“I haven’t been here before. What’s good?”
“Everything. The chicken parmesan is my favorite. The grilled zucchini is great.”
They ordered lunch and listened to the soothing music. The dark-green fabric table linen was marked with a wet ring where her water glass had rested. While she gulped down the water, she surveyed the room, seeing families in their post-church Sunday best and groups of every size enjoying the rich Italian fare. Immediate thirst quenched, she dove into the tempting basket of warm bread.
“What made you decide to go into sales?” Rick asked.
Rachael took a bite of the buttery breadstick and considered. “You know how some people are good at building things? Others are great healers,” she said, pointing at him with the breadstick. “I’m a good reader. Of people. I like to read the room and find out what they want, what they need, and get them to see that what I offer is a good fit.”
“My favorite,” she continued, dipping the other end of the breadstick into the creamy alfredo sauce, “is when someone is convinced they don’t want our latest product. I love the challenge. I enjoy piecing together the evidence, and showing them how our work can help simplify what they do, work smarter.”
“Do you like working for your dad?”
Rachael chewed and debated how to answer. “I don’t really consider what I do as working for my dad. I see myself as an ambassador who’s helping advance industries and corporations to the next generation. Dad may be the big man on campus, but I don’t often deal directly with the R&D division. I actually work more with my mom. She oversees the legal work, like the contracts and negotiations. That kind of stuff.”
“You have a sister, too, right?”
“Mhm. Carlie. She’s so much like my dad—quiet, shy, and smart as hell. She’s already working on a new system of organizing audience market segments to produce better results. Once it launches, she’s going to be a rockstar. Like Dad. And I’ll sell it,” she grinned, taking a voracious bite of the dripping breadstick.
Picking up a breadstick with a crimp in the end, Rick toyed with it between his fingers, eyes filled with a faraway memory. “Must be nice having such a close family.”
Rachael nodded, taking a sip of wine to clear the breadstick. “For the most part, absolutely. What about you? Family? Siblings?”
He shrugged and put the breadstick on his plate, tearing it into bite-size chunks. “My parents are back home in St. Louis. I see them a few times a year. I’m an only child. Probably why I was so drawn to animals. My dogs, our cat, they became my siblings.”
Rachael couldn’t imagine not having her sister. And now that she had her fur babies, she could see why he gravitated toward the animals. “We had a cat when we were growing up, Pixie. But she was more Car’s cat than mine. I’d put me squarely in the dog-person category.”
“I’ve noticed,” he said, saluting her with his drink.
Lunch arrived, and they spoke about their families, past jobs, future hopes. She was struck by how laid back this was, how easy it was to be with him. Lulls in the conversation were not awkward; they were companionable. And the conversation was fascinating, not boring or slow. Rachael kept waiting for the bottom to fall out. But so far it was smooth sailing. Smooth enough to be unnerving.
After lunch, they were not ready to go their separate ways. Relocating to the bar they visited yesterday, they reclaimed their former seats. Rachael was a little giddy when he scooted his seat closer to her own. And when he rested an arm across the back of her stool, she sighed contentedly and leaned back into him. This was good. Really good.
“Think you’ll ever move back to St. Louis?” she asked.
Rick shook his head. “No. My practice, my future is here. I’m happier here than I ever was there. This just feels like home.”
She crossed one worry off her list. “Any pets?”
“As much as I’d love to, my work schedule and living alone wouldn’t be fair to them.” His mouth twisted with regret. “They deserve more than I can give right now.”
“I work a lot, but the dogs have each other when I’m out. And my dad’s been helping. He tends to go in later than the rest of us. As much as he complains about them, I think they’re winning him over.”
“How’s Martini handling the solitary life?”
“Remember the text I got yesterday?”
Rick nodded.
“Let’s just say he’s showing his concern through bodily functions.” Rachael grimaced, and he laughed. “You laugh, but you didn’t have to clean up after those particular functions. Gag!”
“That’s not uncommon.”
She chuckled. “This is totally a dating first for me to start the day with a pooper scooper and top it off with disgusting details over drinks.”
“Would you believe it’s a first for me, too?”
Rachael took a sip of her drink. “It’s not your standard MO?”
Rick shook his head, amused.
They listened to the soft music and swayed in their seats, drinking and chatting. The bar lighting was dim, and the bright outside world felt miles away.
“This is nice,” she said, setting down her empty wine glass.
He slid his hand up to the top of her shoulder and caressed the back of her neck. A shiver worked its way up her spine.
“Very nice,” he said, leaning down and kissing her temple, awakening the butterflies.
“Can I ask you something?” she asked.
Leaning back, he looked down at her, his face serious. “Anything.”
“What are you looking for? I mean, I know what we talked about yesterday, but are you just wanting a fling? Or . . . ?” she blushed, knowing that didn’t come out very well.
He measured the confusion in her eyes before answering. “I’m definitely more of the ‘Or.’”
Now I’ve confused myself.
“You know you’re beautiful,” Rick grinned and poked the tip of her nose with his index finger, “but it’s more than that. I don’t know what I’m looking for, per se, but I do like talking with you, spending time with you. This seems like something that has the potential to go somewhere.”
