Chapter 12

ALL MORNING long, Ken's moods swung between elation that he'd be seeing Georgia this afternoon for his victory "meal," and self-loathing for carrying the ruse this far. He'd had to cut the conversation short last night because she was venturing into territory that was likely to land him in deep hooey.

Things were getting out of control, namely, his attraction to the woman. Hoping that blockhead Rob had skipped town for good and this mess would somehow resolve itself, he'd called the man's office and was told by a messaging service that Rob was likely to return to Birmingham sometime Sunday. It didn't explain, however, why the man hadn't at least called Georgia from wherever he'd gone. Idiot.

Still, Rob's loss was his gain, at least until Sunday when the fertilizer would hit the fan. For the next couple of days, he would try to win over Georgia. Maybe with the double whammy of finding out Rob wasn't the man she'd been talking to, and with Ken's unflagging attention, she would break it off with the guy.

Ken scratched his temple with the screwdriver he'd used to install a box fan in the window of his bedroom. On the other hand, was that the way he wanted to win over Georgia—through embarrassment and by default?

Besides, what the heck would he do with her if he got her? A woman like Georgia probably bought potpourri by the truckload. And the most important thing to him right now was being the best cop he could be. Darn it, the woman barely tolerated him, and she was already treading on his concentration. How bad would it be if he had unlimited access to her? Bad. Very bad.

Thankfully, Georgia would have no way of tying the phone calls to him even after she discovered she'd been dialing the wrong number. His phone machine featured a mechanical voice with a generic message. As a police officer, his number was unlisted and protected, so it wouldn't show up on caller ID screens or work with those newfangled call-back features.

He sighed. And, as a police officer, his conduct was supposed to be of a higher standard than mere civilians. His own loneliness was no excuse for deceiving an innocent woman, even if at first he'd thought her to be not so innocent. Sometime, somehow this afternoon he would find a way to tell her the truth.

Georgia (big grin), want to hear something funny?

Georgia (shaking head), you're going to laugh when I tell you this.

Georgia (stepping out of striking distance), you're not going to believe this, but...

Who was he kidding? He'd be lucky if the woman didn't filet him. He hadn't broken any written statutes, but it didn't take a mental giant to recognize he'd tread upon several un written laws.

Geez, Louise, what was he going to do now?

He could simply forget about her, he decided, seeing as how she wasn't keen on him anyway. He's not my type, she'd said to her friend. If she called him again accidentally, he could just tell her she had the wrong number and hang up. End of story.

He pulled his hand down his face, trying to erase the image of her little smile, bantering with him last night at the blood drive, maintaining that stern facade. Was he the only man who knew how uninhibited she could be?

From his bed on the floor, Crash barked, reminding Ken that there were more pressing matters than his infatuation with Nurse Georgia Adams. Since he'd pulled an early morning shift for an ill fellow officer, Ken had the rest of the day off to anticipate and dread his afternoon meeting with Georgia. She clocked out at three, so they were scheduled to meet at Herrington Park around three-thirty. He glanced at the clock. An hour from now.

"How about some fresh air?" he asked the dog.

Crash barked twice.

Ken gave the screws on the fan box mount a few more turns, then repacked his toolbox. "Okay, give me a minute to figure out how I can make you mobile, and we'll go to the park. Maybe I'll think of a way to come clean once she gets there." He stopped and appraised the bandaged dog as an idea popped into his head. "And maybe she won't kill me if I look impossibly cute."

* * *

"OH, HOW cute," Georgia murmured despite herself when she saw Ken coming toward her on the sidewalk. Not him, although he did look less intimidating in jeans and a navy T-shirt, but the bandaged dog he pulled behind him in the little red wagon. What did Ken say he'd named him—Crash?

"Hi," Ken said as they strolled up. "I brought some company, hope you don't mind."

"Not at all," she said, stooping to stroke the dog's fur. "He's a handsome fellow, isn't he?"

"He takes after me," Ken said with a big grin.

She gave him a crooked smile, trying her best to resist his charm. Darn the big man, and his energy pulling at her. In her weakened state, after a night of tossing and turning and a hectic eight-hour shift, she was susceptible. Her immunity to him was lowered, and it scared her. Plus her friend Toni hadn't helped matters by teasing her all day about her "date."

"I was afraid you'd changed your mind," he said.

Georgia gave the dog one last scratch on the head before standing. "No. Last-minute emergency." Of course, she couldn't very well admit the emergency had been her appearance—her hair was flattened by a sterile cap she'd worn most of the day. Her makeup had worn off long ago, and she hadn't brought replacements with her, nor was she about to ask Toni for spares. She'd brought khaki shorts and sandals to change into, but the plain pink shirt she'd hoped to leave on had been compromised by a teenager with food poisoning. Desperate, she'd bought a yellow T-shirt in the gift shop that read "Laughter is the Best Medicine." A nice sentiment, but hardly worth twenty-four dollars.

