Courting Chloe

by Nancy Warren

  “I thought you were the Chinese,” she said on a sniffle.

  “No. I’m the Mexican.”

  It wasn’t much of a joke and she didn’t give him much of a smile. What she did manage was pretty pathetic. “I meant Chinese food. I had a craving.”

  “I brought your car back.” She was carrying a damp tissue in her hand, which he saw when she held out her palm for the keys. “Thanks.”

  “Are you okay?” he asked automatically. Stupid question, obviously.

  “No. I am spectacularly not okay, as you can see.” She sounded like she had a heavy cold. “Also, I am single, which makes me perfect for you. A wounded dove.” She sniffed. “Ask me out now, why don’t you? You’re no longer my client and I’m no longer attached.”

  He caught the pain behind the bitterness of the words. “Deborah, I’m sorry about that. Chloe never told me to ask you out. That was my idea.”

  She waved a hand grandly in the air. “All has been explained. I now know that my esteemed partner in business, life, and publishing was too much of a chickenshit to tell me he wanted out of our relationship, so he hired some English runway model to do it for him.”

  “Stupid prick.”

  “Thank you. My thoughts exactly.” She sniffled. Looked behind him. “You’re all alone. Do you need me to drive you back to your car?”

  “No. I can call a buddy.”

  They stood there looking at each other. He got the feeling she didn’t want to be alone.

  Oddly enough, neither did he.

  “Would you like to come in? I ordered enough Chinese food to feed China.”

  He nodded briefly and she led him through to a kind of den area beside a small but super-efficient-looking kitchen. Her house was smart, somehow. As if all the highfalutin’ thoughts of its owner had seeped into the walls. The den was covered in bookshelves, and all the neatly ordered books seemed too heavy to interest him. Even the art on the walls was complex. She liked abstracts, so nothing was what it appeared to be. Like life itself, he supposed.

  “Would you like something to drink?”

  “No. I’m good.”

  He sat in a burgundy leather chair and she sat across from him, curling her legs under her and cradling a box of tissues the way another woman might hold a cat.

  “I feel like such a fraud,” she said, yanking a fresh tissue out of the box. “I am truly sorry for all my patients.” She blew her nose. “Even you, and you were a fake patient.”

  “Deborah, you’re not a fraud.”

  “I am. My own partner couldn’t even talk to me. He hired a stranger to break up with me. How do you think that makes me feel?”

  “Like shit, I’m guessing.”

  She laughed, a watery chuckle. “You guess correctly.” She glanced around the room as though the books might be judging her and finding her wanting.

  “You’re the shrink, not me, but don’t you think maybe he’s the one with the problem?”

  She gestured dramatically, which caused her to drop the crumpled tissue so it bounced down her crumpled dress like a cherry blossom in the rain. “I’m canceling the television appearance, of course. I couldn’t bear to share my expertise with people when all my life’s work turns out to be a pack of lies.” She hiccupped on a sob.

  It was oddly comforting to see this normally together woman falling apart. It made her more human, and he was able to see her in a new light. “I don’t like admitting it, but you helped me. That’s why I had to push things, ask you out knowing you’d turn me down, so I could get out of there. But you made me face up to my problem. And that’s good.”

  Her smile was wobbly, but she gave it her best shot. “Thank you, Rafe. That is very kind.”

  “And you don’t believe a word of it.”

  “Not a syllable.”

  The doorbell chimed. She sniffled. “That must be the Chinese food.”

  He rose, knowing she would hate even a delivery guy to see her like this. “I’ll get it.”

  “Thank you.”

  He dug out his wallet and opened the door. But it wasn’t fast food. It was Deborah’s former lover and partner standing there. They stared at each other for a second, each obviously as flummoxed as the other.

  Jordan’s scholarly face hardened and his pale blue eyes narrowed. “What are you doing here?”

  Rafe didn’t like the fact that this weasel had hurt Deborah, who was a nice woman doing her best. He showed the wallet in his hands. “Getting the Chinese food.”

