Chapter 17 #2
He bent his head over his bowl. “Not quite,” he said, his voice pitched so low she couldn’t be sure she’d heard right.
Except she knew she had.
Hiding a private smile, she swallowed another mouthful of soup. “I have Sister Jenkins to thank for my speedy recovery,” she informed Caleb.
“Yeah?” He eyed her curiously. “Who’s Sister Jenkins?”
“A woman who attends my mother’s church. She’s this tiny, demure, soft-spoken lady—until she opens her mouth to pray. And then it’s like she’s calling down the heavens in this loud, hellfire-and-brimstone, Southern Baptist preacher voice. It’s a little scary, I tell you.”
Caleb chuckled. “Sounds more comical than scary.”
“That’s what my brother Noah said. The whole time Sister Jenkins was praying over me, he could barely keep himself from cracking up.”
“Your brother was here with you?”
Daniela nodded, wondering if she’d only imagined the note of relief in Caleb’s voice. “He came over yesterday to take care of me. It was just like old times,” she said with a reminiscent smile.
Caleb sipped his wine, watching her with a quiet, focused absorption that made her feel as if they were the only two people in the world. No other man had ever made her feel that way, as if every word she spoke was of paramount interest to him.
“How many siblings do you have?” he asked.
“Two older brothers.”
“They must be pretty protective of you.”
“Noah is. Always has been.” She shrugged, idly toying with the stem of her wineglass. “At the end of the day, they both know I can take care of myself.”
Humor lifted one corner of Caleb’s mouth. “I can only imagine.”
Her eyes narrowed. “What’s that supposed to mean? How am I supposed to take that?”
“Any way you like, Miss Moreau,” he said with a slow, lazy grin that made her pulse leap. “Thanks for dinner. I think that was the best tortilla soup I’ve ever had.”
“Janie’s mother will be thrilled to hear that,” Daniela said, rising from the table with their empty bowls. “Janie is my sister-in-law, by the way. Would you like seconds?”
“No, thanks. I’m good.”
“How about coffee, and some dessert? My mom made her award-winning peach cobbler before she left for Houston. Unless Noah devoured it all while he was here, there should be some left.”
Caleb glanced at his watch. “I really should be going.”
“Are you sure? Not many people can turn down my mother’s famous cobbler, baked with the sweetest, juiciest peaches she handpicks from the orchard herself.”
He hesitated. “Award-winning, huh?”
Daniela grinned. “Six years in a row at the annual church bake-off.”
“In that case,” Caleb drawled, “how can I refuse?”
He should have refused.
Really, he should have. But refusing Daniela Moreau was fast becoming a foreign concept to him.
So he agreed to a slice of peach cobbler, and when Daniela asked innocently, “à la mode?” he shook his head, and forced his body not to react to the memory of the last time she’d offered him ice cream.
He polished off the cobbler in three bites, not because he was in a hurry to leave—as should have been the case—but because it was so damn good.
When he’d finished eating, a laughing Daniela poured him a cup of coffee and led him into the living room.
He couldn’t help admiring the hypnotic sway of her hips as she walked, and his mouth watered at the way the plush fabric of her robe molded her delectable round ass.
When she joined him on the sofa, he realized, too late, that he should have sat in one of the armchairs. When she leaned forward to slide a coaster beneath his coffee cup, her robe gaped open, tempting him with an eyeful of plump cleavage.
He swallowed hard, feeling like a horny teenager on his first date. He didn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed when she moved back, settling against the overstuffed cushions and tucking her long legs beneath her.
She gave him a smile of relaxed contentment. “So you live in the Towers, huh? Pretty swanky.”
He shrugged. “Believe it or not, my reasons for moving there had nothing to do with seeking a prestigious address.”
“Ah, yes, you had sentimental reasons,” Daniela murmured. “Your parents used to take you to see shows at the Majestic.”
“That’s right.” A soft, nostalgic smile touched his mouth. “I saw The Wiz for the first time there. I’ll never forget how excited I was to see an all-black cast in a live performance. It’s all I talked about for weeks afterward.”
“Aww. What a little prince you must have been,” Daniela teased, poking him playfully on the arm. “As an only child, I bet you were spoiled rotten.”
