Finding Mr. Right. Gwynne Forster

me. But let’s go slowly.”

      “You’re telling me not to rush you?” She nodded. “All right, I won’t,” he said, grinning from ear to ear, “but I certainly won’t take things so slow that you’ll think I’m dragging my feet.”

      “Would you mind spelling that out?” As soon as she said it, his expression brightened, and she wished she hadn’t asked him to explain.

      He leaned forward, his eyes twinkled, and a smile—just short of salacious—framed his lips. “I mean, when I kiss you, I won’t pour it on. I’ll make it sweet and tender, and when I touch you and stroke you, I won’t be too possessive. I’ll be careful.”

      For a full minute, he had her spellbound. She thought of him sinking into her body. Her fingernails scored the palms of her hands, and the pain brought her back to her senses.

      She stood. “It’s getting late. We should go.”

      “Of course,” he said. He paid the bill, took her hand and walked with her to his car. On the drive back to her house, they didn’t talk. He put a CD into the player, and the sound of Chet Atkins’s guitar enveloped them. Byron parked in front of Tyra’s house and walked her to the door.

      “Give me your key, please.” She did, and he opened the door, walked in with her and closed it. “You made me feel special tonight,” he said. “You were there for me.” His left hand stroked the side of her face, and his right hand held her arms, eased across her back and gathered her to him.

      She knew he meant to kiss her, and she wanted it so badly that she could hardly wait. Her heart beat so wildly that she feared she would faint. His eyes darkened. When he lowered his head, she rose on tiptoe to meet him. He ran the tip of his tongue across the seam of her lips, testing them. She opened her mouth and sucked him in. His groan stunned her. A prickly sensation shot through her, making her tremble uncontrollably. He gathered her into his arms and held her there.

      “I’d better go while I still have my sanity,” he whispered after some minutes. “I’ll call you when I get home.”

      She kissed his lips. “Drive carefully. You’re carrying precious cargo.”

      “I promised not to rush you, but if you say things like that to me, keeping my word won’t be easy. I won’t be like a long distance runner but more like a sprinter.”

      She floated up the stairs in a world of her own. If he could make me feel like that with just a kiss…I could be wrong, but how do I know he’s the one? But before I get involved with him, shouldn’t I see what else is out there?

      Chapter 3

      Byron drove three blocks, stopped and put the car in park. Overwhelmed, he hadn’t reached his car before he wanted to turn around and go back to her. What the devil was wrong with him? He was his own man—always had been. But this sudden need for a woman he’d seen three or four times boggled his mind. He wasn’t upset. He just couldn’t understand it. He’d never felt about any woman the way he felt about her. It was if some vital part of him was missing the moment he left her. He shook his head, put the car in gear and continued home. It was probably a fluke. But she made him feel so good. God, please let it be real.

      He hadn’t told Tyra about Andy. She didn’t know he had a son and, until that moment, he hadn’t thought it important. But it was. For if his feelings for her persisted, his having a child could become an issue. He’d have to do something about that, and soon.

      He drove into his garage and entered his house through the passageway that connected the garage and the kitchen side door. Vowing not to allow anything to spoil his good mood, he took a bottle of ginger ale from the refrigerator, sat down in the family room, kicked off his shoes and flicked on the television. He switched between late-night talk shows, but didn’t see or hear much of either. Tyra had seemed to want him as much as he wanted her. Lord, she was so sweet. And she had an air of innocence that didn’t seem to fit with what he knew about her.

      He remembered that he’d promised to call her and looked at his watch. A quarter to twelve, twenty minutes since he left her house, but too late to phone. But if he didn’t call, she’d probably think he wasn’t a man of his word. He dialed her number and prayed that the phone wouldn’t ring in anyone’s room but hers.

      When she answered the phone by saying “Hi,” he knew he’d done the right thing.

      “I almost didn’t call, because I was afraid I might awaken you or your family. But I didn’t want you to think of me as unreliable. I’ve been thinking about you, and about us, and I can hardly believe that I had you in my arms. If it doesn’t happen again and soon, I’ll think I imagined it.”

      “Not to worry, Byron, if I thought you forgot it, I’d remind you.” Her laughter, warm and hearty, floated to him through the wire.

      That comment surprised him. He hadn’t known many straightforward women. He was used to women who liked to play games with a guy. “It’s really refreshing. I hope the time soon comes when you’ll feel free to kiss me whenever you want to.”

      “You promised to go slowly.”

      “It seems to me that I’m crawling at a snail’s pace.”

      “Really? A roller coaster is more like it. I enjoyed being with you tonight, Byron, but I’d better get to sleep. I have to get up at six-thirty.”

      “Stay sweet. At least I’ll see you Friday at five. Good night.” He’d wanted to add sweetheart, but he knew she’d say he was moving too fast.

      “Good night, dear.”

      She hung up. He sat there staring at the receiver. She’d said, good-night, dear. Was he dear to her? He’d give anything if he understood women, any woman. He took a shower, dried off, slipped into bed and let the cool sheets tantalize his naked body. What he wouldn’t give if she were there to wrap her arms and legs around him! He couldn’t help laughing at himself. Every man had at some point knelt before a woman. Who was he to complain about the order of things? He had to wait, and he’d be glad to cool his heels while he waited for Tyra Cunningham.

      Tyra strode into the Legal Aid Center office building the next morning feeling like a lottery winner, until Christopher Fuller blocked her way.

      “Feeling frisky this morning, are we?” he said with a rakish grin. “I thought I saw you in the pool area yesterday at noon fully dressed. A beautiful woman like you should take a dip so we can appreciate you fully.”

      She caught herself before she did something she’d later regret. “Not all of us are exhibitionists, Mr. Fuller.”

      His eyebrow shot up. “When you’ve got it, flaunt it.”

      She moved around him, and as she passed, she said, “When what you’re flaunting isn’t so special, you’re wasting your time.” His shoulders seemed to sag, so she knew she’d hit him where it hurt. He’d hoped she had seen him sprawled out in the lounge chair. She admitted to herself that he appeared well endowed, but he could bet she’d never know for sure.

      But of all the men here, he’s the one who’s after me. He’s the only one that I don’t want near me, she said to herself. As far as she was concerned, all he had going for him was below his waist, and she didn’t need that from him.

      She found a note on her desk from Lyle Riddick, the man Barbara Johnson said was her supervisor and whom she hadn’t yet met. “Ms. Cunningham, could we meet in my office at ten this morning. Thank you, L. Riddick.” She reread the note. At least he said thank you. Since he didn’t say what they would discuss, she couldn’t prepare, so she began drafting a questionnaire designed to obtain essential information from her clients—questions that would help her determine the best way in which to help them. Tyra walked into Lyle Riddick’s office at exactly ten and stopped short. Was she in a bird sanctuary?

      “Come in. Come in, Ms. Cunningham. I surround myself with my favorite things…to the extent that I can. And birds