All Tucked In...

Suddenly, she wished he wasn’t being quite so businesslike, and that she was outfitted in something other than khaki pants and a T-shirt. Recently, she’d bought an emerald-green sundress, but she’d decided against wearing it, not wanting Tobias to think she’d dressed for him, if she saw him. It hadn’t occurred to her that he’d sit down and read her intake form. She fought the urge to reach and smooth her hair, the wild curly strands of which were frizzing in the heat. “Yes,” she said. “I really can’t think of anything else.”

“Before I show you to your room, I’d like to ask a couple more questions, if you don’t mind.”

He was showing her to her room? “Are you sure?” she managed, feeling more nervous by the minute. When she’d made the appointment, she’d convinced herself that she might not even see Tobias. “I mean…” She didn’t know quite how to say it. “I didn’t expect you to be involved in the…”

“Nitty-gritty? You know me better than that.”

“So, that’s how you think of me?” she couldn’t help but tease. “As the nitty-gritty?”

His eyes captured hers. “Hands-on, if you prefer.”

Heat slid through her veins again. He’d been hands-on in more ways than one. “I know how involved you are in your work,” she answered, wondering if he’d actually just flirted with her. It was impossible to tell from his tone. “I’ll be glad to answer anything I can, of course,” she quickly added.

“How often do you suffer insomnia?”

She shrugged. “Not often anymore.”

“Then why are you here?”

She’d forgotten that, too. He’d always gotten straight to the point. He was the same way in bed. He’d go straight for erogenous zones that sent her soaring. Suddenly, she wished she’d slept with some other man, if only once. That way, Tobias might not have such a hold over her fantasy life. “The dreams, when I do have them,” she forced herself to say, “seem more—” she searched for a word “—intense.”

“Intense?”

Like your melting brown eyes. “Yes.”

“And they still seem real?”

She thought of the other morning, when she’d been so sure that Jenna had planned to take the day off work. “Very. Sometimes, I find myself assuming things happened that really didn’t. For instance…” Furrowing her dark brows, she thought a moment. “The other day, when I saw Mrs. Domico walking her poodle, I was shocked because I’d thought Missy—that’s her name—had been dyed green.”

He laughed softly, and the sound warmed her blood. “Dyed green?”

She couldn’t help but smile as she nodded. “I know it sounds crazy. Who would dye a dog green, but—”

“Mrs. Domico,” Tobias interjected, thrusting the splayed fingers of a hand through his hair to get it out of his eyes. “From what I remember, she was just the type.”

Carla laughed appreciatively, but the sound died abruptly on her lips. Tobias remembered everything, even Mrs. Domico. Was he as plagued by memories of their passion? “Well, the dog hadn’t really been dyed green, of course. But as I passed Mrs. Domico on the street, I asked why she’d dyed Missy white again, instead of some other color. I said I thought she’d told me she was thinking about dying the dog blue, but…”

He quirked an eyebrow. “You actually had this conversation with Mrs. Domico?”

“Fortunately, people in the neighborhood are used to this quirk of mine,” she reminded him. As her eyes drifted over Tobias, she couldn’t help but suddenly frown.

He frowned back. “What?”

“Nothing,” she said, then changed her mind and shrugged, eyeing his clothes, “I guess I’m just shocked by how respectable you’ve gotten.”

“Sounds like resistance.”

“Resistance?”

“Yeah.” His lips turned upward, looking kissable. “Freud’s concept. As soon as we start to analyze your dreams, he predicted you’d shift the subject.”

She definitely wouldn’t want Tobias to analyze the dreams she could so easily have about him. His gaze caught hers, locked and held. “About the outfit,” he added. “Don’t let a sport coat and tie fool you, Carla.”

It wasn’t really fooling her so much as making her salivate. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in one.”

It was the wrong thing to say. She could have kicked herself instantly. All at once, the air felt bristly, as if someone had come along with a syringe and injected it with pure, one-hundred-percent porcupine needles. Because, of course, he had worn a tie before. A tux, too. On their wedding day. To make up for the faux pas, she said, “It looks good.”

Clearly fighting not to roll his eyes, he stared back down at the paper on the clipboard and resumed his businesslike tone. “Are the dreams the same?”

She nodded. “Yep. Ma insisted I try to get some help. I haven’t had the…uh, underwear dream for awhile, but it’s bothered me for the past few nights in a row.”

“Your mother told you to come?”

Was it her imagination? Or, for the briefest instant, had he looked disappointed? Had he hoped this was an excuse to see him again? She hesitated. “Yes.”

“How is your mom?”

“Fine.” For a moment, she caught him up on her family, then asked about his, especially his mother, Laura, whom she missed. As he began reading her form again, she said, “According to the paper, you might lose the clinic. Is that really true?”

Looking vaguely annoyed, he lifted his chin once more, and somehow, she was glad to see the expression of his eyes soften when he registered her genuine concern. “Yeah,” he said after a moment. He glanced over his shoulder toward a long entry hall. “Actually, that’s the reason for the tie,” he confessed. Before explaining, he continued. “I’m still so clueless when it comes to wearing them that Elsie had to knot the thing.”

An image of Sandy Craig crowded into her mind. “Elsie?” she couldn’t help but ask, trying to sound casual. Who was Elsie?

“Oh.” His eyes widened slightly in surprise as if he’d expected her to know. “Elsie’s my assistant.”

She hoped she hadn’t sounded jealous. Obviously, she had no right to the feeling. Her lips parted. “Cassandra’s gone?”

He nodded. “Married a prof from Carnegie-Melon. What about Jenna?”

“She’s still at the café. She got married, too.”

“That mountain bike buff?”

She shook her head. “No. The tattoo artist.”

Weddings were the last thing either one of them probably wanted to talk about, but Carla plunged on. “He has his own parlor now. The bike buff went to Alaska for a summer and never came back.”

Another uncomfortable pause followed during which they tried to ignore the depth of their shared past and all the nuptial bliss that hadn’t been theirs. In the silence, Carla actually felt her pulse quicken at the fantasy that he was lying, and that he’d actually dressed up for her, a notion he squelched by saying, “J. J. Sloane’s in town. He’s staying in the mansion, so you’ll probably see him. He’s trying to decide whether to give the next lease to me or to the Preservation Society.”

“Ah. So, you’re on best behavior.”

He offered a droll expression she’d always loved that made him look uncharacteristically petulant and boyish. “Unfortunately.”

You do so hate to be good. The words were on the tip of her tongue, and suddenly, she wanted to suggest that they be naughty…together. “The dreams are the same,” she ventured instead, determined to get the interview back on track.

“Still having that golden underwear dream, huh?”

For a second, despite how the dream had often terrified her, she almost laughed. In the cold light of day, it seemed so ridiculous. She nodded. “Yes.” Though talking about underwear with Tobias was right up there with the subject of marriage.