Finding Isadora(64)

“You’re just lucky, you and Jimmy Lee. Most relationships aren’t like yours.”

Grace shook her head. “No, they’re not. A lot of people don’t know any better. Yeah, luck has something to do with it, but so does recognizing your mate when he comes along, and not settling for someone else before he does.”

Close to tears for the second time that day, I buried my face in my hands. “Richard’s such a nice man. We have so much going for us.”

“Isadora, I know you want to map out your future. So, try this. Build a picture in your mind of you and Richard ten years from now. Have you worked out your issues in a way that respects both of your needs? And, when the day’s done and the kids are in bed, do you want to make love with him?”

It was a good question and so I took a deep breath and closed my eyes, the better to summon images to mind. The kitchen, our kids, us going off to work. Later, back in the kitchen again, Richard home at a reasonable hour, all of us sharing a meal—vegetarian, hopefully—and talking about our days. It was possible. He’d said he would cut back on his hours when he made partner, but how many years would that take?

I banished that worry, and concentrated on images of us helping the kids with their homework, reading to them in bed. And then going to bed ourselves. What would Richard and I be doing, in our own bed?

I could see him reading legal papers and me reading veterinary magazines, or old James Herriot books. I could imagine us turning off the light and snuggling up to each other. And then—at least on some nights of the week—we’d make love. And it would be really good, probably even better than it was now.

Behind my closed eyelids, the image changed. I was back in the kitchen doing dishes and the house was quiet around me, settled down for the night. The door opened and Gabriel came in. I turned to him and that crazy energy flared between us and then he was backing me up against the kitchen counter, pinning me with one hand on either side, pressing against me, his eyes burning into me, and then his lips came down on mine and—

I jerked my head up, forcing my eyes open.

My mother was gazing at me, a cat-like smile curving her lips. “Well, well. You and Richard. Maybe there really is hope for you. You’re a more passionate woman than you want to acknowledge, Isadora Dean Wheeler.”

She thought I’d been imagining Richard. For one crazy moment I wanted to tell her about Gabriel and ask her advice. But he was my idiotic obsession, my taboo fantasy, my guilty secret. He might fit into my sex-scene fantasies, but not into the homey ones with the kids.

Why couldn’t I have everything, the way my mother did?

“It’s past five thirty,” I said woodenly. “You and Alyssa need to get going.”

She dropped a kiss on my forehead. “I love you, hon. Don’t make any hasty decisions. Trust that things will work out the way they’re supposed to.”

“Uh-huh. When are you bringing Alyssa back?”

“Does Thursday work?”

“That’ll be great.”

For the rest of my shift I tried to concentrate on my patients, but I wasn’t as mentally or physically sharp as usual. I felt, almost literally, weighed down by my personal issues.

“Doc?” It was Martin’s voice, and I raised my head from the chart I was completing. “I’m heading home,” he said.

I checked my watch. Past eight; quitting time. I’d have to go home and sort out my feelings.

“And,” Martin continued, “Margarida wanted me to tell you there’s someone at reception asking to see you.”

With any luck it would be a last-minute patient, and I could examine an animal rather than probe into the far more complicated workings of my own brain and heart.

But when I stepped into the reception area, I saw Gabriel. No dog this time, no blood, just Gabriel standing at the reception desk, his back to me as he chatted with Margarida in Portuguese. Tonight he wore suit pants and a white shirt with rolled-up sleeves, and I guessed he’d been in court. His hair was loose though, freed from its silver clip.

And I remembered my fantasy, where he’d backed me up against the kitchen counter and pressed his body against mine. Heat flooded through me, rising to my cheeks, tightening my nipples, tingling between my thighs.





Chapter 10


Pheromones, I told myself.

Whatever it was, Gabriel felt it, too. I hadn’t made a sound, yet he turned, saying, “Hello, Isadora,” even before he saw me.

Two words, but they made the air crackle. Suddenly I was aware of how rumpled and sweaty I was. Gabriel looked plenty rumpled himself, but on him the effect was sexy. I suspected that, on me, it was just plain rumpled. Not that I wanted him to find me sexy.

And that was an out-and-out lie. I did. I wanted him to find me sexy. Wanted him to feel this dizzy, dancing feeling, too.

Goddess help me. What was I thinking?

“Came to pay the bill,” he said. After a couple of seconds, he went on. “The bill for Valente?”

I’d been gaping at him, not thinking or responding. Pulling myself together, I mumbled, “Right. Valente. Thanks.”

He could have mailed a check or paid by credit card over the phone. But he was here. Why?

He came over to me and asked softly, “Are you off work now?”

Over his shoulder, I saw Margarida and Martin, not troubling to hide their curiosity.