by Elaine Fox
“Yes, Megan.” Despite himself, Megan’s face appeared in his mind’s eye and he knew for a fact he did not fall into Briana’s eyes they way he did hers. “She’s not right for me, Aunt Edna. And she knows it, too. In fact we agreed on it, last time we met.”
Aunt Edna’s gaze went shrewd. “Ah, so you’ve been rejected by her. I see.”
“Rejected?” He frowned. “No, there was no rejection.” Was there? “We just have very different lives, that’s all. They’re not compatible.”
“I see,” his aunt said, and nodded, clearly unconvinced.
“Truly, Aunt Edna.”
“I understand.” She gave him a smile, but he could tell it was her “I know better than anything you could tell me” smile.
He sat back in the chair, but he wasn’t as comfortable in it as he had been a minute ago.
Had Megan rejected him?
Why didn’t he fall into Briana’s eyes?
What was so great about falling anyway?
He heaved a great sigh and had the feeling he would not be sleeping so well tonight.
Nine
The following weekend Sutter found himself pacing the house. Martina was off, Berkley had dropped off frozen meals in the morning because he was taking a week’s vacation, work did not seem as imperative as it usually did, and Sutter was alone. Utterly and completely alone. A state he usually liked to be in.
Not today.
Today he could not help thinking about his visit with Aunt Edna and the thoughts it had stirred up about the incredible night with Megan Rose.
He couldn’t say he was surprised by her passion. Couldn’t even say he’d been surprised by his. She’d tweaked his interest since the day she’d shown up on the doorstep with that damn dog. Even then, he’d found himself with feelings he knew he should not have for a woman like her. Not with Briana moving to town. Briana, who’d been groomed for the life he now lived and who, if he were honest with himself, he knew to be eager to live it with him.
But he’d been telling his aunt the truth. He had made no commitments to Briana and had kept his conscience clear by telling her she should not be moving to town because of him.
She had scoffed at the notion, asking him if he thought she didn’t have better things to do than to chase a man from New York to Virginia. The job was the reason, she told him. The unique opportunity to raise funds for the Washington House—an organization that saved historic properties from development.
She swore his being there was just an extra benefit, but he suspected otherwise.
He shouldn’t complain. He could certainly do much worse than Briana. She was sharp and undeniably beautiful.
He spent about half a minute thinking about her dark fathomless eyes before his mind strayed to another pair of dark eyes…these with laughter and daring in them, intelligence and excitement.
But free-spirited Megan was not the kind of woman he needed. He needed Briana, who was cool and sophisticated, mature and diplomatic. She would grace every table, be an asset at business functions, run his home the way he ran his company—efficiently, with taste and class.
And she had her own money. This was important. While he was certain that he’d be able to spot a gold digger if one tried to seduce him, he’d seen many a smart man fall to those types before, and every single one of them would have said the same thing. Sutter was not so arrogant that he believed he was immune to the blindness that came with not being able to see beyond the end of one’s…whatever.
Still, he knew Megan wasn’t a gold digger. He’d wager his fortune on it, but she also wasn’t the intelligent choice for a partner in the enterprise of this life he’d made. For one thing, it would be grossly unfair to her.
She’d just been the most incredible shag of his life. Which was exactly what the gold diggers started out as.
Finding himself pacing through the sunroom for the third time, indulging the same circular thoughts on each circuit, he glanced out into the garden and realized that he was not, actually, alone. He had that blasted dog. The one that probably needed to be let out by now. It wouldn’t kill him to spend a moment or two with it, he told himself. He could watch it run, maybe give it a treat.
He went into the mud room, which was just off the kitchen, and found Twister in her crate. She awoke at his arrival and her wagging tail banged against the plastic sides of her crib, as Megan had called it. He bent over and looked in. A large doggy grin greeted him.
He smiled reluctantly. It was kind of a cute thing, especially while it was locked up and doing no harm. He opened the door to the crate and she was out like a shot.
Berkley had let her out this morning, he knew for a fact because he’d seen them coming back in, but that had been several hours ago. For a moment he felt bad for his negligence. Sunday was the only time this dog was his responsibility, surely he could muster the energy to do it right.
From the top of the crate he picked up a box of dog biscuits. Twister charged back into the room at the sound. Standing before him, tail whipping the whole rear end of her body back and forth, she looked up at him expectantly.
He held the treat out. “Sit,” he said experimentally.
The dog sat. Sutter grinned and gave it the treat. This was rather fun.
He got out another treat and looked at the dog. “Lie down,” he said. The dog sat there, looking at him. “No, lie down,” he said again, this time bringing the treat to the floor in front of her. She slid to the floor and he let go of the treat.
Berkley must be working with her, he thought, watching her consume the treat.
The phone rang. Sutter rose and pointed at the dog. “Wait there.”
He picked up the phone in the next room. It was Montgomery. Of course. A weekend couldn’t go by without her calling or coming by or making the point in some other way that she was working, sacrificing a personal life for the advancement of the company—and her career, of course. He appreciated that kind of dedication, he really did. He just hated the way it imposed on him every weekend. He’d already spent half a lifetime of weekends getting his business off the ground.
