He bit, chewed. Both eyebrows went up. “Hmm. Nice. Thanks.”
Nice? She wasn’t after nice, she was after wow. But maybe he was shy about being effusive, or thought it wasn’t manly. Tom had barely ever let a compliment pass his lips, as if he were afraid strengthening someone else would weaken him.
“Glad you like it.”
“I work at Slatewood International.”
Angela’s ears perked up, even as she hated herself for letting Tom’s words get to her. Slatewood was a huge manufacturing conglomerate headquartered in Seattle. She’d tried, admittedly lamely, to get noticed at some of the larger local companies but without luck. Maybe having an employee to get her in the door would help. Landing a corporate account would be a coup even Tom couldn’t sneer at. “Really. Slatewood. Doing what?”
“Security specialist. Trying to keep one step ahead of scammers, hackers, phishers and so on.”
“That’s a big job.”
He shrugged modestly. “I enjoy it. Kind of a good vs. evil battle.”
“And you get to be the superhero. One of these?” She passed him one of her most popular cookies, based on the lowly oatmeal raisin, changed by supplementing the cinnamon with allspice and cardamom, and substituting dried currants and cranberries for raisins. Pretty basic, but good.
Another bite. More chewing. His jaw slowed. His eyes closed in bliss. “Oh, my God, that’s amazing.”
“Oh. Thank you.” Angela plunked her hands on her hips, forcing herself to look pleased. So he wasn’t afraid to compliment. Apparently for some tastes the baklava recipe wouldn’t fly as is. She’d need to do more fiddling. “Would you like to take some home?”
“Absolutely.”
“Just for you or is there someone…living with you?”
“I have a roommate.”
A roommate. “How many do you think he—” deliberate pause “—or she can eat?”
“He can eat a lot.”
He. She hid a grin as she packed a dozen cookies, freshly baked, into a box. “That’ll last an hour or two. Those are on the house, by the way. You can always come back for more.”
He took the box. “Thank you, Angela.”
“You’re welcome.” They stood there for way too long, both holding the box, gazing at each other until it got really awkward and embarrassing.
“Um. My oatmeal bread.”
“Right. Yes. Okay.” She didn’t move or look away. He didn’t, either. He was so beautiful… .
Oatmeal. Right. Let go of the cookies, Angela.
She made herself relinquish them, forced her eyes away from his. Headed for the wrong rack. Had to stop and change direction. Picked up a multigrain loaf. Had to put it down. Picked up another. Oatmeal! Her brain had apparently rebooted.
She slid the fragrant fine-grained loaf into a paper bag, aware that she was ostensibly handing Daniel his walking papers. If she were going to suggest they get together again, she would have to do it now, and make it clearer than a general invitation to come back for more cookies. Otherwise she was going to stand behind the counter all day, every day, for the next who-knew-how-long hoping he’d come by again, which was pathetic.
Angela slid the bread on top of the box of cookies he was carrying, stood too close and looked up coyly. “Daniel. I was wondering…”
His eyes widened. He took a step back she could only hope was involuntary. Not a confidence builder. Had she only imagined the pull between them?
She let the sentence hang, nerves fraying. If he turned and left now, if he changed the subject, if he took another step back, she’d drop the idea entirely.
He didn’t. He stood, somberly, waiting, apparently, for the ax to come down.
So be it.
“I don’t usually do this. I mean I’ve never done this. It’s not really my habit…I mean you’re a customer and it’s not really right for me to…that is, I was wondering if you’d like to get together sometime. Somewhere. For…something.”
Oh. My. God. The all-time worst invitation that had ever been issued since the dawn of time. Why couldn’t she be cool and collected, say something like, “Hey, wanna catch a movie sometime?” Or, “I hear the bartender at such-and-such makes a mean mojito, care to join me?”
No. She’d asked the most exciting man she’d met in years, if he’d like sometime, somewhere to do something.
Shakespeare, eat your heart out.
“Angela.”
She was annoyed now. At herself, and perversely, illogically, at him. “That’s me.”
