been breathing on the sideboard and splashed a good measure into a glass.
“Um . . .” Adding alcohol to this live-wire situation may not be the best move, Andie fretted. Then again, wasn’t alcohol supposed to lower psychological arousal? Or, wait . . . was it the other way around? Did it increase psychological arousal but lower physical arousal? Was this problem in her groin or her brain? Oh, what the hell! She was never going to get through this evening if she didn’t do something about this evil-electrician sprite.
“Yes, please,” she said, accepting the glass. She took a generous gulp, her tension loosening a little as the wine worked its warming magic. “This is such a great room,” she said, gesturing at the huge fireplace and the ornate wood moldings.
“It did turn out pretty well,” Rhys agreed. “Although I hated it at first.”
“Really? Why?”
“It felt so fake, trying to create a nineteenth-century-British-gentlemen’s-club feel in a new-construction house. Karina brought in a decorator as soon as we moved in here. It just felt weird, like she had this GQ idea of how to style me, and this room was my set.”
Andie viewed the room with wide eyes. “But you have to admit she nailed it.”
“I know,” he said. “For the whole time she lived here, I kept a white laminate desk and orange office chair in that corner to mess up the ambience.” He gestured to the end of the room, where an elegant array of built-ins sat beside a tall window framed by wine-colored velvet drapes. Andie could imagine the jarring effect.
“Psychological warfare, interior-design edition,” she said in a deep mock voice-over. “Ouch.”
“Yeah, not my finest moment, but it was satisfying at the time.” Rhys gestured to the ice-cream-and-gelato selection on the coffee table. “Have some ice cream and try to forget I told you that.”
He cast her a humorous, appreciative look as she piled some salted caramel and peanut butter brownie into a bowl. In the muted light, his eyes took on that purplish wood-smoke hue that made her want to stare. The live wire lashed and fizzed, spraying warning sparks.
“So, what happened between you and Karina anyway?” she asked, trying for a casual tone. Did friends ask each other these kinds of questions? “I know she left, but—”
“I’m embarrassed to talk about it,” Rhys protested. “If you Google ‘relationships’ and ‘clueless,’ my name probably pops up.”
“I’ve made some pretty awesome relationship blunders myself,” Andie said encouragingly. “How about I tell you one of mine, and you can tell me yours?”
“Sounds fair.” Rhys took a bracing gulp of his wine. “You go first.”
“Okay, let me think.” She closed her eyes and ran through the catalog. She hoped digging up one of her more humiliating examples would be enough to keep the sprite at bay. When she’d finally made a selection, she smiled beatifically.
“Picture this,” she said, setting the scene. “Hipster Boyfriend Number Two. Skinny jeans. Goatee. Weird obsession with the hurdy-gurdy.”
“Sounds like a complete tool.” Rhys’s brow furrowed slightly, but he seemed willing to play along.
“I met him at an indie coffee shop in my neighborhood,” Andie said. “When not crafting artisanal instruments, he was a barista.”
Rhys narrowed his eyes.
“Oh, it’s true,” Andie insisted, laughing. “So, we were together for a few months, and we got serious enough that I let him keep a toothbrush at my place.”
“Let me guess,” Rhys interjected drily. “It had to be your place because he still lived with his parents.”
“With his mom,” she confirmed with a wicked grin. “Anyway, I was just starting to develop a fondness for the tortured strains of the hurdy-gurdy. I think I was even considering asking if he wanted to move in, when he sent me this text dumping me.”
“Why?”
“He was watching TV at his mom’s, and he heard a song I liked being played on a car commercial. He said he couldn’t be with someone who had ‘sold out’ so completely. Besides, he said dating was—and I quote—‘a cliché.’”
“Okay, that’s pretty great.” Rhys leaned over to clink his glass against hers, but there was a turbulence in his gaze that she hoped she was imagining.
“Yeah, that’s one of my favorites.” She wasn’t about to admit that Hipster Number Two had been one of the more serious boyfriends in a string of lightweight relationships deliberately chosen for their built-in self-destruct button.
She had always steered clear of dating grown-ups. Men who took on big commitments and accomplished things that meant something, men whose passion and energy struck an answering spark within her. Because men like that deserved more from her than she could ever offer. They deserved family, commitment—the whole nine yards.
