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“Oldest? Really? Hmmm, for some reason I was sure she was the youngest. At least she sounded young on the phone, but—”
“How did you know the names of my doctors, Murphy?”
“—maybe it was a bad connection. Or maybe I—”
“Murphy…?”
“—just wasn't paying as much attention as I should have been.”
“Murphy!”
Murphy scowled, and in an equally irritated voice snapped, “What?”
Patiently, Garrett repeated, “How did you know the names of my doctors?”
“Elise told me,” she
lied. The words came out as a question, not a statement, bearing proof of the deception. His blue eyes narrowed, suggesting he didn't believe her for a second. Ah, well, can't blame a girl for trying.
“Okay,” she conceded grudgingly, “I may have called the hospital a couple of times. Just to check and see how you were doing,” she added quickly, afraid Garrett would get the wrong idea—afraid, also, that the wrong idea was exactly what had prompted her to place those calls in the first place. It was a hard thing to admit, even to herself, but she'd done it because she cared about Garrett. Too much, she cared.
“There's nothing wrong with that,” she added defensively.
His answer was silent, and therefore all the more devastating to her senses.
The cushions dipped when Garrett slid closer, and took out of her hand the mug Murphy had forgotten she was holding. He set it aside on the coffee table, then oh, so casually stretched his right arm at full length over the back of the sofa. He didn't touch her, yet beneath the linen blouse, her shoulders and the back of her neck warmed to his heat, tingled to his nearness.
In the weeks since she'd seen him, her dreams had been filled with visions of Garrett Thayer sitting so touchably close. With one minor difference. In her dreams, Murphy hadn't been afraid to reach out and stroke her palm boldly down his jaw, or trace the sensuously thin line of his bottom lip with the pad of her thumb…the way she wanted so badly to do now, but didn't.
She had wondered if Garrett would be different when he wasn't in so much pain. The answer was a resounding yes. Minus that disadvantage, a healthy Garrett Thayer was charming, his presence more sexually dynamic than ever. Lord knows, his closeness was wreaking havoc on her floundering senses.
The crook of his index finger hooked beneath her chin, nudging her gaze up. His touch was gentle, both warm and heart-achingly familiar.
Until that minute, Murphy didn't realize just how much she'd missed his touch. Odd, because when it came right down to it, she barely knew him. Not so odd, because, deep down, she felt like she'd known him all her life.
His gaze overwhelmed; like a woman set adrift on a raft in the rapids, she felt herself drowning in those striking blue eyes.
Garrett's lips parted, as though he was about to say something. He must have changed his mind.
Murphy's breath caught when, instead, he angled his head.
His mouth settled warmly over hers.
Her lashes fluttered down, blotting out everything but the wonderfully familiar feel and taste of his lips on hers, and the whirlpool of sensations it stirred inside her. While she'd often heard the expression “time stood still", she'd never experienced the phenomenon.
Until now.
Emboldened, her hand lifted, her palm stroked the firm line of his jaw. Clean-shaven and smooth, he smelled vaguely of a light, spicy after-shave. The scent of him, the feel, was intoxicating.
Even when he eased back and looked down into her eyes, she didn't drop her hand. It felt good to touch him.
“I've missed that,” he whispered huskily. His breathing was uneven, almost as erratic as her own.
“So have I,” she admitted softly, because it was the truth, and because she had to say it. Today was going to be her last chance to say the words bubbling inside her. She'd be damned if she'd spend the rest of her life looking back on this afternoon and regret holding anything back.
“There's something I want to give you,” Garrett said, even as his fingertips feathered from Murphy's brow the few strays curls that refused to be smoothed back with combs.
“Please, not more roses!”