  “Deborah’s in no condition to be entertaining—”

  “Maybe you should leave that to her.” He felt the hostility coming off the mild-mannered therapist on the doorstep and did nothing to quell it. In fact, he moved his body subtly to block more of the doorway.

  He saw Jordan’s face take on an enraged bull expression completely at odds with his mild-mannered exterior and then, as suddenly as it appeared, it was gone and he saw gut-deep sadness. Only then did he hear the shuffling sounds behind him that indicated Deborah had come out to see what was going on.

  There were a lot of things that Jordan could have said at that moment, at least half of which would have got him forcibly ejected from Deborah’s property—a task Rafe was more than willing to perform. What he said was, “Please.”

  He was looking over Rafe’s shoulder. A sob, cut off in the middle so it sounded more like a snort, was his answer. He took a step closer. But Rafe wasn’t making this easy. He didn’t move. “Deborah, I’ve been such an ass. I’m sorry. I love you.”

  “I don’t know what to do,” she wailed.

  “I do. Come out with me. Now.”

  “Out? Where?”

  “I don’t know. Out. We’re going to stop living in our ivory tower, you and me. We’re going to experience life. I’m taking you dancing, and we’re going to eat Ethiopian food.”

  “Ethiopian food?” Rafe and Deborah echoed simultaneously.

  Jordan shrugged impatiently. “I don’t know. Some kind of food we’ve never tried. Deb, we’ve got to get out more and live like real people, that’s all I’m saying.”

  Rafe turned and found Deborah looking amazingly transformed. Under the mess of makeup and blotches, she was glowing. “Okay.” She touched her cheeks. “I need to fix my face.” She glanced down at herself. “And change my clothes.”

  “I’ll give you five minutes,” Jordan called.

  She giggled.

  The two men stood there. Jordan obviously thought he’d wrestled the prize away from Rafe and Rafe was happy to let him think that. Deborah was a great woman. She was worth fighting for.

  Like another woman he knew.

  “So,” Jordan said, “Do you know any good places to go dancing?”

  He chuckled and pulled out his notebook, started scrawling down a list of places. If these two wanted to experience life, there were a lot of possibilities.

  When she came downstairs a few minutes later, she was wearing jeans, high heels, and a soft, sexy shirt he’d bet she’d never worn before. Her makeup was fresh and her hair down. She looked hotter than any psychologist he’d ever seen.

  Jordan obviously thought so too. He tucked the list of places in his wallet.

  Deb and Jordan headed for the latter’s Volvo. Jordan opened the passenger door, but before Deb could get in, he took her in his arms and planted her a good one. They were wound around each other, their bodies pressed against the car.

  Yeah, Rafe thought, those two would be okay.

  She’d forgotten about the Chinese food they’d ordered so he waited on the front step until the delivery guy pulled in. Rafe took the bag, which smelled amazingly good, and reminded him that he was hungry. He paid the guy, added a generous tip, and said, “Any chance you could give me a lift?”

  “We’re not supposed to.”

  “I’m a cop,” he said, pulling out his badge. “And I’ll give you fifty bucks.”

  The kid couldn’t have been more than seventeen and looked like he ate way too much of
the merchandise. “Is it an emergency?”

  “Oh, yeah.”

  He gave the address and they sped on their way. As fast as a 1986 Taurus could speed.

  They pulled up in front of Stephanie’s apartment and he took the food and paid the kid with a curt, “Thanks, man.”

  “Yeah. Take it easy.”

  He didn’t want to take it easy. He wanted to race to her. He buzzed her apartment, but there was no answer. She wasn’t home from work yet. So he sat down on the concrete outside the front door and waited.

  After a while he got bored and pulled out a fortune cookie and cracked it open.

  People were coming home from work, but they were the wrong ones. A few glanced his way, most ignored him. Then he saw her. She was wearing the same dress she’d worn earlier. It was blue and showed off her legs and the espadrille sandals she wore.

  She did not look delighted to see him.

  He scrambled to his feet with the brown bag of food.

