Dreams Don't Wait

chapter 3





Evan instinctively grasped Linc's shoulders, her fingers digging into muscles taut with the effort of stopping her fall. His body was long, lean, and solid, and with no give in the rock face at her back, her breasts compressed against the wall of his chest, her thighs rubbed against his.

The effect was electric.

When her feet were finally on the ground, instead of releasing her, his hands tightened their grip on her upper arms, holding her fast.

Every part of her that touched him grew warm. Warmer. Feeling weightless, a stranger in her own body, she couldn't find her breath—and didn't want to. Oh, no...

Tightening his grip on her, Linc's eyes darkened, then flared in a kaleidoscope of mixed signals. Anger. Suspicion. Indecision. And finally the hot gleam of passion. He bent his head, his wary, burning blue eyes staying fixed on hers.

His mouth was close, tempting...

She skittered sideways and took in a long, cool breath. To cover her confusion and probably neon red face, she brushed vigorously at the backs of her thighs and kept her eyes averted. Her breathing still uneven, she looked back at him. "That was a close call—" Damn! she said to herself, not sure how he'd take her comment. "I meant the, uh, rock. I almost took a tumble."

There was a heartbeat of silence. "I think we both did." He shoved his hands in the back pockets of his jeans.

True that!

He stood like a wall in front of her, his gaze sharp and focused. The man had the most infuriatingly intense way of looking at her. Like he's measuring my heartbeat or scanning brain waves.

Her stomach contracted, then sunk. Maybe the free rent wasn't going to be the bonus she'd hoped for. Being attracted to the lord of the manor was one thing—in Linc's case probably unavoidable—but letting that attraction get physical would be wrong for her in so many ways.

She'd made the decision. Not again. Never again. No more painful, dangerous attractions. And especially not now, when everything was going so well for her and Cal.

"Evan, I—" he started.

She held up a hand, shook her head, then said, "Let's just get my things and go back to the house. Okay? I'm sure Maud could use some help."

He straightened his shoulders, then dipped his chin in a terse agreement. "Good idea. I've got work to do." He slanted her a questioning look. "I guess there's really nothing to say anyway, is there?"

"No. Nothing. Let's go."

* * *

For the rest of the day, she avoided him... or he avoided her. She wasn't exactly sure. But while she helped Maud open the endless boxes that came with moving, he spent the afternoon closeted in his half-finished office. Early in the evening he left for a dinner engagement.

That night Evan took the opportunity to spend time with Jenny, telling her some of her favorite stories and playing silly card games. She was pleased that Jenny had decided to accept her, and marveled at the sweetness that flowered when her father wasn't around.

They were laughing and playing a final, raucous game when Evan looked up to see Maud standing in the doorway.

"Jenny, honey, it's your bedtime. Come and get ready for your bath," Maud said.

Jenny's face puckered and her jaw jutted out in imitation of her father. "I don't want to. I'm playing with Evan."

Evan knew the child was testing, checking to see if she could play her off against Maud. That was one mistake she wasn't going to make. She gathered up the cards. "Away you go, sweetheart. We'll play again tomorrow."

"I don't want to." Jenny pouted, then set her jaw stubbornly.

"Well, then, we won't play tomorrow." Evan stood up. "Cal, would you put the cards away please? Jenny doesn't want to play with us anymore."

Cal smiled, took the cards, and gave Jenny a sympathetic smile. "You might as well go to bed, Jen. She won't change her mind no matter what. And I should know."

Jenny rolled her bottom lip under her teeth and glared at Cal, then abruptly changed tactics. "I'll tell my daddy on you."

"That's cool." Cal put the cards away and turned to his mother. "I think I'll watch some tube. Okay?"

"Keep it under a dull roar, friend."

Cal grinned. "Okay. Nite, Jen. See you tomorrow." He ruffled her hair with an awkward touch and left the room. Jenny's eyes followed him. She looked uncertain, as if not being the center of the universe was a whole new experience. Maud's gentle voice prodded. "Come on, Jenny. Evan and Cal will still be here tomorrow. And I'm sure they'll keep their promise to play with you again." She reached out a hand.

Evan smiled at the little girl who was still struggling to hold her ground. "Would you like me to come up and read you another story?"

"Okay," Jenny said, reluctantly taking Maud's outstretched hand. "But not the mouse one. Only the one about the pirate." On this she took a stand.

"The one about the pirate, it'll be. I'll be up as soon as you finish your bath."

* * *

Jenny was asleep before the story was finished. As Evan tucked her in, she enjoyed her innocent, childish beauty. Jenny's hair was angel fair, and she had a tiny dimple above her mouth and to the left of it.

