Touch Me In The Morning Page 6

  She tilted her head back to look up at Damon, who had changed into a form fitting white sports shirt and tight dark jeans. His freshly washed hair looked soft and fluffy and would not behave. Their gazes collided and he quickly looked over at the menu that hung on the wall.

  “What do you want? They h-have every type of ice cream here. Except t-tomato.” He tossed her a sly glance and she laughed.

  A few minutes later Heaven held a triple scoop rocky road ice cream cone in her hand while Damon held one with three different flavors. “Let’s go to that booth,” he pointed, and Heaven nodded. As they started walking, the door to the shop opened again, letting in a gust of warm air. A bell jingled, and Heaven glanced in that direction.

  “Damon!” The newcomers said in unison, and Damon turned towards them while licking his ice cream. Heaven looked on as Damon nodded at the tall, blond, mustached man and a pleasant looking light skinned African-American woman with warm amber eyes behind thick spectacles and a tall, comfortable frame.

  Heaven felt a little out of place, since they obviously knew one another well, until Damon urged her forward. When he spoke, a hint of amusement threaded his voice. “Well, well. The two people I almost consider friends. This is Dave Preston and his wife Francesca.” His arm crept around her shoulders, shocking her with pleasant warmth. “This is Kendra’s new caregiver, Heaven.”

  Both of them grinned and Francesca raised an eyebrow. “Just a caregiver?”

  “Yes.” Damon and Heaven answered at the same time.

  Heaven’s heart raced. She couldn’t even allow the allusion of a relationship between them.

  Francesca had a nice smile. “After I order ice cream, do you want to talk? I’m sure Dave and Damon will start blabbing about sports and that really bores me. They play on the same softball team.”

  Heaven couldn’t help warming up to Francesca. She didn’t even feel shy around her. The young woman seemed warm and engaging. She nodded. Dave was ordering ice cream.

  “Don’t you need to tell him what you want?” Heaven asked while glancing over at Dave’s back.

  Francesca waved a dismissive hand. “We’ve been married for eight years. He knows what I want.”

  Heaven felt a surprising pang. How nice it must be to be married to somebody who knew little details about you, like your favorite ice cream.

  Francesca inclined her head towards a small booth near the wall. “Come on,” she said. Heaven followed her. As they sat down, Dave came and handed her an ice cream cone. He looked down. “I’ll be outside.”

  Francesca nodded.

  Heaven spotted Damon standing near the glass door, looking boyish and endearing as he licked his ice cream. He caught her watching him and flashed his dimples. She couldn’t help smiling back before taking a bite out of her cone.

  After the men went outside, Francesca asked, “You’re just Kendra’s caregiver?”

  Heaven thought she was fishing for something juicy. “Boring, I know.”

  “Damon’s drop dead gorgeous. Nice too. He doesn’t realize his charm. Dave and I keep hoping he’ll meet the woman of his dreams.” She smiled. “He’s always been partial to black women.”

  Heaven didn’t know how to respond to that so she continued to bite the edges of her cone.

  Francesca’s eyes teased her. “You didn’t notice he’s just a bit attractive?”

  Heaven smiled, letting the ice cream melt in her mouth. After she swallowed, she said, “I’m not looking for a relationship. In fact, I’m just getting out of one.” She sobered then sprouted a rundown of her life with Gavin, the shelter, and how Father Michael had told her about the job.

  Francesca listened quietly. When she finished, she took her glasses off and grabbed a napkin to wipe the lenses. “Since you’re pregnant, nothing can happen between you two anyways. Damon refuses to be a father or stepfather to a child. Ever.”

  Heaven placed a hand over her abdomen and caressed it. “I’m surprised he doesn’t like kids.”

  “He does.” Francesca licked some ice cream that dripped on the cone. “Dave and I have a three year old son and Damon’s wonderful with him. But Damon’s afraid to be a father.”

  “Why?” Her heart raced. Any tidbit of information about Damon intrigued her. Maybe this was an opportunity.

