His mouth worked for a moment. “You’ve never had sex before?”
“I was young when I met Frederick.”
“That’s a yes? I mean, a no? I mean...”
“I’ve never had sex before.”
He rocked into a sitting position, raking a hand through his hair. “I like you, Callie.”
She hated where this was going. She was embarrassed and hurt. “But not enough to have sex with someone so inexperienced.”
“What? No. No.” He emphatically shook his head. “I’m angry with myself. I keep trying to take you on a date. I want to take you on a proper date. I don’t want to just—” He gestured around the family room.
She felt instantly better. “Have a quick roll in the toys?” She reached beneath her shoulder blade and extracted a stray building brick, holding it up as her sense of humor returned.
He gave a self-deprecating half smile as he took it from her. “Not my most charming moment.”
“It felt pretty good to me.”
He reached out to smooth her hair from her face. “Let me take you to dinner.”
“I tried to let you. Events conspired against us.”
He chuckled low. “They did. Let’s try again.” He put her strap back onto her shoulder and smoothed her hem into place.
“Is our date over?” she asked, telling herself not to be disappointed.
He was being noble. She should appreciate that.
“Tonight might be over, but our date hasn’t even started.”
Four
Deacon wanted to get it right this time. He couldn’t remember ever having so much trouble getting a woman on a date.
He wasn’t big on labels and designers, but he spent an afternoon in Columbia decking himself out with the subtle symbols of wealth and privilege. He bought a ridiculously expensive watch, a beautifully cut suit, a pair of diamond cufflinks and shoes that cost as much as a new refrigerator.
He hated to admit they were comfortable.
Callie hadn’t denied having boyfriend prospects, and Deacon could only assume she’d meant Hank. It seemed she was carrying on with an upwardly mobile life. Frederick had lifted her from poverty, and now she was moving to the next rung, power and societal position.
Deacon could understand that. He might not admire her methods, but he had no quarrel with her objectives. And if wealth was what she wanted, wealth is what Deacon would project.
It was dead easy to guess at Hank’s interest. Callie was absolutely a prize. She would be good for his political career—a beautiful young widow, a business owner in the community, the mother of two little boys. The four of them would look spectacular on the Mayor’s Christmas card.
She’d suggested they meet at the restaurant, so he’d arrived at the Skyblue Bistro a few minutes early. When he saw her coming across the walkway, her motivations flew from his mind.
Her hair was loose, billowing around her face in the fresh breeze. She wore a burgundy cocktail dress, slim fitting, with a halter neckline. It molded over her breasts and hugged her trim waist, highlighting a shape that made men turn their heads. The skirt showed off several inches of toned thigh, while her shapely calves ended in strappy sandals that decorated her ankles and polished toes.
He walked forward to meet her. As she drew closer, her turquoise eyes sparkled under the hundreds of little lights in the trees around them.
“Hi.” He held out his crooked arm, anticipating her touch.
She took it. “Hi, yourself.”
“You look stunning.” He covered her hand with his, impatient for skin-on-skin contact.
She cocked her head and took in his outfit. “As do you.”
“The most attractive thing about me is walking beside me.”
She grinned, and he felt her essence rush through him.
“How was your day?” He told himself to get a grip.
“Hectic. One of the ovens broke down, and we had repairmen there for three hours.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
Before she could respond, they came to the hostess podium.
The woman gave them a professional smile. “Good evening.”
“A reservation for Holt,” Deacon said.
“Would you like to sit inside or on the patio?” she asked.
He looked to Callie.
“It would be nice to overlook the river,” she said.
“The wind’s coming up,” the hostess said, as she stacked two leather-bound menus. “But I can put you behind a plexiglass divider.”
“Does that work for you?” he asked Callie.
“It sounds perfect.”
“We’ll take it,” he said.
The hostess led them to a small table at the edge of the patio. The wind was gusty, but it was calmer behind the divider, and they had a great view of the lights across the river. Clouds were gathering to block out the stars, but the roof above them would keep away any rain.
“Did they fix the oven?” Deacon asked, picking up the conversation thread, as Callie got settled into the padded chair.
“Not yet. They had to order a component from Philadelphia.”
“How long will that take?”
“About three days. We bought that oven used when we remodeled the kitchen. I’m not sure it was good value.”
“You bought a used oven?” Deacon was confused by that decision.
She gave an absent nod as she opened her menu. “I’m sorry we did. It’s been a money pit ever since.”
“Why would you buy a used oven?”
“It was reconditioned. We also bought two that were new, smaller ones. To get that size, in a decent brand, would have cost the earth. You probably haven’t eaten here yet. The steaks are amazing, but the fish is their feature. It’s always market fresh.”
“Frederick bought a used bakery oven?”
She looked up, her brow wrinkling. “Why is that so surprising? Back then, we had to economize where we could.”
“Why?”
It took her a moment to answer. “The usual reasons.”
