dinner or something. Not to Dogs ’N’ Malts, but like to the Island Inn or someplace nice.”
“I can’t do that, Toby,” Mike replied with an uncharacteristic stubbornness.
“Why not?”
“Because I can’t.” A dish clattered in the kitchen. Mike’s chair creaked. “Bree’s worried about what will happen this winter. She wants to make sure she can count on me if she needs help. I’d do exactly the same thing if I were in her shoes.”
And Bree thought she was being so clever… She should have realized no one built a business as successful as Mike’s without having some insight into people’s motivations.
Toby wouldn’t give up. “I still don’t see why you can’t take her out to dinner.”
“Because she’d have to say yes, even if she didn’t want to.”
“She’d want to,” Toby insisted. “I know she would.”
“Toby, this might be hard to understand…” His voice was patient, the way it always was when he explained anything to Toby. “I’m not interested in Bree that way.”
She heard a chair scrape followed by the solid tread of his steps across the porch. “Martin!” Mike shouted. “Come back here! Toby, go rescue him before he gets to the highway.”
She’d never quite believed Mike’s recent display of indifference. She’d counted on his steadfastness, consoled herself that-even though Scott had long ago lost interest in her-Mike would yearn for her forever. What a fool.
She pressed her hand hard against her chest. She couldn’t bear another rejection, not from Mike of all people. Her heart thudded against her palm. She came out from behind the curtains, pushed open the screen door, and stepped onto the porch.
Toby was at the far end of the drive with the dog. Mike stood on the top step, a lock of light brown hair drifting across his forehead. Even in worn jeans and a white T-shirt advertising JAKE’S DIVE SHOP, he was an arresting figure, tall and imposing, his strong profile illuminated by the porch light.
The hinges squeaked. She walked toward him. Across the porch… To the step… “Come with me,” she whispered over the crazy thudding of her heart.
He opened his mouth. Started to refuse?
“No,” she said. “No words.” She caught his arm, drew him away from the house, out of sight of the boy and the dog, into the trees. She was fueled by panic, by exhaustion, by the fear that everything she’d built would slip from her grasp.
Her height had made her accustomed to meeting people eye to eye, but she stopped in a small depression that made her look up at him. Even in the dim moonlight that filtered through the leaves, she could see the resistance in his eyes.
“Bree…”
She slid her arms around his neck, pulled his head down, and silenced him with her mouth.
But as his lips covered her own, she was reminded instead of what she’d never had. Fidelity. Honor. Kindness. And something far less noble. An exhilarating, sensual pleasure free of the shame she’d experienced during her marriage.
Hot blood rushed through her veins, and all her senses caught fire. His kiss was the kiss of a man who loved to give pleasure. A kiss as unselfish as it was erotic.
He was hard, and she relished his arousal, relished knowing the hands splayed over her hips didn’t carry the memory of countless other women’s bodies. His mouth moved to one cheek then the other, kissing the afternoon’s honey from her skin. He reclaimed her lips, and she pressed herself against him.
He pulled back without warning. Only a few inches, but enough.
“Bree, you don’t have to do this.” He unwrapped her arms from around his neck. “I’ll watch out for you and for Toby. I don’t need to be bribed this way.”
She was humiliated, furious that he would think such a thing of her, even though he had every reason to. The only argument she could muster in her defense was the truth. “It wasn’t a bribe.”
“Bree, don’t do this to yourself.” He sounded tired, a little impatient. “It’s not necessary.”
She’d started this, which made it unconscionable to take her pain out on him, but the words spilled from her in a dark torrent. “You listen to me, Mike Moody. I spent years begging for a man’s love, and I’ll never
“
Mike stared at her, his eyes suddenly old and tired. Then he walked away. “I’m here,” he said as he stepped out of the trees.
“What are you doing over there?” Toby asked.
Mike’s shoes crunched in the gravel on the driveway. “Nothing important.”
Bree rested her cheek against the rough bark of the tree, shut her eyes, and willed herself not to cry.
AT DR. KRISTI’S INSISTENCE, TEMPLE restricted her workouts to ninety minutes a day. This left her with free time she’d otherwise have spent brooding over Max’s continued refusal to talk to her, so for the past few days, she and Dr. Kristi had started hanging out at the farm stand for an hour or so each afternoon. When Lucy finished her writing for the day, she joined them.
While Bree hand-painted a beach scene on one of her Christmas globes, the rest of them sprawled in her Easter egg chairs and combined group therapy with girl talk. They comforted Temple over Max’s rejection and told Lucy she should give up her lobbying work. They didn’t understand the obligation she felt to help children who hadn’t been as lucky as she’d been. Bree never mentioned Mike, although she talked freely about her marriage.
“It feels good to have girlfriends,” she said one afternoon. “I didn’t have any when I was married. I knew all they wanted was for me to explain why I kept turning a blind eye to Scott’s cheating.”
“Bastard could never pull that shit on you now,” Temple said, crossing an ankle over her knee.
“No.” Bree looked suddenly sad, then seemed to shake herself out of it as she gazed at Kristi. “I haven’t had much business this afternoon. Are you sure you wouldn’t consider-”
“No!” Kristi declared.
Temple and Lucy exchanged looks, entertained by Bree’s attempts to convince Dr. Kristi to wear her red bikini as a way to draw in more business.
“You wear it,” Kristi said hotly. “See how you like it.”
“If I looked like you, I would.” Bree got back at Kristi by putting her on the confessional chopping block. “I don’t understand how you of all people can ever feel inadequate about men. You could have any one of them you want.”
Lucy immediately thought of Panda.
Kristi shoved her sunglasses on top of her head. Even her ears were perfectly shaped. “That’s what you think. The kind of men I’m attracted to aren’t attracted to me.”
“Corpses?” Lucy said, taking the empty periwinkle chair.
Temple laughed, but Kristi pursed her pouty lips like the prim nerd she was inside that knockout body. “Go ahead and mock. I like men with brains. Thoughtful men who read real books and have interests beyond playing beer pong. But guys like that won’t come near me. Instead, I get all the players-actors, athletes, zillionaire fifty- year-olds looking for a trophy wife.”
Lucy rubbed an ink stain on her thumb, then decided to hell with it. “What about Panda?”
“A fascinating exception,” Dr. Kristi said. “He looks like he should be the leader of the beer pong gang, but it doesn’t take long to realize how intelligent he is. Last night we spent an hour talking about Puccini. He has an incredible grasp of politics and economics. And a social conscience. Did you know he still works with street gangs? Too bad he’s completely unavailable emotionally.”
“Because he’s in love with Lucy,” Temple said pointedly.
“Right,” Lucy drawled. “That’s why he keeps coming over here to see me.” Even though she knew it was better for him to stay away, it rankled that he hadn’t even made an attempt to contact her.
“Temple hadn’t told me about your relationship when I made a play for him,” Kristi said earnestly. “I don’t believe in poaching.”
