May to December

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DawnJ
DawnJ
323 Followers

"You have such soft skin," he said, studying her hand as though it had the answer to the world's mysteries engraved on it. His thumb began to stroke along the knuckles, almost absently, while he poured his second cup, added cream, and stirred. He decided that he would go for broke, even in a small way. He needed to know this woman, and he knew she would continue to resist him unless he did something decisive.

"I'll come by and help you pack tomorrow, if you need help." he offered, still holding her hand and stroking. "I don't think you should be putting so much strain on your arm yet. It hasn't been a week." He used his doctor's voice, hoping she would hear a matter-of-fact tone, and not one laced with unrestrained lust and need. "What did your doctor tell you?"

Dawn struggled to keep her breathing even, his big man's hand making her want to moan from the heat that enveloped her. And his stroking thumb was driving her wild. She fought for a breath, then huffed it out and answered him.

"What you just said." Oh great, she was practically incoherent with the very man she didn't want to know how he much affected her!

"So, tomorrow then? Shall I come earlier, this time? So you can rest in the evening after I've gone again?"

She knew what he was doing. And despite her best efforts not to, she smiled.

"I know what you're doing, you know," she said, finally giving up the struggle to be normal around him. There was no normal where he was concerned, it seemed, only a mad dash headlong into confused emotions and desires.

"And what is that?" he wanted to know, an answering smile dimpling his cheeks.

"You're being rational and collected so I can invite you over again. You don't really want to help me pack up for moving."

He chuckled, a deep, stirring sound that made her damp panties -- when the hell had that happened? -- dampen further.

"Actually, I do want to help you pack. As to your accusation, perhaps you're right." He raised her knuckles to his lips, and kissed them, his lips dry and warm against her heated skin. "Is it working? The rationality and collectedness, I mean?"

His eyes danced merrily with amusement, and she burst into delighted laughter, forgetting her need to keep him at arm's length.

"I suppose it is," she conceded with a smile.

"So then, what time tomorrow?" He still held her hand, his coffee forgotten. Hers was cold, and she didn't care. She couldn't just then, as he slid his fingers between hers, making her gasp as though he had touched her most intimate places.

"Around ten would be good," she said breathily, wondering how he could remain so calm in the face of the electricity that charged the air between them.

"Ten it is, then," he said, and smiled again. "You are a beautiful woman, Dawn, and when you relax, you are breathtaking!"

A knock at the door saved her from having to find something comprehensible to say in answer to that comment, and it saved her from his intimate hold on her. She rushed from the table, almost toppling her chair, and opened her front door with a rapidly beating heart. Jeff stood there again, and she ushered him in before recalling what had happened the last time he had visited. Moving ahead of him, she led him into the living room, and offered him a seat.

"I'll be with you in a minute," she said, and hurried back to the kitchen in time to see Scott rinsing their coffee cups and putting them to drain in the dishwasher. Something in her chest shifted, and she had to swallow the overwhelming urge to weep so that she could speak to him.

"Care to join me in the living room? Jeff is here."

Scott turned slowly and looked into her eyes, and she stared back, holding the contact and praying he would see that she was not pushing him away in favor of her neighbor this time. His eyes warmed, and he nodded and followed her, taking the seat she gestured to, across from Jeff.

"Doc," Jeff said, sitting up, his eyes speculative. "What brings you over today?"

Scott smiled, his answer calm and slow, "Coffee."

Dawn had to bite back the grin that threatened to break free, as she listened to the men spar. The more she got to know Scott, the more she felt safe to relax with him. She could see that Jeff was nonplussed by his answer, and she wondered what he was thinking.

"Coffee?"

"Yes," Scott replied. "Dawn makes some of the best I've ever tasted." He turned to face her, and added, "Thanks for the invitation, by the way," and winked at her.

Holding back her laughter was more difficult this time, but she managed it, and smiled instead. "You're welcome!"

"So, I'll see you tomorrow morning, then?" His next question she knew was entirely for Jeff's benefit. When she nodded, he continued, "Shall I bring more boxes?"

"No, thanks, I have enough!"