“Think again,” he countered, chuckling. “My father went out of his way not to spoil me, and he made damn sure my mother didn’t, either. He said he didn’t want to raise a soft, pampered rich boy, and I applaud him for that.”
“You do?”
Caleb nodded, vaguely amused by her surprised tone. “One of the best things my old man ever did for me was make me work hard for everything I wanted. Whether it was money for football camp or my first car, I had to earn it. I took nothing for granted, and that’s the way it should be.”
“You’re pretty adamant about this,” Daniela observed, giving him a look of fascinated admiration. “Do you plan to raise your own children with the same tough love?”
“If I ever have children,” Caleb drawled, “then, hell yes, I see nothing wrong with teaching them the value of a work ethic. I’ve watched too many childhood friends crap out because they never learned to fend for themselves.”
“That’s a shame.” Those dark, exotically tilted eyes studied him in silence for a moment. “How did your mother die, Caleb?”
He stiffened, his jaw tightening.
Seeing his reaction, Daniela hastened to say, “I’m sorry, that was too personal. You don’t have to answer if—”
“She died of complications from lupus. I was fourteen.”
“Oh, Caleb,” Daniela murmured gently. “I’m so sorry.”
“It was a long time ago,” he said gruffly, suddenly awash with memories of his mother—a quiet, unassuming woman who’d struck him as a tragic figure long before her death.
He remembered, as a child, wondering about the sadness in her eyes, the smiles she sometimes forced when Crandall spoke to her.
Although his parents never argued in front of him, Caleb knew their marriage was unstable, fraught with a tension he hadn’t understood until he was much older.
That was when he’d learned about his father’s extramarital affair with a woman he’d loved since childhood.
The betrayal had hastened his wife’s descent into depression, making her more susceptible to the disease that eventually claimed her life.
To this day, Caleb knew what killed his mother couldn’t have been cured with medicine. She’d died of a broken heart.
“I guess we both know what it’s like to lose a parent,” Daniela said quietly. “But at least you had your mother for fourteen years. Does that make it better, or worse?”
“I don’t know.” He hesitated, then confided, “My mother and I weren’t that close. I didn’t know her very well.”
“I’m really sorry to hear that,” Daniela said, her eyes full of sympathy. “Was she emotionally closed off?”
“You could say that. It’s complicated,” Caleb murmured, his tone discouraging further probing.
Daniela fell silent for several moments, thinking. Then, “Can I ask you another personal question?”
He tensed, automatically bracing himself. “Go ahead,” he said warily.
“Why did you stop practicing law, Caleb? I heard you were amazing.”
“Don’t believe everything you hear,” he said grimly.
Absently he realized she’d been calling him by his first name, but he didn’t bother correcting her.
What was the point? His behavior on Friday evening, and his very presence in her home tonight, was proof that their relationship—or whatever it was—had progressed beyond the use of formal addresses.
“Don’t be so modest,” Daniela teased. “It’s okay to say you kicked ass and took names as one of San Antonio’s most formidable trial attorneys.”
“You have a flair for the dramatic, Miss Moreau.”
“It’s Daniela,” she corrected. “And you’re avoiding my question.”
“No, I’m not.” He scrubbed a hand down his face and pushed out a long, deep breath. He could feel the dull edges of fatigue settling into his muscles. He’d overdone it at the ranch this weekend, trying to purge her from his system.
As if such a thing were even possible.
“I stopped litigating because I got burned out,” he said finally.
“Contrary to what you may have heard, there was no deep philosophical reason behind my decision. I didn’t wake up one morning and have an epiphany.
The truth is, I didn’t particularly like most of the people I was defending, and over time, I didn’t like myself too much, either. So I got out.”
“You make it sound so simple,” Daniela said softly, watching him with eyes that saw too much. “I know it wasn’t that simple.”
Caleb shrugged, unnerved by her perceptiveness but unwilling to show it. “No simpler than it was for you to walk away from your accounting career. But once you did, you knew it was the right thing to do. Seems to me you should understand better than anyone my reasons for leaving the courtroom.”
“I think I do,” she murmured.
And somehow, Caleb knew she did. “Come to think of it, you never answered my question that day in the coffee shop. I asked you why you wanted to be a lawyer, and you never told me.”
