A woman walked by with a playful black Lab puppy on a leash. She glanced at Eva, who was standing in the middle of the street looking up, and asked if she needed help.
“Uh, no,” she said, lowering her head and walking toward the door. There was nothing to do but ring the bell and get the evening over with. Now that the moment was here—now that the waiting was over—she was nervous and confused and not quite sure she wanted to follow through with the date. She knew Cole had been sincere the night before. As he’d stood in her living room apologizing in that business tone of his, she’d believed every word he said. And she knew he believed it, too, but that didn’t help her as she contemplated the quixotic nature of emotions. He probably did want her more than any woman he’d met in his life, but that was just because he hadn’t had her yet. Once they followed through on the attraction, what would be left?
Regret, she thought cynically as she pressed the buzzer. Lots and lots of regret.
Cole let her in without bothering to ask who was there. She took a deep steadying breath, told herself she was a fool and climbed up the two flights of stairs. The door to his apartment was open and she strolled in after a perfunctory knock to announce her presence.
“Come in, I’m in the kitchen,” he said, calling from another room.
Eva stood on the threshold for a moment, taking everything in—the sleek modern couches, the colorful paintings, the warm touches dotted throughout the room. There wasn’t a black shiny vase or a walnut end table in sight.
She closed the door and followed the scent of roasting lamb to the kitchen. The room was large and airy, with giant windows that overlooked a terrace. Lemon trees were growing in a corner.
“Hey,” he said, smiling when he saw her, “it’s about time you got here.”
“Hmm?” she asked as she walked over to the windows to get a better look at his terrace.
“You were staring up at the apartment building for almost five minutes. I thought you were going to turn tail and run.” He walked to where she stood against the back wall and gave her a kiss on the cheek. “I’m glad you didn’t.”
“I was judging you,” she explained as her heart flipped over. His lips were soft and appealing on her cheek.
“Judging me?” he asked silently amused. He walked over to the counter and poured a glass of red wine before offering it to her.
“Judging you on your dark-wood slat blinds.” She accepted the wine and took a sip. It had a nice subtle flavor.
“How’d I do?”
“Defied expectation.”
Cole smiled. “That sounds promising.”
Eva thought about that for a moment. It did indeed sound promising. “So, what’s for dinner besides fabulous-smelling lamb?” she asked to change the topic. Promising was good, of course, but it was also disconcerting.
He poured himself wine and considered her carefully over the glass. “Recognized the scent, did you?”
“I had lamb at least once a month when I was a little girl. I’d go over to my grandparents’ house every Sunday for dinner,” she explained, recalling the chaotic family dinners with kids running around the dining table and tramping up and down the stairs to the warning call of ready or not, here I come. “My cousins would be there, too, and it was always loud and raucous.”
A timer somewhere in the room buzzed, and Cole put down his drink, opened the fridge and took out a tinfoil-covered oven dish. “Are you an only child?”
“Yes,” she said with a grim expression.
He slid the dish into the oven and reset the timer. “Didn’t like it?”
Eva shrugged. “It was never loud and raucous in my house,” she said simply. “What about you? Did you like it?” Everyone knew that the Hammond heir was an only child. All the write-ups in print and online mentioned his uncontested claim to power.
“It worked for me,” he explained. “I was a demanding little monster and enjoyed being the apple of my parents’ eye. I don’t know how well I would have handled sibling rivalry. I guess it’s better I never had to find out.”
“When I was five, my mom got pregnant but had a miscarriage. It’s one of those memories I have but don’t have, if you know what I mean,” she said, wondering how he possibly could. She was speaking nonsense.
But Cole nodded. “When I was four, I guess in some sort of day camp, I overheard my counselors talking about how they were going to have a shaving cream fight after class, and I started crying because I didn’t want to get sprayed with shaving cream. I can picture the moment in my head and yet I’m not sure it happened. Sometimes it seems more like a reflection of someone else’s thought than my own.”
“Yes, yes,” she said, her voice full of wonder, “that’s exactly what it’s like.”
“Which is to say, I know exactly what you mean. In addition to the lamb, we’re having beet and walnut salad, roasted new potatoes and sautéed asparagus.”
“Sounds wonderful.”
“Dinner will be followed by a wonderful goat cheese I picked up from the shop around the corner. It’s called Montegro and it’s made by an eighty-five-year-old Spaniard. He’s the only person in the world who makes Montegro, so when he’s gone, it’s gone,” Cole said. “And then, if you’re still hungry, I have a humble apple pie for dessert. I prepared everything myself except dessert, so feel free at any time to express your admiration.”
Eva laughed. “I’m actually very impressed. I assumed your housekeeper would prepare dinner. Do you cook often?”
He shook his head. “Don’t have the time. And the truth is, I rarely eat at home.”
“Right, of course not,” she said, suddenly embarrassed by the naiveté of the question. Imagine—a man of Cole’s rank and position throwing together a meal from whatever was in the cabinets! Yeah, and maybe then he ate it on a tray in front of the television.
How idiotic!
Cole stopped tossing the salad. He put down the utensils and walked over to where she stood against the back wall. “Don’t do that.”