“And where is that?”
“You tell me.” He shrugged helplessly. “But I like it. And I like you.”
Replaying his words, Rachael debated how to respond. Glancing at him from the corner of her eye, she saw that he was watching, waiting for her to say something.
“I have to be honest,” she blew out her breath, hoping her revelation wasn’t going to blow things with him. But better for him to know upfront. “I’m a borderline workaholic. I am my job. I love it.”
“In case you missed it, so far you’ve seen me at work in the evening and on the weekend. I get it.”
Well, then. She moved on.
“And, I don’t really do relationships. Or at least I haven’t. They don’t work out for me.” Rachael bit her lip and looked up at him. “Though I do like you, too.”
He took a deep breath, settling his glass on the bar. “What do we do now?”
Isn’t that the question of the day?
“Tell me more about you,” she prompted, diving into the relationship queries that she’d avoided thus far. “When was your last relationship?”
Raising a brow and nodding slowly, he stared through her, seeing a different person, a different time. “About a year ago.”
“How long were you together?”
“Two years. Enough to love, not enough to hold. Emma was great, but she didn’t want to get married, didn’t want to have kids. At first, I thought she simply wasn’t ready, that she’d come around. But toward the end, it became apparent that she didn’t want the same things I did.” He shook his head, returning to her. “We went our separate ways amicably. She’s dating someone new, and I’m happy for her.”
Swallowing, Rachael debated if this was a good time to tell him that she wasn’t sure either. Were marriage and kids things she could seriously entertain, given her corpo
rate lifestyle? How would he respond? Would she become another mistake in his life? Too soon for that conversation, she chastised herself.
“What about you? Your last relationship?”
“I’m afraid I’m a virgin.” She lifted a shoulder, then laughed as he froze. “Not that, you goof. Let’s just say I tend to go on a lot of first dates, but rarely agree to more.”
“Are you afraid?”
Thinking back to Gabe’s question, she deliberated if that’s what it was. Was she pushing people away? “Maybe. The relationship side of things freaks me out a little.” Rachael was twenty-seven years old and still couldn’t say she’d ever been or ever would be ready for something serious. Was that unusual? Was she not normal? She buried her face in her hands, her brain too jumbled to sort that one out right now.
Catching her wrist, he pulled a hand away from her face and spread it flat on the bar, face-up, tracing the shape of her fingers, her palm. “And what about the other side of things?” he murmured.
His gentle touch tickled her palm and she laughed, tugging her hand away. He stopped her retreat, grasping her hand more firmly. “I have a confession to make,” he whispered in her ear, his warm breath stirring her insides and sending the butterflies into overdrive.
“Hmm?” Her pulse was racing, her breath caught.
Get a grip, Rachael.
“As much as I do want to pursue things—the ‘or’—with you, I’m also exceptionally attracted to you.”
“You are?”
“I am.” He lifted her hand from the bar and pressed a kiss in her palm, curling her fingers around it. “And, hell, I can’t believe I’m going to say this, but I was wondering, hoping, if you might feel the same way?”
A fork in the road. The tines were pulling her in different directions, each leading to a disparate future. Dare she turn toward him? Could she start down this path even if she wasn’t sure what she wanted? And what about Gabe? She was supposed to meet him later. Why was this all happening at the same time? This was not fair. Or easy. Shouldn’t it be easy?
“Rachael?”
Get a grip, girl. Go with what makes you happy. What did Marie say? See what’s what?
“Mhm?” She regarded his melting chocolate eyes, his sensuous lips.
Silent, Rick watched her, his hand clasped around her curled-up fist.
He’s leaving it up to me. Do I want this?
It was a risk. She could do nothing, and she knew he would be fine with that. He was probably expecting that.
Or she could take a leap of faith. Something in her urged her to jump. To see. To try. To hope. And she couldn’t turn away.
Everything about him, about this moment, felt so right. They might have just met, but she felt she knew him more than anyone else. It was unbelievable—and if she thought too hard on it, it would scare the shit out of her—but it was right.
She took a deep breath and inched forward, watching his eyes watch her.
Curling her free hand around his neck, the fine brown hairs tickling her palm, Rachael urged him closer and stopped thinking. She paused just before his lips, the barest hesitation, before closing the distance between them. He leaned into her, wrapping a hand into the hair at the side of her face.
Rachael breathed him in, savoring the warmth of the bourbon. He slipped his tongue between her parted lips, sliding against hers, caressing and learning the taste of her mouth. He released her and she felt pleasantly trapped by the heat in his gaze. Rick lifted his eyebrows in question, tilting his head toward the door, and she nodded. He paid the tab and escorted her to the parking lot.
“Want to check out my place?” his deep voice rumbled, a tempting smile on his lips.
She took the leap.
“Yes.”
9
Rick opened the passenger door and Rachael slid into the SUV. The leather seat was hot from the sun. She shifted as the heat permeated her leggings. He drove through the streets, passing her parents’ neighborhood and glancing her way periodically, a nervous smile curving his lips.
Parking in the garage, he gripped the steering wheel and took a deep breath. “Are you sure? I don’t want to pressure you.”