Scott stood up, and walked toward the door. "Well then, I think I'll be on my way! Have a good afternoon, love!" Dawn shivered at the intonation of the endearment, this time said only for her, as if he had forgotten that Jeff was in the room. And then, as though he suddenly remembered, he turned to Jeff and said, a cool smile on his face, "Nice to see you again!"

Dawn walked with him to the door, and went ahead of him to open it, but he stopped her.

"Thanks for the coffee, Dawn! I wasn't kidding. It's some of the best I've ever had!"

"Thank you, and you're welcome!" She smiled, completely relaxed for the first time since they had met.

"Oh, and apology accepted!" He winked again and opened the door, then completely surprised her by kissing her cheek before walking out to his car.

The next morning, Scott was back exactly at ten and Dawn let him in with a smile.

"Good morning!" She walked ahead of him into the kitchen again, and when he joined her, she was just flipping pancakes.

"I figured I'd better feed you before we begin," she said by way of explanation. "I hope you like pancakes."

Scott smiled. "If you made them, I'm sure I'll love them," he said, and was surprised that he meant it, too. He felt inexplicably drawn to this woman, and if only for today, he wasn't going to fight the feelings coursing through his system as he watched her pile a plate high, dab some butter on the top and sides, and place it on the placemat in front of him.

"Have a seat, and help yourself to syrup. I have three kinds, as you can see." She made a smaller serving for herself, and sat across from him, reaching for the strawberry syrup at the same time as he did. The shock was palpable this time, and he took her hand in both of his.

"We have to stop meeting like this," he said, his voice husky, his eyes hot as he stared into hers, refusing to let her look away. "Good morning, beautiful!" he added, and planted a warm kiss in the center of her palm before letting her have her hand back. Then, as she watched in a daze, he calmly smothered his pancakes in syrup before asking if she wanted him to pour for her.

"No, that's okay, thanks," she said and waited for him to put the jar down before picking it up herself. She didn't miss the satisfied smirk that came and went on his face, but she was too busy trying to steady her hands to pour the syrup to care.

"You're not American, are you?" she asked, after a comfortable silence.

He swallowed the food in his mouth before answering. "No, I'm not." He stopped and looked up. "Any chance of more coffee today?" he wondered.

"Oh, sure!" Dawn got up to get him a mug, but he forestalled her.

"Just point me in the right direction," he told her. Soon he was pouring coffee for them both, and then he took his seat again and added cream.

"So, where are you from? Or is it a secret that, if you tell me, you'll have to kill me?" Dawn continued, sipping her sweet brew with an amused twinkle in her eyes.

Scott laughed, the sound reaching inside her and warming her. "I'm Australian," he answered.

"You don't sound the way I think Aussies do," she admitted. "Why are you here instead of there/?" She put another forkful of pancake into her mouth and waited. Just when she was about to apologize for being nosy, he answered.

"I came to med school here, and am staying for a few years. Then I'll go back home."

"How long will you be staying?" she wanted to know next, not sure why the answer was important to her.

"Maybe another two years or so," he answered. "I have a visa for that long. I would need to renew it if I wanted to stay longer. I may not stay the full term, though."

Dawn wanted to ask why, but felt that her inquisition had become far more personal than she had intended, so she bit back the question and finished her pancakes. She watched him polish off the stack she had given him, and when she offered him more, he didn't refuse. She marveled at his appetite, and then recalled his age. That reminder sobered her, and by the time he was done eating, she had retreated behind the wall of cool reserve. He had come to help her pack, and that's what they'd do...

She shooed him away from the sink, and asked him to start on the shelves in her office, across the hall from the living room. She couldn't handle the intimacy implied by his doing the dishes, and she knew she could better keep her walls in place if she had some time to regroup alone. By the time she had washed and stacked the breakfast things, stored the rest of the pancakes away and cleaned the counter, she was fully in control, and ready to face him.

He had finished packing one box and was halfway through a second by the time she appeared in the doorway. She found herself admiring his tall, lean body, and switched her thoughts to admiring his ability to work without direction. She supposed as a doctor he needed to be an independent thinker, and it was not really a surprise. She picked up another box and began working on the shelf across the room from him. By noon her office was packed up, except for her laptop, which she would be taking with her in the car.

