Love At Last Read online

  “Eww. Really?”

  “No. Not really. Not the millisecond brush of our lips.” More like the most earth-shattering one-second kiss in history. “But the fact that it wasn’t intentional. At least not on his part. He was going in for a kiss on the cheek and— It’s like I didn’t even know myself. Like an out-of-body experience, and I just kissed him. What is wrong with me?” Her voice rose an octave. “I should be antimen at this point. I should be looking into convents.”

  “Antimen or not, you went out to dinner with him.”

  “I wouldn’t say I went out, exactly. We had dinner together. We were both there. We ate. It wasn’t like a date.”

  “Hmm. You’re doing an awful lot of explaining for it to be nothing.”

  “That’s because it is nothing. He’s…” She thought of the warm brush of his hand on her face and the tingling vibration that short kiss had left on her lips. Even now, she almost touched them before she stopped herself. “He’s really nice. That’s all.”

  “Is?”

  “Huh?”

  “You said is. Not was. Does that mean you’re seeing him again?”

  “I hope not,” she said and felt the lie crawl through her. “Besides the fact that it would be mortifying, I think it’s best to leave it as a sexy unexpected kiss with a stranger. My one sexy-kiss story.”

  “Sexy kiss, huh? A second ago, it was a mere brushing of the lips.” Jess laughed.

  “Glad you’re finding this funny.”

  “Oh, I am.” Jess sighed. “Do you really have to move to Chicago?”

  “I do. I start my job next week. But the city could be fun.”

  “I guess,” Jess said sadly. “I’ll visit, of course. Maybe we can make it a whole Sex in the City deal.”

  Clare laughed. “Maybe. And you know, I think maybe it’s better to change direction completely than stay on the same path, constantly searching for that right turn. That’s what I’ve done, you know? Just continued driving, searching, wanting, not even realizing I was on the wrong rode. Out of gas. At a dead end.”

  “That’s quite the metaphor.”

  “It is, isn’t it? Might be my second mimosa.”

  “That’s really mean when you know I’m drinking crappy office coffee. And I like to think of it less like a road and more like a roller coaster. Get on, get the thrill, get off. Look for a new one. A lot faster and a hell of a lot more satisfying than driving around.”

  As much as Jess’s shitty home life drove her to steer far and clear of repeating it, Clare’s storybook childhood made her dream of duplicating it. But she was done with that. New city. New job. New life plan.

  “Mmm. You’ve got your own nice metaphor.”

  “Yes, I do. And I don’t even have champagne.”

  Clare rolled the stem of her glass between her fingers. “I think—”

  “No. No more thinking. I want doing. Preferably with the hot doctor.”

  She smiled. “Okay, bossy, but I was just going to say that I think this is exactly what I needed.”

  “The vacation or the man?”

  “Hmm… Good ques—”

  “The correct answer is both,” Jess said emphatically. “Oh, shit. Sorry. My boss is coming in. Gotta go, but, Clare?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Should the opportunity arise, promise me for once in your life, you won’t overthink it.”

  “I—”

  “Love you, bye.”

  “Love you, too,” Clare said, but Jess had already ended the call.

  * * *

  DEACON STOOD BEFORE THE room of nearly one hundred of his fellow small-animal surgeons, pointing out the details on a slide of x-rays, showing the new less-invasive method he’d developed for setting traumatic bone injuries.

  He’d been speaking for just over an hour, and more than once, he’d thought of Clare’s advice. Not that he’d practiced standing on one foot, but he did picture her sitting across from him. She definitely took his mind off the public speaking fear—so much so that he had to concentrate not to lose his train of thought.

  Definitely hadn’t had time to get worked up over his presentation last night or this morning since every thought of public speaking now made him think of Clare, which filled his mind with a running replay of that knock-you-sideways kiss she’d laid on him.

  He’d been dying to kiss her, waffling between pressing her back against the door and telling himself it was a horrible idea, horrible timing. Then she’d kissed him and been gone before he could gather a coherent thought. He’d stood outside her door for a full minute, wanting to ask her what that was about and if she was okay. Was she apologizing to him or just in general? Did she feel guilty somehow, even though she wasn’t the one to call off the wedding? But mostly, he thought, he just wanted to kiss her again.

