Safety in Numbers
Yeah, we know how it goes, right? No ownership in psych, not even a grain of sand in the playground. TPTB own everything, I own nothing, no infringement intended, just having some fun playing "What if…"
Another sort of short chapterlet. Not at all how I expected it to go, but hey, I just follow what they want me to do. And it would appear that... well, never mind. You'll see what I mean.
Karen slid into the booth, meeting Carlton's gaze as she did and feeling her breath catch. Again. She'd been doing so much of that since she arrived at the restaurant, it was a minor miracle she wasn't hyperventilating. He was just so utterly Carlton tonight. Sure, the dark khaki slacks and well-cut dark brown blazer were very much in keeping with Detective Lassiter, but the lack of a tie and the shirt, with two buttons left undone and open just far enough to allow for glimpses of his chest was most assuredly not working attire for him. If it was, she might had revealed her marital status a lot sooner. Then there was the matter of the color of the shirt itself—a surprising shade she could only liken to tobacco, the deep gold-green setting off his fair skin and salt-and-pepper hair and doing things to his eyes she was reasonably certain were prohibited by law.
Definitely made her grateful she'd uncharacteristically ducked out of work early and gone shopping for something thoroughly impractical—for the first time in seemingly forever. She'd determinedly skipped the familiar, comfortable environs of Ann Taylor and Talbot's and J. Crew, and had instead made a beeline for one of the specialty boutiques that carried things that were simply… pretty. Because that's how Carlton made her feel, every time he looked at her, in her staid, practical Ann Taylor and Talbot's and J. Crew. So sue her for wanting to see what his reaction would be like if she actually went to some sort of effort.
If she had to guess by the way his eyes had widened and the telltale flush that had risen from the open collar of his shirt as she approached him in the foyer wearing the simple champagne halter dress with its subtle touches of pink and gold and the full, utterly feminine skirt, she'd passed "pretty" and gone on into some other realm. At the same time, though, despite his obvious appreciation for how she looked, she was still nervous because other than a quiet "hello" in the foyer, he hadn't said a damned word and frankly, it was unnerving. Especially since waiting with him in the foyer had been none other than Dr. Gibson.
As he seated himself across from her she chanced a glance back over her shoulder to the foyer where Gibson had remained after his own hellos, and where he was currently greeting some impossibly statuesque brunette. Catching her gaze, he winked, before grasping his date's arm and heading off in the direction of the bar. Bless him.
Turning back, she caught Carlton staring at her with something akin to wonder lurking deep in those intense blue eyes, assuaging her nerves—a little. She watched the muscles work along the long column of his throat as he swallowed and fought back the urge to squirm. Dammit—how was it he was making such a mundane, basic function look so blasted sexy? Maybe it had to do with the unblinking stare fixed on her as he did so.
"Hi."
And there it was—the phone voice—low, intimate, and doing funny things to her insides.
"Hi," she replied, and couldn't even be bothered to be embarrassed by how breathless her voice sounded. After the waiter came by and took their orders for drinks, she met his gaze again, still intent, still steady, and still doing monumentally funny things in the vicinity of her stomach. Desperate to break the air of tension, if only so she didn't humiliate herself by doing something unseemly, she cast about for something to say, finally settling on, "So… a double date?" and wanting to kick herself as soon as the words left her mouth.
The flush deepened, but only along his cheekbones, allowing her to note just how high and angled they were and really, was there anything the man could do that wouldn't make her see him in a new and extremely attractive light?
But still—Gibson's presence was unexpected and did make her nervous for a whole other host of reasons. What if Carlton changed his mind? Admittedly, it was an unexpected door that had opened a week ago, allowing her a glimpse of possibility, but for whatever reason, that possibility, at that time, had been the right one and she'd stepped through. Even though it terrified the hell out of her if she stopped to think about it too much.
Yet at the same time, ever since, she'd been giddy in a way she hadn't experienced since she was a teenager—giddy overlaid with a very adult sense of tension and anticipation and… and…
God, please don't have let him have changed his mind.
"I'm sorry," he finally said, long fingers fidgeting with the dark red cloth of the napkin. "I…" Again he swallowed and again, she fought the urge to lean across the table and run her fingertips down the long column of his throat and into the open neck of his shirt with its glimpses of his chest, the dark hair a tantalizing shadow she wanted to explore more fully.
"I thought it might be—" His eyes darkened as that all-encompassing gaze seemed to drink her in. "Safer."
Suddenly, the halter top of her dress with its body-hugging, yet comfortable fit, felt more like a sausage casing, too tight and about to burst.
"Carlton?"
"Yeah?"
"The babysitter?"
"Yeah?"
"I have her all night."
Nothing from him beyond a sigh and a quiet, "Are you sure, Karen?"
The door opened wider, allowing her a greater glimpse of what could be. If she was willing to take the risk.
Was she?
She regarded him across the table—this man she'd once thought so simple, if only because he was so quiet, and who was anything but—that unblinking gaze fixed steadily on her—her—and with not a little heat banked within the normally cool blue.
"Yeah." She breathed deep, feeling warm breezes bathe her skin as that door opened all the way. "I'm sure."
