Three Little Words
Page 13

“You’re not going to call her names, are you?” Consuelo asked.
“No. I don’t blame her for leaving me, but she shouldn’t have left Reese, too. It’s been hard on him.”
“He’s a good kid,” she told him. “You did well.”
“Thanks. A couple of years ago, I realized he needed more family around. I guess I did, too. So we moved back here. It was the right decision.”
She watched him intently. He couldn’t tell what she was thinking, but the fact that she was asking questions seemed like a good sign.
“I’m glad we ran into each other,” he said. “There’s a concert later. Want to go with me?”
“I’m sorry, but no,” she said quietly.
Nothing about her expression changed, so at first he didn’t get what she was telling him. Then she rose, collected her plate, drink and plastic fork and threw them in the trash.
“Bye, Kent,” she said, then turned and walked away.
* * *
TUESDAY MORNING FORD wandered over to Isabel’s house. He could have gone to the office, but there wasn’t much point. The contracts had been signed with the new companies, and until it was time to put the actual courses together, he was at loose ends. He needed coffee. Not that he didn’t have some at his place, but he was pretty sure Isabel’s was better.
He went up to the back door and knocked loudly. It swung open. Unlocked, of course. This damn town, he thought as he strolled in. Sure enough, a fresh pot of coffee sat in a carafe. He took two mugs from the cupboard and poured. He didn’t think he’d ever learned how Isabel took hers, so he left it black. He could add whatever she wanted later.
He carried both mugs down the hall, pausing to take a sip of his. He passed the master, a guest room, a study. At the end were two open doors. One led to a bedroom with an unmade full-sized bed. The walls were pink. There were shelves filled with books, pictures in frames and trophies. A couple of tattered stuffed animals sat on a wide window seat. The furniture was white, as was the desk with a sleek laptop on it. Several pairs of shoes had been kicked to the side of the room.
The space was an intriguing combination of Isabel as a teenager and her today. The old and the new.
On the opposite side of the hall was the half-open door to a bathroom. Isabel stood in front of a mirror. She wore a short blue robe. Her hair was up in electric curlers and she was carefully applying mascara.
He leaned against the wall to watch.
Most guys weren’t that interested in the process—they wanted the result. But he’d always enjoyed watching a woman get ready. Maybe he was trying to see where the magic went. All those potions in pots and jars, he thought with a smile.
Isabel put down the mascara, glanced into the mirror, saw him, then jumped and screamed.
She pulled the door all the way open. “What the hell are you doing? You scared the crap out of me.” She pressed a hand to her chest. “I think I’m going to have a heart attack.”
“Your back door was unlocked. How do you like your coffee?” He handed her a mug.
“Black. Thanks.” She took the coffee and then glanced from it to him and back. “You just walked in here?”
“Sure. Like I said, the door was open.”
“I forgot to lock it. I wasn’t inviting you in.”
He grinned. “Yet here I am, all the same.”
She narrowed her gaze. “You’re bored, aren’t you? That’s what this is about.”
“I’ll admit to having a slow day.”
“So typical. My day isn’t slow. I’m expecting several gowns to arrive. Do you know what that means?” She didn’t wait for him to answer. “Unpacking and then hours of ironing. Want to learn the delicate art of ironing a wedding gown?”
“Not really. But you could thank me for the coffee.”
“It’s my coffee.”
“I carried it.”
She shook her head and turned back to the mirror. “Someone needs to beat the crap out of you.”
“I wouldn’t have pegged you as a girl turned on by violence.”
“I’m not...” She drew in a breath. “Never mind,” she muttered from between clenched teeth.
She pulled out the curlers, sliding the round part back into place on rods and dropping the pins into a plastic bowl. Her blond hair fell to just below her shoulders in loose, sexy curls. The air was scented with some kind of floral body wash and maybe lotion.
He’d spent plenty of time on navy ships and could complete his shower in less than a hundred and twenty seconds. Including shaving and dressing, from the time he walked into the bathroom until he walked out, fully clothed, it was less than five minutes.
Civilian women weren’t like that.
He leaned against the door frame, watching as Isabel bent over at the waist and shook her head, then finger-combed her curls. His gaze strayed to her butt, which pulled at the shiny fabric of her robe.
She was tall and curvy. He liked how she felt when he held her, liked the softness, the warmth. The way she’d kissed him? He was still in recovery. He’d expected to enjoy himself. He hadn’t thought she would take him from zero to sixty in a heartbeat.
If they hadn’t been out in public, he would have been hard-pressed not to try to convince her they had to make love that very second. Maybe she wasn’t as off-limits as he’d first thought, he told himself. Little Isabel was all grown-up and he had to say he was a fan of how she’d turned out.
* * *
ISABEL STRAIGHTENED and discovered that, yes, Ford was still there. Watching her with that almost smile of his. The one designed to drive her crazy.
“Step back unless you want to risk being turned into a woman,” she said, picking up a spray bottle.
He did as she suggested, retreating down the hall. “I’m going to see what you have for breakfast,” he yelled back.
“You do that.”
She finished with her hair, then walked quickly into her bedroom. After closing and locking the door, she finished dressing. She tucked her blouse into her skirt, all the while telling herself she should be annoyed that Ford had simply walked into her house. Yet she couldn’t seem to summon the energy. He was one of those guys women seemed to like, and she wasn’t the least bit immune.
Still barefoot, she went down the hall and into the kitchen. Ford sat at one of the stools at the bar. There was a box of cereal on the counter.
“You don’t have eggs,” he told her. “Or bacon. What’s with that?”
“I don’t eat eggs or bacon in the morning.”
His expression turned suspicious. “You’re not one of those eggs-for-lunch people, are you? Because that’s wrong.”
