Chapter 2
It took him a week to find her after spending two days trying to stick to his resolve not to think of her.
And when he read the report, he hesitated and tried to talk himself out of getting in touch with her.
His instinct about her was spot on. She was a kindergarten teacher at Hope Kinder Prep, an exclusive pre-K school in the beautiful suburban area of Falls Keep.
He sat there staring at her picture for what seemed like ages before reading her bio.
She had been teaching at that school for the past eight years and was highly respected and loved by everyone.
She also taught Sunday school at the Baptist church in her neighborhood.
If that was not enough, she volunteered at several soup kitchens over the weekend and spent time trying to gather toys and other essentials for a children's home in her area.
She was a paragon of virtue, appearing sweet and unaffected. He should stay away from her. It would make sense to forget her, leave her be.
Pushing away from the computer, he started pacing. He had no business trying to get in touch with her.
There was no shortage of willing women for him to be with. He only had to make a call. Besides, he was planning on going to Italy or France for a golf tournament, and a series of endless spring parties for which he had gotten a flood of invitations.
He had earned the reputation of a playboy for a reason and was proud of it.
Until now. The voice popped into his head and had him pausing, a frown touching his forehead.
Where the hell did that come from? Of course he was all right with his life.
He had made the decision to go on about doing things his way after that fateful night when he was ten years old and he hadn't looked back.
He had convinced himself that he was a product of his environment. And he was, wasn't he? There was no escaping who he was or who he had become. His parents had taught him that much. They had led by example, and he was not going to allow some damn school teacher to be his judge.
He was unencumbered and certainly not hurting anyone.
Before starting a relationship, he would lay down the rules: no attachment.
He was generous to a fault and had always treated the woman he was with at that time with the utmost care.
He was an excellent lover, because he took the time to cater to their needs. There were no complaints in that area.
His life was the way he wanted it. Pacing back to the desk, he gazed at the photo and felt his heart thudding. Christ! What was it about this woman that was pulling at him? Raking long fingers through his already tousled hair, he decided it was time to go back to who he really was.
*****
This wasn't stalking. It was just him trying to establish something between himself and a woman he simply could not get off his mind. He wasn't a stalker, hell no! Far from it. Women pursued him. Now it was just a matter of the circumstances turning the other way.
Besides, he had a gift for her. If anything, he would simply hand it to her and just leave. If she invited him to stay, then it meant that she was interested as well.
The argument sounded weak even to his ears, but he was not going to allow that to stop him.
He thought about going to her school, but he was much too visible a person and would be recognized immediately.
He also considered using his sister in the plot but dismissed that idea immediately.
Irene was going through her third separation leading to divorce and had been more bitchy than usual the past couple of months.
With the mood she was in, there was no way she would even consider helping him.
There was another reason why he had discarded that idea. He did not want his family involved. They had a way of tainting everything they touched or came in contact with.
So, he was doing this on his own. He had seen her leave the parking lot of the school and followed her at a distance.
He already knew where she lived, of course.
Parking a few blocks down, he watched as she turned into the driveway of the small cottage with the blue trimmings and flowers rioting at the base of the front porch.
And she had a dog, he realized to his surprise, as the huge canine raced from the house to greet her. From where he was, he could see her reaction, the way she greeted the mutt with arms wide open and did not seem to mind that the animal was shedding an inch of hairs on her clothing.
Most of the women he had been with would never deign to give an animal that much liberty.
Having a dog to them was a status symbol and the animal had to be of the purest pedigree.
Something tiny to tuck under their arms while shopping, ones they never walked themselves but in fact hired dog sitters to do the job.
He waited until she had entered the house before bridging the distance. When he got to the gate, he waited a few more minutes, telling himself that he was giving her time to settle.
Parking the vehicle, he reached for the package and opened the door. Taking a deep breath, he strolled up the driveway and onto the front porch. The sound of frenzied barking blasted from the inside even before he raised the old-fashioned knocker in the shape of a frog.
"Galahad, calm down. Sit!"
"Hi." His smile was warm and intimate as she opened the door.
"Hi." She stared at him with a frown and did not look at all pleased that he was there.
"I hope I'm not disturbing you." His gaze switched from her enchanting face to the dog who had nosed his way between them.
Hunkering down, Dean greeted the animal, using his free hand to slide up and down the thick fur.
To his delight, the dog sniffed him warily and then let out a series of happy barks, signaling that he was accepted.
"He's huge."
"Part German Shepherd and part Great Dane.
He's going to want you to--" Before the rest of the words were out of her mouth, he had dropped down and rolled over, exposing his belly.
Dean accommodated him, running his hand up and down the underbelly and sending the animal into a frenzy of love and adoration.
With a sigh, Catherine stepped back and snapped her fingers. "Enough, Galahad. Go play with your chew toy." The animal obeyed instantly and raced away. "You might as well come in."
Ignoring the less than gracious invitation, he walked in behind her and closed the door.
Leading the way into the tiny living room, Catherine stood near the worn leather sofa she had been occupying when she heard the knock, surrounded by colored cartridge papers, crayons, pens, and pencils.
"I've interrupted your work." Putting the package carefully on the table beside him, he turned to look at her.
She had loosened the coils, and they were tumbling around her face and down her back.
She had also removed her shoes and jacket.
The poppy red dress was sleeveless and reached just above her knees.
He also noticed the big gold hoops on the table next to the stuff she was working on.
"Yes, you did." She eyed him candidly. "What are you doing here?"
"Would you believe me if I said I was in the neighborhood?" His devastating smile had zero effect on her, so he tried again.
"I brought you a present."
"How did you find me?"
"I did my research." He pointed to the box and had her coming closer, her curiosity getting the better of her.
"What is it?"
"Why don't you open it and find out?" he suggested.
She smelled like an exotic fruit, the scent sweet and elusive.
Catherine opened the box carefully to discover that there were several yards of pale pink tissue wrappings.
Wading through it, she stared at the sculpture she had rhapsodized over at the gallery just a week ago, now right here in her tiny living room.
Lifting her gaze, she stared at him with rounded eyes.
"I cannot accept this." Even though she was saying it, refusing the gift, she could not help herself. She touched the delicate glass that was so transparent, she could see her fingers through it. "Why would you--"
"You liked it."
"Oh, but--" Lifting the piece carefully, she studied it, her lips parted in obvious delight.
"No." Shaking her head, she put it carefully back inside its casing.
"There's no way. I know what this thing costs and I cannot--" She could not stop touching it and was unaware of the wistful and hopeful expression on her face. "You have to take it back."
"I'm afraid I can't."
Her eyes lifted to his and she frowned. "Why not?"
"Half of the proceeds will be going to a charity.
A women's shelter." He hoped to Christ he would not be caught out in the lie.
He had heard Jackson say something to that effect about some of the proceeds going to some charity or other but had not paid much attention to any of it.
Before now, that had never concerned him.
He also hoped that she would not ask him for the name of the particular women's shelter. He would definitely be doomed.
She turned to look at the sculpture again. She really should not accept it, but oh, it was so lovely, so translucent, a thing of absolute beauty. She would buy a table just for it. She had seen one in the antique store she favored. A pedestal-like table with carvings etched into wood.
He held his breath as he watched her battling with herself.
Finally, lifting her gaze to his, she gave him a curious look. "Why? And what do you expect from me?"
"I think it suits you and I only expect a drive. I want to show you something."
Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Like what?"
"Are you always this suspicious?" he chided. He had the feeling that he had won this round and had every intention of winning the next.
"What do you want, Dean?"
"You remember my name." Closing the gap between them, he took her hands in his. "You fascinate me."