“I didn’t?”
“No,” he said succinctly, “you didn’t.” Why did he get the sense that Daniela was being deliberately evasive?
She shrugged, the edge of her teeth digging into the plump flesh of her bottom lip.
“I don’t know. Maybe I feel silly admitting to my law professor that I’m not really sure what I hope to accomplish with my law degree.
I mean, I’m twenty-seven years old, too damn old not to know what I want to do with the rest of my life. ”
Caleb smiled, touched by this unexpected glimpse of her vulnerable side.
“At the risk of sounding like a patronizing grownup, there’s nothing wrong with not knowing what you want to do with the rest of your life.
At some point or another, everyone experiences that uncertainty about the future, no matter how old—or young—they are.
You have nothing to be embarrassed about. ”
She beamed a smile at him, that beautiful, endearing smile that made his chest swell and had him feeling twenty feet tall.
Gruffly he said, “But I would suggest that you come up with a game plan soon, because law school doesn’t get any easier as you go along. And if you’re in it for the long haul, you might as well have a clear idea what you expect to get out of it.”
She grinned, giving him a mock salute. “Yes, sir.”
He chuckled, reaching over to playfully ruffle her hair, as much to tease as to touch her. “Smartass.”
As he leaned away, Daniela caught his hand in hers. Without releasing his gaze, she rested her warm cheek in the curve of his palm. His breath stalled in his lungs. As if in a trance, he watched her lips part and form the soft request: “Stay and watch a movie with me.”
And though a warning bell went off in his brain, he felt himself nodding slowly. “All right.”
Halfway through the romantic comedy, Daniela fell asleep curled up in a ball in a corner of the sofa.
As Caleb watched her, he had to force himself not to reach over and touch her, not to trace his fingers across the delicate arch of her brow or the pillowy fullness of her lips.
Her cheeks were flushed, and there were faint dark smudges beneath her eyes from lack of sleep.
As he gazed at her, he felt a wave of fierce tenderness wash over him.
This Daniela, with the sweetly angelic face and curled-up body, posed no threat to him.
Or so he told himself.
Frowning darkly, Caleb rose from the sofa, reached down and swept her easily into his arms. She didn’t wake up as he carried her down the hall and into the first bedroom, which he assumed, from the rumpled bedcovers, must be hers.
He laid her down gently on the queen-size bed, considered, then discarded the idea of removing her robe.
He didn’t think he could handle seeing whatever she wore—or didn’t wear—beneath.
Besides, he reasoned, it was probably best for her to stay covered up in case she got chills overnight.
He drew the heavy comforter over her body and tucked it under her chin.
As an afterthought, he touched the back of his hand to her forehead. Her skin felt hot, almost feverish. He frowned, wondering if he should wake her and bring her some medicine or a cold, damp cloth.
As he stood over her debating his next move, she tossed fitfully in her sleep, turning onto her side to face him. He froze, holding his breath. But she didn’t wake up.
Deciding he’d better get the hell out of Dodge while he still could, Caleb turned and headed for the door.
A soft, restless moan from the bed stopped him.
He turned his head, glancing over his shoulder at Daniela. In the soft wedge of light from the living room, he saw that her eyes were still closed. So he was unprepared to hear the softly uttered plea, “Don’t go.”
He stood in the doorway, his pulse drumming in his ears. Every ounce of common sense warned him to pretend he hadn’t heard her and to keep going until he’d put her cozy little bungalow in his rearview mirror. No good could come of him staying there a minute—hell, a second—longer.
His mind heeded the logic of the warning.
His body was an entirely different matter.
Before he could stop himself, he was striding back across the room, removing his wallet and keys from the back pocket of his jeans and depositing them on the nightstand before gently lowering himself onto the bed.
He’d stay for a few more minutes, just to make sure she was all right.
Never mind that he could monitor her condition just as effectively from the chair by the window, or from the safe distance of the living room.
And never mind that, given how tired he already was, he could very well fall asleep in her bed and awaken to God only knew what kind of temptation.
Careful not to disturb Daniela, who’d dozed off again, he clasped his hands behind his head and stared at the darkened ceiling with a look of fixed determination.
Just fifteen minutes, he vowed. And then he would go….