Enveloped in his warm eyes and his concern, she fought the urge to giggle in anticipation as she slipped from the car. “Yes, I’m sure.”
They met at the garage door. Rick grasped her hand and they walked up the stairs together.
“How long have you lived here?” she asked.
“Coming up on three years,” he said, his keys and wallet clattering to rest on the entryway table. The open kitchen and living room were bright and welcoming. He led her to the kitchen and glanced into the fridge. “Water? Pop? Wine?”
“Whatever you’re having.”
He poured two glasses of wine and ushered her into the living room. They settled onto the sofa, facing each other. He was nervous and it was freaking adorable, so refreshingly different from the guys she had been with in the past. Rick looked around the room, and she could tell he was trying to see it through her eyes. She followed his path, noting the large picture window, the dark-brown sofa and loveseat, the wooden coffee and accent tables, and the modest entertainment center. Along the walls on either side of the television were simple but sturdy bookshelves peppered with a couple of family photos—he definitely looked like his dad—and endless heavy tomes related to his work. A couple of the shelves were full of novels. Her interest piqued, she left him on the sofa to inspect the titles, fingertips tracing the spines of countless horror and suspense novels, lingering over the more worn spines of Stephen King, Scott Thomas, and Neil Gaiman. She paused as she touched some classics and even romance novels.
“Your ex’s?” she asked, picking up a Jane Austen novel.
Chuckling, he shook his head. “Mine. Constant immersion in animal psychology, physiology, and immunology texts can drive you to needing unrelated distractions. Do you enjoy reading?”
“Yes, though I don’t have much time for it lately. I have a Goodreads list about a mile long of books I want to read. Someday I’ll get through them.”
“What do you like to read?”
“Oh, a little of this, a little of that,” Rachael said evasively.
“That’s not an answer. You saw my collection,” he teased. “Tell me.”
“Promise you won’t laugh?”
He nodded solemnly.
“I’ve read several of these,” she gestured to the shelf of suspense and mysteries, “but what I really enjoy—my guilty pleasure—are the historical romances. The dresses and hair, the debonair men, wild attraction, passion, the patently absurd declarations of love and lifelong commitment . . . all those grandiose romantic gestures that don’t really exist.”
Head tilted to the side, he looked surprised. “I wouldn’t have pegged you as a cynic.”
“I’m not. I’m a realist. I adore the escapism of romance, but I keep myself rooted in the here and now.”
Under the guise of skimming through the last row of books, she considered what he was offering. Given his nerves and hesitation, she knew it was her decision to make. Rachael pooled her confidence. She was definitely rooted in what was here and now. Exhaling, she set her glass on the coffee table in front of him, slipping between him and the table. Immobile, he held his wine steady, eyes glued to hers. Easing the glass from his hand, she took a long drink before placing it next to her stemware. His throat worked, but he remained transfixed.
“Is this okay?” she asked, unaccustomed to initiating what was to come. What she hoped was to come.
He nodded.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes,” he said hoarsely, his eyes twin whirlpools of dark chocolate.
Rachael picked up his hand that had been holding the glass and turned it over in her own. His hand was so much warmer than hers, her own dwarfed by the long, smooth palm she held. His breath caught as she continued examining, her finger tracing the lines of his palm. Rick watched her movements, fascinated, yet
still holding himself in check. She wondered what would happen when he let loose.
“Do you read palms?” he asked.
“Oh, yes,” she said, raising a single eyebrow. “See this line here?”
He nodded, entranced.
“It means you’re a very passionate person.”
“It does?”
She laughed and shrugged. “Truthfully? Not a clue. But perhaps there’s a better way to find out that answer.”
Leaning forward against his chest, one knee on the cushion beside him, she pressed her lips to his, letting the warmth of their breath tickle their gentle kiss. Falling into him more, she ran her tongue along his lower lip and pressed her body against his. He was solid and broad, her weight not causing him to move back. He groaned, yet still exercised more restraint than she cared for.
Maybe she had misread him.
“Rachael?”
“Mhm?” she murmured, bracing herself on her knee, one hand against his chest. His heart was racing, thudding insistently against her palm.
“I don’t want to ruin this by going too fast.”
Tilting her head to try to read him, her confusion increased. Was she blowing this? “Am I going too fast for you?”
“No.” He shuddered. “But I don’t want to scare you away.”
She smiled at him, his concern, wondering if this was the same man who professed his attraction to her in the bar. Rachael hesitated, wondering if she should move away, then spoke her truth. “I don’t think you will.”
He stared at her, his body heating beneath her. “Thank God.”
Unshackling his desire, Rick wrapped a firm arm around her waist, bringing them closer. As he rubbed his arm up and down her back in delicious caresses, Rachael groaned, understanding why cats purred. His hand disappeared into her hair and she let her head fall back. Bending down to inhale along her neck, his heated breath warmed her thin skin. So close but not connecting. Anticipation built, her belly tensing. His other arm wrapped around her, fitting her flush against him, and she balanced, straddling his lap, their hearts beating against each other. It was intense and passionate, yet he still hadn’t kissed her.
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