The Sweetest Taboo
Page 21
He shifted in the chair and leaned forward, bracing both forearms on his side of her desk. “I don’t get it, Erin. Isn’t this what you wanted?”
She raised a questioning brow. “Which part? Yes, I wanted the party to succeed. I can’t stand the idea of blowing all that effort. Or all that money.”
She might as well have added the “but” because Sebastian heard it loud and clear.
“And the second year of business? After the amazing first year you just celebrated?”
Again she paused, taking a long moment to reflect before asking, “Was it really that amazing?”
Was she looking for validation? Surely she recognized the height of her success.
“Your granddad would’ve loved what you’ve done.”
“You think so?” she asked, a tiny quirk lifting one corner of her mouth. She pushed up from her chair, crossed to the corner file cabinet above which hung an eightby-ten photo of Rory behind the bar of the original Devon Paddington’s.
She stared at the framed snapshot, then turned to lean against the file cabinet, her hands behind her and the scarves of her costume floating like ethereal ghosts in the air.
“I’m not so sure I agree.”
“Why wouldn’t he?” he asked, then quickly changed his approach. “Don’t forget. I’ve lived here awhile. I’ve watched what you’ve done from the beginning.”
She was too far away. Sebastian rose, walked to the end of her desk and propped a hip on the corner. “In one year you’ve turned this place from beer hall to a slick urban bar.”
She gave a delicate little snort, stared down at the toes of her clear glass-looking shoes. “And now I’m bringing in authors. Next thing I’ll be having poetry readings and performance art and who the hell knows what else.”
“And what’s wrong with that?”
She rolled her eyes, dropped her head back against the wooden drawers. “Only that Rory is probably turning over in his grave.”
Amazing. Totally frigging amazing. “You know, Erin. You’ve just had a kick-ass party. The crowd was capacity all night. Yes, I know. A lot of them came when they heard about the signing.”
Erin huffed. “A lot? Try seventy-five percent.”
“That’s bullshit and you know it. They came for me, but they stayed for you. Because of what you’ve accomplished here with what your granddad left you.” He crossed his arms over his chest so he wouldn’t choke her into admitting the error of her ways. “And you can’t even enjoy your own success because you’re worried what Rory might think.”
The fire returned to her eyes; her chin came up higher, her shoulders straighter than before. “Rory gave up everything, Sebastian. Everything. He came here to take care of me when I was eleven years old. He never had a life of his own except for this place. So, yeah. Forgive me if I’m a little bit concerned that I’m not taking care of it the way he’d want.”
How could this same woman who’d been unbelievably intuitive in her dealings with him not be equally perceptive about the man who’d raised her? “Your granddad loved being his own boss. The independence made him incredibly happy. Here or in Devon, it didn’t matter. And you know that, the same way you know he’d want the same for you.”
For the first time since he’d known her, tears shimmered in her eyes. Her lower lip quivered and her entire presence grew vulnerable and small. He couldn’t stand the distance between them any longer.
He went to her, pulled her into his arms, pressed her cheek to his chest, his chin to the top of her head and inhaled the fragrance of her hair that reminded him of green fields and sunshine.
He was so far gone he wondered how he’d survive walking away. “Be true to yourself. That’s the best way to honor his memory.”
“What if being true to myself means dumping the bar?”
“The only way you can disappoint anyone is by not doing what’s right for you. Even if it means selling the bar.” Her hands slipped around his waist, making it harder to ready himself to back away. “We all have to do what’s right for us. That’s the only thing that matters in the end.”
For a moment it seemed like she’d forgotten to breathe and then she stiffened and asked, “And what’s right for you?”
You can do this. You can let her down easy. Yeah, he could let her go and drop his heart in the trash can on his way out the door. “A book I’ve wanted to write for a while. It’s different, not my usual Slater stuff. First I had to convince my agent I wasn’t going to crash his gravy train. Then I had to work out a schedule with my demon contracts.”
He gave a small shrug before stepping away. “Basically, the time had to be right.”
Erin threaded fingers through her hair, pushing it out of her face. She stepped around him and moved to the far side of her visitor’s chair, as if needing both the barrier and the distance. “So, now the time is right?”
He nodded, and he followed, even though he knew what he had to say would be best said with the cushion of space she’d given him instead of from where her subtle scent enticed him. “I haven’t been this excited about a project in a very long time.”
He wanted to add more, to tell her this last month spent in her company had renewed his creative energy. He wanted to explain how he’d fed off her enthusiasm for her party, off her drive to save a business she considered more burden than blessing.
He wanted her to know that with her, in her, he’d found the part of himself missing since he left to fend for himself at eleven years of age. And that he’d finally learned his soul had never been stronger than since finding its mate.
