The One That I Want

by Zuri Day

  “Your appetizers, miss.”

  Cara blinked. Smiled. “Thank you.”

  The waiter placed her salad and soup on the table. “Enjoy.”

  She pushed away the thoughts that hovered stormlike over her head and turned her attention to the meal in front of her when from the corner of her eye she caught a glimpse of a white coat. She turned slightly to her left and her gaze settled on Mitch. He was talking animatedly with a couple three tables away. After leaving them he moved on to the next table and the next, talking briefly and greeting his guests.

  As she watched, her heart warmed. This was no publicity stunt or community relations ploy. Mitch really cared. You could tell from the genuine laughter in his voice, the way he focused on each individual and listened as if they were the most important person in the world even if only for a few moments. The handshakes and light pats on the back were all real. And the way he dealt with his staff as if they were family and not employees showed him to be a man who was invested as much in the success of his business as he was in ensuring the satisfaction of those around him.

  Satisfaction. The perfect adjective for Mitch Davis. He’d proved that to her the other night. Her belly fluttered and the tiny beat between her legs at the thought of Mitch’s quest for satisfaction only intensified when he turned those amazing eyes on her and walked in her direction.

  “How is everything?”

  She glanced up at him. Her heart pounded. “Wonderful as always.”

  He smiled down at her and she realized that his smile truly did reach his eyes. “Glad to hear it. Do you mind if I sit?”

  “No, of course not.”

  He slid into the chair opposite her. “Did you plan to leave right after dinner?”

  The pulse in her throat pumped so hard she struggled to get the words out. “Yes.”

  “I was hoping that you’d stay.”

  There was that word again.

  “We have a local live jazz band tonight. They come on in about an hour. I’d love to hear your opinion.”

  Her brow creased. “Why would my opinion matter one way or the other?”

  Mitch leaned forward just a bit. “Because it does . . . to me. After all, I have to trust your opinions and your instincts if you’re going to change my life . . . lifestyle.”

  Cara felt herself being pulled into the depths of his eyes even as he penetrated hers. When he stared at her like that her will and good sense abandoned her every time.

  “I’ll have to leave right after,” she finally managed.

  “Perfect. I’m leaving early tonight myself. You can tell me your thoughts on our way out.” He rose. “Enjoy your dinner.”

  Why did enjoy your dinner coming from Mitch’s mouth sound like an erotic invitation?

  She finally took a real deep breath when he was out of her line of vision and realized that her body was vibrating like a tuning fork. She shook her head and tried to concentrate on her food.

  Mitch returned to the kitchen to ensure that all of the cooks were on point and that the dishes were being prepared to his high standards. Satisfied, he complimented the staff on doing a fantastic job and thanked everyone for the hard work.

  He then went in search of Brad, whom he found up front dealing with a reservation issue.

  “Looks like we overbooked,” Brad said to Mitch as he scanned the computer screen.

  “Hmm. Work it out and dinner is on the house for them,” Mitch said close to Brad’s ear.

  Brad nodded. “Not a problem. I’ll take care of it.” He hit a few keys on the keyboard. “I see she’s here.” He glanced across his shoulder at Mitch.

  “Yeah, I kind of arranged that.”

  “Ergo my missing table,” he muttered. He chuckled lightly and shook his head. He glanced up at the frustrated couple standing in front of him. “We will have your table ready in about ten minutes. In the meantime please have a seat at the bar, select whatever you want. Your entire evening tonight is on the house, courtesy of Chef Davis.” He lifted his chin toward Mitch.

  “My pleasure and we are very sorry for the confusion. Enjoy your evening.” He clapped Brad on the shoulder and walked off just as the band began to play.

  A few moments later, Brad caught up with Mitch, who was standing on the sidelines listening to the music, but Brad tracked the trajectory of Mitch’s gaze and followed it to Cara’s table.

  Brad blocked his view when he stood in front of him and leaned in close. “You got it bad, man.”

  Mitch chortled. “Be for real.”

  “I am. Admit it. It’s more than just being hot for some woman. You been down that road many a time and I have never, never seen you look at a woman like that.”

  Mitch cut his eyes in Brad’s direction. “Like what?”

  “Like you actually care.” Brad tapped on his chest with his fist. “In here.”

  “Aw, man, come on. It’s not that kind of party.”

  “Yeah, okay. Keep telling yourself that. That sister has hit something and as soon as you admit it, the sooner you can stop lying to yourself and her. I’m telling you, bro, if you don’t come clean and soon . . .”