Evan wondered if Linc's hair had been as fair when he was a child. Or perhaps the girl's mother was blond as well. She switched off the bedside lamp and stared down at the girl's sleeping face, now lit only by the light from the hall. How could anyone reject such a child? How could anyone not cherish such perfection, such innocence? She shook her head. Even in her blackest moments, she'd never considered a life without Cal. He was a responsibility, yes, but more than that, he was her gift, a treasure garnered from a terrible and humiliating mistake.

"But you have your daddy, Jenny girl. And he loves you, very much. You're luckier than you know." She kissed the child on the forehead and left the room, closing the door behind her.

"Is she asleep?" It was Maud coming down the hall.

"Uh-huh."

"She's not always so difficult, you know. It would have been twice as bad if her father had been here. Sometimes bedtime can last for hours. Jenny knows who she can push around."

"After that night in the pizza parlor, I know what you mean."

"I was hoping you'd... speak to Lincoln about that."

"I tried. He told me to mind my own business." Evan said. "And I intend to do just that. He's right, you know. It isn't my concern."

"No, I guess not," Maud said, looking disappointed. "Well, thanks for tonight anyway."

"Anytime."

Maud laughed. "I might just take you up on that."

* * *

The following morning, Evan rose earlier than usual. She was uncertain of the distance or bus routes between Linc's house and her office, and she didn't want to be late. It was shortly before seven when she stepped out the front door, coming close to knocking Linc over in the process.

"Whoa! Hold it there," he said. And again she found her shoulders held in strong hands. She stepped back.

"You're just getting home?" She sounded for all the world like a cloying great-aunt. But one good look at Linc told her she was right. His heavy golden hair hadn't seen a comb, the crease had departed his slacks, and his white shirt, open halfway down his chest, was a presser's nightmare. He was a rumpled, ruffled mess, which had the odd effect of heightening his attractiveness. He slung his suit jacket over his shoulder, held it with one finger, and stared down at her, looking wryly amused. The faint scent of alcohol drifted toward her.

"Do you do this often? Stay out all night?" Her question was terse, edged with irritation. Even as the words left her mouth, she wondered what possessed her to say them. The man certainly didn't have to answer to her.

She was telling herself, once again, to mind her own business when he answered. "Not often enough. Only when I get the call of the wild." He lifted her chin and brought his face to hers. A smile played at the edges of his seductive mouth. "If you know what I mean..."

* * *

Linc saw anger drift into her eyes, then a surge of disappointment. He'd disillusioned her; it didn't matter. She didn't matter. That lie didn't take root.

His gaze traveled to her neat, off-to-work hairdo, the light touch of makeup, the trim navy skirt and blouse. A pale pink sweater rested across her shoulders. She was as fresh and in control as he was stale and wrung out. Prim, proper, and prudish, he added to himself—and the second woman he could remember who'd pulled out of his embrace. When he thought about yesterday at the beach, he pushed the thought away.

Was it only yesterday he'd thought he liked this woman? He must have been nuts. Today, standing on his front step, looking at him with her cool green eyes, she pissed him off royally.

"I have to go. Excuse me." She put her head down and tried to step past him. He blocked her path.

"Where are you going?"

"To work. I have a job, remember?" She managed a mildly placating look. A humor-the-drunk-and-maybe-he'll-go-away look. Well, he wasn't drunk, and he didn't want her to go away. Not yet.

"Where's work?"

"Downtown. A couple of blocks from the Parliament buildings. And I really, really should be going." Again she tried to sidestep him, again he blocked her.

"Where's your car?"

"I don't have a car," she said. He could see her struggle for patience.

"Why not?"

She glanced at the sky over his head before letting her eyes fall to meet his. "Because I don't know how to drive. And even if I could, I couldn't afford a car. Does that answer your question?"

Mentally he kicked himself. He'd probably embarrassed her. He changed tack. "So what do you do—at work?"

She sighed again, longer this time. "I'm an admin assistant at a technical writing firm. Moore Write Limited. But you already know that. Caressa told you." She stood ramrod-straight, as if poised for the moment when she could break free of him.

"Did she? I don't remember. She said you were dynamite. I remember that." His voice was low, gravelly. He remembered Evan's body sliding down his, his hands on the curve of her waist, her legs tangled with his.

"Good. Then you must know what dynamite does when it gets near a flame."

"Gets hot?" He smiled, touched her cheek.

Her gaze leveled him. "It blows up. Now, if you're through playing games, I have to go. We can continue this conversation later, when you're..."

