Her senses had hummed the whole time—not even the perpetual scowl creasing his face had dampened her feelings of desire. Her senses hummed now, too. He settled into a recliner and a huge sigh of relief billowed out of him.
The blind kitten, which Marissa had named Shadow, simply because the poor dear had attached itself to Dane and followed him everywhere, leapt onto Dane's lap, curled into a black ball, and began to purr.
Dane rolled his eyes, but stroked the kitten's fur. Marissa bit back a grin. Dane would never admit he liked the cat, but he did, even if he wanted to pretend he was putting up with all the animals for her sake.
"I think we can mark going to the zoo off your list," he said, "since you've created your own animal kingdom right here."
Oh dear. The list. Soon it would be Saturday—the anniversary of Gillie's death. Somehow, finishing the list, the last thing she'd done with her sister, would be her final good-bye. It was time to let go of her old life and start a new one. "Sorry, Dane. Going to the zoo is of the utmost importance."
Had it only been five days since she'd met Dane? For the first time in years, she felt like she'd lived a normal—okay, not normal— but happy, free life. Now that she'd put aside her fear and taken that list of dreams into the world...she felt all grown up. If only Gillie were here to see her succeed. Sudden grief gripped her. I miss you, Gillie.
"Marissa?" The gentle concern in Dane's voice was unexpected.
To her horror, tears filled her eyes. She removed the cats from her lap and stood. "Wouldn't it be terrible if I were allergic to animals?" She laughed, almost choking on the falseness of the sound.
She couldn't meet Dane's stare, so she crossed the living room to look out the floor-to-ceiling window. The not-yet landscaped grounds were a tangle of long grass, summer flowers, and old trees. The area looked as wild and as untamable as she felt at this moment.
The swiftness of the emotions claiming her made her realize the depth of her denial. She had done a fabulous job of pretending this week that she didn't have a care in the world, as if the list were the most important thing in her life. She didn't have to think about how her sister was dead and how her parents would fear the same for her if they knew she'd escaped from Geoffrey. She blew out a breath.
They wouldn't know. Geoffrey was her friend and, even though she'd duped him, he wouldn't trouble her parents. She'd left the note and promised to return. Yet, if Geoffrey had panicked...had called her parents to return from Europe, they would search for her. They would find her, too.
She shook away the thoughts. What did it matter if she returned or if her parents found her? She was a legal adult; they couldn't force her to live in their house anymore. She'd only stayed after her eighteenth birthday because, well, because every year they convinced her to do so.
And every year, she caved in because through their love and their worry, they'd made her fear. Fear living. Fear the outside world. Their first child had been kidnapped and their eldest had died because she ventured out from their protection. Marissa didn't need a psychologist's degree to understand their motivations.
Ultimately, that was why she'd left. That and because Millie had entered her life and instilled the desire and the courage to venture out of the "cocoon of wealth."
She missed Millie, too. It was a pity she hadn't been able to locate her. She had thought that Millie would be delighted to see her and would help her with the list.
The young woman with red hair, green eyes, and the most adorable cockney accent had been her beauty instructor for a mere two weeks. But her phone number had been disconnected, the apartment abandoned.
More than likely, her friend had chosen money over friendship.
Whew. That stung.
Marissa wrapped her arms around her torso, misery lodged in her chest like a lead weight.
"Is everything all right?"
Dane's quiet question so near her startled her. She put a hand to her throat and glanced at him. Concern softened his still-present scowl.
"You don't look fine. Want to talk about it?"
"No, not really." Before Dane could question her further, she turned from him, from his comfort, and fled up the stairs and into the master bedroom, shutting the door behind her.
***|***|***|***|***
BRENT WILLIAMS
"SO WHY ARE you hanging out at Dane's apartment?" asked Lillian.
Her steady gaze revealed casual interest; she could have been inquiring about the weather by the bored tone of her voice. But Brent noticed the tense set of her shoulders, the nearly imperceptible way she leaned forward to hear his answer.
As a counselor of troubled teens, he knew how to read body language. She was interested in Dane or in the apartment and he couldn't figure out why.
He scooped up ketchup with his potato wedge and ate it, took his time chewing. Her eyebrows rose as if she didn't understand his hesitation in answering a simple question.
She straightened s-l-o-w-l-y, swung her long, gorgeous hair over her shoulder, then looped her arms overhead and stretched s-l-o-w-l-y.
She leaned forward, extending her arms up. The jagged edges of her half-T-shirt revealed the fullness of her breasts. The copper bikini top showed through the white of the shirt and her nipples, tight hard peaks, strained against the thin material.
Heat rushed through him, thickened his lower extremities with instant, unbearable lust, and gave him a hard-on that tented his shorts.
The French fry lodged in his throat. He choked. Coughed. Sputtered. She watched him, a smile dancing across her lips.
"Are you okay, Brent?"
She'd asked, "are you okay" in that husky purr, but his body heard, "Do you want to have sex?" and blood surged anew, even with the damned French fry playing havoc with his throat. He grabbed his Coke and drank it, finally swallowing the annoying food and regaining his breath.
Eyes watering, he glared at her. "You did that on purpose."
"Did what?"