Despite being large and airy, his kitchen suddenly felt small and stifling. His presence was that imposing. “Don’t do what?” she asked, looking everywhere but at him.
He put a finger under her chin and raised her eyes to his. “Frown. Your smile is too beautiful to be hidden behind cross eyebrows.”
Eva’s heart jumped at his words. He was smooth. Too smooth. “You’re good with a line,” she said, wishing she could take a step back, but she couldn’t. There was nowhere to go.
Cole saw the trapped look in her eyes but ignored it. He didn’t know what was going on here—these emotions were as new and confusing for him as they were for her—but he was willing to find out. He was a man who knew that the important things never came easily. “Yes,” he conceded softly, “but this isn’t a line.” His voice was a mere whisper on her cheek before he kissed her.
Eva knew it was coming—he hadn’t tried to hide his intentions—and yet she still wasn’t prepared. His lips on hers were warm and soft and inviting. She stopped trying to sink into the wall and leaned into his embrace. Some things were inevitable, she thought, as his hands pressed against her back.
Although he’d meant to have only a brief taste of her before dinner—an appetizer of sorts—the kiss quickly got out of control. Cole was an experienced man of thirty-five. He knew how to control himself. At least, he thought he did. But suddenly he felt his determination slipping away. The hours he had spent cooking—the many hours he spent buying food and peeling potatoes and scrubbing arugula—in hopes of impressing her faded from view. Instead he felt himself plunging deeper into a sensual abyss.
Cole was running his hand under her cotton T-shirt when a buzzer sounded. It was loud and persistent and demanded attention. He dropped his arms and stepped away from her. Eva looked down. She seemed determined to avoid his gaze. Cole let her have her way. Instead of saying anything, he walked over to the counter, turned off the alarm and took a baking sheet out of the oven. The walnuts were don
e. The salad was ready. There was no reason for dinner not to begin.
Except his shaking hands, he thought, as he took the tinfoil off the toasted walnuts.
Although Cole still wanted to tear the clothing off Eva and take her against the back wall of his kitchen, he was glad for the interruption. He had lost control. If that buzzer hadn’t sounded, he would have continued the heady plunge into the Eva abyss. And who knew how much farther he would have gone? There was no telling where it would stop—or if it would stop.
This wasn’t the way he wanted to do it. What he said last night was true: He was willing to take this nice and slow and see what developed. He certainly didn’t want to frighten Eva off with a quick tumble on hard ceramic tiles.
He took a long moment and struggled to regain his self-control. It wasn’t easy with Eva staring at him with hot, confused eyes. He kissed her lightly on the lips and reached for the bread bowl that was sitting on the kitchen table. “Here,” he said with a winning smile, “why don’t you put this on the table? Everything is ready to go. I just have to finish tossing the salad.”
Although Eva was surprised by his swift change in demeanor, she wasn’t put off by it. She could tell by the strain around his lips that it had cost him dearly to rein in his desire. She’d come to his apartment not knowing what to expect, and she found his determination to keep his word to take things slowly both endearing and exciting. Cole was unlike any man she’d ever met, and suddenly she relished the prospect of knowing him better.
Taking the bread and wineglass, she went into the other room. Cole’s apartment was large and spacious, and he had an actual dining room—not just a room where people sometimes dined. Eva’s “dining room” was also her living room and home office.
She was standing by the bookshelves perusing his reading choices—in some respects, they had very similar tastes—when he came in with the salad. He put it down on the table and pulled out a chair for her.
“You have an eclectic library,” she said, walking over to the table.
Cole smiled and waited until she sat down before taking a seat himself. As he served salad, he explained that most of the books in his collection had been his father’s. “I prefer ebooks,” he said. “If I do buy a physical copy, I usually pass it along when I’m done reading it, as I haven’t found many that are worth holding on to. My father, on the other hand, was an inveterate collector. And it wasn’t just about the money or appreciation of value for him. He would collect anything. When Mother and I were cleaning out his closet, we found his stash of matchbooks. He must have had at least three thousand of them squirreled away in shoe boxes.”
Eva nodded and asked more questions about his father. It was obvious that Cole liked talking about him—the two must have had a very close relationship. The evening passed quickly and painlessly. Cole was the consummate entertainer, and he knew exactly how to put Eva at ease. He made her laugh with stories about his childhood—he turned getting stuck in a barn during a hurricane into a wild adventure. And he asked thoughtful questions, soliciting her opinion on a number of topics, from recent movies she’d seen to her favorite local restaurants.
Before Eva knew it, she was accepting a generous slice of tarte tatin—humble apple pie indeed! “Where is this from?” she asked after taking a bite. “It’s amazing.”
He shook his head. “A little French bakery around the corner. Do you like to cook?”
“I can make a mean poached egg,” she said proudly. “The secret’s in the swirl, you know, making a whirlpool with the simmering water so the egg white wraps around itself. I’m also excellent at omelets and can soft boil an egg to perfection. You’ll note a trend emerging. I like cooking eggs,” she said as she took a bite of the tart. “Wow, this is good. I have a little French bakery around my corner too, but its tarte tatin isn’t nearly as gooey as this.”
