Almost Perfect

'I'll get them.' She retrieved a large black portfolio she'd left leaning against the wall, then looked around for a surface large enough to lay it on. Seeing no other choice, she maneuvered past Joe to put it on the bed.

He came up behind her to look over her shoulder. The nervous flutters turned to tingles of awareness at how close he stood. His scent filled her, a healthy, vital blend of soap and the outdoors.

He reached down to turn the drawings like pages in a giant book. 'Maddy, these are great.' He stopped at one of the bigger pieces, which depicted the view of the canyon from her balcony at sunrise. A fiery sky blazed over the cool greens and blues of the land. 'Especially this one.'

A glow of pride expanded inside her. 'You really think so?'

'Absolutely.' He leaned a little closer, his chest brushing her shoulder. With a sideways glance she realized he was peering at her signature. 'Just 'Madeline'? No last name?'

She laughed. 'During my die-hard feminist days I decided that last names were a stamp of male ownership. Your maiden name is your father's and your married name is your husband's. A woman's first name is the only thing that's really hers. And since my art is mine and no one else's, that's the only name that goes on it.'

'Makes sense.'

He continued nipping through images of the landscape, close-ups of wildflowers, studies of clouds in various light from bright white to blood-red. 'I can see I'll need to find some more wall space after all.'

'You don't have to.'

'I want to.' He said it with such conviction, she grew flustered.

Her gaze drifted to the play of muscles in his forearms, the strength in his large hands. Her thoughts took off on their own-as they did far too often-with fantasies of his hands on her body, being naked beneath him, feeling the weight of him cover her. No doubt about it, she was definitely sex-depraved. Deprived! She meant sex-deprived.

She pressed a hand to her forehead and realized she'd actually started to sweat.

'Is something wrong?'

'What?' She snatched her hand away when she found him looking at her instead of at the artwork.

'I asked when you planned to take these by the gallery to show Sylvia.'

'Oh.' Think, Maddy, think. Of something other than his body. 'As soon as I can manage a trip into town.'

'Tell me when you're ready, and I'll have Mom take over your after-nap activity period. That'll give you half a day off.'

'Really? Thanks. That would be great.' She told herself to step away but wound up just standing there, staring up into his dark-chocolate eyes, remembering the kiss in the truck and wondering how shocked he'd be if she asked him to kiss her again, just for the hell of it. She could assure him it didn't have to mean anything-since he'd clearly stated he didn't want to get tangled up with her again-she just desperately wanted to feel those lips on hers, feel his arms wrap tightly about her, feel the full length of his body with the full length of her own… all the way from shoulders to shins.

Jeez, Maddy, get a grip.

'So…' He broke the eye contact and looked around awkwardly. 'I suppose I'm in the way here if you want to work.' His voice went up at the end, as if asking a question rather than making a statement.

Was he trolling for an invitation to stay? 'Actually…' she hesitated. What if she was reading him wrong? Although nothing ventured, nothing gained. She took a breath and plunged ahead. 'I could use a little break. Between the camp and staying up every night drawing, I haven't had much down time to just relax. Would you… care to sit on the balcony a while? I could open a bottle of faux wine.'

'Faux wine?' Amusement danced in his eyes.

'Well, it does say in our contract that we aren't allowed to drink any alcohol while camp is in session, but I can only take so much coffee, iced tea, and cola in one day, so I just thought- Never mind. I'm rambling.' Embarrassed laughter bubbled out. 'And I'm sure you're busy, so-'

'I'd love a glass of wine.'

'Oh?' She straightened in surprise. 'Well. Okay, then. Why don't you have a seat on the balcony and I'll get it.'

'Do you need help?'

'No, no.' What she needed was a moment to compose herself. 'I'll get it. You go…' She waved her hands. 'Sit.'

'Yes, ma'am.' His lips quirked with a smile as he complied.

Plucking at her shirt to cool herself off, she put the portfolio away, then went to the cabinet and wrestled the cork from a bottle. She filled two plastic cups, fanned her cheeks for good measure, and went to join him on the balcony. She found him standing at the wall, looking out over the camp. As if sensing her presence, he turned and smiled at her-one of his slow, melting smiles that turned her to mush.

Flustered, she stepped forward, extending one of the cups. 'Here you go.'

'Thanks.' Their fingers touched as he took it from her, sending a little jolt through her. He looked down at his cup, then back at her. 'Well, we've come a long way, from drinking hard liquor when we were underage to froufrou grape juice just so we can follow the rules.'

'All part of growing up.' She laughed. 'But it does seem strange.'

'I feel like we should drink to something.'

She longed to say: To new beginnings. To starting over. To second chances. But the words stuck in her throat. Was he simply aiming for renewing their truce, or something more? Was she ready for more? Casual dating, yes. But nothing about this situation felt casual.

'I know,' he finally said. 'To your art career.'

'Oh no, don't jinx it!'

'What?' He frowned.

'A toast like that without a lot of wood to knock on would be chancy enough. But to make it with fake wine in plastic cups? No.'

'Very well.' He held his cup out. 'To nothing.'

'No. To everything.' She touched her cup to his.

'Even better.' He took a sip, then looked at the wine, startled. 'Mmm, this is actually good.'

'Surprised me too.' She drank, enjoying the subtle blend of smoky, fruity flavors that slid over her tongue.

'See, you should have let me toast your career.'

'When I have one, I'll let you.' They crossed to the grapevine chairs that sat on either side of a little table. She'd added emerald green cushions to make them more comfortable, and filled the pots with new plants and flowers.

'So,' she said, 'how'd you get to be so good with children?'

'I've been home on leave enough over the years to learn my way around these little monsters.'

She smiled thinking of the opening-night bonfire. She'd sat across from Joe, watching in fascination as the little girls climbed on his back as if he were their personal jungle gym. 'They clearly adore you.'

'The feeling's mutual'-one side of his mouth turned upward-'most of the time.'

'Most of the time?'

'When Mom first bought the camp, I went through culture shock every time I came here.' He stretched out his long legs, making the chair creak beneath his weight. 'Try going from living with an all-male special-ops team to being dropped into a camp full of females who are constantly chattering, bursting into tears, or screaming. Why do little girls do that, by the way?'

'Do what? Cry?'

'No, scream. Jeez.' He stuck a finger in his ear and wiggled it. 'I think I'm losing my high-range hearing-which may actually be a blessing.'

She laughed. 'I have no idea why they do that. I suppose for the same reason little boys hit each other. Too much energy for such tiny bodies to contain, so it has to go somewhere.'

'At least hitting is quiet.'

'That depends on who's being hit.'

He studied her, then looked away. 'I, um, take it you never had children?'

'No.' Her smile faded.