"Where to next?" he asked, stacking the last of the labeled office boxes by the door.

"The basement is a bit of a mess," she said, and turned to lead him down to it. The space was large, finished, and airy, but she was right, it was a mess. Everything she had never used, or had discarded but not thrown out, was there. It needed to be sorted, as she knew she wasn't taking everything in it with her. She knew she was a bit of a pack rat, but no one ever knew that until they ventured into her basement.

She turned embarrassed eyes to his chin, unable to look higher, but was spared the need to say much by way of explanation when he said cheerfully,

"Just tell me what you need me to do," and smiled.

Dawn looked around her, feeling lost for a moment, and then she squared her shoulders and made a decision.

"Can you find all the books that are lying around, please? Put them in one space so I can decide which to throw out and which to give away. Some of them have mold from the last place I lived in, and..."

"You should have thrown them out immediately!" he snapped, startling her into looking into his face. He was angry, but she could have sworn she saw fear for a second.

"It's okay. I am hardly ever down here," she explained, trying to placate him, and soothe his obviously ruffled feathers.

"You're missing the point!" he said, bearing down on her where she stood by the stairs. "The spores can travel though the air, and you could have been sickened by them. Who knows, you may have been, and thought it was something else."

Dawn tried not to smile at his outraged tone. He was highly upset with her for keeping a few moldy books in her basement. Her determination to remain aloof was being seriously undermined by this new twist in their connection -- she refused to call it a relationship. She turned away, and said, to show she took his concern seriously,

"Do you need gloves? Or do you want to do something else? I mean, I don't want you to get sick from helping me clean up."

Apparently that was the wrong thing to say, she noted, as he glared at her fiercely and turned away, saying sharply over his shoulder,

"A dust mask for each of us would be useful!"

Dawn resisted the urge to say "Yes, Master!" facetiously, and instead retrieved two dust masks and handed one to him. He took it without touching her, put it on, and got to work, ignoring her completely. Miffed at his mood, and upset with herself for her reaction to him, she set about sorting through the clothes that were piled up on two sofas. Most of them she knew would need to be laundered before they could be donated, but there were one or two items that she wanted to keep. By the time Scott was done sorting the good books and the moldy ones, she also had two piles, and was making the first load in the washing machine which was in a room adjoining the boiler room. When she came out, he was nowhere to be seen.

Hearing a sound upstairs, she turned in time to see him coming down with large garbage bags in his hands.

"Do you need one?" he asked coolly.

"Not yet. I'm not throwing out the clothes, I'm donating most of them. But they need to be washed first."

He turned away and began to bag the moldy books, again completely ignoring her. Deciding she would leave him to it, she went upstairs and tried to think what to prepare for a late lunch, before she sent him on his way. She had some leftover elbow macaroni and tuna salad, so she decided to make a cold pasta salad. When he walked upstairs and went to wash his hands in the sink, she lay the table, and asked him whether he preferred juice or a soda or water with his meal.

"Whatever you're having," he said, drying his hands and going to sit in the same chair he had occupied a few hours earlier.

Dawn poured them cranberry-grape juice, and then invited him to help himself. He served her plate as well, and she wondered who his mother was. She had certainly raised a considerate man, and she could be justifiably proud of him.

"Thank you for coming to help me today," she said, glancing at him before returning her eyes to her food. "It was very kind of you, especially given the circumstances."

He cocked his head, looking quizzically at her. "Circumstances?"

"You know..." She struggled to keep from blushing. "I wasn't exactly welcoming the first two times we met."

Scott watched her face warm with color, and felt a tug on his heart. She was such a bundle of contradictions, and he wished he knew what made her so wary of men. He also wished he could eradicate from her mind the age difference between them. It didn't bother him that she was much older than he was. He found her fascinating, sexy, and more desirable than any other woman. He wanted her. The hard-ons he struggled with at night in his bed were testament to that fact. The one he was fighting with even now was clear proof of her hold over him.

"I believe we covered the past yesterday," he said, draining his glass. "Let's not rehash it. It's over. I came today because I wanted to spend time with you, because I wanted to get to know you a bit better, because I wanted you to get to know me a bit better." He poured himself another half glass of juice, and added, "I won't apologize for wanting to be here, or for wanting to know you better."

