The Rocky Road to Romance

Steve stopped at the kitchen and took a platter of raw hamburger patties from the refrigerator. “What can I get you to drink? Beer, wine, soda?”

“Soda.”

He gave her a root beer, a bag of chips, and two bowls of salsa to carry outside.

“Two bowls of salsa?” she asked.

“One for Bob. I hate when he dips his chips in mine.”

The phone rang and Steve answered it in the kitchen. He hung up a few minutes later, frowning. “That was security at the station. They caught someone tinkering with the news-car. The guy pulled a gun on the guard who found him and got away.”

“My Lord, maybe the Roach really is out to get me. Is he really out on bail?”

“Let’s not panic. We don’t know for sure. Didn’t fit the Roach’s description.”

“Could be one of his friends.”

“Could be.”

“Was there any damage to the car?”

“Nothing noticeable.” That was a lie. The man had written “Death to the Dog Lady” in spray paint on the side of the car.

“Well, that’s a relief. And I’m glad you’re taking this so calmly.” She pushed the back door open and carried the chips outside. “I guess I overreacted. Not much we can do about it anyway, is there?”

“We can take you out of the traffic car.”

Daisy put the chips and salsa on the picnic table. “Haven’t we had this discussion before?”

“Last time we yelled at each other. This time we need to talk.”

“Okay. That sounds fair. Go ahead and talk.” She straddled a picnic bench and opened the bag of chips. “Put the hamburgers on the grill first. I’m starved, and Bob looks desperate.”

“There’s a remote possibility that this guy meant to harm you. I think we need to take precautions against that.”

“We did take precautions. We hired Elsie.”

Steve groaned.

“Well, okay, so she’s not some big macho guard, but she’s very dedicated… and your hamburgers are on fire.”

Steve smacked at them with the spatula, but they kept burning.

“Must be your flame is too high,” Daisy said.

He fidgeted with a few knobs and the flames subsided.

“I’ve never barbecued before,” he said, examining the charred hamburgers. “You think these are too done?” He slid a spatula under one and it crumbled and fell into the fire. The next one slipped off the spatula and fell onto the grass and Bob ate it. The third one made it to a bun, but nobody wanted to eat it-not even Bob.

“I don’t think I have the knack for barbecuing,” Steve said. “Maybe I’m not cut out for this suburban stuff.”

Daisy patted his hand. “Of course you are. We’ll try it again tomorrow. Where’s your peanut butter?”

An hour later they were stuffed with peanut butter sandwiches and were making their way through a quart of chocolate-chip ice cream. It was eighty-seven degrees outside, but they’d built a fire in the fireplace and were sitting in front of it, eating from the ice-cream carton.

They sat on the floor with their backs to the couch because Bob had claimed the couch first and was now stretched the length of it. At least that’s the excuse they made for sitting on the floor. The truth is the floor seemed less threatening. There were no cushions to mark boundaries on the floor. They could sit side by side, and the invasion of personal body space wasn’t so noticeable.

Daisy stole a glance at Steve as he dipped his spoon into the ice cream, then handed the carton to her. The sun was setting, and they hadn’t bothered to turn on the lights. His face was lit by the fire and seemed extraordinarily sexy. His eyes were shadowed, the line of his mouth drawn firm as he followed secret thoughts, and she found she was still a little frightened of him when he looked like this. Or maybe it was the proximity that was frightening. They were so close that if she leaned toward him ever so slightly, they’d be touching. It was a tantalizing thought, and it sent a dark sort of thrill racing through her.

“Last scoop of ice cream,” Daisy said. “You want it?”

“Wouldn’t touch it. You eat the last scoop of ice cream and you’re destined to become an old maid. My Aunt Zena told me that.”

Daisy ate the last scoop and set the carton aside. “I don’t have an Aunt Zena so it doesn’t count for me.”

“It counts for everyone. You’re in big trouble.”

“I like to live dangerously. I take my chances.”

His eyes shifted to her mouth, and she could feel desire growing between them. It felt like a thunderstorm gathering on the horizon. He was going to kiss her, and this time there’d be nothing to stop the kiss from turning into something much more serious. No Kevin in the next room, no pager to remind him of a meeting. She’d have to rely on her self-control, not something she could count on in this instance, she decided. She took a moment to debate the issue and reached the conclusion that sleeping with Steve Crow wouldn’t be in her best interest. She didn’t have the personality to dally, and Steve Crow looked like a dallier. More important, she didn’t have the time to devote to a romance. That last thought prompted an unconscious sigh of regret.

“I don’t like the sound of that sigh,” Steve said.

“I should be going home. I have studying to do.”

He slid his arm around her shoulders and playfully tugged on a curl. “What about living dangerously? What about taking chances?”

“I think I’ve tested the fates enough for one night.”

His hand curled around her neck and heat flooded through her as he drew her closer. “Don’t you want to hear what Aunt Zena has to say about missed opportunities?”

“You probably don’t even have an Aunt Zena.”

“That’s not the point,” he whispered into her hair.

She felt him kiss her just below her ear, felt his lips working their way around to her mouth, felt his hand slide under the too-short shirt. She gave herself one last warning. This was a mistake, she told herself. Their relationship would be irrevocably changed if they made love. Maybe not in his eyes, but certainly in hers. She couldn’t treat it lightly. It would bring a whole new set of responsibilities with it, and she already had more responsibility than she could handle. She was drowning in responsibility. And even worse would be the emotional investment.

She was already halfway in love with him. He was caring and generous and fun. He could be oddly vulnerable without ever seeming insecure. And she admired his balance. He had his ducks in a row, while she felt as if hers were all quacking for attention at once. Her clutch of ducks had gotten unwieldy and a little frantic. She’d never thought of herself as being unstable, but she was afraid of going on emotional overload if she allowed herself to fall more deeply in love.

Her arguments might have been valid, but they didn’t amount to a damn when he claimed her mouth. Her aspirations, responsibilities, carefully thought through plans for the future, and her fears skittered off as passion poured through her. She responded to his kiss with a kiss of her own that told him everything he needed to know. She wanted to be loved. She was hungry for it. In fact, she was more than hungry; she was starved.

His hands were under her shirt and she followed his lead. Thank goodness one of us knows how to do this, she thought. Not that she was a virgin, but it had been a long time. His hand moved to her leg. His fingers crept up the leg and under her shorts. Daisy did a mental yikes. His fingers found the elastic edge of her panties and skimmed across the silky material.

“W-w-wow,” she whispered

“Yeah,” Steve said softly. “Wow.” And then he did the skimming thing again.

“Go for the zipper,” Daisy said. “Lose the shorts!”

Lord, she thought. I’m such a slut, but man this feels good. And then it got a lot better.

They lay together for a while afterward, sweat-slicked and replete.

He trailed his fingertips across her temple, stroking the hair back from her face. He didn’t speak because he wasn’t sure he could trust his voice. Passion had been temporarily quenched, and had been replaced by tender possession so strong it took his breath away.