  Mitch drew in a long breath and folded his arms across his chest. He took a quick look in Cara’s direction. She was gone.

  Chapter 9

  Cara hustled down the sloshy, snow-covered street as best she could to get to her car. She had to leave. There was a part of her that knew if she’d stayed she would have gone home with him or he with her and she wasn’t sure if she was ready for that and what it would all mean. Yet, by the time she reached her loft she wished with everything in her that she had crossed the threshold with Mitch.

  “Stupid.” She hung up her coat and tugged off her boots, growing angrier with herself by the minute. She padded barefoot across the hardwood floor and tugged open the fridge, looking for what she had no idea. The distant ringing of her cell phone drew her attention. She shut the door and crossed the room to where she’d dumped her purse on the couch. She dug out her phone. Stella.

  “Hey, girl.”

  “Well, don’t sound so happy to hear from me.”

  “Sorry.” She plopped down on the couch and dropped her head back. “Just walked in,” she said on a long breath.

  “Oh, this late with a client?”

  “Actually, I was at Downtown 2.”

  “Oh . . . really. How’d that go?”

  “Fine until I had a panic attack and left.”

  “Panic attack?”

  “Well, not in the traditional sense. I guess an attack of nerves and conscience.” She tucked her leg beneath her.

  “What in the world happened?”

  Cara sighed heavily and unraveled that series of events that led her to the restaurant and ultimately home—alone.

  “Damn, girl, I swear you are your own worst enemy. Clearly the man is interested in you. What are you so afraid of?”

  “You know what I’m afraid of, Stella!”

  “Every man is not Jeff.” Her voice hitched. “Every man is not going to steal your heart and break it.”

  Cara squeezed her eyes shut.

  “What happened to Jeff was a tragic accident. He hurt you. He betrayed you, but what happened to him is not your fault.”

  “In my head I know all of that, Stella. I swear I do. But inside is a different story. Sometimes I think if I’d listened or had done things differently or . . . I don’t know.”

  “What were you supposed to do, Cara, sit back and pretend that none of that mess happened, that everything that you believed in was a lie, and that somehow in the scheme of things it was all your fault?”

  “How do you ever reconcile the fact that the man you loved was in love with another man? Do you have any idea what that does to you as a woman?”

  “I can’t fathom that. I don’t pretend to know how you felt and still feel. It’s the ultimate betrayal. That much I do know. And what else I know is that who Jeff was is not a reflection of you. He did love you as much as he co
uld.”

  Tears slid down Cara cheeks. She sniffed and wiped them away with the back of her hand.

  “You deserve to be happy, girl. You deserve to have a man to love you and take care of you.”

  Her phone beeped.

  “Hang on a sec. I have a call.” She looked at the face of the phone. It was Mitch’s cell number. “Stella, it’s him!”

  “Bye. Talk to the man.” Click.

  Cara tasted her lip with the tip of her tongue and pressed answer.

  “Hello?”

  “Hi. You left so suddenly. Is everything all right?”

  She swallowed. “Yes, fine. I told you I would have to leave.”

  “Without saying good-bye?”

  Her heart thumped. “That was rude. I’m sorry for that. But you were busy and I didn’t want to—”

  “I would have stopped whatever I was doing.”

  The way he said it. The way the words dipped down in her center and stroked her. Oh, lawd. Her thoughts rushed around like rush-hour pedestrians. “Are you still at work?”

  “I was just on my way out. Why?”

  Her pulse pounded in her temples. “I . . . should make up for my rudeness. Why not stop by for a nightcap? I have an unopened bottle of wine or coffee if you prefer.”

  “I’ll have what you’re having.”

  Anticipation rippled through her. She felt almost light-headed. “I can take that as a yes.”

  He laughed lightly. “You can.”

  “711 Underwood, just off Park. The last right before you get to the bridge.”

  “I’ll find it. See you in about twenty minutes. I’ll bring dessert.”

  Sweet heaven. “Sounds good.” She swallowed. “See you soon.”

  Cara held the phone against her chest, then leaped up as if it had shocked her. She spun around in a quick circle. He was coming to her home! She snatched up her discarded coat, boots, and purse, and put them all away. Quickly, she tidied up the kitchen, took a bottle of wine from the cabinet, and stuck it in the fridge, then hurried off to the bathroom to freshen up and get out of her work clothes.

