Going to Extremes. Dawn Atkins
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looked at her quizzically.
“Because if you don’t, I do. I have a special signing pen that I love. It has a tip so smooth it makes the words come out like liquid thought,” she babbled. “You’ll want something like that…a special pen, I mean…”
Dan ended her torment by whipping a pen from his suit-coat pocket and handing it to her, still warm from his body.
“Great.” She clicked it on, then set to her task. When she lifted the pristine cover of her book, the binding crackled and the first few sheets were attached at the edges. “Have you even read a page?” she asked, trying to sound amused, not hurt.
He reddened. “I bought it to support you, Kathleen. It wasn’t my thing.”
“How do you know if you haven’t looked past the cover?”
He shrugged. “I just know.”
“You used to at least try things,” she said. He used to say that she was a bad influence on him, but she’d assumed he was joking, been certain he enjoyed the pleasures she exposed him to. “Remember karaoke night?”
He groaned and shook his head. “Lord. What a mistake.”
“Come on. You had fun. And ‘Born to be Wild’ was the perfect song for you to sing.”
“I sounded like an idiot—an off-key idiot. I don’t know how you talked me into that.”
“I had legendary persuasive powers,” she teased.
“True.” He shot her a smile. “And I’d never met anyone like you.”
“You lived like a monk in that sad little apartment. And your roommate. Religious studies, right? Such a somber dude. He always looked like he was writing a funeral sermon.”
“Oh, he usually was.”
“I was good for you. Admit it.” She used a teasing tone, but she was deadly serious.
Dan stayed silent. He thought she was bad for him? Really? She felt obliged to defend herself. “You had three different kinds of antacids in your medicine cabinet when we met. You never touched them after we got together. Plus you had insomnia before me. I helped you sleep.”
“You wore me out,” he said dryly.
At least that. “Not to mention how I fixed up your apartment. Or should I say prison cell. Bare cupboards, no dishes, not even a shower curtain. Nothing pleasant or comfortable or soft.”
“I was poor, you may recall.” His voice had been warmed by the memories.
“So was I, but I had my priorities.”
“You bought me silverware and plates.” He smiled. “Even sheets.”
“I had to. You were desperate. And they were on sale.”
“And then you had to borrow money for textbooks.”
She shrugged. “It was a short-term cash-flow problem.”
“And I wasn’t desperate. You were. To change me.”
“It was better, don’t you think?”
“It was different.” Then he seemed to soften. “It made you happy and that’s all I cared about at the time.”
“I remember.” An odd warmth seeped up from her toes at his words. She hated that. It confused her. She broke off her gaze and balanced his pen on her finger. “Evenly weighted. Good grip. You have taste in writing implements.”
“At least that.” He smiled.
“One little thing we still have in common.” She sighed, then opened to the title page and wrote in bold letters the first words that came to her: “To past pleasures. Read and reconsider, Dan. Ever yours, K.” Ever yours? What the hell did that mean? Impulse was not her friend tonight.
Dan leaned close to read over her shoulder, his breath tickling the tiny hairs on her neck. She fought a shiver, closed the book with his pen on top and handed it to him.
He took it, but held her gaze, wondering, no doubt, what she’d meant by the inscription.
She shrugged. “What? It’s better than what you wrote in mine—‘Everything in moderation…Dan McAlister.’ Pretty impersonal, don’t you think?”
“I was caught off guard. I was a little stunned.”
“I know. I’m teasing. Everybody has that deer-in-headlights reaction to their first signing.”
“I could have written more, you know, in the book. Lots more.”
“I know.” Their eyes met and she felt that rush of being recognized, that joy of mattering so much to one man that the whole world shrank down to the size of his smile.
“We were something else, huh?” she said without thinking.
“Oh, yeah.”
“Sparks and fireworks.” Which were starting up again in her stomach and all parts below.
“More like scorching flame.”
“We were intense.”
“You were intense. I was…bewildered.”
“We had good times, Dan.” Maybe they weren’t right for each other, but their affair had been powerful and vivid and remarkable.
“Yes, we did,” he said, his tone reassuring her that she wasn’t alone. “And I’m glad to see you again. I thought of you. A lot.”
“I thought of you, too.” Entirely too much, replaying every moment in her mind. She hated remembering how insecure she’d been after he left—a blob of needy jelly instead of the strong, independent woman she was proud to be.
“If I had to go on a book tour, I’m glad it’s with you.”
She smiled. Was this okay? Could they be friends again? No hard feelings and all that jazz?
Something, some undercurrent of distress, told her it shouldn’t be that simple. And how come he was so damned comfortable letting go of the past?
“Take a peek at my book,” she said, tapping it. “It could change your whole perspective.”
“But I’ve staked my career on my perspective.”
“Mmm. Then this is too dangerous for you.” She took the edges of her book and tugged gently.
“I can handle it.” He tugged back, letting her feel his strength, the stretch and recoil of his muscles.
Holding his gaze for one more teasing moment, she let go. “Okay…I only hope you know what you’re doing.”
“So do I, Kathleen.” He gave her a lovely, self-mocking smile that made her melt.
To hide that fact, she led him to the door.
In the doorway, he seemed reluctant to leave. “So, tomorrow we head to Chicago?”
“Yep. Cheerleader Rhonda and the car will be here at nine. Wonder when she’ll give you that media training session.”
He gave an exaggerated shudder. “I’m not sure I’m up for that.” An idea seemed to dawn on him. “Couldn’t you do it? You were good with the reporters.”
“Me?”
“You’ve had more experience than Rhonda.”
“I suppose I could give you some tips…sure. Maybe we should plan how to handle the upcoming appearances. Why not?” Because this is Dan, you dope. And because the possibility put a hitch in her heart rate.
“I’d like that. I’ll tell Rhonda I don’t need the prep session, after all.” He kept standing in the doorway, looking at her. “Shall I wait for you in the