Just such a man sat in front of her right now, and for a moment it pained her to look at him. It occurred to her that, in trying to keep things light, she had revealed more about herself than she’d intended. An uncomfortable thought. She ducked her head and cleared her throat, before presenting him with a face that was composed once again.
“So, tell me about Karina.”
“Ah, well,” he said soberly. “I’m afraid that’s not a story that polishes up so well. She cheated on me. With my department chair at MIT. The same guy she ran off to California with when Will was a baby.”
“Oh, no, that’s awful. So it all happened after Will came along?”
“No, that’s where it gets complicated.” Rhys took another generous sip from his glass. “She actually started cheating on me with Lance pretty early in our relationship. Not that I knew it at the time.”
“Okay, first of all, what kind of scumbag professor sleeps with his graduate students?” Andie shook her head disparagingly. “Do people still do that?”
“Lance is a bit of a walking cliché.” Rhys flashed her an ironic glance that shot electricity down to her toes. “But a very married one. With two children.”
“Oh, that’s not good.”
“Yeah, well, Karina’s arrival in the department caused quite a stir. There still aren’t enough women in engineering, so she kind of stood out.”
And not only due to her statistical rarity, Andie was prepared to wager. Karina had a presence that would stand out anywhere. She felt a shriveling sensation inside. Was that . . . jealousy?
“Even I noticed her,” Rhys said, shaking his head ruefully.
“Even you?”
“Well, I was pretty absorbed in my research at that point. I was studying large-scale flow structures around wind turbines—”
“Large-scale flow structures,” she repeated, testing the words on her tongue. Somehow it sounded sexier when he said it.
“We were trying to measure velocity fields caused by blade-generated motions—”
“Uh, Rhys?” Andie said with a smile. “You can skip that part.”
“Oh, right. Sorry.” Rhys gave a self-deprecating grin. Andie moved her chair a fraction closer to the fire. Maybe if she focused on the warmth on her skin, she could ignore the fact that she was melting on the inside.
“Anyway, it would have taken a bomb going off to get my attention, but somehow Karina managed it. Things unfolded between us pretty quickly. It was a thrill to be able to discuss my research with someone I was getting so close to. She’s brilliant.”
Brilliant. Check. Supermodel good looks. Check. Andie found herself feeling a little less kindly toward the genetically gifted Karina with the Slavic cheekbones and Mensa IQ.
“But she was also much more insecure than I realized at the time,” Rhys continued. “It wasn’t easy for her, looking like that and being in a male-dominated field. She copped some pretty unsavory comments.”
“That’s horrible.”
“She was really brave about it, but I know it ate away at her—all the ‘Get back in the kitchen’ crap and worse. A couple of times I came pretty close to clobbering some of the guys.”
She could practically see the glowering Rhys swooping in like a vengeful archangel to defend women in the STEM subjects. She cast a furtive sidelong glance at him, trying not to notice the way the soft fabric of his T settled against the flat plane of his abs as he leaned back in his chair. She wondered what it would be like if a man like that were ever to defend her.
“I think because Karina felt threatened, she wanted everything all at once,” Rhys continued. “Publications. Acclaim. She started pestering me for coauthorship credit on a research paper she had nothing to do with. There was no need for her to take shortcuts like that, but she was completely obsessed with the idea.”
“But wouldn’t that risk both your careers?”
“I realized later that was the point. It was the risk she loved as much as anything. She had to be right on the edge, or she didn’t feel alive.”
“Oh my God. It sounds completely exhausting.” Andie’s focus faded in and out. She was riveted by his story but also mesmerized by the beautiful shapes his lips made as they formed the words. Those lips. They were generous but not pouty, the upper one wide and well cut, the lower one fuller and almost indecently sensual.
“By that point we were already fighting constantly,” he went on. “I said no to her request, of course. I wasn’t a complete imbecile . . . and I didn’t realize it until much later, but that’s when she started her thing with Lance. The research paper was some kind of test, and I failed.”