"Sober?" he finished amiably.

She said nothing, choosing instead to look past him.

"Ah... So Miss Upright Uptight Evangeline North doesn't approve of the demon drink—or any other sinful pleasures that I can see."

"You're calling me a prude?"

"If the shoe fits..."

For a split second she looked amused. "It does. It fits perfectly. You should try it sometime." Then eyeing him as if he'd just escaped a detox unit, she said, "Now please let me pass, or you'll make me late. Go inside, Linc. There's coffee in the kitchen, and Maud's probably up by now." Then, with one deft move, she was by him. She walked away a few steps before turning back. The look she gave him was tentative. "And maybe you shouldn't breathe on Jenny for a while. Children hate the smell of alcohol."

He watched her walk up the driveway and cursed. Irritating woman.

Irritatingly right woman.

* * *

Fifteen minutes later, he stepped out of the shower, drained the cup of coffee he'd brought up from the kitchen, and stretched out on the bed. A pair of disapproving eyes came to mind. But what really pissed him off was that he was faintly embarrassed. Okay. So he'd deserved it, acting the fool, baiting her. But damn it he wasn't drunk—less than sober maybe—but not drunk.

Who the hell did she think she was anyway, standing there on his doorstep looking so cool and angelically composed, as though everything was so right in her world and so wrong in his.

He remembered the light scent of roses, the awareness of her smallness when she'd stepped around him, and the gentle sway of her backside when she walked down the driveway. His groin tightened, and the unexpected response angered him further. If he had any brains, he'd stay the hell away from Miss Sunshine and get her moved into the cottage ASAP. That thought held firmly in his booze-soaked gray matter, he slept.

* * *

"Caressa Stewart, please. Please tell her it's Evan North." Evan propped the phone between her ear and left shoulder and stared at her computer screen. She was still keying when Caressa's voice came over the line. She straightened abruptly and took full control of the receiver.

"Hi, Evan. What's up?" Caressa asked.

"That's what I want to ask you."

"You'll have to give me more to go on than that."

"Linc. He thinks you've played matchmaker, that you've set us up." Evan bit her lip. "You didn't, did you?"

Caressa laughed. "He actually said that?"

She might think it was funny, but Evan sure didn't. "Did you? Try to set us up, I mean."

There was a pause before Caressa laughed again. "I guess I forgot to tell you Linc's a bit paranoid ever since I introduced him to a couple of my friends. But that was ages ago, and he was so boorishly insulting to them, I gave up. If I hadn't, I wouldn't have any friends left."

"Why?"

"Why what? Why did I give up or why was he such a boor?"

"Why would you think he needed to be set up? He's a very attractive man, and—"

"Ah... You noticed, huh?"

Evan ignored the interruption. "As I was going to say. I'm sure your brother has no problem with women."

"You're right. He doesn't. What he has a problem with is relationships. He prefers arrangements made with women of, shall we say, flexible virtue. Ever since that witch he married..." Her voice trailed off. "Anyway, for a while there, I had the insane, and highly unproductive, urge to rehabilitate him. Hence the introductions. I failed so... Excuse me for a second, will you?"

Evan heard Caressa turn away from the phone. She was one of the top interior designers in Victoria and too busy for her own good. Her voice whispered over the lines as she issued instructions to her harried assistant. Evan played with a pencil and waited.

She hadn't liked what Caressa had told her, nor did she understand it. She'd been thinking about Linc all morning, wondering about his sharp edges, his hostile reaction to her, and his deliberate attempt to shock her this morning. She should dislike him, and his moody, sullen attitude; instead she was intrigued. Not smart. Not smart at all.

Caressa came back on the line. "Evan? Look, I'm sorry, but I've gotta run. I've got a meeting in ten minutes. Can we talk about big brother another time?" Caressa sounded rushed and frustrated.

"Sure. I'll be seeing you Thursday night anyway."

"Thursday? What's Thursday?"

Evan could hear the rustle of paper coming through her receiver. "Reading group? Eight o'clock?" Evan smiled before adding the coup de grace. "At your place?"

Silence. "Oh damn!"

"Caressa Stewart, I'm surprised at you. You mean you didn't remember?"

"Is that perverted delight I hear in your voice?"

"It is. See you Thursday." Evan started to hang up when she heard Caressa's call.

"Evan! What in hell are we supposed to have read?"

"Byron, Fame and Infamy. It was your idea to read a biography as I recall. But don't worry, it's only about six hundred pages."

An exasperated sigh flew over the line. "Great. Just great."

