Escape for New Year. Shirley Jump
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he could see it coming, she caught him around the neck and brought him back down. Her mouth zeroed in on his with the precision of a ballistic missile. His lips were slightly parted, and she made certain to take advantage of that, too.
She aimed to kiss him swiftly but thoroughly, and as her mouth moved over his, her fingers kneaded the back of his strong, hot neck. There was a second of resistance on his part when she thought he might jerk away. But then a growl rumbled from his chest up his throat. The vibration tingled over his lips, ran over her tongue, then he was kissing her back.
The connection didn’t last long enough. Just when she was thinking a trip to the bedroom might be in order, his hands found her shoulders and he pushed himself away. Before he could prattle on about doctor’s orders again, she spoke up.
“I had it wrong,” she told him.
An emotion she couldn’t name darkened his eyes as he slowly straightened and those broad shoulders rotated back. “What have you got wrong?”
“The Nutcracker’s not playing. It’s Swan Lake.”
That emotion flickered again and then his brow furrowed and his voice deepened more. “Swan Lake.”
Understanding his tone, she tilted her head. “We don’t have to go.” Frankly, after that kiss she’d be more than content to stay in. But he surprised her.
“No, we’ll go,” he said, his gaze shifting from hers to the computer screen. “I’ll never forget the last time we went.”
Laura cast her mind back. “We’ve only been together once. Just before we were married.”
“I could’ve sworn we’d gone again after that.”
He looked so earnest, she coughed out a laugh. “Was it that bad? Sounds like you had nightmares about men coming after you in tights.”
His gaze dipped to her lips and he smiled softly. “Yeah. Maybe that’s it.” He thrust his chin at her chair. “Shift and I’ll book.”
“What? My Amex card isn’t as good as yours?”
“Just trying to do the gentlemanly thing and pick up the tab.”
As if he ever let her pay for a thing.
Lifting out of the chair, she thought about kissing him again. But she’d let him book and then they could get back to … business.
“In that case, guess I’ll go occupy myself in the kitchen.”
Deciding on which outfit to wear to the ballet—her Lisa Ho cream wraparound or that new season black sequined jacket with a classic little black dress—Laura hummed as she made her way down the wide central hall and into the well-equipped kitchen.
She liked to cook—roasts, Thai, experimental appetizers, mouth-watering desserts. Her mother had always said the way to a man’s heart was through his stomach. Laura could vouch that her husband certainly enjoyed his home-cooked meals—almost as much as he enjoyed making love.
And after dinner she would remove the bandage from her head and persuade her husband that tonight the doctor didn’t know best. She’d rested long enough.
Entering the kitchen, she was a little taken aback at how many grocery bags lay on the counters. Seemed Bishop had stocked up. He usually left the major shopping to her. She stacked the fridge and the pantry then flicked on the oven to warm half a dozen bakery scones. Tomorrow she’d whip up a fresh batch herself.
She slid open the cake tin drawer, dug in to select a tray but, as she reached down, her mind went strangely blank. After a moment, she remembered what she was after and shuffled again through the pans. But where was her favorite heating tray? Straightening, she stuck her hands on her hips and glanced around the timber cupboard doors. Where on earth had she put it?
Of course it was no big deal. Definitely no need to worry Bishop with the fact that her memory was foggier than she’d first realized. Just little things, like wondering at the unfamiliar brand of toothpaste in the attached bath, or pondering over leftovers in the fridge that she had no recollection of cooking.
A rational explanation existed for it all, Laura surmised, wiggling out a different tray for the scones from under the hot plates. Things were a little jumbled, but they’d sort themselves out soon enough.
When she arrived back at her office, brandishing two cups of steaming coffee—one black, one white—Bishop had a different webpage open. She caught a glimpse of the images—bundles of fur with cute black noses and gorgeous take-me-home eyes. She gave a little excited jump and coffee splashed onto the tray.
“Puppies!” Eyes glued to the screen, she set down the tray on a corner of the desk and dragged in a chair. “I was thinking maybe a cocker spaniel.”
Elbow on the desk, he held his jaw while scanning a page displaying a selection of breeds. He grunted. “Aren’t they dopey?”
“They’re soft and gentle and a thousand times cuddly.”
“Maybe something bigger.”
“You mean tougher.”
He collected his mug and blew off the steam. “You haven’t got too many neighbors around here,” he said and then sipped.
“We haven’t got too many neighbors,” she corrected. What was with this you business?
He set down the mug, turned back to the screen and clicked a few more searches. “Maybe a Doberman.”
“I’m sure they’re lovely, but I can’t imagine snuggling up into a powerhouse of muscle and aggression.” She ran a hand down his arm. “Present company excluded.”
“They’re supposed to be very loyal,” he said, as if he hadn’t noticed her compliment, and pictures of dogs with gleaming black coats, pointed ears and superkeen eyes blinked onto the screen. Laura’s mouth pulled to one side. Sorry. Just not her.
“Did you have a dog growing up?”
He clicked on a link and a list of breeders flashed up. “A golden retriever.”
“Guide dogs.”
“One of the breeds used, yes.”
“Can you tap that in?”
A few seconds later, images of the cutest, most playful puppies on the planet graced the screen and childlike delight rippled over her. Her hand landed over his on the mouse and she scrolled down for more information. Nothing she read or saw turned her off.
“They’re so adorable,” she said as Bishop slipped his hand from beneath hers and covered his mouth as he cleared his throat. “They look like they’re smiling, don’t you think? I can definitely see us with one of those.”
“Good family dog,” he read from the blurb. “Gentle temperament. Prone to overeating, shedding and joint problems.” Obviously uneasy, he shifted in his seat. “One of my foremen spent over two grand getting his cat’s broken leg fixed. Bad joints mean huge vet bills.” He clicked the previous page back. “Let’s look at Rottweilers.”
She grinned. It wasn’t about money. “I don’t want a guard dog. I want a companion. A personality that will become part of our family.” And would eagerly welcome new members in. “Just tell me … do you still like retrievers?”
“Of course.”
“Then if we both want a retriever and somewhere down the track he needs some medical attention, wouldn’t you rather have what we really want than settle on something which may or may not have other problems? There are risks everywhere, Bishop. Risks in everything.”
His jaw jutted, but the dark slashes of his eyebrow quirked. While he considered, Laura folded her hands in her lap. She’d made her point. She was talking about far more than which dog to buy.
“But we don’t have to make a decision