Suddenly aware that Callie still hadn’t said anything, he looked back at her. For once, her smile had faded, and her eyes were distant. “Callie?”
She brought her gaze back to him and cleared her throat. “My mother and I have a… complicated relationship.”
“In what way?”
“She’s a Crown Prosecutor in the Wellington Crown Solicitors. She’s very highly regarded, and extremely good at what she does. She’s a strong woman—the strongest I know. Competent, courageous, determined. She’s a great role model for young women.”
“But…”
“But I think her ambition caused her marriage to fail, and I don’t know that I’ll ever forgive her for that.”
Gene sipped his drink. Obviously, Phoebe had never told her the truth about why their marriage had ended. Well, it wasn’t his place to tell her. Even so, he hated having all these secrets from her. “That’s a shame,” he said, the most noncommittal comment he could think of.
“I think I’m a disappointment to her,” Callie added.
He softened inside. It was true that Phoebe had put Callie down a little when describing her. Why was it that parents had such power over the rest of one’s life? “I can’t imagine that’s the case,” he said, knowing nevertheless that she probably spoke the truth.
Callie sighed. “When I was young, she gave me frequent speeches about aiming high and how I could achieve anything I put my mind to. She expected me to follow in her footsteps. Maybe not be a lawyer, exactly, but she assumed I’d run the police force or invent a cure for cancer, or something. Running a lingerie business wasn’t quite what she had in mind.”
“She’s told you that?”
Callie tipped her head from side to side. “Not in so many words, but she’s very good at being disapproving without actually saying anything. She thinks I’m decadent and self-indulgent. She thinks we should all aim to improve the lives of our fellow men and women, and any career that focuses on beauty or clothes or the arts is pointless.” She turned her wine glass around in her fingers. “What do you think?”
“Does it matter?”
“I wouldn’t ask if it didn’t. You don’t like to share your opinions, and that interests me.”
He scratched an eyebrow. “Some would call that being nosey.”
“Don’t evade the question. Do you think what I do is pointless?”
“Designing and selling beautiful undergarments so women can make themselves look gorgeous when they take off their clothes? Yeah. That’s a real of waste of time.”
“Be serious,” she scolded.
“I am. That’s my name, isn’t it?”
“I suppose so.”
He wanted to make her feel better, to lift the shadow of sadness that had fallen over her eyes. “My opinion—as you seem so keen to know it—is that everyone is given a gift, and life is about discovering that gift and using it the best way you can. Not everyone is made to be a top surgeon or to run the country. Life can be harsh and cruel, and it’s the arts—paintings, music, beautiful things—that make it worthwhile. I can’t paint to save my life, but I certainly wouldn’t have told Monet that he should have gotten himself a job as a lawyer.”
“When you put it like that…”
“You and Rowan and Neve and Bridget make and sell garments that make women feel better about themselves. It’s a very rewarding career, in my mind.”
She smiled at him. “That’s a lovely thing to say, even if you don’t mean it.”
“I don’t say things I don’t mean, Callie. Life isn’t all about momentous decisions and world-scale events. It’s the little things that make it special. A smile from someone when you’re having a bad day. Treating yourself to an ice-cold lager or a bar of chocolate. Sharing a meal with a beautiful woman. Those are the things that make it all worthwhile.”
She raised her glass to her lips and sipped from it, her lashes downcast. To his surprise, a touch of color appeared in her cheeks. He’d made her blush. Aw.
“Tell me about your parents,” she said before raising her gaze to his.
He’d wondered whether she’d tell him about the death threats she and Phoebe had received, but she obviously didn’t feel able to confide in him yet.
He sighed and leaned back in his chair. “Much the same as you, I’m afraid to say. My father hated me going into the Army. He thought I should have been a writer. I think he wanted me to be Ernest Hemingway. Freddie’s his favorite.”
“Because he’s an accountant! That’s so dull.”
“It’s respectable, and he makes a great deal of money.”
She blew a raspberry. “Boring.”
He chuckled. “You don’t like that word, do you?”
“I don’t. What about your mother?”
The question whipped the rug out from under him. His smile faded. “She died when I was eleven.”
“You still miss her.” It was a statement, not a question.
“Yes.”
“Were you close?”
“I don’t know. No more than any other eleven-year-old boy and his mum, I guess. She was… in my corner, I suppose. She often stood up for me and defended me when my father picked on me, and I’ve missed that as I’ve grown up.” He blinked, only realizing how true the words were when they’d fallen out of his mouth. He leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table, closing the distance between them. “I don’t know what it is about you that makes me say things I wouldn’t normally say to people.”
“I have that kind of face.” She sipped her wine, her gaze remaining fixed to his. “You called me beautiful.”
“Are you fishing for compliments? You are beautiful, you must know that.”
She leaned forward too, and suddenly they were only a foot apart. He could smell her perfume, and the sweet wine she’d drunk. She had long eyelashes, and now he could see she’d applied a sparkly eyeshadow that was probably what was making her eyes look so blue tonight. “You really think so?”
His gaze slipped to her mouth, resting on the soft pink velvet of her lips. Every cell in his body urged him to lean forward and touch his lips to hers. “I really think so,” he whispered. “Now behave, or I’ll do something I’ll regret.”