  “What do you want, Rafe?” she asked softly.

  “I’ve had some good news. I’m going to come into a lot of money.” He showed her the fortune he’d pulled out of the cookie. She didn’t even crack a smile. She turned to unlock the outside door to the building.

  “I don’t need rescuing, Rafe.”

  “No, you don’t.” He reached out and touched her hair. “I do.”

  Chapter 22

  Stephanie didn’t know what to do. He was standing there telling her he needed her, and she didn’t know whether to let him in or lock him out.

  He obviously felt her indecision, for he said, “I’ve been thinking crazy, acting crazy ever since I met you. But the truth is, I want to be with you.”

  She glanced at the bag. “Most men would have brought flowers.” But there was a tiny little smile playing at the corners of her mouth if he cared to look.

  He looked. In fact, he seemed mesmerized by her mouth. He pulled her to him slowly, kissing her, pulling her closer while need and want made her crazy. The bag emitted a crunching sound between them and she laughed, opening the door so they could both enter.

  They sprinted up the stairs—he was a lot more fit than she was—and then he took the keys from her and ran ahead to open her apartment door as though every second mattered. Later, she knew they would have stuff to talk about, but right now his urgency fired hers and as she ran through the door he held open, she dragged him with her.

  “The food,” he said, pausing to place the bag on her kitchen counter.

  “I like it cold.” Then she pulled him into her bedroom.

  “You have beautiful hair,” he said, pushing his hands into it.

  “So do you,” she replied, holding fistfuls as she pulled his mouth back to hers.

  While his tongue was playing in her mouth, he found the tie to her dress and unfastened it, then pushed the fabric off her shoulders. Her breasts strained to be free of the lacy bra, but he played his fingers over the lace, teasing her a little.

  This was so exciting, so unexpected, that she felt her desire building fast and furious. She’d thought about him so often, of all the things she’d wanted to do, to say, and now she was getting her chance.

  She pulled his shirt over his head, removed his bad boy biker boots that gave her a thrill just to put her hands on them, dragged his jeans and shorts down his legs, and then his socks, so he was wearing nothing but a dangerously hot expression and a gold medallion.

  She pushed him back onto the bed and with a grin, he fell on the fluffy blue duvet. She climbed on top of him and began to tease him, running her lips down his hot skin, until she reached his cock. When she took him into her mouth he groaned and muttered something in Spanish that sounded as though he was a very happy man.

  She played with him, letting him know exactly who was in charge, and he seemed happy to let her take over, only going so far as to unhook her bra and remove it so he could toy with her breasts.

  When she felt he’d built up a good head of steam, she slipped off her panties and, reaching for her night table, pulled a condom out of the drawer. She took care of putting it on and she knew from his groan that she’d brought him closer to the edge than either of them wanted. But he was satisfyingly hot and hard when she climbed on top of him and took him inside her body.

  And when she started to move on him, she found that she was a lot closer to the edge than she’d realized. His eyes mesmerized her as they darkened to black as his passion built. Her own heat was crazy, as were her movements. She was following some primal rhythm that was like a crazy drumbeat they both heard. His hands were on her breasts, her hips, restlessly playing with her hair, and the gold medallion was tossing around on his heaving chest.

  She grabbed his hands, wanted more connection, and stretched out so his arms reached out behind him and she was low enough to kiss him, to let her breasts dance against his chest. They were linked everywhere and the final intimacy sent her over the edge, flying. He swallowed her cries into his mouth, just as she swallowed his.

  It was close to morning before they got around to eating the Chinese food. She padded to the kitchen and brought the bag, paper towels, and a bottle of sparkling water back with her.

  Rafe was sitting against the bunched pillows, grinning at her when she returned. “Nothing I like better than breakfast in bed.”

  “Are you sure you took down this name correctly?” Chloe asked, walking into Stephanie’s office.

  The younger woman took back the pink message slip and studied it. Stephanie was so revoltingly blissed out that Chloe almost missed the banging of the file drawers. “Brittany Somers. Yeah. That’s the name she gave.”