  He paused to take a sip of water then glanced at his watch. “That ends the placement and stabilization portion,” he said, looking out over the room. “After lunch, I’ll address post-op and complications. So…uh, have a good lunch. See you back here at one.”

  He busied himself with his laptop, waiting for the mass of eyes in the room to turn to each other instead of him. As the murmurs grew louder and people stood to leave, he breathed a sigh of relief.

  “Dr. Montgomery.” A tall, slim young man stopped him just as he started down the aisle. “I wondered if I could pick your brain for a minute.”

  He glanced at the man’s name tag. They’d met at the meet-and-greet. His wife and two young kids were back in Minnesota. “Sure, Jim.”

  Deacon listened to the man’s detailed issue: a cat suffering from feline leukemia. He gave his opinion, best he could without seeing the full chart and x-rays.

  “Montgomery.” Off to his right, Murray waved a hand. “We’re going to swing by the pool, grab a drink and a minute of sun before lunch.”

  “All right, man. I’ll meet you there.” And would Clare be out by the pool? Is she a pool person or a beach person? He hadn’t asked, hadn’t gotten the chance. He’d wondered a lot of things about her, staring at the ceiling last night, reliving the way her soft mouth had opened under his, remembering the light scent of coconut and her fingers gripping his shirt, pulling him in. And he’d been just about to dive headfirst when she’d ended the kiss and practically vanished behind her closed door.

  He answered all of Jim’s questions, and by the time he made it outside, he had ten minutes left, barely enough time to look for Clare, much less find her. He needed to let it go, store it away as the perfect kiss, and leave it at that.

  Squinting against the intense light, he pulled out his phone as he walked. No missed calls, just a text from his best friend and clinic partner, Jax, with the postsurgery vitals he’d asked for. He replied, hit send. He wondered about the weather at home, if it would indeed snow as the forecast predicted. More car accidents happened in bad weather. More four-legged animals got hit by them, too. But Margo and Maci loved the snow. They were just getting old enough to get into snowman building. Based on his weather app, forecasters had eased off the snow and were leaning more toward a wet wintery mix.

  He walked on, taking in the bodies dotting the pool deck in sun and shade. Others stood in waist-deep pool water. The sound of voices and low music coming from hidden speakers grew as he got closer to the bar. He imagined his younger self, kicked back with a beer, before he’d become a responsible father of two.

  And with that thought, another followed. What the hell am I doing out here? He cursed himself for being an idiot and turned to go back inside. He’d called his mom last night to check on the girls, but he would skip the drink and minute in the sun and call again. He glanced down at his watch, saw Margo and Maci wouldn’t get out of preschool for another thirty minutes. Damn, he wanted to talk to them, hear their little voices.

  When he looked back up, he nearly ran right into the woman who’d so dominated his thoughts.

  Just stepping out of the pool, Clare stopped short upon seeing him and nearly stumbled
back. Water streamed over her stomach and down long, trim legs. Even in a two-piece his grandmother would approve of, that body was enough to kill a man. Her hair hung over her shoulders. Beads of glistening water dripped from the ends and slid down her chest.

  She tipped her face up to his. “Hi.”

  “Hi. Enjoying the pool?”

  “Oh. Yeah.” Her gaze jumped away from his face then back. “How was your talk?”

  “Good. You helped.”

  Her full lips curved up shyly. “I knew you’d do fine.” She lifted one foot then the other. “Damn. This is hot.” She stepped to the side to slip her feet into flip-flops sitting by the edge. She had one on and was going for the second when she squeaked, made a grab for his arm, and nearly tumbled back into the pool.

  And for the second time, he caught Clare against him. His hands went to her waist to steady her, and just that touch sent most of his level-headed ideas flying. They stood for a moment, her bare, wet skin burning his palms. His heart rate picked up, and he caught her scent—coconut and oranges.

  “Sorry. Shoe problem. Again. This is embarrassing,” she said, eyes on her feet, working the flip-flop between her toes. “You’re always catching me.”