“You are so strange. Would you also expect me to cook the eggs and bacon?”
“No, but it would be nice if you did.”
“You do realize you have your own kitchen upstairs, right? You could buy your own eggs and bacon and fix them yourself.”
He leaned back in the chair. “It’s better here.”
“I thought macho SEALs liked to be alone. That you were all so solitary.”
“No. We’re pack animals. Work in a team. Hang out together.”
She hadn’t thought of it that way, but understood what he was saying. “So now that we’re fake-dating, I’m in your pack?”
He offered her that sexy smile of his. “Every woman’s dream.”
If he hadn’t made her tremble and want for the first time in her life, she would have laughed at him. But as it was, she could only turn away and wonder if there was a polite way to ask him to repeat the kissing thing. Just so she could confirm it wasn’t a fluke.
He poured them cereal, then picked up a banana and sliced half of it into each bowl. Last he added milk.
“What if I didn’t like bananas?” she asked, sitting next to him.
“Then you wouldn’t have bought it.”
She sighed. “You have an answer for everything.”
“Sure. If I don’t know it, I make it up. You gotta keep moving forward. Otherwise whatever’s coming up at you from behind will catch up.”
She reached for her spoon. Ford had showered and shaved that morning. He’d pulled on a T-shirt over jeans, but his feet were bare. There was something a little sexy about sitting with him like this. Over breakfast.
The memory of the kiss hovered between them—an erotic specter. She was sure the moment had happened. After all, she’d been there. She’d felt tingles and zips and that all-important hunger. The sensations were new and heady and just a little scary.
She had a feeling her friends would tell her it was chemistry and that she should always embrace the quiver when she was with a guy. But what if that was all there was? What if the longing was her peak experience? She supposed, in her heart, she worried that she wasn’t like everyone else.
“What are you thinking?” he asked unexpectedly.
She put down her spoon and went for a version of the truth. “Sometimes I wonder if I should have known about Eric. The g*y thing.”
“He wasn’t admitting it to himself. Why should you have it all figured out? He said he loved you and wanted to marry you. You believed him. It’s his bad, not yours.”
“You make it all so simple.”
“I’m a simple kind of guy.”
“Your fake-girlfriend plan is more than a little complicated. How long are we doing that, by the way?”
“I don’t know. Awhile. Then we can break up and I’ll be crushed.” He grinned, then scooped up more cereal. “You’re moving to New York, so maybe we could date until then. That’s a long time with my mom off my back.”
It was a long time to be around Ford, she thought. There might be unexpected dangers. At least for her. She liked him and she liked being with him. Wasn’t that how real relationships started?
“At some point you need to be able to tell your mother the truth.”
“No, I don’t.”
“You can’t spend the rest of your life lying to her.”
She expected a snappy comeback, but instead his humor faded. “She won’t believe the truth.”
“Which is?”
“I’m never going to get married because I’m never going to fall in love. I can’t. Or won’t. I’ve met some great women who were in love with me. But the second they admitted their feelings, I was gone. I couldn’t picture myself with them in two years, let alone fifty. I have no interest in anything long-term. Not now, not ever.”
“You wanted to marry Maeve.”
“I was young and figured we were supposed to get married. Don’t forget how fast I got over her. That wasn’t love.”
“Maybe that wasn’t but you’re not giving yourself a chance. You haven’t met the right person.” She believed in love even if he didn’t. One day Ford would lose his heart.
For a second, she thought about making a joke about it, only to realize she didn’t like the idea of him falling for someone else. Not that she was interested in him that way, but was just...
She paused, unable to come up with an explanation.
“There’s something missing in me,” he said. “Something I don’t get.” He shrugged. “I like women. I like being around them, but picking one and staying with her forever? I don’t see it happening.”
* * *
CLASSES STARTED IN the morning. The information was right on the sign out front of the Fool’s Gold High School. Consuelo could see it from where she stood on the sidewalk.
She hated apologizing even more than she hated being wrong. She hated being unsure and feeling stupid and a thousand other things that had nothing to do with why she was standing here.
She’d done it again. Walked away because she was afraid. Walked away from the nicest man she’d ever met because when she was around him she couldn’t breathe.
She forced herself up the stairs and into the school. The polite lady in the office gave her Kent’s room number and then pointed the way. Consuelo walked in that direction, still not sure what she was going to say.
She hadn’t been able to sleep in two days and yesterday she’d spent an hour sparring with Angel. He’d finally collapsed on the mats, gasping for mercy, but she hadn’t been done. She’d climbed ropes and finished with an eight-mile run. Even so, she’d spent much of the night staring at the ceiling.
It was all so ridiculous, she thought. The fear and her reasons for it. A man had asked her out and she’d run off like a frightened puppy.
She found the room in question. The door was open and Kent sat alone at the desk in front. She watched him for a few seconds, taking in the concentration as he looked from his computer to the screen behind him. A PowerPoint presentation flipped from slide to slide. No doubt he was preparing for when classes started.
The man wore a tie, she thought, not sure if she should laugh or whimper. A tie and rolled-up shirtsleeves, with jeans. The combination was sexy and appealing and she both wanted him and needed to head in the opposite direction equally. Before she could decide what to do, he looked up and saw her.
“Consuelo.”
That was all he said. Her name. Just like that. No hint of what he was thinking, no anger or frustration or disinterest.
She stepped into the room and walked toward him.
She’d dressed specifically for the occasion in her favorite cargo pants, an army-green tank and combat boots. She wore no makeup and had pulled her hair back into a tight ponytail. This was her at her core. She needed him to see that, mostly so he would understand she wasn’t trying to be different. It, in fact, came naturally.