  Chloe took back that little paper and began to laugh.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “Can you keep a secret?”

  “Shouldn’t you have asked me that during our job interview?”

  Stephanie had a sly sense of humor that was coming out more the longer she worked with Chloe and was so obviously appreciated. “Good point. All right, I’ll take that as a yes.”

  Besides, Chloe was dying to share this delightful bit of news with someone who would enjoy it. As much as she loved Nicky, her Londoner friend wouldn’t appreciate the irony.

  “Brittany is Matthew’s girlfriend.”

  Stephanie’s reaction was everything she’d imagined it would be. Her jaw dropped and her eyes bugged wide. “Matthew next door?”

  “Yep.”

  “Oh my God. What are you going to do?”

  Chloe folded the paper into a perfect pink square and ran her fingers absently along the fold. “I don’t quite know. This requires delicacy, tact—or does it?”

  A shoulder shrug was the only response from her assistant. Unfortunately, the shrug revealed a full-on hickey that only reminded Chloe that Stephanie was getting earth-shattering sex and she hadn’t seen any in far too long.

  “Tell you what. Phone Brittany back. Tell her that someone will meet her at—pick a coffee shop somewhere central, will you? Book a time and tell her I’ll meet her there.”

  “But she’s been to your house. Your name is on those cards.”

  “I have a feeling neither Matthew nor I ever mentioned my last name to her.”

  “So, you think she’s hiring you to help her break up with Matthew?”

  “Seems like a good bet.”

  “Oh, my God. When you warned me that drama follows you around, I thought you were being, well, dramatic.”

  Chloe all but waltzed back into her office. Well, well, well. She’d been wrong after all. Matthew’s reinjuring himself didn’t seem to have rekindled that romance after all. She wondered why.

  Chloe was woman enough to enjoy the frisson of excitement that danced through her body at the thought of Matthew finding himself single one day soon. She couldn’t have designed a better outcome. Now she wouldn’t need to worry about Brittany getting hurt.

  The next day at four p.m. precisely, she walked into the coffee shop Stephanie had suggest
ed. It was a charming place full of Italian pottery and a real Barista machine gurgling and steaming. Tony Bennett crooned from the sound system. “Hi y’all,” the young girl at the counter said. “Just sit anywheres.” Chloe smiled at her. This was Tuscany, Texan style.

  A quick survey of the place showed that Brittany was already here, seated at a table in the far corner of the room. Presumably she’d already spotted Chloe, since she had her head down and was pretending to search for something in her bag.

  Chloe ordered two lattes and then strolled over to Brittany and said hello.

  Brittany’s head jerked up. She was flushed and as she greeted Chloe with a flustered, “Oh, my gosh! Chloe. What are you doing here?” her gaze flashed to the door.

  Deciding to put the poor woman out of her misery, Chloe said, “I’m meeting you.”

  “But that’s—”

  Chloe passed over the pink message slip. Brittany read it, but didn’t seem able to say anything. Her color deepened and she scratched at her neck as though she were developing hives. “You’re that Chloe? But you said you were a private detective.”

  “I try to keep my real business confidential.”

  Fortunately, the coffees arrived at that moment. In the time it took for the Texan barista to set the cups down and make sprightly chit-chat about the weather, Brittany pulled herself together. When the server was out of earshot, she leaned forward. “You are The Breakup Artist?”

  There was a note of awe as well as shock in her tone, and Chloe enjoyed a moment of pride. “Yes, I am.”

  “Oh, this is terrible,” Brittany said, dropping her head into her hands, so that blond curls spilled over.

  “Why is it so terrible?”

  “Because Matthew’s your friend, and I feel like a horrible person. Now you’ll always know that I was so desperate to get out of the relationship that I hired someone to make it happen.”

  Chloe smiled gently. “If it makes you feel any better, I don’t think you two are at all suited.”

  “You don’t?” Brittany looked genuinely surprised. “But everyone says we’re perfect for each other.”