“I really can’t.”
Big surprise. “You’re involved with someone.”
“No.”
“Gay?”
He looked appalled. “No.”
“Not interested?”
“Definitely not that.”
Oh, my. Her once-mighty irritation turned tail and ran. That was nice. Really very nice.
“Your mom won’t let you?”
That incredible smile broke free again, accompanied by a deep laugh she could curl up in all night long.
“Nothing like that. The truth is…” He shuffled the bread and cookies, shifted his weight, then back. “The truth is, Angela, I promised someone a long time ago that I wouldn’t date anyone. For a while.”
She blinked. Blinked again. What? “How…long of a while?”
“It’s been a year and a half so far.”
She nearly choked. A year and a half! “And…this is supposed to go on how much longer?”
“Another six months.”
Good God. Two years of celibacy? What kind of person would extract a promise like that? “Is this a possible priesthood thing?”
“No, no, it’s not about religion.”
She simply stared.
Daniel glanced impatiently at the ceiling and sighed. “I guess I better tell you the story.”
“You don’t have to.” Of course he did; she was dying to hear. “It’s not really any of my business.”
But tell it anyway.
“I was engaged. She passed away. And I promised her…” He had the grace to look sheepish. “Okay, it sounds odd now.”
Angela was pleading the Fifth on that one.
“But it was…she asked me not to date until our planned wedding date passed. Which is six months from now.”
Good God. Angela’s first try at dating and she’d managed to stumble over an unbelievably sexy, magnetically masculine, completely dysfunctional weirdo who’d engaged himself to a controlling, selfish horror of a person whose hold on him was even more diabolical than Tom’s on her.
Though he was in one way, at least, the antithesis of Tom, who didn’t let marriage vows even slow him down screwing the first woman he wanted. This guy had honored a vow that denied him a basic human need, a vow the woman he’d made it to wouldn’t even know or be able to care if he broke. Zero repercussions except from his own guilt and damaged sense of honor.
She couldn’t help admiring that quality. On some level this was a noble and romantic sacrifice for the woman he’d loved.
On the other hand…what a colossal waste. And what was this woman thinking when she extracted such a promise? That the sun rose and set on her and he needed to keep it that way even after she was gone? Angela tried to put herself in the same position and couldn’t imagine saying to a man she loved anything but, “Go out there and be happy. Keep living your life as fully as you can. I am not and never should be your entire world.” Maybe she’d be selfish enough to ask him not to forget her, but that was it.
It might not be polite to disrespect dead people, but Angela was pretty sure she wouldn’t have liked this chick. Not as a friend for herself and not as a match for Daniel. White-on-white should not be paired with a chocolate guy.
“Well.” She tried to speak brightly, but disappointment was deeper than she’d expected. “I guess that’s a no, then.”
“I’m sorry.” He had a funny bewildered expression on his face, as if he were finding out he really was sor
ry, and it surprised him. Sorry and embarrassed and maybe a bit wistful.
His expression gave Angela permission to have a really wonderful and slightly devious idea.
She’d need to do this carefully and make sure she wasn’t stepping over sacred boundaries, but what if she used the power of their attraction, which she was sure now she hadn’t imagined, for a good purpose? Something more selfless than satisfying her hunger for touch and physical intimacy, which frankly Daniel had wrenched awake—a greedy, cranky, posthibernation bear of a hunger. Something that would set him free from the unnecessary trap he found himself in, that would strike a blow for men and women everywhere who were unable to break free of ex-lovers, fiancés and spouses. Something that would make Daniel realize that he might owe this woman his past love and fond memories, but that he absolutely did not owe her from-the-grave dictatorship over his actions or his feelings or his body, and especially not over the pursuit of his own happiness, which was a constitutional right.
Something like Angela getting to know him. Becoming friends with him. And when he least expected having his unreasonable and unnecessary sentence commuted…
Seducing him.
5
SETH TOOK A long swig of beer, burped at a healthy volume and set the bottle back on the scratched, wobbly coffee table he and Jack had carried up from the street where someone had abandoned it. “We should do this more often.”