Half an hour later, after he’d sorted Montgomery out, he went looking for Twister. He found her in his bedroom closet, wrestling with a pair of jeans he’d worn yesterday.
“No!” he bellowed, causing her to jump and run over to him, a denim thread hanging from the side of her mouth. “Bad dog,” he added, picking up the jeans and examining the chewed hem of one leg. Twister crouched at his tone, ears back, the very picture of submission.
Underneath the pants was his wallet, now adorned with tooth marks and drool spots on the fine chocolate leather. A sopping twenty-dollar bill and half a five were near that and next to a saliva-soaked sock was what was left of his driver’s license.
“Dammit,” he said, glaring at the dog who was now plastered to the floor next to him, just the tip of her tail wagging. “You just had two treats.”
She watched him as if she’d thought he might be pleased with her handiwork, but was now getting the feeling he was unhappy with the situation.
“Bad dog,” he said again, wiping his hand on his pants after putting the wet twenty back in the wallet. “Evil bloody mutt.”
She dropped her head to the floor, looking up at him with the most pathetic eyes he’d ever seen. White-rimmed at the bottom, the pseudo-eyebrows lifted, the snout between the paws. She was dejection incarnate.
With a sigh he reached out and patted the top of her head.
“All right,” he said, standing up. She jumped up and stood next to him, watchful and wagging, accepting his forgiveness with unencumbered joy. “Let’s get you outside before I have something even more unpleasant to discover.”
They went downstairs, Sutter following her exuberant progress down the steps, around the corner of the marbled foyer, where Twister paddled excitedly on the slick surface with nails and paws before gaining purchase and shooting like something out of a slingshot toward the back door.
He
let her out and followed her into the sunny morning.
The dog tore across the low deck and leapt into the grass, making a lap around the entire back garden, weaving in and out of boxwoods, clearing tall flower beds in a single bound, and turning on a dime around trees and shrubs. Her body was agile and quick, the release of energy powerful, her exuberance a paean to liberation. Sutter felt a little thrill of exultation himself just watching her go and found himself thinking about the last time he’d felt that relief from care, that freedom.
He realized, with wonderment more than surprise, that it was something very close to this he’d felt last week with Megan.
Freedom, acceptance, joy—it had all seemed so simple, so gratifying, so…comfortable.
Before, of course, Briana had called.
He ran a hand through his hair and sat on the step of the deck, his eyes on Twister, who had slowed and was sniffing around the birdbath.
While he and Briana had never agreed to be exclusive, up until Megan there had been no reason to think they were otherwise. Even if it had been three months since they’d been together.
It was dodgy territory, to be sure.
Should he think about it now? Should he consider committing to Briana if only to keep himself from screwing up Megan’s life—and, he had to face it, probably his own—by dallying with someone so clearly unsuited for, not to mention averse to, the spotlight?
He pictured Megan’s long slim body as it had looked sprawled out in his bed. Lithe, relaxed, lovely. Yes, she’d been uninhibited, but she was definitely not the type to want to live in the public eye.
Not that he was thinking of living with her. Cor, he barely knew the girl, even if he did remember every inch of her body with a fondness bordering on something dangerous.
No, he was going to retain his independence. It would not be fair to commit to Briana just to keep him from Megan. Nor did he need that kind of policing. He had strength of will—that stubbornness Bitsy had pointed out—he would just stay away from Dr. Rose, that was all.
Decision made.
Twister had apparently figured out all she was going to from a thorough examination of the birdbath and its immediate environs. She trotted over to where he was and sat in front of him. When he did nothing more than look at her, wondering if that had been enough exercise or if he owed her something more, she lay her head on his knee and gazed up at him.
He couldn’t help it, he chuckled. He could not be immune to such tactics, he thought, try though he might.
At the sound of his laugh, the dog lifted her head and seemed to smile in return. Then she got up, trotted up onto the deck and sat right next to him, her body leaning against his shoulder.
Despite himself, Sutter felt a deep, demandless camaraderie descend upon him. This creature was never going to turn on him, he thought. It would never gossip about him, sell its story to the National Tattler, or take advantage of his trust. And it certainly wasn’t interested in his money. Except maybe the other half of that five.
This animal only wanted his company. His. Just him.
“All right, then,” he said, standing up. Twister popped to her feet. “Let’s you and I go for a walk, shall we?”
He found the leash on a hook next to her crate in the mud room. Twister danced around at the sight of it. He snapped it on the collar and was immediately dragged to the front door.
Perhaps predictably, though it surprised him, Sutter eventually found himself on Sophia Street, coming up slowly on the animal hospital. Slowly, because Twister apparently had to urinate on every other thing she smelled, making Sutter wonder just how much liquid one dog could contain.
He paused to let Twister examine the base of a no-parking sign on Sophia Street for much longer than he’d let her dwell on anything else and gazed at the animal hospital. It was Sunday, so the place was closed, but he wouldn’t have been surprised if Megan was in there. Her house, which was right next door, was equally dark-looking, the way all houses were during the day, and he wondered if wandering around out here was too obvious. Even if his reasons for being here weren’t obvious to him.
