As he was busy tightening the screen’s wing nuts, he heard her clear her throat. She was near enough to touch. Again. Right there beside his left elbow. If he turned, just slightly, he could slide an arm around her waist, ease her to him and—
“So, did you enjoy the brunch?” she asked.
Alex had to blink to get his brain back on track. Oh. Right. The brunch. Well, yes, he supposed he’d enjoyed it well enough. At least, he’d enjoyed every moment he’d spent with her…. “Food was good,” he said, hoping to sound noncommittal. But that was all he intended to admit.
She laughed. “The ladies of Resurrection outdo themselves every time there’s an event.” Then, “Did you know there’s going to be another next Wednesday?”
She hesitated, and he knew she intended to invite him to it.
Knew, just as well, that he had every reason to say no.
For one thing, what did they have in common? And even if he could find something the two of them could share, he had way too many “issues” left over from the accident. Wouldn’t be fair to haul her through that mess.
Crouching, Alex put the wrench back into the toolbox and fastened its lid. On his feet again, he decided to tell her that he’d sworn off church. Sworn off everything—and everyone—connected to it. She needed to hear that, because he had a feeling she put the D in devout. Besides, he liked his women tall and lithe and blond and blue-eyed, right? Wouldn’t be fair to mislead her, not in any way. And he had to find a way to get the words out before she asked him to be her guest.
“I don’t suppose you’d like to come,” she asked, as if on cue, “as my guest?”
Sunlight glinted from her hair. Hair he wanted to touch, to find out if it felt as soft, as silky as it looked. And there, in the bright light, it was impossible not to notice the pale freckles that dotted her nose, that sprinkled across her ivory cheeks. He wanted to touch those, too. Each and every one of them…with gentle kisses.
Watch it, he warned himself, this one isn’t like the others, not in any way. And that meant trouble. Reminding himself he had neither the time nor the inclination for romance, Alex straightened, squared his shoulders, lifted his chin a notch. Tell her no, was the thought pinging in his head. Say, Sorry, but I have stuff to do that night.
Hands deep in his pockets, he glanced at slightly parted, kissable pink lips, looked into her eyes. Into her big, long-lashed, brownish-greenish-golden eyes and said, “Only if they’re serving potato salad.”
Chapter Three
Until he’d looked up and seen her there on the roof, Alex had never seen much farther than the end of his own nose. Especially when it came to the needs of others. Especially since the accident.
Oh, he’d done the typical favors for friends and acquaintances, like helping them move from apartments into homes when he wasn’t on assignment, letting them use his pickup when he was. Once, when he was stationed in Florida, his next-door neighbor won a trip to the Bahamas. It was Alex who, twice a day, let himself into her apartment to feed her cat. While living in California, he watered a neighbor’s roses rather than see the elderly gent’s rose club registration fee—and the work he’d put into the roses to that point—go to waste.
He’d never minded doing the favors. Hadn’t felt imposed upon by the neighbors who’d asked them of him. But suddenly there was a nagging question in his mind, one Alex doubted he would have asked himself if he hadn’t met Taylor.
Would he have volunteered his help if that help hadn’t been requested?
He was ashamed to admit the answer was no.
Wouldn’t have been hard to admit if the answer had been the result of a hectic schedule. Truth was, he’d simply never thought to offer. And what kind of person did that make him?
Not the kind who deserved a woman like Taylor Griffith….
He shifted uncomfortably in his easy chair, remote control in hand. As the colorful, musical images of TV chefs and sports figures and rumpled detectives whizzed by on the screen, Alex scowled. Shouldn’t have agreed to that date, he grumbled inwardly. Only thing you have in common with that woman is…
As he gave it a moment’s thought, his thumb relaxed on the up button. A home shopping host held up a glittering half-carat diamond. The glint and glow of the stone reminded him of Taylor, each spark, each glimmer illuminating yet another facet of her character. The longer he knew her, the more she seemed to shine.
Compared to her, he felt like a chunk of wet chalk.
Somehow, that didn’t seem to matter. Whether or not they had anything in common made no difference, either. He liked her. Had, the instant he set eyes on her in that overcrowded plane, liked her more still when they made the suitcase exchange in the tiny foyer of her house. The church brunch, her tender loving care after the cat rescue…every minute in her company was incentive enough to want to spend hours, weeks, months with her.
Alex slumped into his chair, telling himself it was boredom, restlessness, frustration with his life that made him think he was falling for this near stranger. Clapping a hand over his face, he closed his eyes to block the TV’s flickering light.
“Shouldn’t have said yes to the date,” he muttered sleepily. He didn’t fight the drowsiness. Maybe sleep would provide a haven from the unsettling feelings Taylor had aroused in him….
Now that she knew what caused his limp, Taylor had to warn herself to be careful. She’d always been a sucker for someone in pain, whether physical or emotional—it’s how she’d gotten in over her head with Kent—and Alex Van Buren seemed to have suffered his share of pain and agony, especially lately.
She got a mental picture of him, outfitted in a flight suit, standing beside a fast-flying fighter plane, smiling with the knowledge that he did heroic things every time he snapped the bubble canopy shut overhead.
And he was a hero, no doubt about that.
When Taylor heard about his past, she made it her business to learn more about the accident. An article, buried among reams of information she dug up on the Internet, explained how his F-16 Fighting Falcon had been struck by lightning, causing a complete shutdown of the controls. The plane was one of the manufacturer’s latest releases, designed to go farther and faster than any F-16 before it. The test Alex had been performing the day of his crash involved the new agile beam radar and state-of-the-art mission computer. Equipped with bigger fuel tanks to ensure greater range, the fighter was, in Taylor’s layman’s opinion, an explosion waiting to happen. It was a miracle that Alex had survived.
And she thanked God that he had.
Everything about him brought out the protector in her, starting with the limp…and every masculine emotion that made him try so desperately to hide it. The urge to care for him had swelled up as she’d swabbed the cuts and scrapes put there when he caught Barney. But that hadn’t been the first or the only time she’d felt it.
Before she’d even known his name, Taylor had wanted to comfort him as he hobbled past her in the big tube connecting their jetliner to the airport terminal. The feeling had bubbled up again when he left her house that day, limping more because of the weight of his big, bulky suitcase.
One look into his dark, shining eyes was all it took to tell her that something good, something decent lived inside this man. Oh, he did his best to hide it behind a practiced smile and well-timed jokes, but Taylor sensed it all the same. Not such an easy feat when she admitted seeing the same things in the mirror.
Taylor snapped on the light beside her recliner, intent upon reading Sunday’s newspaper, cover to cover. She’d made it to the food section when the phone rang, startling her so badly she nearly overturned her teacup.
“Hello?”
“Taylor. It’s Alex. Calling about the, ah, that church thing you were telling me about?”