  He let his fingers tighten the slightest bit on her flesh, wanting to slide them around to her back and draw her closer.

  With her shoes on, she looked back up. “I’m going to get you wet.”

  He was just about to say he didn’t mind, but she stepped back, and he dropped his hands.

  Let it go. Move on.

  She shifted on her feet, stared past his shoulder, then met his eyes again. “I hope you’re not angry after the…you know, last night. I mean, I have no idea if you’re married, or… I mean, you probably would have said something if you were, but…”

  She went on, talking quickly, much like she had last night at the bar.

  “Maybe you have a girlfriend or…or maybe you just don’t like to be kissed like that or—”

  Deacon felt himself smiling. There was just no way to stop it. “Do you always apologize so profusely when you kiss someone?”

  She bit her lip. “I don’t kiss many people.”

  He nodded, storing that away. “Good to know. Also, I’m not married. No girlfriend. I do like being kissed like that, though I can’t say I’ve ever been kissed quite like that.”

  “No?”

  “No. But then you’ve never kissed me before.” And that was definitely not letting it go.

  She stared at him, utterly still. “That’s…good.”

  “That’s true.” And he couldn’t let it go, because seeing her again drove home what he already knew. If it was only physical, he could and would walk away and forget it. But it was more than that. “Do you want to have dinner with me tonight?”

  “Oh, well…” She averted her eyes again. “You know, I’m not really looking to get involved with anyone.” She huffed out a laugh. “Obviously, you couldn’t tell by the way I acted last night, but I’m really not. I mean, that would be crazy. Seeing as why I’m here and all and…”

  “I’m not, either,” he said and meant it.

  The last woman had left a bitter taste. A woman who would walk away from her babies without a backward glance would do that. But for whatever reason, he just couldn’t let this go. Couldn’t let Clare go.

  “So, you just want to have dinner?”

  “Yes.” No, not just. But anything else he wanted he’d do well to forget about.

  “Okay.” Her purely kissable lips turned up into a sweet smile. “Why don’t I meet you?”

  “That works. Any preferences?”

  “Not really. I have six nights and six more restaurants. I plan to hit them all.”

  “Okay. Want to try the Italian? Say, seven thirty?”

  “Sure.”

  “Great.” Smiling, he gave her hip a pat. “Try to stay on your feet until then.”

  Chapter 5

  DEACON HADN’T BEEN SURE she would come. Hadn’t realized how badly he wanted her to until he’d seen her striding toward him, a wide smile on her face. Sitting across from Clare at an outdoor candlelit table for two was no hardship. Her hair hung in silky waves, making his fingers itch to find out if it was as soft as it looked. The soft light glittered in her eyes, and he wavered between gaping at her beauty and grinning like a fool.

  “Here’s another one,” Clare said as they lingered over coffee and dessert. “Do you know why they call it the graveyard shift?” She slipped another bite of chocolate mousse between her lips.

  “Um…”

  “No. You don’t. I’ll tell you. A long time ago—”

  “Can you be more specific?”

  “Eighteen hundreds?” Smiling, she shrugged. “I don’t know, but that’s not important.”

  “If you say so.” He stole a bite of her mousse.

  “When someone died, they didn’t always know for sure if the person was actually dead, so someone had to sit in the graveyard and listen for the bell, thus ‘graveyard shift.’ Which leads to another one.”

  “Saved by the bell?”

  “Exactly.” She pointed at him with her spoon. “They buried the people with a string that was attached to a bell, so if they woke or revived or whatever, they’d pull the string, and the person working graveyard would hear it.”

  He mulled that over.

  “But if you think about it, they could have called it anything. Dark-sky shift. Moon-watcher shift.

  “The undead shift,” he suggested.

  “Right.”

  “Interesting. Creepy, but interesting.”

  “You think I’m creepy?”

  “And interesting,” he said, enjoying himself more than he could remember.

  She paused with another bite of the creamy chocolate halfway to her lips. “You’re looking at me,” she said.

  “I’m listening to you.” But he knew he’d been staring. He lifted his coffee. “And besides, you’re looking at me, too.”