Deacon gave himself a shake, realizing he was grilling her. “I’m sorry. I don’t know where I got the impression Frederick had a lot of money.”
“He had some. Way more than I ever imagined having, that’s for sure.”
Deacon wanted to probe for more information, but he didn’t dare.
“Shall I order a bottle of wine?” he asked instead.
“I’d drink a glass or two.”
“Red or white?”
“What are you ordering for dinner?” she asked.
“You say they’re good with fish?”
“It’s hard to go wrong with the catch of the day.”
He flipped to the white wine page and turned the list toward her. “What looks good to you?”
“I don’t know anything about wines.”
“Frederick did the wine ordering?” Deacon guessed.
“We weren’t that big into them. We pretty much went with what was on sale.”
That didn’t sound even remotely right to Deacon. She was obviously downplaying her lifestyle. The question was why?
The waiter appeared, along with an assistant who filled their water glasses.
“My name is Henri, and I’ll be serving you tonight, along with Alex and Patricia,” he said, gesturing to the woman beside him. “Can I start you off with a cocktail or an appetizer?”
Deacon looked to Callie. “A cocktail?”
“Wine is fine for me.”
Deacon looked down at the wine list and pointed to the most expensive white on the page.
“The Minz Valley Grand Cru,” Henri confirmed. “We receive excellent feedback on that one.”
He placed their napkins in their laps before withdrawing.
; The wind picked up, flickering the flame in the glass hurricane lamp and billowing the tablecloth.
Callie brushed her hair from her face, but it blew right back again. “Will it totally ruin my look if I pull my hair back?”
“Nothing could ruin your look.”
“Good answer.”
She fumbled with her purse, producing a clip that she set on the table. Then she worked against the wind to pull her hair to the back of her head.
“Do you need some help?” he asked.
“Can you hand it to me?” She nodded to the tortoise shell clip.
He handed it over, and she snapped it into her hair.
“That’s better,” she said.
“We can go inside,” he offered.
“No, I like the breeze. I just don’t like my hair blowing into my mouth while I’m trying to eat.”
“Understandable.”
Henri arrived with the wine, along with Patricia, who set up an ice bucket in a stand next to the table.
Henri showed Deacon the label. It was pretty dark, and Deacon couldn’t really read it. But he decided to trust the waiter wasn’t substituting an inferior bottle.
At Deacon’s nod, Henri opened it with a flourish, pouring a small amount into Deacon’s glass. Deacon offered the taste to Callie, but she waved him off. So he did the honors. It tasted fine to him.
“Good,” he said to Henri, who seemed inordinately pleased that the wine hadn’t gone off.
Henri poured some for Callie, then filled Deacon’s glass.
As Henri and Patricia left the table, Deacon raised his glass.
“To a beautiful woman, on a beautiful night.” As he finished the toast, the wind suddenly gusted, and a splatter of rain hit the deck’s roof.
Callie glanced above them at the worsening weather. “I’m not quite sure how to take the comparison.”
“To a beautiful woman, on a not-so-beautiful night?” he tried.
“That works.” She touched her glass to his, and they both drank.
“Oh, that’s good.” She kept her glass aloft, gazing at the wine inside.
His second taste was more impressive too. He had to admit, it was a very fine-tasting wine.
“Nice choice,” she said.
“Thank you.” He pretended there’d been some level of knowledge behind it.
Henri appeared again. “Excuse me, ma’am.”
Callie tipped her head to look at him. “Yes?”
“The gentleman over there.” Henri pointed. “Would like to buy your wine tonight.”
Annoyance flared in Deacon. He looked past the waiter to the table Henri had indicated.
It was the Mayor. Hank Watkins was going to buy Callie a drink? Deacon didn’t think so.
He set his napkin on the table, rising from his chair.
“The wine stays on my bill,” he told the waiter as he passed.
Then he crossed the patio to Hank and his party of four businessmen.
“Deacon Holt, isn’t it?” Hank asked heartily as he arrived.
“I know you consider yourself a bigshot around here,” Deacon said to Hank, keeping his voice low, ignoring everyone else at the table. “But where I come from, you don’t buy a woman a drink when she’s with another man.”
Hank squared his shoulders, setting his beefy hands on the tablecloth. “I’m only being neighborly, sir.”
Deacon leaned slightly forward, keeping his gaze locked on Hank’s. “And I’m being neighborly by telling you plain. Back off.”
“Touchy?”
“You don’t know the half of it.”
Henri arrived, looking concerned. “Mayor? Mr. Holt?”
“It’s fine, Henri,” Hank said. “Mr. Holt was just leaving.”
“So long as we’re clear,” Deacon said, hardening his gaze.
“I believe you’ve been perfectly clear.” Hank gave a practiced smile to the rest of his party. “Mr. Holt prefers to take care of his own bill.”
“Indeed, he does,” Deacon said. He straightened and turned away.
Back at the table, Callie looked puzzled. “Is everything okay?”
“It is now.” He sat down and repositioned his napkin.