“What, belch?” Angela sent Seth a disapproving look. Boys would, unfailingly, be boys.
“You’re a pig, Seth,” Bonnie said mildly.
“But I’m the best darn pig I can be.” Seth gestured around the room. “I meant how we’re here talking about something other than mortgages and business plans and profit margins.”
“You’re right.” Jack helped himself to a handful of Cheetos Puffs. “This venture turned us into grown-ups too soon. We need to reclaim our inner frat boys.”
“And girls,” Bonnie said.
Seth held up his Elysian Fields Pale Ale in a toast. “I vote we do this once a month at least. For our sanity if nothing else.”
“Hear, hear.” Angela looked up from her busy job coveting Cheetos. Given how many baked goods she needed to sample, she tried to limit her snack intake. “That’s actually an important point, Seth.”
“Actually? Like I don’t usually have important points?”
“Just on top of your head.” Bonnie blew him a kiss.
“I meant that we’ve had some rough times and will probably keep having them.” Angela held up her bottle, too. “Here’s to continuing to keep our sanity. Which in the last year I’m convinced would have been long gone without you guys.”
Jack hoisted his ale. “And then some.”
The four of them were sitting in the living room of the building’s vacant sixth apartment, which they’d agreed to use as a common area. Each of them had donated whatever leftover odds and ends of furniture and kitchen equipment they didn’t need in their own places, and regularly contributed toward keeping the refrigerator and cabinets stocked with wine, beer and snack foods for times when they needed to meet, or, as Seth pointed out they did all too rarely, get together and unwind.
Tonight Bonnie and Seth shared the hideous olive-green couch they’d scored from Seth’s parents’ basement, each sitting rather pointedly, Angela thought, at either end. Jack sprawled in an overstuffed, worn rust-colored easy chair from Bonnie’s grandmother, and Angela perched in the graceful wooden rocker she inherited from Aunt Dorcas, which hadn’t fit anywhere else in her apartment. Demi Anderson, Caroline’s friend, who’d taken over her massage therapy studio, and whom none of them knew well, had donated the black-and-white leather love seat that looked as if it belonged on the set of a futuristic movie. The four of them rarely sat on it. Silly, because it was in perfect condition and comfortable. Somehow they felt as if they were trespassing. Kind of how Demi seemed to feel around them.
“Jack, you haven’t talked about your artsy-fartsy work recently, what’s going on with that?” Bonnie changed position on the sofa to face Jack, which Angela couldn’t help noticing brought her about three inches closer to Seth.
“I haven’t talked about it because I haven’t been doing any.” Jack rolled his eyes, rubbing his hand across his cropped dark hair. He had perfected the art of the sexy scruffy look, and if he wasn’t so funny and charming he could be the kind of guy whose bubble needed serious bursting. Angela couldn’t wait until he met his match in a woman who’d have no trouble doing that when necessary. He and Bonnie had a brief fling before the quintet moved in together, and though it hadn’t worked out, she was just the type of no-nonsense chick Angela thought Jack needed. “I spent the weekend coping with another nightmare wedding.”
“Uh-oh. Bridezilla, part fifty-four?” Seth asked.
“Worse.”
“Groomzilla?” Bonnie guessed.
“Bride’s-parentzilla.” Jack slugged down some beer and shuddered. “Not a single pose or expression was too ordinary for me to capture. It was all I could do to remind them there were other people there, too. Like the groom and his family. Oh, and they made the wedding couple replay the first bite of cake about five times because it wasn’t ‘cute’ enough. Those kids are doomed.”
“Of course they are.” Seth snorted. “They’re getting married.”
“Stop. Now.”
“Aw, c’mon.” Seth gave Bonnie a friendly poke on the shoulder. “I have to say stuff like that. It’s my job.”
Bonnie rolled her green eyes and turned back to Jack. “I thought you had a new project lined up for the Unko Gallery.”
“I have an idea. The owner is interested. I haven’t been able to find the right model, though.”