  Francesca studied her before answering. “I’m going to tell you this because I sense you like Damon.”

  “No! I’m just…”

  “All right.” Francesca laughed. “You’re in denial—I saw how you looked at him. Damon had a very rough childhood. He’s afraid he’ll abuse the child. And nobody can talk him out of it.”

  She startled. “Do you think he would?”

  Francesca rolled her eyes. “No! Dave’s known Damon since college. He has tremendous self-control, even when provoked.”

  “So why the hang-up about kids?”

  Francesca took a bite out of her cone, swallowed, then said, “His past haunts him and statistics-wise abused kids are more likely to abuse their own kids. He doesn’t think he’d do it, but won’t take a chance.”

  “How badly was he abused?” She held her breath, both dying to know and afraid to hear.

  Heaven felt Francesca distance herself. She bit into the last of her cone and chewed slowly. When she swallowed, she grabbed a napkin and wiped her mouth and fingers. Heaven was sorry she’d asked the last question. After a long silence, Francesca fastened her gaze on her nails and said, “My brother was Damon’s therapist when he stayed at St. Vincent’s. He didn’t tell me much. Anything I do know is confidential. I’m a Psychologist myself. Even when I need to vent and talk to Dave about a client, I don’t tell him who it is.”

  Heaven stared at her. Francesca…a Psychologist…Damon telling her he knew a therapist…

  “I specialize in victims of abuse,” Francesca said, “like my older brother.”

  “Traumatized people.” Heaven hoped she wasn’t being recruited. She searched her mind desperately to change the subject. “Tell me about your son,” she said. “Since I’m going to be a Mom, I could use some parenting advice.” She hoped it worked.

  It did. Francesca’s face split into a wide grin and she perked up as she talked about Peter, who she claimed to already miss, although he was only across town with Grandma. As she continued, Heaven caught the excitement and put her hand over her abdomen again, eager about her upcoming motherhood.

  If only the baby had a different father.

  After chatting for about a half hour, the men came back inside and walked up to the table. Their hair tumbled every which way from the wind. Francesca laughed as her husband approached. “Bad hair day,” she teased.

  He ran a hand through his hair, without offense. “Time to leave,” he said, and Heaven saw him wink at Francesca.

  Heaven’s face flamed, even as she sighed. How nice to see two people who’d known one another for so long and still in love. The two of them just radiated chemistry. Dave reached out and grabbed his wife’s hand. Francesca slid out of the booth and stood beside him, hugging his torso. “He’s like a spoiled kid,” she said, but her voice reeked of affection and softness. “Since we have a night alone, he wants all the attention.”

  Dave stroked her dark hair. “You know you love it.”

  She lifted her face and he gave her a fast kiss.

  “Damon,” Dave said, clapping him on the shoulder, “I’ll see you at softball.”

  All four of them stepped outside, but their cars were in opposite directions so they parted at once. Heaven found herself several paces behind Damon and felt a sudden annoyance that he never waited for her. As she ran beside him, she said, between pants, “I know you have long legs, but it would be nice if you slowed down. I don’t enjoy jogging to keep pace with you.”

  He stopped, looking surprised. She also halted and looked up at him, breathing hard.

  “I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking.” He sounded honestly contrite.

  That disarmed her. “That’s all right. Just
remember, not everyone has such long strides.”

  Mischief suddenly danced in his eyes. “I guess I have to make up for my rudeness.” Without giving her a moment to think, he scooped her into his arms and continued walking down the sidewalk. He grinned as she laughed and assured him she could walk. Finally, she gave up, settled against his chest, and enjoyed the feel of snuggling into the hard, muscled body of Damon Steele.

  Mr. Steele was certainly a confusing man.

  Chapter Eight

  Heaven lay in bed, staring at her ceiling in the darkened room. She couldn’t purge her mind of Damon and the roller coaster day they’d had. He softened the blow of seeing Gavin, made her almost think he could protect her. He certainly had a nurturing streak she hadn’t imagined and, after bringing her home tonight he’d accompanied her to her bedroom, tucked her in, brought her tea, and talked to her about lighthearted topics.