“Then you’ll have to spend more time in my neighborhood.”
Eva felt her stomach clench at the implication: He was really saying that she should spend more time with him. “Oh, you are good,” she said, determined not to be taken in. She was here and she would enjoy herself, but she wasn’t going to succumb to the famous Hammond charm. Their relationship would be more honest—and perhaps more fulfilling—than that.
Not quite understanding her, he picked up the coffeepot and poured himself a second cup. “Good?” he asked, his left eyebrow raised questioningly.
“With the lines. You always know the perfect thing to say. But don’t worry, I’m not a swooning teenager anymore.”
Eva seemed so self-possessed he had a hard time believing she was ever a swooning teenager. “They’re not lines,” he said, fighting the annoyance that was rising in his chest. This was the second time tonight that she’d laid that charge at his feet.
Seeing the spark of anger that flashed in his eyes, Eva backed down. There was no reason to pursue it. He obviously wouldn’t agree with her no matter how well she outlined her case. “All right,” she said softly before turning her eyes away from his intent gaze. They settled on a glass sculpture on a side table. “That’s a very beautiful piece. Murano glass?”
Her comment successfully diffused the moment. Cole’s face brightened as he stared at the swirling colors. “Yes, I bought it when I was in Venice earlier this month.”
“Ah, Venice in September,” she said with a hint of longing. “That must have been wonderful.”
He nodded. “Have you ever been?”
“One hot July almost ten years ago when I was backpacking through Europe with a friend. We stayed across the canal at a hostel-convent run by nuns. It was wonderful, of course, but I couldn’t help wanting to stay at the fabulous hotels and eat at the expensive restaurants. Venice made me very covetous indeed.”
“Is that where you discovered your love of art?” he asked, charmed by the image of a younger Eva pressing her nose up against the windows of the Cipriani. He wanted to take her back there, to show her the Venice he knew and loved.
“No, that happened years before. When I was eight my grandmother took me to the Met to see the Temple of Dendur, but we never got there. As soon as we stepped into the main foyer, I saw the European paintings—you know how they’re at the top of the stairs on the second floor?—and that was the end of that. I still have a clear image in my head of Grandma trying to cajole me into leaving with promises of ice cream sundaes at Serendipity,” she recalled fondly. “We must have been wandering around the European painting hall for five hours before she picked me up and carried me out.”
Cole asked more questions about her childhood and Eva happily talked about her upbringing in suburban Ohio. “My mom comes out to visit pretty regularly, at least once a year.”
“And your dad?”
“Not so much. He can’t”—no, she silently corrected, won’t—“take the time off from work.”
“Are they still together?”
“My folks? Yeah, they just celebrated thirty years with a big party at a hotel in Cleveland. I went back for it, which was nice. I hadn’t seen my cousins in a couple of years.”
At some point during the evening, Eva and Cole had moved from the dining table to the couch. Sliding out of her shoes, Eva had curled her legs under her. She felt very comfortable in Cole’s company, which wasn’t something she’d expected. She tried to pinpoint the moment when she’d started to relax but found it impossible and began to worry that some part of her had always been relaxed in his company.
When she happened to glance at her watch, she was surprised to see that it was after eleven. “Yikes,” she said, “I should probably be getting home soon. I’ve got to be in the office early tomorrow.”
“More Hammond business?” he asked, hoping to distract her for a little while longer. He wasn’t ready yet for her to leave.
“Actually, no,” she said, sounding a little surprised by the answer. “I’ve done all I can on the collection and now just have to wait for your mom’s assistant to set up an appointment. I’ve got
some other projects that I’ve fallen behind on such as Josiah Parnell’s chair collection. I never did thank you for your feedback on my proposal. The questions you asked were very helpful.”
Cole bowed his head slightly before looking her in the eye. “My pleasure.”
He was staring at her intensely again and she had to look away. “Having to wait for someone to call makes me anxious. I don’t like being passive, and it’s going to take all my willpower not to ring up your mother’s assistant myself first thing in the morning.”
Cole stood up. He knew Eva was a single-minded woman—he recalled again her standoff with Mrs. Hemingway—and smiled. “All right, let’s put you in a cab, so you can obsess over Cassandra not calling early enough in the privacy of your own home.”
As they walked down the stairs to the street, she thanked him again for dinner. “Everything was wonderful, and I had a really lovely time.”
He opened the door and stepped out onto North Moore. A cab with its light on drove by, and Cole put a hand out to catch it. The car jerked to a stop. “I had a lovely time, too. Thanks for coming.” Cole put his hand on the door but before he opened it he gave her a kiss on the forehead. He would have liked to do much more, but they were on the street and his control was still shaky. Something about Eva made him behave like a teenager on a date with the head cheerleader.
Disconcerted by the sweet gesture, Eva climbed inside the car. “Thank you,” she said again.
He nodded and slammed the door shut amid promises to be in touch. Eva gave the driver her direction and waved good-bye as the car pulled away from the curb. Replaying his parting comment in her head during the short ride home, Eva, who had heard such promises from men all her life—and not just from forgetful workaholics like her father—hoped with all her heart this one really would call.
Winner Takes All Page 14