Evan replaced the receiver and grinned. The grin melted when she realized the call hadn't gone exactly as she'd intended. She'd wanted to know about Linc, but she was no closer to understanding him now than she'd been this morning—other than learning he liked women of "flexible virtue." That description put her firmly out of the running. The last time she'd been flexible, she was eighteen. It hadn't paid off then, and she doubted it would now. All she had to do was stay out of Linc's way until the cabin was ready. It was a big house and property, so that shouldn't be a problem. Resolved, she turned back to her keyboard.

* * *

Evan hadn't crossed paths with Linc since Monday. There'd been a chance for overtime this week, and she'd taken it, working every night until close to ten. By the time she got home, he was either out or holed up behind the closed door of his office.

She pulled the brush through her freshly washed hair and pinned its length behind her ears. She was clipping on a pair of silver earrings when Cal strode in her open door.

"Reading night, huh?" he asked, watching her clip on the second earring.

"Uh-huh."

"What dull old book is on for tonight?"

Evan smiled. "Byron, and he's anything but dull."

Cal rolled his eyes. Evan glanced in the mirror to apply lipstick before turning to face him. "What's your plan? I hope it's not another dead-zone night watching television."

"Nope. I told Linc I'd help him set up his new computer. It came today."

"You're sure he wants you there, that you're not intruding?" She gave him a pointed look, she knew Cal's thirst for all things digital was unquenchable.

"No way. I told him I knew a little bit about computers, and he asked me to help."

Evan cocked her head. "Poor Linc. 'A little bit about computers'? That's what you told him?"

Cal smiled innocently and leaned down to kiss her cheek. She'd never get used to him being so much taller than her.

"Have a good time tonight—with boring Byron."

Watching him go out the door, she swallowed, first a warm chuckle when she thought about Linc and his new computer, then a lump of mother's pride.

Her son. Her incredible and gifted son. He made up for every trial, every test, every hard knock she'd ever had. She'd give him the best or die trying.

Then it was her time. All hers.

* * *

It was after midnight when Evan returned to the house, a house quiet with sleep, only a dim night light on in the spacious hall.

Evan smiled when she thought about her evening. Caressa had pulled it off again. No way had she read the book on Byron—at least not all of it. Not Caressa. She'd concentrated on the juicy bits, the amorous Lord Byron's endless list of paramours, his scandalous womanizing, and finally the nineteenth century's version of Fatal Attraction, his ill-fated affair with Lady Caroline Lamb. Within an hour, the six women in the group were laughing uproariously and all pretense of an educational exchange was abandoned. Instead, the conversation, a bawdy one, centered on men.

Evan was surprised at how open the women were about discussing their relationships, good and bad. Would she ever be that way, she wondered, open, willing to take the risks that go with love and commitment? She hadn't thought about it for a long time. It was doubtful, she told herself, shaking her head. Very doubtful. She wasn't prepared to make the compromises necessary for a successful relationship, didn't want the weight of another person's life linked with hers. She wanted her own time and space.

Still, the night had been fun. As she headed for the winding staircase and bed, she was happily exhausted; the night of laughter and the long nights of working had caught up with her.

She took the first step before hearing a soft thud and a muttered curse. There was a light under the library door, but she hesitated before going to investigate. After all, it was after midnight. Still, if Linc was up, it might be a good time to ask him how the repairs on the cottage were coming along. At least that was what she told herself as she moved toward his office door.

She was about to knock when the door swung open. Linc stood there, running an impatient hand through his hair, looking threatening enough to disperse a shark frenzy. She stepped back.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to interrupt," she said.

"You're not. It's that thing." He jerked his head back to indicate the new computer. "When I heard someone on the stairs, I thought it was Cal."

"I think he's already asleep."

Linc's mouth quirked into a half-smile. "He deserves it. He was a great help tonight." He shook his head. "Too bad I let my ego get the better of me and decided to carry on without him." He gestured toward his computer. "I'm an intelligent man. Able to design tall buildings with a single pencil, but I'll be damned if I can configure multiple email accounts."

She laughed.

He gave her an intent look. "Your son is scarily smart, but I guess you know that."

"Yes, I do. Sometimes he scares me."

Linc watched her a moment, then stepped back from the door. "Would you like a brandy? I'm finished here, and I could use one."

Evan looked into the room. She hadn't seen it since her first day in the house. She was curious. Other than the computer screen, only one lamp illuminated the high-ceilinged space. Its light gleamed on the hardwood floor that made a frame for the deep red Persian carpet. Most of the books were unpacked and stacked on the shelves. The only telltale signs of renovation upheaval were the drop cloths over some furniture under the arched window and a couple of paint cans stacked neatly against the far wall. The room, almost completed, was comfortably beautiful.

