Page 49

“I’m trying to be a good mother,” she said, her voice suddenly thick with tears. “I want to do the right thing, but I don’t know how to make her feel better or help her get some sleep.” She sniffed.

Jim couldn’t help staring at her. In all the time he’d known Heather, she never complained, never whined and certainly never cried. The only tears he’d seen had been tears of joy after Diane was born. And she was strong. She’d even stayed calm while giving birth in an elevator assisted only by a stranger who didn’t know what the hell he was doing. He liked giving things to her and helping out, but mostly because it made him feel better. He never thought of her as being in need.

“You’re crying,” he said.

She sniffed again, then wiped her cheek with her arm. “No, I’m not. I’ve been walking so much my eyeballs are sweating. I don’t cry. I’m not some weak, mindless female. I’m tough and independent. I’m fine. We’re both fine.” The volume of Diane’s cries went up a notch. Heather moaned. “Someone please tell me what to do.”

He didn’t have any answers so he did the only thing he could think of. He walked over to her and took the baby. Then, with his free hand, he hugged Heather close. “It’s going to be all right,” he murmured against her soft, sweet-smelling hair. “You don’t have to go through this alone. I’m right here.”

“But I don’t want to depend on you.”

“You’re not. You’re borrowing me for a short period of time. There’s a difference.”

“But I can’t do that. It’s—” She froze in his arms. “Do you hear that?” she whispered.

He listened. “I don’t hear anything.”

“I know. She’s quiet. She must have missed you.”

Jim glanced down and saw that Diane had fallen asleep in his arms.

“Don’t move,” Heather breathed.

“I can’t stand here forever.”

She looked as if she wanted to argue.

“Tell you what,” he said. “I’ll put her down. If she wakes up while I’m doing that, I’ll take responsibility for getting her quiet again.”

He moved slowly into Diane’s room and put the sleeping baby into her crib. Diane stirred and snuffled, but she didn’t wake up. He straightened and turned, then saw Heather leaning against the door frame.

Light from the living room spilled into the hall and illuminated her from behind. She looked slight and tired, but still beautiful. Even without makeup and in an old T-shirt and sweats. He wanted her at that moment as much as he’d ever wanted her. But he’d grown used to ignoring the desire, so he walked out of the room and closed the door behind them, all without saying a word.

“Go take a shower,” he told her, wishing he could be the one doing that instead. Fifteen minutes in icy water just might take away his need for her. At least temporarily. “After that, you can take a nap. I’ll watch Diane and walk with her if she wakes up.”

Heather closed her eyes and sighed. “A shower. That would be fantastic.” She was already heading across the hall to her bedroom. “I’ll only be ten minutes.”

“Take your time,” Jim called, knowing that it wouldn’t matter if it was one minute or an hour. The entire situation was torture.

He returned to the living room, turned on the television and started flipping through channels. Nothing caught his attention, so he turned off the machine. As much as he wanted to pretend otherwise, he was stuck, so he might as well give in. He leaned back, closed his eyes and thought about Heather…naked…and dripping wet, then wished he was brave enough, or stupid enough, to join her.

Chapter Twelve

Heather tilted her head back to let the hot water rinse her hair. It was just exhaustion, perhaps physical, mental or both. It was the phase of the moon. It was the fact that no man had the right to look so incredible in a pair of jeans. It was…insane, she decided at last, turning under the spray. She absolutely, positively, could not start something with Jim. They were too different. They wanted different things.

She paused and stared blankly at the white tiles in front of her. Actually, she wasn’t sure what either of them wanted, but if she did know, they would be different. Besides, they both did want one thing, and that was not to get involved. No relationship, no romantic entanglement, no man-woman thing messing up a perfectly good life. So why was she standing here in her shower thinking about doing the wild thing with the man sitting in her living room?

She turned off the water and slid open the glass door. After grabbing her towel, she started drying herself. It was fine to want him, she told herself. Wanting was acceptable. Everyone had an imagination. The fact that hers had been working overtime lately was interesting news but not life changing. She could fantasize and daydream and wish as long as she didn’t do anything about it.

She and Jim couldn’t become lovers. For one thing, she didn’t know if he was interested, although based on their kiss, she thought he might be. For another, they already had a nearly perfect relationship and why would she want to risk ruining that? And there was her three-strikes rule—she should know better than to get involved. He would be way too easy for her to fall for. Although if it was simply about physical intimacy and not about falling in love, then—

“Stop it,” Heather said aloud. She toweled her hair, then wrapped the thick cotton around her body, tucked in the corner to keep it in place and moved to the mirror. “I’m not going to do anything about this. I’ll get dressed, go out there and have a normal conversation with him. Just the way I have a thousand times before. Nothing is different. We can’t do this.”

As she stared at her reflection, she saw the wanting in her eyes. She did want him, and in her tired, vulnerable state, it would be difficult to keep that knowledge to herself. The truth was she wanted Jim in her bed. Their kiss had been incredible and she wanted to feel that passion again. She’d had three lovers in her life and knew what it was like to be with a man. She understood and had experienced pleasure, but she’d never been on fire before. She wanted to know how it would feel to have those flames everywhere. She wanted Jim’s strong hands on her body, touching her, taking her places she’d never been. She trusted him—how could she not? He was a wonderful man.

Heather combed her hair, then quickly dried it with the blow-dryer. After smoothing on tinted moisturizer, she used a little mascara and stepped back. What if it wasn’t emotional? she wondered. What if it was just about two friends sharing incredible, sinus-clearing sex? Wasn’t their relationship strong enough to handle that? Couldn’t they have the best of both worlds—a warm, caring relationship and physical intimacy without all the messy romantic junk? Was she brave enough to try to find out?

In her heart of hearts, she knew Jim would never make a move on her. Which meant she had to be the one to initiate anything. What if he said no? Would she die from the rejection? She drew in a deep breath. The answer to that last question was certainly no. Embarrassment only felt like dying, but nothing really happened. If he said no, well, she would pick herself up and get on with her life. Worse things had happened.