  After about an hour of friendly bantering, he’d left the room, leaving her much calmer and basking in his lingering warmth and soapy spiced scent. The only problem was, being near him had excited her. She couldn’t get to sleep. He filled her mind and made her restless. She knew this wasn’t good, but, although she could hide her reaction to Damon, she could not run away from herself.

  After a restless hour, Heaven decided to go downstairs, pick out a book from Damon’s library and read. Maybe that would bring fatigue. The way she felt now, she could have stayed up all night. A sheer cotton robe in the palest of greens lay folded over her computer chair and she slid into it, tying the sash in the front. After slipping into matching satin mules, she left her room and walked carefully down the stairs, holding tight to the railing in the dark. When she reached the main floor her night vision had improved and she could make out the doorway to the study. She strode through the living room and entered the study…

  And froze.

  So did he.

  She squinted. “Damon?”

  He rose from the easy chair. “What – why are you here?” He sounded startled.

  “Why are you?” She tried to slow her racing heart.

  “I couldn’t sleep.” He sounded tense; very unlike how he’d spoken to her not that long ago.

  She swallowed hard. How could he have been so approachable an hour before and seem so distant now.

  “I hoped to find a book.”

  “I see.”

  The stress was palpable, so thick she could almost see it. Neither moved.

  Finally, Damon walked towards the wall and switched on the light. Heaven blinked against the brightness, then, when her eyes stopped burning, she looked over at Damon, his hands low on his hips.

  “You didn’t even change into night clothes. Didn’t you even try to sleep?” Maternal feelings surfaced within her.

  He turned away, fingers raking his hair. “I often can’t sleep.”

  “Why?”

  “I just can’t.” He sounded agitated. Eyeing the wall of books, he changed to a kinder tone. “T-take any you like.”

  “Maybe – maybe talking would help us. Keep one another company.” She’d rather do that than read.

  “We t-talked enough. I need to unwind.” To prevent additional words, he turned the CD player on with the remote from the desk.

  She stared at his classic profile, his hair dipping right above his eyes, and wanted him back to the way he’d been while soothing her at her bedside. “Why are you so nice sometimes and at other times, a complete jerk?” Heaven was done mincing words.

  She saw him smirk, but he didn’t glance at her. Instead, he plugged a microphone into the CD player.

  “What’s that?” she asked, watching him.

  He ignored that question and answered her first one. “I’m good in a crisis, and you had one today. Otherwise, I’m not very nice. Except with Kendra.” He hit the mic with his hand and she heard the thump from speakers on the wall.

  Heaven let his words sink in. They seemed to be the truth. “You were mean to Aiden today.”

  She could see a tic in his jaw, but he kept his gaze on the microphone.

  “I always wanted siblings.” She watched him adjust buttons on his CD system.

  His body tensed, but he didn’t respond to her comment. Instead, he started singing along with the music, and his voice, smooth and velvety, filled the room.

  Her jaw dropped. He had a beautiful, tenor voice, something she hadn’t expected. Mesmerized, she moved closer to him, stopping a few feet before him, a warm rush filling her being. The man should have been an entertainer.

  He finally turned to her, his eyes a little brighter. He continued to sing and, when he hit the higher notes, perfectly pitched, goose bumps shivered down her spine. At the end of the song, she clapped, a grin spreading across her face. “That was incredible!”

  Damon held the microphone at his side and shrugged, blushing. “It relaxes me, like sports. K-kind of not a manly thing to do though. My Dad would cl-clobber the piss out of me when I sang. I d-don’t sing too often.”

  “You should. Why did you do it now?” She tried to assess his expression. He wore none.

  He shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  “Can I try that? The Karaoke?”

  He lifted his gaze a little and glanced at her for a second. “Can you sing?”

  “No.”

  She saw his lips twitch. He tried hard not to smile, but one broke through. “I wish you’d leave me alone.”

  “Why?”