Twister finished and they walked on, past the animal hospital in the direction of the city dock. They came upon Brock’s restaurant and Sutter noticed the busy deck overlooking the river, an idea coming to him.
He enjoyed Megan. In her company he felt released from his famous—or infamous—role. What if they agreed to be friends? He could explain to her that he was unable to commit to anyone right now, or even in the near future, and that he simply wanted her companionship, her friendship. She struck him as the type to take him up on that.
And he would enjoy having one friend who was not overawed by his celebrity, as she certainly did not seem to be.
He walked back toward the animal hospital. As if on cue—or perhaps, as she might say, directed by the unseen hand of the universe—Megan and her dog emerged from the side door of the animal hospital. Her dog caught sight of them first and froze into a stance of alertness. Megan noticed and looked over at them. For a second, she too froze, then he saw her smile.
Sutter gave a short wave and followed behind Twister’s sled-dog desire to reach them.
“Well, hello,” she said with that amused smile.
“We decided not to come in the dog door this time.” Sutter smiled in return. Though he’d worried that seeing her after their night together might be awkward, he felt nothing but gladness at this moment. This was going to be easy.
“I appreciate that. It’s tough on a girl to wake up with a stranger.” She glanced down at Twister, who was gnawing at Megan’s dog’s neck. “Just out walking the dog?”
He shrugged. “She insisted. And I am nothing but a pawn in her world.” He glanced up at the sky. “Besides, it seemed a nice day for a walk.”
“And it’s not even raining.” She grinned.
He chuckled. “Yes, perhaps I’m not as noticeable as I’d feared.”
“Welcome to my world.” She stepped over her dog’s leash, which was threatening to entangle her feet, as the two animals lunged and wrestled and growled playfully between them. “It is a beautiful day, isn’t it? Less humid than yesterday.”
“I suppose so,” he looked around. Should he worry that they were talking about the weather? Should he be bringing up something more…pertinent?
Then again, it was a nice day. He could not remember the last time he’d taken a walk, or done anything outdoors other than move from the car to the office and back again. Whatever hobbies he’d enjoyed in the past had disappeared with the creation of SFSolutions.
Today, however, in a small part of his mind he remembered what it was like to simply enjoy a summer day. And to enjoy it with a pretty, uncomplicated woman.
“Listen I was just walking past Brock’s, down the way, and they’ve got a nice deck…” He gestured behind him toward the restaurant.
Megan raised her brows, obviously not planning to help him out with the invitation.
“Have you eaten?” he asked. Then, kicking himself for cowardice, added, “Would you like to go to lunch?”
Her smile was like a dam breaking, shedding warmth all over him. “Sure,” she said, then looked down at her dog. “Think we should bring the kids?”
“The deck was awfully inviting. I’m sure they’d settle down.” He was sure of no such thing, but he had the feeling this answer would please her. And—what the hell—since he was here he might as well be agreeable.
She beamed at him. “Great. Let me just grab my purse.”
She handed him her dog’s leash and disappeared into her house. Sutter knew a moment of panic. He looked at the two dogs wrangling in front of him. Dogs. He was handling dogs. He was, technically, the owner of one of them. And he was taking the young, spunky, unsuitable owner of the other to lunch.
Was this really the best plan? What had gotten into him?
Whatever it was, he didn’t think about it for long. She came back out, hair brushed and wearing a different shir
t—a soft white tank top that made her tawny skin and dark hair positively Mediterranean in their warmth. They talked easily all the way to the restaurant, then to their table. They discussed everything, moving well beyond the weather with an ease that surprised him. Dogs first, of course. Then books. Movies. She asked about software, even operating systems, revealing a basic knowledge he was impressed by. He bored her to death with the answers, he was sure, but with the sun on his back and her smile in his face he felt lighthearted and engaging and fun for the first time in years. Years.
Somehow the subject of Briana never came up. In fact, he didn’t think once about her. And while he couldn’t say he didn’t think about his night with Megan last week—it was all he could do not to touch her smooth skin, her graceful hands—for some reason it didn’t seem important to exhume it, explain it, or excuse it.
After nearly two hours the check came—the waiter obviously was getting off his shift—and Sutter reached for his wallet. Megan went for her purse too and after stifling a chuckle just in time, he waved her off.
“This is mine. I invited you.” He flipped through his partially chewed wallet.
“Thank you very much,” she said, reaching down to pet her dog, who lay not at her feet so much as on them, he’d noted earlier.
Miraculously, Twister was lying quietly next to his chair. Maybe it was the heat, or the hope of another French fry, but whatever it was, he was grateful for it.
“I love the sound of the trains,” Megan said as another one rumbled by. “Living so close to the tracks I thought I’d be bothered by the noise, but it’s such a romantic sound. I don’t even wake up when they blow their whistles at night anymore.”
“I can hear them where I am too,” he said, flipping back through his wallet a second time. He knew his American Express card was in here somewhere. “Reminds me of where I grew up.”
“Really?” her voice was intrigued.
He glanced up with a wry smile. “But that was considerably closer to the tracks than you are. It wasn’t the whistles we were concerned with sleeping through, it was the pictures crashing down off the walls.”