  “I guess I am.” Her lips closed around her spoon.

  “And I was thinking, you seem really okay.” Her smile slipped, and she sat back, putting a little distance between them, and he wished he hadn’t said anything. “I’m sorry. I agreed we weren’t talking about that.”

  “No. It’s okay.” She nudged a speck of shaved chocolate around her plate. “I am mostly. It’s weird. I’m some hurt. I’m embarrassed. But I’m not heartbroken.” She spoke slowly, softly, and finally, her eyes met his again. “I’m a lot of things, but that’s not one of them. Pretty bad, huh?”

  “Or pretty good, depending on how you look at it.” He, for one, was immensely glad to hear she wasn’t heartbroken over a douche who would choose someone else and wait until the wedding to say it. He would kill a man who did that to one of his sisters.

  “It wasn’t so dramatic,” she said, looking at her plate again. “There was no big scene. I didn’t catch him in a closet with a bridesmaid or anything.”

  “Are you always so forgiving?”

  That made her smile. “Oh, I can hold a grudge. Just ask my brother. But in this case, I’m not sure there’s that much to forgive. Not since I think he was right. I wanted it to be the real deal, you know? Because I wanted the real, but it wasn’t. And it wasn’t him. So…” She shrugged, her gaze lowered. “It was a mistake all around and—” She broke off, trying to smile. “I’m sorry. This is terrible dinner conversation. I did tell you you didn’t want to ask me to dinner.”

  “Not that terrible. Besides, I brought it up. And I did want to ask you.”

  She tilted her head slightly, losing some of the heaviness of the moment. “Why?”

  “I don’t know.”

  A laugh burst from her lips. “That’s a terrible answer! No wonder you haven’t been on a date in a long time.”

  “Okay, the answer is I just wanted to, like…”

  “Like what?” she asked, a playful challenge in her eyes.

  “Like…” He couldn’t thin
k of anything it was like. Couldn’t think of anyone Clare was like. “I don’t know. I couldn’t stop myself.”

  “Oh.”

  A blush crept into her cheeks, and his chest felt tight as he stared into Clare’s open, honest eyes. He reached out for her hand lying on the table and curled his fingers around hers. “I’m glad you didn’t make that mistake.”

  She looked up, her heart in her eyes. “Me, too.”

  * * *

  WITH HER HAND STILL in his, they left the restaurant and walked past an outdoor bar, over a brick patio. Music pumped from the lobby area, punctuated by bursts of laughter. Deacon looked in that direction then back at her. “Want to check it out?”

  She did want to. Would have said yes to any excuse to spend more time with him. She started to say yes but was cut off by a loud, “Deacon!”

  “Oh, my gosh! Deacon Montgomery! I cannot believe it’s you.” A tall woman with fiery red hair embraced Deacon like a long-lost lover. When she pulled back to kiss his cheek, it was with a bright smile.

  Clare looked from her to Deacon.

  “Leslie?”

  “Yes! Can you believe it! I came last minute—you know me. Didn’t even look at the itinerary.” Her flattened palm lingered against his chest. “Look at you. Still just as handsome.”

  “Leslie, this is Clare. Clare, Leslie. We went to vet school together.”

  “Yes, we did.” Leslie winked at Deacon, leaving Clare to wonder if they did more than that. Leslie stuck out her hand. “Clare, nice to meet you.”

  Clare took it, noting the woman’s hands were soft and strong.

  “Are you a doctor? Or… Oh. Are you together?” She looked at Deacon, the possibility seeming to dawn on her for the first time.

  “No, no. We’re not,” Clare said quickly, feeling like an unnecessary extra. “And I really need to get going.”

  “Wait, I’ll walk you back.” Deacon made a move to step back, but Leslie had a firm grip on his upper arm.

  “No, need. Really. You two catch up.” She didn’t want him to walk her back again. Well, she ninety-nine percent didn’t want him to. That other one percent she would deal with later. “I enjoyed dinner,” she added over her shoulder, walking away quickly. Not running—no need to run—but suddenly desperate for the solitude of her room.