He put his hands on either side of her, brushing their bodies together in a wildly tempting caress. “Maybe we could go out for breakfast after our next swim.”
The idea of going out for breakfast with this man fired up her imagination about other things…like wild sex and a sleep over. She leaned back for breathing room, but there was nowhere to go. He surrounded her. She couldn’t smell anything but him, and the counter was biting into her back.
He had her body purring, but that damn wounded part of her was sounding the alarms. Her lack of confidence—courtesy of Rick-the-Dick’s hurtful parting words—clanged like a train trolley.
And Tanner was a journalist. Just. Like. Rick.
She pushed him back with a hand to his hard, muscular chest, needing space. She searched for the caramel apple pie Jill had brought home from the coffee shop and raced over to it. Her hands shook as she took out the plates and dessert forks. Deep breaths seemed like a good idea to clear out Tanner’s musky smell, but she couldn’t seem to take in a full one. Her lungs had deflated like balloons after a disappointing party.
“I can’t…have breakfast with you,” she rasped, frantically touching her bustier. Even that wasn’t doing much to restore her confidence. Damn it.
Tanner’s boots scraped across the tile floor. She could feel the heat of his body behind her, and she imagined him gazing at that mole he’d mentioned. She wanted to lean back against him, but was suddenly afraid of how much she wanted him and where it could lead—especially with her family in the next room.
“Why can’t you?”
“I don’t date journalists. Ever.”
He turned her around. She stood stiffly in his hold.
“Neither do I…usually. But I don’t want to talk about journalism with you, Meredith.”
Her eyelids fluttered. The buzzing in her head grew louder, and she felt overpowered by the force of her attraction to him. She lurched from his hold and knocked a plate to the floor. It shattered over the final roar of the coffee maker. Shards of her mother’s silver-edged Lenox china covered the tile and their shoes.
Her nerves snapped right along with the china, and her breath wheezed out like she’d swum a sprint.
He gentled his hold. “Easy there. Don’t move. I don’t want you to get cut.”
“I have shoes on.” Anxiety squeezed her rib cage, and she pressed her hands to her chest, trying to suck in air.
He led them away from the mess. “Meredith?”
“Everything okay in there?” Jill called from the other room.
“Yes,” Tanner hollered back. “I didn’t see Meredith handing me a pie plate, and it shattered. We’ll clean it up and be right out with dessert.”
His quick lie made her wheeze. It had been so effortless.
Like Richard.
He opened the back door and led her out onto the porch, putting her hands on the rough boards. “Deep breaths, Meredith. In and out.” He caressed her back with gentle hands. “Come on. You can do it.”
Panting in shallow breaths, she lowered her head. Black dots spread behind her eyes like she was inside a planetarium. A panic attack. She hadn’t had one for months. She concentrated on the thought of Rick-the-Dick bald and crying in front of a mirror. The picture always helped turn the tide.
“Shit, don’t pass out on me.”
Visualization wasn’t helping this time. She clawed at her shirt. Her bustier was strangling her. She was too embarrassed to care. The wheezing made her sound like an asthmatic. She fumbled with her bustier’s hooks, needing to…get…it…off.
Tanner swatted her hands away gently. He tugged the bustier off and set it aside before hoisting her to a standing position and smoothing her shirt back in place. She almost cried at his attempts to protect her modesty.
“No wonder you can’t breathe.” He whistled. “That’s one serious contraption.” Framing her rib cage with his hands, he said, “Inhale from here. Fill your lungs. Come on.”
She rested against his strong body, lightheaded. After a few coughs, she managed a shallow inhale.
“Again,” he commanded, his hands softly stroking her.
Her next few breaths spread lower, filling her belly. He smoothed her hair back behind her ears with one hand, pushing away her light-headedness. “Good. Keep going.”
Full, deep breaths drew in the pine-scented air and the seductive smell of his aftershave. She finally managed to keep breathing constantly and steadily in his soothing arms, and the buzzing in her head lowered to background noise. When she pulled away, she stumbled into a lounge chair. Her head fell back. Her eyes closed. The burn of tears was strong, but she managed to hold them at bay. She was not going to cry, but she wanted to. God, she had thought she was past this crap. And to do it in front of him…