  He handed her the microphone. “B-because you make me laugh, and I don’t want to like you. It’s not good.”

  She decided not to answer. Of course it was good for them to be friends. They were stuck living together for a long time. She lifted the mic. “I promise not to shatter your windows.”

  He crossed his arms. “There’s a song on. What are you waiting for?”

  She realized how close he’d come. A love song filtered through the speakers. “I feel strange singing this song with you around.”

  “I d-don’t think of the words when I sing.”

  “You don’t think about the words? I do.”

  “Well, pretend you’re singing the song to somebody more appealing than me.” His eyes teased. “Think of a movie star you like. Or an old love.”

  She’d never had a crush on a movie star or an old love, but she nodded. Then she started singing.

  Heaven really didn’t have a bad voice. In high school and church, she’d been in choir and appeared in a few plays. Soon Damon joined in, seating himself on the edge of his desk. She thought their voices blended well. At the end, she went into high harmony and he raised his eyebrows, as if impressed.

  She felt his gaze. His hot stare was too penetrating not to feel. Sometimes liquid heat seemed to bathe her when around him. She couldn’t understand it. The song ended and the next one started a faster, upbeat song with cheerful lyrics. They grinned at each other as they broke into harmony again and, suddenly, he took her microphone, set it on the desk. He grabbed her hands.

  She stopped singing. “What are you doing?”

  He still sang as he pulled her towards him and put one hand on her shoulder and the other on the small of her back. Pulling her into the middle of the room, he started mock dancing with her, twirling her around, and bending her over.

  “Stop, Damon! I can’t dance!” But she threw her head back as he swung her around.

  “Who cares?” he asked, continuing to whirl her until she felt dizzy

  With her pregnancy, she often felt queasy, but…this wasn’t the same thing. Her stomach was fine. Only her head reeled, and her feet, strangely, felt as if they weren’t touching the ground.

  Heaven tried to keep up with his steps, knowing she couldn’t possibly match his grace and coordination. Still, she felt the heat when he pulled her close to his hard body and hummed as he guided her around the room. His chest vibrated against hers as his humming continued and she enjoyed the feeling – it woke her senses. She even rested her head on his shoulder and he started sin
ging again, right into her ear. She could barely breathe. He excited her; invigorated her. His energy jumped from him to her and his touch jolted her with pleasure.

  “Why are you doing this?” She asked, as he spun her around. “I thought you were only nice in a crisis.”

  He let go of one of her hands and twirled her, while she clumsily performed. Catching her in his arms, his eyes bore into hers. “I don’t know why I’m doing this. I guess maybe I’m still keyed up from all that happened t-today – and maybe I think you still need some cheering up.”

  “Maybe?”

  He started to sing again, never answering her question.

  In his arms, she forgot her crisis. His formidable presence swept her fears away, and she never wanted to leave his embrace. It was Damon who finally halted, his fingers intertwined with hers, his breathing hard, his eyes bright, their bodies only inches apart.

  “No more?” She asked, masking disappointment with a smile.

  He shook his head. “You’re pregnant, dear. Enough is enough. We’ve been doing this for a half an hour.”

  “I don’t get tired easily.” She wanted him to continue. “I know some women complain about fatigue when they’re pregnant, but I’ve felt great from the start.”

  He looked as if he may lean over to kiss her. Would he? Again? “You would never admit if you d-did get tired.”

  “I would!”

  He shook his head again. “You wouldn’t. C-come here.” He dropped one hand and pulled her near the CD player, picking up the mic again. “D-did you notice I never stammer when I sing?”

  “No. I barely notice your stammer at all.” She thought about what he’d said. “Why do you think you can sing without stammering?”

  “It’s common,” he said, still watching the microphone. “My speech therapist told me.”

  “You have a speech therapist?”

  He nodded. “Don’t see her much anymore. At one t-time I could barely open my mouth without stuttering almost every word. Hell, at one time, I couldn’t speak at all. Now,” he shrugged, “I guess it’s bearable. I d-doubt the stammer will ever go away completely.”