She looked up at Linc. His expression was expectant, as if her acceptance or rejection of his offer was important.

"That sounds nice. Thank you." She stepped past him into the room, and he closed the door. Evan went directly to the bookshelves on her right. It was too dark to read the titles, but she couldn't resist running her hand along the books' multi-colored spines. The French doors leading to Linc's small private patio were open, and the scent of honeysuckle drifted in from the garden.

She watched him walk to the antique liquor cabinet on the other side of the room, switching off the computer as he did so. Without the light of technology, the room slid easily into the silence and grandeur of the last century.

He poured two brandies. Carrying both in one hand, he walked toward her. She met him in the middle of the room.

He offered her the brandy in silence, and their fingers touched briefly when she accepted the snifter. It was still warm from his hand. She lifted it to her lips and inhaled its sultry aroma, surprised to find her hands trembling and her mouth dry. Perhaps it wasn't such a good idea, this brandy. When she stood this close to Linc Stewart, the spacious room became small—unnervingly intimate. She moved to the dark fireplace. Linc followed, taking a sip of brandy and watching her.

"An amazing room," she said. "Perfect for a creative genius."

"I'm no genius. Just an architect who got lucky."

"More than luck, I think. Your work is brilliant. That Paris gallery you did two years ago is stunning. Then there's that amazing local library in Memphis that won that award last year. Your work is the best I've ever—" A wave of embarrassment surged over her. She'd said too much, given away too much. It wasn't as if Linc, a world-recognized architect, needed her opinion on his work. She needed to backtrack. "Of course, I don't know much about architecture." She set her brandy snifter on the mantel. Certain her face was flushed, she was glad for the dimly lit room

"You know what you like. That's all that matters." He looked at her for what seemed an endless moment, then touched her cheek, tracing a line with his finger down, then across to her chin. He lifted her face, turned it to his. "So thank you. I'm honored you took the time to look at my work—and very glad you like it."

She stared at him. His smile caught her off guard, and while she worked to ignore the tightening in the pit of her stomach, her gaze dropped to his mouth. A smiling Linc Stewart was irresistible. When she started to shift away, he cupped her chin with a trace more firmness.

"Don't turn away from me." His smile deepened, and Evan trembled as his mouth moved slowly toward hers. She shouldn't do this, shouldn't let this happen. It would be a mistake, she told herself, tensing as his face came closer still.

He whispered her name against her lips, and his warm, brandy-scented breath warmed her face. He brushed his lips over hers. Softly. Gently. Like a touch of windblown silk. A kiss but not a kiss. Wizardry.

"I don't think this is such a good idea," she whispered, her voice alien, low and husky.

"You don't?" Linc's question came with another soft brush of his lips. Evan's chest heaved as she tried to calm the unruly thumping in her breast. She closed her eyes tight before opening them again to see him staring down at her. She was trapped between him and the mantel. His arms were braced on it as he studied her. She swallowed.

"No, I don't. I mean, really, I—"

Again he brushed her mouth with his, and a fierce thrill shot through her. She gasped for breath. This was crazy. Maybe the craziest thing—

"Kiss me," he whispered.

—she'd ever do. Their eyes met and he smiled. The smile invited, seduced, promised...

She gave a shuddery breath, and his mouth descended to hers. His fingers twisted into her hair as lips fitted to lips. Perfectly. In that moment, Evan was the focus of all of Linc's powers of seduction. Lips that a second ago teased, now demanded, and his tongue went deep, tasting her. When he groaned, her knees weakened, her head spun, and her body trembled.

She clutched at his sides, and he became her stanchion, her only support when her responses threatened to take her to her knees. She clung to him, reveled when his body hardened against her thigh. His mouth a miracle on hers. She was thirty years old and she had never, absolutely never, been kissed like this. Nipping gently on her lower lip, Linc drew back, his heart pumping hard against the hand she held, palm flat, against his chest.

"Linc, that was..." She had no idea what it was.

"Only the beginning," he finished, his words a husky, uneven rumble against her cheek. He kissed, then nibbled, her earlobe. A delicious warmth penetrated her, and she pressed into him, exposing more throat for his questing mouth.

Then his words registered. Beginning?

No!

There would be no beginning. My God! What was she thinking? Linc Stewart wasn't for her. She must be crazy. Panic erased passion, and her body quivered with a frightening nervousness.

"Stop," she said in a shaky, uncertain voice; then stepped quickly out of his reach. "I want you to stop."