“What kind of series this time?” Angela was genuinely curious, but pretty sure she wouldn’t care for the answer. No question Jack was a brilliant photographer, but his work always managed to make her uneasy, which she supposed was part of its brilliance. She was just one of those people who preferred that art filled her with joy rather than nameless dread.
“A commentary on the country’s attitudes toward sex. How they sell it on every corner and label anyone who expresses interest as a degenerate.”
Angela wasn’t sure she wanted to know how he intended to depict that.
“What kind of model haven’t you been able to find?”
“Girl-next-door. Totally virginal and innocent.” His eyes came to rest on Bonnie’s faintly freckled skin and auburn hair. “She’ll have to wear a dominatrix outfit in one shot.”
“Ooh, sign me up for that action.” Bonnie winked at him.
“Really? You’d want to try it?” Jack looked her over carefully. “I’m not sure. I could do a test. You’d need to be okay naked in front of a camera.”
“Huh.” Seth jumped up and disappeared into the kitchen. Seconds later, they heard an empty bottle hitting the bottom of the recycling bin with unnecessary force.
Bonnie gazed after him, giggling. “Maybe I should take a pass.”
“I was actually thinking you might like to do a similar shot with flowers. Maybe publicity for Bonnie Blooms? With that pretty face of yours, you’d be a great advertisement for your own store.”
“Oh, you are such a sweetheart.” She smiled adoringly at Jack. Seth emerged with another beer at his lips, trying to hide his scowl. “I’d love that.”
“Want to try some out?”
“I’m all yours.”
“I knew that about you.” Jack sent her his signature smoldering look, a thing of beauty and power.
“You guys need a room?” Seth threw himself back down on the sofa, closer to Bonnie this time.
“Of course not,” Bonnie said. “We can do it anywhere.”
“Say please and I’ll give you space right here.” Seth patted the cushion between him and Bonnie, now partly occupied by each of them.
“By the way, Seth,” Jack said. “Who was that total babe you had up in your room yesterday?”
&nbs
p; Seth glanced at Bonnie, who was trying to pretend her expression hadn’t just fallen about a mile. Angela groaned silently. Those two needed to get over it or get on with it.
“Oh, her.” Seth waved the concept away. “She’s a friend.”
“Really.” Jack winked at him. “How friendly does she get?”
“Speaking of hotties,” Bonnie interrupted. “Angela, tell us about that bike-riding dude who came into your shop today for the second day in a row.”
“The guy she couldn’t take her eyes off of?” Seth’s deliberately effeminate do-tell look, complete with wide eyes and prudishly puckered lips, cracked Angela up when she was trying very hard to glare.
“What makes you think I couldn’t take my eyes off—”
“Bonnie was spying on you. She had high-powered binoculars and a wide range of sophisticated listening devices. Me, I just happened to be there. A totally innocent bystander who—oof.” Seth caught a pillow, which Bonnie had hurled expertly, in the face. Like Angela, Bonnie had four brothers. Bonnie could take care of herself.
“I think we are waiting for Angela to speak now.” Bonnie turned a true schoolmarm look of disapproval on Seth, who winked charmingly, then hurled the pillow right back at her.
Seth had brothers, too.
“Go on, Angela,” Jack said.
“Not much to tell.” Angela felt herself blushing. “His name is Daniel Flynn.”
“And?” Bonnie prompted.
“He works at Slatewood International, writing security code.”
“Ooh, good salary. He gets points for that. And a great ass. And adorable.” Bonnie gestured to Angela. “More, more.”
“He is single.” She found herself hesitating, speaking slowly. She felt as if her hopes around Daniel existed in a safe place in her thoughts, and if she pulled any out to share, she risked exposing them to ruin.
Strange, but true.
“And?” Bonnie was practically bouncing off the cushions. “Did he ask you out?”
“Not exactly.” She took a deep breath, then allowed a small smile. “I asked him.”
“Woo-hoo!” Bonnie jumped up for a high five, her short orange pleated skirt flaring. “You go, girl. When are you going out?”
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