"She said? Why would you believe anything that she had to say?" Rusty demanded.

"Because I love your father, and I'd like to think that I knew what kind of man he was. Because he was getting to know his son and trying to figure out how to tell us about a child who had no choice in the matter about being born. Because if you had been that boy, I'd have hoped for-no, I'd have expected-the same thing of him." Sally sank down into the couch.

Blake was amped up on adrenaline. His eyes darted from mother to son to the front door. He wanted nothing more than to leave them to deal with their issues, but was that appropriate? He wished Danica were there to help him figure it out, but that option was no longer viable. Danica. Just the thought of her brought back the taste of their kiss, the feel of her in his arms. If he ever wanted to have a shot with Danica, he had to learn to pull up his big-boy boots and navigate uncomfortable situations. He took a deep breath and forged forward on his own.

"Rusty, I never knew about her or the boy," Blake began.

"Chase," Sally said.

Rusty glared at her.

"He has a name, Rusty, and as hard as it is, he's your half brother. We need to get used to that," Sally said with a pinched look, like the words tasted acidic.

"Like h.e.l.l," Rusty spat.

"There's plenty of time for you two to deal with all of that," Blake said. "But before I go, Rusty, you need to know that I never knew about any of it. Your dad did nothing but rave about you and your mom. I had no idea that he was spending time with anyone other than the two of you." He started for the door, then turned back, thinking of Danica's wisdom once again. "Listen, this isn't about me. It's about your family, and I get that, but this guy who you want to be angry at, he's not the guy I knew. I don't think I've ever met a guy who believed in family more than Dave." Blake realized that there was no way Dave would have taken his own life. He had even more to live for than Blake had imagined. Blake ran his hand through his hair, distracting himself from the guilt that was gnawing at the muscles in his neck for even considering that Dave could take his own life-and worse, that Dave had been going through so much heartache and turmoil but didn't feel he could confide in Blake. He made eye contact with Sally, once again sure that changing his behavior, becoming a better friend and man, was the most important thing he would ever do. He was beginning to understand how putting others first would change everything for the better. "If you need me, just call."

On the way to his car, Blake knew he had already made a decision about Danica, and there was no way in h.e.l.l he was going to walk away like a weak boy who had done something wrong. For the first time in his life, he knew he was making the only right choice there was.

Chapter Twenty-Five.

It had been weeks since Danica had seen Blake, and as she sat across from Belinda, with her toned-down makeup and less-hookeresque jeans, Danica couldn't help but wonder if Blake had gone back to his player ways.

"Are you listening to anything I'm saying?" Belinda asked.

"Yes, of course. You said you were thinking about taking a writing cla.s.s." Danica heard the disinterest in her own voice, and it turned her stomach. She needed to pull her s.h.i.t together. Maybe giving up her career was a good move. Her empathy was failing her, and all she could think about was Blake-not the right thoughts for a therapist to have.

"Yeah," Belinda said in between gum smacks. "I think I have a story to tell. You know, misunderstood woman acts out, then realizes there are other ways to get attention. Who knows. I could be the next E. L. James."

Let's hope not. Danica had picked up James's book at the bookstore, and she'd flinched with embarra.s.sment when a woman at the bookstore saw her reading it. She hoped that if Belinda wanted to be a writer, she wouldn't write something that might be embarra.s.sing for readers to be seen with. h.e.l.l, more power to her if she can write something that sells. Who cares what anyone else thinks. Danica realized that she'd been thinking that a lot lately. "Maybe so. I think it's a great goal."

"You think I can do it?" Belinda asked.

"I have faith that you can do anything you try to do." After seeing the transitions in Belinda's life, she had even more faith in her.

"Then why are you so glum about it?"

"Am I? I'm sorry. I'm just a little under the weather lately," Danica lied.

"No, you're not. I'd recognize this a mile away. You're b.u.mmed over some guy." She laughed. "You went from dressing all professional, to dressing more fun, and now you're back to Little Repressed Annie again." She popped a bubble. "I'm sorry. I probably shouldn't say that."

Caught. "You're...perceptive. But I'm fine, really. And I do think you should write. Writing is very cathartic." Maybe I should write.

"Hang in there," Belinda said as she gathered her coat and stood to leave. "In my experience, no guy is worth feeling bad about." She turned and faced Danica with a wide smile across her muted-red lips. "You taught me that." She winked and headed for the door. "See you next week," she called over her shoulder.

The more Danica saw Belinda, the more she liked her, and the more she liked her, the more she saw pieces of her sister in the things she did. It had been weeks since she'd seen Kaylie. She reached for the phone and dialed her number.

"h.e.l.lo?" Kaylie sounded as if she'd just woken up.

"Hey, you okay?"

"Yeah, just tired."

"Out partying until four in the morning again?" Danica teased.

"No. In fact, I was in bed by ten."