But those weren’t the things to say when the truth was he didn’t know any other way to live than on his own.
“That means you’re leaving, doesn’t it?”
“I’ll still live above you.”
“But you’re leaving. You won’t be around.”
He nodded because she’d put into words the number one truth he couldn’t bring himself to admit. “No. I won’t.”
And then he went to her, took her face in his hands, cradling her gently as he lowered his head and brushed his lips to hers. She was so incredibly sweet when she trembled. And she tasted like so many good things he hadn’t yet had time to explore.
He moved his hands into her hair and pulled her lower lip between his until she closed her eyes and shuddered, her hands moving to his back where she pulled his T-shirt free from his jeans and caressed the skin beneath.
She held him tenderly, telling him with tiny flicks of her tongue to his of her feelings. Of the wonder of what they’d found together. Of the regret bound in the impossibilities of their lives. He hated that he’d caused her to suffer and soothed what he could of her sorrow by ending the kiss to hold her close.
She sighed into his T-shirt, the warmth of her breath heating the fabric damp from her tears. When he finally set her away, he found it difficult to speak, difficult to swallow. So he squeezed her hand once, his fingers trailing over hers as he let her go and headed for the door.
ERIN DOUBTED THERE would be another Halloween night in history to rival the gore of this one. She couldn’t think about Sebastian or Paddington’s or anything right now. Right now, all she had the will to do was climb into her car and go home.
First she had to close up the office so she could close up the bar and the kitchen. She was definitely going to have to pay Cali double-time for taking care of things the last half hour. Yet, before Erin could make the short walk to shut down her computer, another e-mail arrived.
From:
Tess
Norton
Sent:
Saturday
To: Erin Thatcher; Samantha Tyler
Subject: Re: The Secrets That Men Keep
Ryder EFFING Falco? You have got to be kidding. Oh, my God, you know how much I love his books. I’ve read every one. Some twice! Holy shit, girl!
Actually that expletive was more about that, uh, little bomb you dropped. Love?
Did I read this correctly
? LOVE as in LOVE?
My, my. Not exactly the goal of the Men To Do project, but then, who cares?
You’re in love. What you didn’t mention is if he is in love back. How could he not be, but still. Men are a strange species, and I’ve found it’s best if I don’t try to anthropomorphize them.
Well, one thing was certain, thought Erin, shutting down her computer. Sebastian did not love her in return. He liked her well enough. He lusted after her without a doubt. His investment had to be more than physical or he would never have revealed his identity. But love? Ha! Love was not part of his emotional capacity.
Or, if it was, he refused himself the pleasure, burying his head in make-believe worlds where life was simply black and white. She wanted to hate him for it, but all she could think of was that little toy truck.
A knock on the door brought Erin’s head around expecting Cali. But it was Robin, one of the other servers to work the party tonight. “Where’s Cali?”
“Said she was feeling like crap. I told her to beat it and I’d finish up. Which I have, so…” She pulled off the tail of her cat-woman costume. “I’m heading out. The caterer will be back Monday afternoon with a truck to pick up the fountain and rocks.”
“Thanks for handling the cleanup.” Robin, Laurie, Cali and Will had all gone above and beyond the call of duty. “I think the fact that we actually pulled this off wiped me out. I hadn’t realized how exhausted I was.”
“You deserved the downtime. You just missed a hell of a party. Oh, there’s a guy out here who’s been waiting to talk to you. We told him you were busy but he insisted,”
Robin said, adding air apostrophes around the last word.
“I need to come out and lock up anyway.” Erin crossed the room, cut off the light and locked the office door. She hoped her visitor was made of strong stuff because she had a swift kick ready for anyone with a penis. “I’ll show him out, if you’ll hang around for a minute?”
“Not a problem.” Cat tail now draped around her neck, Robin grabbed her purse from beneath the bar. “He’s at the front door. I’ll leave that way.”
“Thanks, Robin. And for all your help tonight, too.”
“Sure. I’ll wait here till you’re done.” She slid into the nearest booth while Erin headed toward the front door.
Her visitor leaned one shoulder on the brick wall and wore nothing remotely resembling a Halloween costume—unless his costume was the epitome of dressed for success.
His hair was fashionably short, grayed at the temples. He wore a long black wool coat over a pair of designer pants and Italian loafers worth more than her black and white cookie bill.
Intriguing, she thought, and approached. “May I help you?”
“Ms. Thatcher?” he asked and she nodded. “My name is Nolan Ford.”
Erin took his offered hand and shook. A firm businesslike shake. “What can I do for you Mr. Ford?”
“I wonder if you’ve ever considered selling this place because I’d like very much to talk to you about buying it.”