Dawn didn't know how to respond to his words, so she held her peace and finished her lunch.

"I'm back in the saddle tomorrow, but if you need me for anything, please let me know. Oh, and this is my cell phone number...they rather frown on personal calls being taken by hospital staff on the institution's phones." He extracted his wallet from his back pocket and handed her a business card. Scott Peter McCallum, M.D., it said, and gave his cell phone number as well as the places where he worked and their numbers.

"Thank you," she said, taking it and putting it in the coupon sleeve that was lying on the table. "I'll put it away properly when..." She stopped and watched him smile.

"When?" he prompted, smirking wickedly at her.

"Nothing. I'll put it away later." His eyes sparkled with amusement, but Dawn refused to acknowledge it. Instead, she rose from the table and began to clear it, hoping he would not interfere, and let her have these moments of mundanity to settle her suddenly jangling-again nerves. He was entirely unexpected, one minute teasing her, another miffed at her, the next tender, then seductive. She was never prepared for what he would throw at her, and she didn't like feeling so off balance. She suspected that he did it deliberately, and recognized that despite his years, he was very mature and experienced in dealing with women.

Why that thought should rattle her so she couldn't tell, and she refused to examine it while he was in the room with her, reading her actions and her words. She stacked the dishwasher and then turned to find him watching her intently, his face serious, his eyes unreadable.

"What?" she asked, and could have bitten out her tongue. The last thing she wanted to know was why he was so interested in her. If she intended to preserve a safe, impersonal space between them, she couldn't ask such questions. She sighed when his answer confirmed her fears.

"You are so skittish around me. If I were a writer, I'd compare you to a colt with its new trainer. I won't hurt you, you know. All you would need to do, if I did, was to report me at the hospital."

Her shoulders relaxed as it occurred to her that he was right. And anyway, she had always been a fairly good judge of character, and based on their few interactions, he was a good sort, if highly sexual. She couldn't help him with that, no matter how much she might want to...the admission stopped her cold, and she blushed furiously, as though she had said the words aloud. She was mortified to know that she wanted him too, after all her denials. She hurried past him out to the living room, hoping to get her color under control before he caught up with her.

The phone rang, and she answered it, grateful for the respite from her thoughts and from him that it provided.

"Hi, Jeff! No, I didn't. I'm sorry. Sure, you can come get it now, as a matter of fact. I was just in the basement cleaning today, and it's down there. Okay. See you in a bit."

She hung up and turned to find Scott right behind her. She went to step past him, but he touched her arm, asking, "What do you need down there?"

"I borrowed Jeff's wrench a couple of weeks ago, and never returned it. He needs it now...he's doing man things with pipes in his kitchen."

"I'll get it. Just tell me where to look. I expect Jeff will be here in a minute."

"It's right next to the washing machine, in the room next to the boiler room. You can't miss it."

He shocked her by dropping a tender peck on her cheek before going to get the wrench. Almost as soon as he disappeared down the stairs, the knocker sounded, and she went to let Jeff in.

"Come in, Jeff. Scott went to get it for me."

Jeff eyed her speculatively. "Scott? What's he doing here again?

Dawn bit back the smile that rose to her cheeks. Jeff was very much in love with his wife, but he treated Dawn like the little sister whom he had to protect from the wolves of the world, even though she was five years his senior.

"He came to help me pack." She wanted to add more, but just then Scott walked back into the room, and handed the tool to Jeff.

"Thanks, man!" He smiled for the first time at Scott, though it didn't quite reach his eyes, and asked her, "Are we still on for Saturday, then?"

Again Dawn had to stifle a chuckle. He was deliberately trying to goad Scott, and she wanted to swat him at the same time that she wanted to laugh.

"Sure. You'll drive the truck, and Dana will go up with me in the car, right?"

Jeff nodded. "Right. Well then, I'd better get back to repairs. See you later." She walked her neighbor to the door, and closed it softly behind him before inhaling deeply and returning to the living room.

DawnJ
DawnJ
323 Followers