Of course. "Up fooling around till four?"

Kaylie sighed. "What's up, Dan? I've got a gig tonight and need to start getting ready."

She'd almost forgotten that it was Friday. "I miss you. Meet me for lunch tomorrow?"

"Sure, and Camille's wedding is Sunday, so we'll see each other then, too."

The last thing Danica wanted was to go to the wedding and see Blake. She'd kept herself busy enough that she hadn't pined over him since they'd kissed. At least not too much. She had no idea what to expect of her crazy heart when she came face-to-face with him all dolled up in a tuxedo. Everyone looks handsome in a tuxedo. c.r.a.p. "Yup. Felby's, noon?"

"Great, see you then."

Danica sorted through her files for the coming week, setting a stack to take home and review and another stack to follow up with the clients who were due a phone call. When the phone on her desk rang, she glanced at the clock. It was after five o'clock. Normally, she'd pick up the phone, but she was trying to change that neurotic part of herself, wasn't she? Trying to reclaim some sort of a personal life. She stared at the phone, trying to decide if the pull she felt toward just letting it go to voice mail was another hint that she should think about opening the youth center.

The phone rang on.

The h.e.l.l with that. Who was she kidding? She had no personal life, and even if she did decide to open the youth center, she still had to be present for her clients until the day she closed her office doors permanently. She reached for the phone. "h.e.l.lo?"

"Danica?"

Her heart skipped a beat. Blake. "Um, yeah. Hi."

"Hi, I'm sorry to bother you. I know you're busy."

Danica listened with her voice caught in her throat.

"I really hate the way things ended, and I'm sorry. Listen, do you think we could meet somewhere and talk?" Before she could answer, he added, "No funny stuff. I promise. I can even come to your office. I just don't feel right about...Well, do you have time?"

Danica quickly scanned her office, searching for an answer that wasn't there. If she met him, she'd be forced to confront her inability to keep work and her own desires separate-even if only this once, with just this one client. It was an admission that she wasn't sure she could face. Facing the truth would definitely mean giving up her career.

"I understand if you don't want to. I mean, it's not like you owe it to me or anything. In fact, I might be asking only so I can clear my own conscience."

What?

"s.h.i.t, that didn't come out right. That's not what I meant at all. Look, I can't stop thinking about you. When Monday came around, I sat at my desk and stared into s.p.a.ce, wondering what we would have talked about, and I realized that it was you I missed talking to, not just the advice you gave me, but you."

"Okay." What are you doing? She bit her lower lip and turned to look out the window.

"Okay?"

She heard the unexpected enthusiasm in the cadence of his voice. "Sure, we can talk."

"Great, where? When? Want me to come there?"

He sounded like a b.u.mbling boy with a crush, and it made Danica laugh despite her reservations about meeting him. She quickly thought about where they should meet. Someplace public. Someplace where she wouldn't risk letting her emotions take over. Someplace she could test his ability to focus on her instead of the women around her. This is so wrong. What a b.i.t.c.h to think like that. s.h.i.t. What am I doing? Maybe I should forget the whole thing. "I don't know if this is-"

"Please, don't," he pleaded. "I'm not that guy who walked into your office a few weeks ago. I promise I'm not. Please, just talk to me."

Danica sighed. "Okay." If they met at her office, it would be easier to keep her professional facade.

"Can I take you to dinner?"

Dinner? A date? Am I overthinking? It'd be public. "Um, I'm not sure-"

"Danica, please?"

Danica placed her hand over her racing heart. "Yeah, okay, sure."

"The Embers? Should I pick you up?"

"No, it's okay. I'll meet you there."

"Seven?"

Danica needed some modic.u.m of control. "Eight."

"Okay, then. Eight it is. Thank you, Danica. I'll see you then."

I'm in trouble.

Danica walked the five long blocks to the restaurant, hoping that by the time she arrived, the b.u.t.terflies in her stomach would get tired of fluttering around. The restaurant came into view, and she stopped to survey her outfit one last time. Beneath her long, quilted coat, she wore a black pencil skirt that ended just above her knees, her favorite Nine West heels-the only ones she didn't mind walking five blocks in-and a white, low-cut blouse. Before she'd left the condo, she'd felt she looked appropriate for an evening business meeting; now, as her heart pounded and her cheeks flushed, she wondered if her skirt was too tight and her blouse too low.

She took a deep breath and hoped the snow that was threatening the night sky would wait until after midnight, as expected. Her hands grew clammy despite the cold air. It's just dinner with a client. Then why am I worried about my hands suddenly shooting across the table and touching him? She shoved them in her fur-lined pockets. She concentrated on the sidewalk and approached the entrance to the restaurant.

The Ember's dim lighting sent the b.u.t.terflies flurrying again. Danica took off her coat, surprised by her trembling hands.

"Party of one?" the hostess asked.