Chapter Eleven
Callie had difficulty concentrating during the meal on anything other than Gene’s mouth and her desire to kiss him. Maybe it was the wine, although two glasses wasn’t usually enough to make her throw herself at the first guy who was nice to her. His compliment had warmed her to him, but again, just the fact that he’d been nice wasn’t enough to turn her lust dial up to eleven.
It didn’t help when he slid off his jacket, asked her to help him remove his cufflinks, then proceeded to roll up his shirt sleeves, exposing his forearms to the elbow. She felt like a Victorian gentleman who’d seen a lady’s ankle. His arms were tanned and sinewy, and he looked as if he lifted weights on a regular basis. Everything about this guy was hard, from his eyes to the set of his jaw to his masculine body.
He’d be hard down below, too, she knew it—she’d unzip his trousers and his erection would spring into her hand, stiff as a lamppost. When she stroked it, the velvety layer of skin would glide over the concrete shaft. She could almost imagine the way he’d close his eyes and tip back his head as she massaged him, until he shuddered and groaned as he came…
Callie blinked. Gene was sliding a forkful of salmon and oyster into his mouth, but his lips were curving up, and he smiled now as he chewed. The muscles of his throat constricted as he swallowed. “Penny for them,” he said.
“Sorry.” Callie fished out the last scallop from her meal. “Far too lewd to relay.”
He laughed and shook his head. “You say exactly what’s on your mind, don’t you?”
“Don’t see much point in being coy.” She chewed the scallop. “We’re both single, aren’t we? Where’s the harm in a little lighthearted flirting?”
“Why are you single?” He wiped his mouth on his serviette and sat back.
“I know you broke up with Jamie, but that doesn’t explain why some other man hasn’t snapped you up.”
She shrugged. “Actually, offers haven’t come flooding in. I think it’s about signals—when a person’s actively looking for a date, he or she transmits some kind of vibe that announces they’re free. I don’t think I’m ready to put out that vibe yet. Apart from to you, obviously.”
“Callie… you are an outrageous flirt.”
“I know. I’m sorry. It’s fun. And you’re… safe.”
He raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”
“I know it can’t come to anything. I’m just teasing, that’s all.”
“You realize that if it was the other way around, you’d probably be accusing me of sexual harassment?”
Her smile fell. She hadn’t thought of it like that, but he was right, of course. An office manager who made constant sexual suggestions to his PA would be rapped on the knuckles in no time. Her face filled with heat. “Oh, of course. I thought it was funny—I hadn’t considered that it might make you uncomfortable.”
Immediately, concern filled his features. “It doesn’t. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you feel bad. I’m flattered. It was just a passing comment.”
“Even so…” Now she felt embarrassed and angry with herself. Equality was a two-way street. She couldn’t take offence at a man making unwelcome lewd suggestions to her when she was doing exactly the same to him! No wonder men got so confused nowadays. “I apologize.”
“Callie…” His expression softened. “Don’t get me wrong. I don’t want you to think I’m not interested, because I am, very much so. But until I stop working for you, I can’t do anything about it. I just can’t. It wouldn’t feel right.”
He really liked her. Tears pricked Callie’s eyes and she sucked her bottom lip. “You have principles,” she said. “I like that.”
“I like to think I’m a gentleman, if nothing else. I hope you understand.”
“I do,” she said softly.
They studied each other for a moment. His eyes were clear and honest.
“So,” she whispered, “the day when Becky comes back and you stop working for me…”
“I’ll be knocking on your door asking for a date the day that happens.”
“Seriously?”
“Seriously.”
Three months. She could wait that long, surely?
“You want me to stop flirting?” she asked playfully.
His lips curved up. “Not necessarily. As long as we understand each other.”
She nodded. “I think so.”
“Okay, then.” He accepted the menu from the waiter who’d come up to clear their plates. “I reckon it’s dessert time.”
They both chose a Belgian chocolate pot and ate it slowly, dipping the biscotti into the velvety chocolate cream, and Callie knew she’d forever associate the taste of dark chocolate with that moment—the sun falling across the table and turning Gene’s hair from brown to golden, the jazz music playing in the background, the smell of the sea drifting in through the windows, and the look in his eyes that said what his lips couldn’t yet—that he liked her, and that he wanted to get to know her better. The air held the promise of something beautiful, like the russet-and-orange sky outside, promising it would be a gorgeous day tomorrow.
They talked about this and that while they ate, about music, books, movies, and whatever else came into their heads. Then, eventually, it was time to go.
As they walked through the restaurant, Callie felt the touch of Gene’s hand in the center of her back. Ostensibly, it was to guide her through the busy tables, she was sure, but it felt like a brand, as if he was telling her, telling the men seated around them, that they had to keep their hands off. It should have annoyed her. How long had she known him, four, five days? And all he’d said was that in three months’ time he might ask her out on a date.
But as they passed the mirrors behind the bar, Callie saw that she was smiling.
They walked up the stairs to the first floor—it wasn’t really far enough to take the elevator—and along the corridor to their rooms. There they stopped and turned to face each other.