Ken rubbed his flat stomach, the muscles in his forearm bunching. "Just gave me more time to work up an appetite."

And she'd bet the man could eat. From her nutrition classes, she estimated his weight, then took into account his probable activity level, and came up with an astronomical amount of calories he needed every day to maintain his build. One hot dog? The man could probably eat a dozen.

But he settled for two, loaded with relish, and a plain one for Crash. Georgia ordered another one with relish for herself, but was still rifling for cash when she realized Ken had already paid the vendor for their food and sodas. "It was supposed to be my treat," she protested.

"The treat's all mine," he assured her, gathering their food in his arms. "Will you pull Crash?"

Feeling a little foolish, she picked up the handle of the wagon and followed Ken to a picnic table under a sprawling hardwood tree.

"Is this okay?" he asked.

"Sure." Her pulse jerked stupidly—she had no reason to be nervous. It wasn't as if they were on a date or something.

"Are you a photographer too?" he asked, nodding to her camera bag.

She blushed. "Amateur. It's an old manual 35 mm, but it takes decent pictures. I've been wanting to get some shots of the park anyway." She didn't add that a photo shoot also made their little get-together seem like less of a date to her.

"Would you be willing to take one of Crash?" he asked. "I took out an ad, but I might have a better chance of finding his owner if I had a picture."

She hesitated, only because it would perpetuate their interaction.

"I'd be glad to pay you," he added.

"Nonsense," she said quickly, feeling foolish. "I'd be glad to take a couple if it means reuniting him with his owner."

His smile was dangerously pleasing. "Thank you, ma'am."

Oh, my. "Are you off duty today?" she asked, gesturing to his clothing.

He nodded, arranging their food so they could sit facing each other. The picnic table gleamed with a fresh coat of forest-green paint. "I pulled early morning duty."

She lowered herself to the cool seat, glad she'd taken the time to pull her hair up and off her neck with a clip. "You must be tired."

He shrugged, sending lots of muscle into motion. She peeled her gaze away as he sat down. "I'm not used to getting much sleep—I have problems with insomnia."

Georgia blinked. "So do I."

He handed her a hot dog on a little paper plate. "It's probably our jobs, weird hours, the stress. How are you treating your sleeplessness?"

Georgia choked on her first drink of soda. I have phone sex with my boyfriend. While I'm thinking about you. She gulped air. Last week she was a frustrated almost-virgin, this week she was a phone wench. "I use… exercise."

"I exercise, but it doesn't seem to help."

Georgia fidgeted with her straw. "What about... your personal relationships?"

He stopped chewing. "What about them?"

"Well, do you... have any?"

"If you're asking if I have a girlfriend, I don't."

She tucked the tidbit away in her subconscious, then shook her head. "I mean friends—co-workers, neighbors."

"I know a lot of people, but I'm not sure if I'd call all of them friends."

"Bingo," she said. "You told me you were close to your family and now they're not around. You're probably in need of emotional c-companionship."

He lifted one dark brow.

Squirming on her seat, she spotted the dog and seized the ungraceful way out. "Like Crash. Pets are known to lower blood pressure and to relieve stress."

"It is nice having someone else around the place."

"I've been thinking about getting a pet myself," she admitted. "For the company."

"You don't live with your boyfriend?"

How did the man know every button of hers to push? "No." She was alone, with a couch like a stone.

His brown eyes danced. "So you two aren't that serious?"

"We're not engaged, if that's what you mean." Although if their relationship was progressing as she hoped, perhaps her mother could be reigning over wedding plans sometime in the near future.

"Have you ever been married?" he asked.

"No. You?"

" Absolutely not. "

Okay. No ambiguity there. She was wasting the afternoon with a dead-end flirt when she should be consoling her ill boyfriend and exploring the new dimension of their relationship.

Sights and sounds and smells and touches descended all around Georgia, and suddenly she couldn't get out of there fast enough. The blue sky, the cool breeze, the children laughing in the playground—all of it a ploy, to make her think that she was in charmed company. She took another bite of the hot dog, thinking the faster she ate, the sooner she could escape.

"I see a lot of bad domestic situations in my line of work," he said. "I'm sure you do, too."

She nodded, gobbling her food.

"Makes you wonder how the people got together to begin with."

She nodded, washing down a large bite with a deep draw on her soda.

"I mean, of all the people in all of the world, how are you supposed to know when you meet the right person?"

She wet her lips. "You just... know, I guess."

"So Rob is the right person for you?"

His words lingered in the air between them. Her first instinct was to tell Ken Medlock it was none of his ma'am-ing business. But he was so intent, his eyes serious yet alight with friendliness. As if he were... concerned. "I think so," she said, the intimacies she'd shared with Rob so fresh in her mind. If he weren't the right person, what did that make her? Guilt and grease didn't mix well in her stomach.