Uncertain what to say, Andie reached out and placed a tentative hand on Rhys’s shoulder, giving a companionable squeeze. At the merest contact with him, the live wire spawned little live-wire tributaries. They ran everywhere, buzzing at the base of her spine, over her scalp, behind her knees, and back up to the hot spot between her legs. She drew her hand back in shock.
A thought jarred her. What if I just leaned in and kissed him? A few more inches and it would be done. He’d taste of red wine and salted caramel and . . . Rhys. She could already anticipate the hot jolt that would leap down her throat at the touch of his lips, his tongue electrifying every cell in her body, probably short-circuiting her entire system.
The only problem was that Rhys was off-limits. Her sad little anecdote about Hipster Boy had driven home a point she hadn’t even realized she’d been making. A man like Rhys could never be just a dalliance or the punch line to an anecdote. He was so beautiful, so real, and so good. Too good. Besides, he was her friend, and throwing that away for the sake of a quick fling would be an insult to him and a betrayal of Will.
Not that the realization made it any easier. She had never felt like this—hypercharged, unsettled, and filled with the utter certainty that if he didn’t touch her, and soon, she would simply flame out and fade into decrepitude from sheer neglect. Battling her impulses, she shrank farther down in her chair and turned her attention back to his tale of woe.
“So, how did you find out about Karina and Lance?”
Huh? Rhys had to force himself to focus. It felt like the height of irrelevance to be narrating the dead history of his relationship with Karina when Andie was near. The way that woman licks a spoon! It ought to be outlawed. The way she . . . breathes.
It was wrong of him, but she had inched down in her chair to bring her feet closer to the fire, and he had the perfect vantage to see right down her shirt, into the tantalizing valley between her breasts. Farther south, the hem of her shirt had ridden up far enough to expose a taut band of skin, ivory-pale and lustrous, above the waistband of her jeans. He felt the hot rush of blood to places he’d just as soon not think about, under the circumstances.
What if I just leaned in and kissed her? He imagined cupping the smooth curve of her cheek and parting her lips with his tongue to explore the sweetness within, his fingers twining into the heavy veil of dark hair that spilled over the back of her chair cushion. The air around him seemed to quiver with intention.
But the very subject of their conversation was enough to remind him that his relationship decisions had always left a path of destruction in their wake. Acting on impulse now would surely be the worst move he could make. Andie was an employee living in his house, and the linchpin of Will’s treatment. He couldn’t screw that up. Not for anything.
“A friend tipped me off after walking in on them one day in Lance’s office,” he said, picking up the thread of the story. “I was completely gutted. I ended it with her right away . . . then, several weeks later, she turned up on my doorstep announcing that she was eleven weeks pregnant, and I was the father.”
“But how could you know for sure?”
“She swore blind she’d been in an off-again patch with Lance when it happened. I remembered the particular weekend. I didn’t know it at the time, but she was finishing up a course of antibiotics for a sinus infection, and she’d forgotten about the potential for birth-control interactions.”
“Oh, dear.”
“Yes, well. She’s brilliant, as I said, but flaky. She seemed contrite, vulnerable. What could I do? I wasn’t about to abandon a child that could be mine,” Rhys sighed. “I had a paternity test done, of course, once Will was born. But I knew the minute I laid eyes on him that he was mine. More mine than hers, in the end.”
“She didn’t want him?”
“Being a mother wasn’t her top priority, but I take my share of the blame. We got married. I was pretty set on it. But I wasn’t exactly a loving and attentive husband. She’d broken my trust, and it wasn’t as easy to get over that as I’d hoped. Pride is one of my main faults, as it turns out.”
He exhaled. “I wonder whether we might have been able to hold it together for Will’s sake if I’d been a little easier on her.”
His comment seemed to galvanize Andie, propelling her bolt upright in her chair. “Oh, no,” she said, her eyes dark with intensity. “It might be a noble idea, but my mother stayed with my father until the bitter end, and it poisoned her. It poisoned everything . . .”
Rhys let out a controlled breath. At last, some insight into what lay behind Andie’s bouts of reserve.
“Your father was a difficult man?” he asked softly.
“You could say that.” Andie let out a pained laugh that made Rhys want to take her hand and enfold it in his. “He had problems with alcohol. He was a cop. Very macho and . . . domineering. He wasn’t exactly overjoyed to find himself surrounded by five women. He spent the last six years of his life in a wheelchair, which took the fight out of him somewhat.”