“Why did Hank want to pay for the wine?”
“It was a power play. It had nothing to do with the wine.”
She looked confused.
“He wanted to impress you by proving he’s rich.”
Now she looked amused. “By paying for a bottle of wine?” She lifted her glass. “Exactly how much did this cost?”
“Seven-hundred dollars.”
Her expression fell. The glass slipped from her fingers, bouncing on the table.
She gasped, while Deacon reached for the glass, saving it before it could roll into her lap.
She stared at the widening, wet circle in horror. “I just spilled a hundred dollars’ worth of wine.”
“Good thing it was white.”
“Deacon. What were you thinking?”
“About what?” He used his napkin to blot the spill.
“Spending so much money?”
“I thought it would be good. And it was good. It is good. Don’t worry about the price.”
“How can I not worry about the price?”
“I can afford it,” he said. “I can easily afford it.”
It was true. Just because he didn’t choose to spend his money on luxury items, didn’t mean he couldn’t afford to buy them.
Alex and Patricia bustled over to the table.
“We can move you to a new table,” Alex said.
“It’s fine,” Callie said.
“If you’re sure,” Alex said.
Patricia blotted the spill, replaced Callie’s wineglass and produced a new napkin for Deacon.
In the blink of an eye, the table was almost back to normal.
Henri joined the trope. “Is there anything I can do to help?”
Callie started to giggle.
Henri raised his brow, looking concerned.
“We’re really not batting a thousand on this, are we?” she said to Deacon.
He felt himself relax. He could see the humor in the situation, and he chuckled along with her. “But we do keep getting up to bat.”
“You have to admire that about us.”
Henri looked from one to the other. He didn’t seem to know what to say.
“I think Mrs. Clarkson might like some more wine,” Deacon said.
“Indeed, she would.” Callie held up her glass.
“Of course,” Henri quickly answered, gesturing to the bottle.
Patricia retrieved it from the ice bucket, dried it and poured.
“I can take your order whenever you’re ready,” Henri said, seeming to recover his poise.
“Give us a few minutes,” Deacon said.
As Henri withdrew, Deacon raised his glass again. “To...?”
There was a spark of mischief in her eyes as she put her glass to his. “To a slightly crazy man, on a slightly crazy night.”
“I’ll drink to that.”
* * *
“You have to tell me about last night.” Hannah sidled up to Callie at the front counter.
It was the late-morning lull, and Callie was refilling the coffee-bean dispensers.
“I had a good time,” Callie said, feeling a warm surge of emotion at the memories: laughing over dinner, then walking along the river path, Deacon’s jacket draped around her shoulders against the cold.
“You gotta give me more than that.” There was a thread of laughter in Hannah’s voice. “I like the way your eyes are shining. So, did you...”
Callie glanced up from her work and immediately understood Hannah’s meaning. “No, we didn’t.”
“
Too bad. Why not?”
“It didn’t seem... I don’t know. It wasn’t what I expected. He wasn’t what I expected.”
Deacon had called her a cab. His good-night kiss was passionate and wonderful, and it lasted a very long time. But he hadn’t suggested anything more.
Hannah’s enthusiasm dimmed. “Oh. Not so good, then?”
“Not not good. More...” Callie searched for the words. “Intriguing, maybe. It’s like he’s got this polished thing going on at the surface, but you break through and he’s super down to earth. He’s got a good sense of humor. He seems smart.”
Hannah cocked her head. “I’m not hearing any good reason to hold back.”
“I’m not holding back. I wasn’t holding back.” Callie hadn’t made any overt sexual moves, but she hadn’t been standoffish either.
“He’s holding back? That seems odd. I mean, for a guy.”
The bell on the door tinkled, and Hannah looked in that direction.
“Oh, heads up,” she said.
Callie looked, her chest contracting with the expectation of seeing Deacon. It had only been twelve hours, but she was more than ready to see him again.
But it was Hank who walked in.
“I got this,” Hannah said, stepping up to the counter.
Disappointed, Callie went back to scooping varieties of coffee beans into the glass cylinder dispensers.
“Hello, Hank,” Hannah said behind her.
“Good morning, Hannah.”
“What can I get for you today?”
“A cappuccino and one of those chocolate-dipped shortbreads.”
“You got it.” Hannah rang up the order.
“And, Hannah?”
“Yes?” There was an expectant lilt in her voice.
“Can you ask Callie if she has a moment to talk?”
Hannah paused for a second. “Sure.”
You had to be looking for it, but Callie caught the disappointment in Hannah’s response. Hannah was such a fun, compassionate and beautiful woman, and Hank had never been married. Callie didn’t understand why he couldn’t seem to see the potential for the two of them.
Hannah turned. “Callie?”
Callie pretended she hadn’t been paying any attention to the conversation. She glanced over her shoulder. “Yes?”
The Illegitimate Billionaire (Whiskey Bay Brides Book 4; Billionaire & Babies) Page 6