“I’m glad most of your appointments went well today,” he said.
“Yes, the day ended better than it began.” She smiled up at him. Gosh, he was tall, probably because she wore flat sandals. His jacket hung over his arm and he still looked crisp and fresh in his white shirt. If she leaned close, she’d be able to smell his aftershave. Instinctively, she knew he was a man who showered often, and who cared about his appearance, without staring into the mirror every five minutes to check his hair.
“You’re very yummy,” she said.
He gave a short laugh. “Thank you, I think.”
“Oh, it’s definitely a compliment.”
“I see. This is what I’m to expect over the next few months, is it?”
“Yes. As long as it won’t be misconstrued as sexual harassment.”
His gaze caressed her face. “I promise it won’t.”
“Good.” She held her breath. He stood only a few inches away from her, and the look in his eyes had turned sultry, as if he was thinking about kissing her. God, she wanted him to kiss her. She didn’t care that he worked for her, she didn’t care about anything at that moment but the yearning to feel his lips on hers. They’d be firm, and warm, and his tongue would slip between her lips into her mouth, and she’d lean against him, and her whole body would ache with desire.
“Goodnight, Callie,” he said, his voice husky but filled with humor.
“’Night.” She swallowed hard and backed away to her door.
“Sleep well.” He let himself in, and his door closed.
Callie went into her room and sat on the bed. It was only seven thirty, far too early to go to bed yet. She’d only been joking when she’d mentioned going to a nightclub, although she did enjoy dancing, but she wished they could have gone for a walk. She’d go later, she decided, once the sun had started to set and it was a little cooler.
So she typed up the notes from her meetings, studied a little from the portfolio she’d prepared for the businesses in Oamaru, Timaru, and then Christchurch, and watched some TV.
At around eight, her mobile rang. She picked it up and groaned when she saw her mother’s name on the screen. It was tempting to switch it off and pretend she hadn’t heard it, but she sighed, swiped the screen, and answered it.
“Hello?”
“Callie? It’s your mother.”
“Hi, Mum.”
“Where are you, darling?”
“In a hotel in Dunedin.”
“Oh, of course, you’re doing that tour. How’s it going?”
Callie sat back against the pillows and stretched out her legs. “Good. I had a couple of successful meetings. Three shops have agreed to stock the Four Seasons brand.”
“That’s wonderful, darling, well done.”
Callie tried not to sigh. At least she’s trying, she thought. It was difficult not to hear insincerity in her mother’s voice, though.
“How about you?” she asked Phoebe. “How are things going?”
“Busy,” Phoebe said. “I’m still at work.”
“Jeez, Mum. Aren’t you supposed to start easing off when you get higher up the ladder?”
“Doesn’t seem to work that way.”
“How’s… everything else?”
Phoebe cleared her throat. “That’s just it. I’ve had another threat.”
Callie looked out of the window. The color was fading from the sea and the street lights were flicking on, casting yellow circles onto the pavement. Two seagulls squabbled over a bag of chips left on a bench. “Oh?”
“Yes. He wrote down everything I did today, times I went out, places I’d been. It appears he—or someone—is watching me.”
Callie shivered. “Oh, that’s awful.”
“He seems very determined to scare us, darling.”
“Well, we’re
not going to let him, are we?” Callie spoke with determination.
“No… But he mentioned you again. We have to assume he’s serious.”
“I think he’s serious about wanting to frighten us. I still can’t believe he’s really bothered about causing me harm. What’s the point in that? I had nothing to do with the case.” It was an old argument, and Callie had to fight not to throw the phone across the room.
“Okay.” For once, Phoebe didn’t argue back. Maybe she was as tired of it all as her daughter was. “I just wanted you to know. Be careful, won’t you?”
“Of course. You too.”
“How’s your new PA doing?”
“Fine,” Callie said. “He’s very efficient. He’s getting me organized.” And hot under the collar.
“That’s good. I’m glad he’s there to keep an eye on you.”
Callie rolled her eyes. “I have to go now.”
“All right, darling. See you soon. Take care.”
They said goodbye, and Callie hung up.
She stood and walked over to the window and looked down at the ocean, which had turned a rusty color in the setting sun. For most of Callie’s childhood, Phoebe’s career had dominated Callie’s every waking moment. She’d walked in her mother’s shadow while Phoebe gained accolade after accolade for her work, blazing a trail through the southern hemisphere like some kind of superhero as she put away criminals, gangsters, and villains, condemning them all to years behind bars without a second thought.
It wasn’t that Callie thought the people her mother had sent to prison were innocent, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that the arrogance with which she’d done it meant that somehow her pigeons were coming home not only to roost but to move in and set up camp. Phoebe saw herself as an avenging angel, as some kind of symbol of goodness, and yet all Callie could remember of her youth was being unhappy—first being dragged from post to post across the world when she was young, and then after her parents divorced, sitting alone outside courtrooms, or alone at home, waiting for her mother to grant her some snippet of her precious time. And it had come so rarely. Phoebe had treated her daughter like a nuisance, like a dog she had to go home to feed.
[4 Seasons 01] Seducing Summer Page 9