Ken gave a little laugh. "The story of my life—a day late and a dollar short." He took another bite of his hot dog, just as if they weren't discussing...

What were they discussing?

This man, this virtual stranger, threw her off balance, made her feel as if her thoughts and her beliefs were up for negotiation. Such a charming, compelling personality, as large as his muscled body. He reminded her of someone... Her memory ticked backward until... She froze when the match fell into place.

Her father. Good-looking, with a winsome smile. So easy to love, so easy to forgive his faults. Her bedroom had been next to her parents', so she'd overheard their late-night arguments over his infrequent, but hurtful, infidelities. Her mother would cry and be morose for days, but he would bring her gifts and eventually coax a smile from her by whispering sweet things in her ear and kissing her neck.

Georgia stood up. "I have to go."

He wiped his mouth with his napkin. "Already?"

"Yes. Th-thank you for rounding up your co-workers for the blood drive. Many of them signed up to give regularly."

"That's good," he said. "But I was hoping that you and I might have longer to talk today."

She brushed crumbs from her lap and fed her last bite to Crash. "Sorry, I still have to shop for a wedding gift for tomorrow."

"What about the pictures?"

With hurried hands, she removed the camera and took a couple of shots of Crash from different angles. "I'll mail them to you," she said as she crammed the camera back into the bag.

"I thought you were going to take some photos of the park."

"I changed my mind. Thanks for the hot dog."

"How about dinner?" he asked, standing. "Georgia, I'd like to get to know you better."

Her breath caught in her chest. Ken Medlock was too overwhelming, too... potent. She and Rob were intellectual equals, who now shared a sensual bond as well. She wasn't about to throw all of that away because she was physically attracted to a cocky self-proclaimed bachelor cop.

"I can't," she murmured. "Like I said, I'm seeing Rob."

He pursed his mouth.

She swallowed, and her ears popped with the released pressure.

"Did you tell him what I asked you to last night—that I think he's a lucky man?"

Georgia nodded.

"And what did he say?"

She inhaled. "He asked me if he should be jealous."

"And what did you tell him?"

"I told him no, because..."

"Because?"

Best to nip this flirtation in the bud. She exhaled. "Because you're not my type."

He crossed his arms over his chest, a small smile on his lips. "What type am I?"

She chewed on the inside of her cheek.

He leaned forward on the table, his face inches from hers. "Georgia," he said softly, "what type am I?"

Her throat convulsed. The type of man who could set her world on end. Send her spiraling into decadence. His eyes searched hers, and she was afraid of what he saw. She wanted to pull away, but their mouths were like inverse magnets, the attraction growing stronger exponentially as the space between them closed millimeter by millimeter.

Georgia didn't know what she expected, but the electricity of his lips meeting hers was an intoxicating, luxurious feeling of pure indulgence. Like eating white-chocolate-covered cherries while relaxing in a deep, fragrant bath as hot as the body could stand. She opened her mouth to receive him, flicking the tip of her tongue against his teeth in invitation. He accepted with a deep moan that vibrated inside her mouth, sending a stab of desire straight to her belly, and moisture to her—

Georgia pulled back and covered her mouth with the back of her hand. What had she done?

He remained leaning forward, his mouth open a fraction, his brow furrowed. "Georgia?"

This was sheer lunacy. The man was a player, and she'd fallen for it. Mortified, she stumbled backward, away from the confining picnic table. "You're the type of man... who would kiss a woman who's involved with another man." She wiped at her mouth, breathing hard. "I... I don't like the way you make me feel. I try to be an honest person, Ken, just as I expect the man I'm seeing to be honest with me."

He didn't respond, just stared at her.

"You probably think that's old-fashioned," she said with an awkward laugh. "But trust is very important to me."

A flush darkened his face. Perhaps she'd spoken too vehemently, but the words needed to be said, if only for her own ears. After all, if she were seeing Ken Medlock—not that she would—but if she were seeing him, she wouldn't be slinking around kissing some other man in the park.

"Goodbye," she murmured, then grabbed her purse and camera bag and practically ran to the bus stop two blocks away. Cool relief flooded her—she'd managed to disentangle herself from the man without totally dishonoring her relationship with Rob. Close call.

Rob. Remorse sat in her belly. Poor man, he was probably feeling neglected, down with a cold and her playing twenty questions on the phone last night. She'd been so inconsiderate—and she a nurse, for goodness sake.

When a thought struck her, she chastised herself for not thinking of it before—instead of a clandestine meeting with Ken Medlock, she should be fostering her romance with Rob. She'd stop at Claxton's Deli, pick up a big bowl of their chicken soup and drop by Rob's house.

Georgia turned toward her destination, a decided spring in her step. Rob would be so surprised.