He was so outrageous it was impossible not to laugh, too.
“You don’t believe in marriage?” The moment the question left her mouth, she regretted it. She wished she had picked an impersonal topic, like the unpredictable weather, or the sudden rush of tourists crowding the New York streets. Anything other than the intimate topic of relationships. Now he’d think she was invested in the answer, and then he’d wonder if, for her, this was more than a cup of tea on a park bench on a sunny spring morning.
“I’ve taken a lot of risks in my life—parachute jumping, BASE jumping—never marriage.” His tone suggested that wasn’t likely to change anytime soon.
“You see marriage as a risk?”
“Of course it’s a risk. If you find the right person, I’m sure marriage is great. But finding the right person—” he shrugged “—that’s the hard part. Easier to get it wrong than get it right. How about you?”
The dogs chased each other back to the bench and Daniel leaned forward to make a fuss over Brutus. She saw his shirt pull tight over his shoulders, molding to powerful muscle.
“Never.” She watched as he picked up one of the other cups and took a sip. “Who is the fourth cup for?”
“Me.”
“You bought yourself two drinks? You have a problem with decision making?”
“No. I have a problem with staying awake when I work until two in the morning. As I said, it’s my drug of choice. I need two coffees in the morning. These are my two coffees. So what do you do, Molly? No—let me guess. Your dog is well trained and you’re clearly a strict disciplinarian so you could be a teacher, but I sense that you’re not. I think whatever it is you do, you’re your own boss. You’re clearly smart, so I figure you have your own business. You work from home, maybe? Somewhere close to here. Writer? Journalist? Am I right?”
“To a point.” She felt herself instinctively retreat. She reminded herself that she worked under a pseudonym. It was like sliding on a disguise. “I do some writing as part of my job, but I’m not a journalist.”
“What do you write? Or are you going to make me guess? Is it dirty? If so, I definitely want to read it.”
She knew enough about human nature to know that not telling him would simply make the subject more interesting. “I’m a psychologist.”
“So you’re analyzing my behavior.” He lowered his cup. “I don’t mind admitting that’s a little unsettling. And now I’m going back over our conversation trying to remember what I said. On the other hand you’re still sitting here so it couldn’t have been anything too bad.”
She was still sitting here, and no one was more surprised about that than she was.
“Maybe I’m still sitting here because I think you’re a lost cause who needs help.”
He nodded. “I’m definitely that.” He watched as Brutus and Valentine played a rough game that involved rolling on the grass. “So are you going to take me on?”
“Excuse me?”
“You said I need help. It’s only fair to give me that help. If you want me to come and lie on your couch, that works for me.”
“You wouldn’t fit on my couch. How tall are you? Six-two?”
“Six-three.”
“Like I said. Too big.” In fact he was too everything. Too handsome. Too charming. Too much of a threat to her equilibrium.
As if to confirm that, he smiled at her. Might as well have turned a blowtorch on to ice, she thought, feeling herself melt. “It won’t make a difference if you smile at me. You still won’t fit on my couch.”
“You don’t need to worry.” He leaned in and lowered his voice. “I promise to be gentle with you.”
“Oh please—did you really say that?” Because her hand shook, she sloshed tea over her leggings. “Ow!” She sprang to her feet and his smile turned to concern.
“Take them off.”
“You’re not funny.”
“I’m not trying to be funny. I’m serious. Basic first aid for burns. The fabric will carry on burning your leg.”
“I am not removing my pants in the park.” But she tugged the Lycra away from her skin and sure enough the burning eased.
“I’m sorry.” He sounded genuinely contrite.
“Why are you sorry?” She grabbed a handful of napkins and pressed them against her thigh. “I was the one who spilled my tea.”
“But only because I made you nervous.” His voice was soft, his gaze intimate, as if they’d shared something personal.
“You didn’t make me nervous,” she lied. “I’m not used to sexual innuendo this early in the morning. Or men like you. You’re—”
“Cute? Irresistible? Interesting?”
“I was thinking more of annoying, predictable and inappropriate.”
His smile promised fun and sin and a thousand things she didn’t dare think about while she had hot tea in her hand.
“I made you nervous. And flustered. And if I were to analyze you, I’d say you’re a woman who hates to feel either of those things.”
Flustered? Oh yes, she was flustered. Being close to him made her feel light-headed and dizzy. She was agonizingly aware of every single detail, from the dark masculinity of his unshaven jaw, to the wicked glint in his eyes. But beneath the humor was a sharp eye for detail, and that worried her more than anything.
She had a feeling he saw far more than people usually did.
It was like hiding in a cupboard and knowing that someone was right outside the door waiting for you to reveal yourself.
And that was closer than she ever let anyone step.
“Thanks for the tea.” She threw the cup away and reached for Valentine’s lead.
“Wait.” He reached out and caught her hand. “Don’t go.”
“I have to work.” It was true, although that wasn’t why she was leaving. She knew it. He knew it. Conversation, a light flirtation—that was all fine. She didn’t want more. “Goodbye, Daniel. Have a great day.” She whistled to Valentine, put him back on his lead and took off through the park without looking back.
Tomorrow she was going to take a different route.
There was no way she was going to risk bumping into him again.
No way.
He didn’t have a great day. He had a frustrating, long and tiring day during which Molly kept popping up in his thoughts. He wondered where she went after she’d run in the park. He wondered who her friends were and what sort of life she led. He had a million questions about her, and very few answers.
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