Most of all he wondered what he’d said to make her run off.
He’d enjoyed the snap and spark of the conversation, the flirtation. It was the verbal equivalent of waterskiing— speeding and bouncing over the surface, but never delving into the deeper, murky waters below. It suited him fine, because he had no interest in going deeper.
He guessed she was the same.
He knew from the look on her face that she had issues. He’d seen that same look across his desk more times than he could count and he recognized the shadows of hurt. It didn’t worry him. He’d never met a human being over the age of twenty who didn’t have some issues. That was what being alive did for you. If you engaged in life, eventually you’d have scars to show for it.
He wondered who was responsible for Molly’s scars.
It was that urge to know more that drew him back to the park the next morning, with Brutus tugging at his lead. It didn’t occur to him that she might not show up. For a start she had to walk Valentine, and something told him she wasn’t going to change her habits in order to avoid him, so he took the usual path, Brutus by his side.
Without Valentine to keep him in line there was a strong chance the dog wasn’t going to come back, so he kept him on the lead. He’d even yelled “Ruffles” once to see if that made a difference but all that had done was confirm what Daniel already suspected, that the dog didn’t have a problem recognizing his name. He had a problem recognizing authority.
As someone who had grown up challenging and questioning, Daniel empathized.
He was hauling the dog’s nose out of a muddy puddle when Valentine appeared.
There was no sign of Molly.
“Where is she?” Daniel stooped to pat the Dalmatian. He was no expert, but even he could see that Valentine was a beautiful dog. And that heart-shaped nose was pretty cute. “Maybe that’s where I’m going wrong. I need a heart-shaped nose to win her over.”
He was wondering whether he should hold on to the dog or let him go, when Molly appeared, out of breath and annoyed.
“Valentine!” She reached them and frowned at the dog. “What did you think you were doing?”
Valentine wagged his tail hard.
It seemed to Daniel that whatever the dog had thought he was doing, he’d done it.
He guessed Molly hadn’t intended to walk this way today, but what the hell. She was here. That was all that mattered.
Today she was wearing a pair of running leggings that clung to her body in a swirl of purple and black. Her sleek dark ponytail curved like a question mark over her back.
Daniel unclipped Brutus’s lead and he sprinted off with Valentine. “Whenever I let him off the lead, I worry that might be the last I see of him. I only let him off when Valentine is here.”
“Valentine never usually runs off.” She frowned after the dog. “I don’t understand it.”
“I guess he wanted to play with his best friend. Look how happy they are.” He gambled on the fact that seeing her dog so content would stop her leaving and judging from her smile, he was right. She’d decided to forgive the dog for his transgression. “So how do you persuade a dog to come back when you call?”
“Training.”
“And if that doesn’t work?”
“Then you’re in trouble.”
He loved the way her eyes lit up. He loved the tiny dimple that flickered at the corner of her mouth. He loved the way her hair whipped across her back when she ran. He loved the way she ran like she owned the park. He loved the way she loved her dog—
He was definitely in trouble.
“Are you in the mood for an Earl Grey tea? Say the word.” He couldn’t believe he was suggesting tea when what he really wanted was champagne, moonlight and her naked.
“What’s the word? Please?”
“Fetch.”
The smile turned into a laugh. “You ‘fetched’ last time. It’s my turn.”
He liked the way that sounded, as if this was something regular that was going to happen again. “But then I’d have to watch the dogs, and you’re the responsible adult.”
“You’re not responsible?”
He looked at her mouth. “I’ve been known to be irresponsible once in a while.”
* * *
Molly sat on the bench, watching the dogs play. Irresponsible? Irresponsible was her sitting here waiting for him to come back instead of finishing her run and going home.
She’d started the day being responsible. She’d taken a different route on her run, but Valentine had protested. He’d sprinted away and for the first time ever had refused to come back when she’d called him. And now she was here again, on their bench, waiting for Daniel.
It was still superficial, she reminded herself. It was everything light and fun.
A heart couldn’t break if it wasn’t engaged.
“Tell me about him,” she said to Brutus, but he was too busy trying to bite Valentine’s ear to pay any attention.
Daniel returned as Brutus was tangling himself with Valentine. “I don’t suppose you specialize in dog psychology? My dog needs help.”
She took the tea from him, careful not to touch his fingers. “I’m better at understanding human behavior.”
“Behavioral psychology? That’s what you do?”
“Yes.” She saw no reason not to be honest about that.
“And do you prefer good behavior or bad behavior?” His smoky voice slid under her skin. She sensed this man could deliver a hefty dose of bad when it suited him, probably another thing that made him a magnet for women.
“Most people are a mixture of both. I observe. I don’t judge.”
“Everyone judges.” He took another mouthful of coffee. “So what does a behavioral psychologist do? Do you ever advise on relationships?”
“Yes.”
He lowered the cup. “So if you’re a psychologist, and you’ve studied this stuff, all your relationships must be perfect.”
She almost laughed, but knowing it would be a hysterical sound she held it back.
It was surprising how many people assumed her relationships would be perfect. It was like expecting a doctor never to get sick.
“You’re right. My relationships are all totally perfect.”
“You’re lying. No one’s relationship is perfect.” He glanced from her to Valentine. “And you’re here in the park every morning with your dog, which tells me he’s your most meaningful relationship.”
The conversation had somehow edged into the personal and she instinctively backed away. “I agree that no one’s relationships are perfect. The best you can do is make them perfect for you.”
He stretched out his legs, relaxed and comfortable. “Perfect, for me, would be short. I don’t like to get involved past a certain point. Judging by the way you react, I’m guessing you’re the same.”
He guessed correctly. And she couldn’t help being curious.
“You’re afraid of intimacy?” Why was she even having this conversation? What was wrong with her? She