I wish. "No, two. I'm meeting someone here."

The hostess looked at the roster of patrons on the podium before her, then looked up with a smile. "Danica Snow?"

"Yes, that's me." She felt like she was on a blind date. Danica sucked in her stomach and forced a smile.

The hostess turned. "Follow me. Your party is right this way."

She followed the young woman down the restaurant corridor, into the main dining room, and through an archway in the back of the restaurant. Her chest tightened. Every step was like walking in wet concrete. She clenched her jaw against the urge to flee, and by the time she'd come up with enough excuses to turn and run away-I'm suddenly ill...I left my kettle on-she was standing beside a booth and Blake was coming to his feet, leaning toward her, kissing her cheek.

The hostess put a menu down on Danica's side of the booth. "Enjoy your dinner."

"Thank you," Danica managed. She sat down, trying not to stare hungrily at the opening at the top of Blake's white, b.u.t.ton-down dress shirt. He had a ridiculous smile on his lips, and Danica felt a bit like she was on display. She fiddled with her neckline, pulling her blouse across her cleavage, and then watched the shirt slide right back into place, this time knowing the plunging neckline was too revealing. Great.

"I'm so glad you agreed to meet me. You look beautiful."

Thank you? Did I say that? Did I think it? s.h.i.t.

Blake smiled. "Sorry. I probably shouldn't tell you that." He looked down at the table.

"No, it's okay." I guess I didn't say it after all.

He looked back up at her. "I'm sorry. I don't mean for this to be awkward. I wish there was some way we could just pretend that we've just met or something."

Had he read her mind? She was wishing for the same thing. "Maybe that's not a bad idea."

Blake extended his hand across the table. "Hi, I'm Blake Carter. Previous player, ski shop owner, mediocre friend-but I'm working on that."

Danica shook his hand. "Danica Snow, therapist, sister, and, well, I'm probably only a mediocre friend, too." She didn't want to take her hand back. The feel of his soft palm enveloping her slim hand brought a rush of flutters to her stomach. She wondered if the tension behind his eyes was driven by the same heady feeling she was experiencing. Trying to find a balance between desire and appropriateness was not something she was accustomed to. She had never had the problem of business and desire coalescing. But ever since that kiss, Danica had been thinking more and more seriously about letting go of her therapy license altogether and following her dream instead of her parents'.

They both released their grip at the same time. Danica blew out a breath. "Okay, now that the formalities are over..." She heard her therapist voice coming from her lips. Her safe haven. She swallowed that voice and allowed her everyday voice to take over for once. "How have you been?" It took all of her focus not to allow her typical client-therapist follow-up questions to come spewing out of her mouth. "How's Sally?" A safe topic.

Blake flagged over the waitress and ordered a bottle of wine. After the waitress went to retrieve the bottle, he looked a bit more relaxed than he had the moment before. Danica saw the attentiveness in his eyes that she'd noted in the cafe the first time they'd met-right before he'd looked at the blonde. Now he held her gaze, never wavering toward the attractive waitress or, Danica noted, even turning toward the sounds of three comely women laughing around a small table in the corner of the room. Chalk one up for Blake.

Danica listened as he described the scene that unfolded when he'd told Sally about the other woman. "And I guess our town is smaller than I'd ever thought, because Rusty stormed in, armed with information about his father having another son."

The waitress poured them each a gla.s.s of wine and took their orders. Danica leaned one elbow on the table, taking in the acceptance in Blake's voice about the revelation that Dave wasn't someone other than what he portrayed. The way he looked at Danica, like she was the only one in the room, pulled her right in.

"Danica, I didn't come to talk about Sally and Rusty."

Danica repositioned herself in her seat. Me neither.

"And I didn't ask you to meet me to make you uncomfortable."

Too late. For the first time in her life, she had the urge to kick off her heels under the table and run her toes up the inside of his pant leg. What on earth is happening to me? She dug her heels into the carpet beneath her feet.

"I don't know how we went from talking about my life, to," he leaned across the table and spoke softly, "kissing."

Danica was thankful for his apparent respect for their privacy.

"But it did, and I'm not sorry about that. I know I should be, but ever since that day when I whacked your nose, I haven't been able to get you out of my mind."

Danica was usually the direct one. She fiddled with the napkin in her lap, suddenly at a loss for words. She wasn't sorry either, but it was wrong. She dropped her eyes, thinking about what she was going to say-what she really felt. b.u.t.terflies, wandering toes, and the way she secretly salivated at his touch, took over any restraint she knew she should portray. "I'm not sorry either." She met his eyes and watched them dart from her eyes to her mouth. She lifted her hand and covered her Cindy Crawford mole.

He reached across the table and gently touched her wrist, using pressure so light it was almost nonexistent, to move her hand away from her face. "Don't. You're beautiful. Everything about you is beautiful."