“I’m sorry. How did that happen?”
“He was shot while responding to a domestic-violence call when I was thirteen,” Andie said. “Fate has a keenly developed sense of irony, apparently.”
Ah. So Andie’s father was abusive. He felt a powerful surge of indignation on her behalf.
“Yes, it does,” he agreed. He turned to regard her, just as she did the same. Her breath whispered across his cheek. He could see so far into her eyes that he was overcome by a rush of vertigo. How did a woman like this emerge from a family like the one she’d come from? He would have kissed her at that moment, except he still felt like he was falling, gathering velocity like an avalanche as layers of desire, compassion, admiration, and tenderness added their weight to the sum of his feelings for her.
“Did he . . . hurt you?” He remembered her flinching on the night she’d shown up to confess to the almost-accident in the crosswalk.
“Me? Not physically, no.” She gave a small shudder. “It was my mother who bore the brunt of it.”
His fists unclenched, and he let out a sigh of relief. Her father hadn’t laid his hands on her. Not that she could have felt safe in an environment like that, always waiting for the other shoe to drop. He wanted to make it up to her somehow, to console and nourish her, filling her world with good things, crowding out the bad memories until the pain had nowhere left to hide.
“Your bowl is empty,” he pointed out. “You should try the hazelnut.”
“I couldn’t,” she protested, her eyes warm. “I’m way too full.”
“Another drop of wine, then?”
“No.” She rose to her feet with a laugh, and he felt compelled to rise, too.
“Well,” he said, with an ironic twist of the lips, “I don’t know about you, but to me there’s nothing more conducive to a good night’s sleep than running through a list of my worst memories and romantic failures. I’m sorry, Andie. I meant for you to have fun tonight.”
They were standing close together, and the sparks in her eyes kindled with amusement. She laughed again, her shoulders tilting so that her hair swung forward in a dark curtain. When she looked up, her expression was bright, fond.
“I did have fun.” She was inches away, her cheeks pink from the warmth of the fire, her lips twisting wryly. “It’s like the fortune cookie says: ‘Happiness shared is doubled. Pain shared is halved.’”
“You’re generous to say so. I feel like I’ve rather failed as a host.”
“No, Rhys. You and failure are two things that don’t belong in the same breath.” Her expression grew more serious. “Somehow it doesn’t hurt so much when I tell you things.”
That was ironic, because his heart hurt as he looked steadily back at her. Actually ached, as he took in the sweet candor of her expression. Longing surged through him, pushing against a tidal wall that was cracking at the seams. Of its own volition, his right hand drifted up to touch her cheek, her skin like sun-warmed velvet to his fingertips. Her lips parted in surprise, and his thumb drifted across to brush the bottom one, his pulse leaping as he felt its moist plushness.
Everything in him strained toward her, like a vine unfurling its tendrils toward the sun. He steadied himself, trying to imagine his feet rooted to the floor, his spine unbending—a giant oak rather than a vine. Firm and unyielding. He forced his hand back to his side. His yearning was so obvious she must have been able to see it.
They stood stock-still, gazes locked as time seemed to slow. Heat spread through his veins as she regarded him, her lips still slightly parted, her breath coming faster. Her lashes swept down, and she moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue, swaying almost imperceptibly toward him. But she stopped herself at the last instant, her left hand coming up between them, her fingers spread against his chest.
“It’s late,” she said, her cheeks suffused with color as she leaned away to place her almost-empty wineglass on the tray. “We’d better get some sleep. Based on Will’s track record, one or both of us is going to be woken up in about three hours’ time. Do you want me to take night duty tonight?”
“No, I’ll do it.” The empty space she’d occupied moments before left him feeling bereft as she turned and walked to the door. “Mrs. Hodge gave me the monitor. I’ll bet she’s putting in her earplugs tonight.”
“Okay, then. Good night, Rhys,” Andie said from the doorway.
“Good night, Andie,” he responded, mentally levitating out the door and following her. He forced himself to stay still, his features as deliberately composed as if his world hadn’t just tilted on its axis.