THANK GOODNESS FOR twenty-four hour Kinko’s, Cali thought, ruining yet another page of the screenplay. She’d had the sense to make five sets at the copy center earlier, anticipating that she’d never get the changes reversed the first time out.
Having the disk would’ve made this whole groveling process easier. But her disk was in Will’s laptop where she’d left it after making the initial revisions based on Sebastian’s suggestions. She didn’t have a computer of her own, using Will’s or renting time at Kinko’s.
Since she’d saved her edits over the original file without making a backup, it was six in one hand, a half dozen in the other whether she did this on the screen or by hand. She supposed Will might have a printed copy of the original since he was so emotionally attached to the beast. But knowing his version would never pass a credibility test, she’d tossed all the copies she’d had.
Yes, she’d learned her lesson. Always make a backup file. She’d learned another lesson as well. Men sucked. She wadded the paper and tossed the crumpled ball across the room. No, that wasn’t exactly the truth. Not all men sucked and men didn’t suck all of the time. But right now neither scenario fit her mood.
Especially since she was rapidly compromising her own self-respect. She was giving in because she didn’t want to lose the one man who meant more to her than any single man before. Her rationalization that this was only a project for a grade and not any sort of life-altering decision didn’t do much to keep the situation from rubbing against her personal grain.
She was getting close to hating herself as much as she hated Will. Hating Will made perfect sense, after all, since she loved him so desperately. And this last week of working together and taking classes together hadn’t gone particularly smoothly since they hadn’t said a single civil word.
A knock on the door of her efficiency apartment sent her pencil scrabbling off the end of the page. Finally. Erin and the damn bottle of wine she’d promised to drop by with when she’d phoned earlier this afternoon. Cali tossed her paperwork to the love seat and hopped up to get the door.
Only it wasn’t Erin. It was Will, looking like his Sunday off hadn’t been very relaxing either. He hadn’t shaved and his glasses didn’t do much to hide the circles under his eyes. She supposed she didn’t look much better. She was wearing ragged denim shorts and the stubble on her legs matched that on his face. She’d been sleeping alone this last week. Shaving had hardly seemed to matter.
Oh, well. She was human. If she hadn’t been she wouldn’t be tearing her heart out over what she had done and what she was now doing with the screenplay. She would’ve cared less about Will’s feelings and more about the grade. Cared more as well about getting him to admit he was wrong. Suddenly, that didn’t seem to matter.
Wearing a distressed leather bomber jacket and gray athletic T-shirt, he leaned against the doorjamb, shoulders shrugged up against the cold, hands stuffed in the pockets of his baggy black cords. “Hi.”
It was all he said. Cali gave a little wave, an even smaller smile.
Will inclined his head. “Do you mind if I come in?”
She pulled the door farther open and ushered him inside. She still didn’t trust her voice. She pushed the door closed and turned the lock out of habit—not because she planned to never let him go.
And then she remembered the screenplay. The pages tossed willy-nilly over the love seat. She remembered at the same time Will spied her work.
“What’re you doing?” His gaze cut sharply back to hers.
She crossed her arms over her chest. Her faded pink sweatshirt hiked up to expose her middle. “Trying to fix a big mistake.”
He dropped into the seat probably still warm from her body and picked up the pages, shuffling them into order, flipping through them one at a time. Cali could only cringe at her very raw, very rough, way too often sarcastically noted corrections.
And then there was that note on the fourth page…
Her face flamed and she jumped forward to snatch the pages from his hands. Too late, of course, because he held them high, reached out and pulled her into his lap.
She tumbled there like the biggest buffoon. Her heart on her sleeve wasn’t even an issue. Not when it was right there in a sketch of Cupid shooting his arrow and a treecarving caption that read C.T. + W.C. 4-EVER.
“Don’t be so grabby,” he said. “I want to see what you’ve done.”
“I haven’t done much,” she said, hoping to dissuade him from looking beyond the first page or two. “I was trying to remember as much as I could of your original version.”
“My original version, huh?” Will settled back to get comfortable, spreading his knees and shifting Cali into the corner of the love seat and on
to one thigh, her legs draped across his lap.
He had one arm around her back so that she rested in the curve of his shoulder. His other hand was busy flipping through the pages. She wasn’t sure whether she dreaded more his discovery of her leg stubble or her childish scrawl.
He got to the fourth page and stopped, glancing the length of the page before canting his head around to look her in the eye. “What happened to this being a joint project?”
“I think it’s obvious that we’ve jointly gone about as far as we can go. We might share the same idea for the end, but we’ll never agree on the means to get us there.” She looked at him, and it was all she could do not to lean forward and nuzzle his cheek.