  With less than five minutes to spare, the downstairs doorbell rang. She walked over to the intercom. “Yes?”

  “It’s Mitch.”

  “Sixth floor.”

  She clutched her chest, then pressed Door.

  The reconverted factory building that had once been dark and dingy with a freight elevator and a cavernous basement was transformed into one of the trendiest locations in the area. The six-story building was equipped with a sleek elevator complete with Muzak; full gym, day spa, and laundry facilities all on the basement level; a concierge service and a doorman. Two of the six floors were loft spaces. The other three were enormous two- and three-bedroom units. The ground floor was a mini mall complete with a dry cleaner, drugstore, boutique, barbershop, hair salon, and small organic grocery store.

  Cara took a quick look around, dashed over to the fridge, and took out the wine and placed it on the counter just as the front doorbell pinged. She closed her eyes and let her palms float down in front of her body in calming ritual. She opened her eyes. It didn’t help.

  Putting one foot in front of the other, she marched over to the door and opened it. The air rushed out of her lungs. Damnit he was so sexy. She felt light-headed.

  “Hey.” The single word was said soft as a personal prayer.

  “Hey, yourself.” She stepped aside. “Come on in.”

  He moved passed her and the entire vibe of her abode shifted and filled with him—his presence, his maleness, his energy, his scent. Cara shut the door. Mitch took in the extraordinary space while he unbuttoned his three-quarter cashmere coat and placed the box that he’d brought on the coffee table.

  He turned to her, coming out of his coat, and Cara’s mind slipped as she watched him turn something so ordinary into a sensual experience.

  She came toward him. “I’ll take that.”

  He handed her his coat and she inhaled. “Make yourself comfortable.”

  “This place is incredible,” he said, taking in the rafters that ran along the length of the ceiling, the massive tempered windows, and the décor that screamed perfection and class—just like Cara. He could see her touches everywhere, from the arrangement of the magazines on the table to the artwork that hung on the walls, the muted tones and bold mixes of throws and pillows, and little artifacts and knickknacks tucked away in surprising places. There was an air of casualness that belied the work that it must have taken to put this “casual” look together. “How long have you had it?”

  “Just about two years. I purchased it after my first big real-estate sale.”

  He nodded slowly. “This is some gift.”

  She laughed lightly. She picked up the bottle of wine from the counter, brought it into the living space, and set it on the table along with a corkscrew. “I’ll get the glasses while you open the wine.” She returned to the kitchen and took two wineglasses out from the glass-front cabinet in concert with the soft pop of the cork.

  Cara sat down. “What’s for dessert?” It was loaded a question.

  The corner of his mouth rose into a grin. “Cheesecake.”

  Her eyes fluttered closed. “My guilty pleasure.”

  He poured the wine for them both and raised his glass to her. “To guilty pleasures. May we all have them.”

  She giggled and touched her glass to his.

  “There’s a hint of the south in your voice.”

  She lowered her head for a moment. “Atlanta.”

  “When did you move to New York?”

  “About ten years ago.”

  “Alone?”

  Her chest tightened. “No, with my husband.”

  His brows arched. “Didn’t know you were married.”

  “I’m not anymore.” She paused. “He . . . died.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s okay. It’s been a while now. It’ll be five years Christmas Eve.” She looked away.

  “I didn’t mean to pry.”

  She shook her head, then looked at him. “Ever been married?”

  “Nope, never found the right woman I guess.” He sipped his wine and studied her pensive expression. “One day maybe if the right woman comes along.”

  Her heart thumped. She sipped her wine. “What kind of woman are you looking for?” she dared to ask.

  He shrugged his right shoulder slightly. “Someone caring, who has a life outside of mine, and can put up with my insane hours for starters.”

  “That’s not a long list.”

  “No, I guess it isn’t.” His gaze held her until she finally glanced away. “Do you think you’ll ever settle down again?”

  She lowered her head. “I don’t know. Sometimes I think it’s what I want . . .”

  “And other times?”

  “Other times I’m not so sure.” Jeff’s betrayal had wounded her in ways that she still struggled to come to grips with. “Hey, Stella said the editing of the film is done and it really looks good,” she said, shifting the subject away from the direction the conversation was taking. “It’s going to run Thanksgiving weekend.”

  “Excellent. I’ll let the folks at the restaurant know.”

  “The listing for your house is up by the way. I should start getting some interest very soon. I have it listed at 1.5 million.”

  He should tell her the truth, but he held back yet again. He wasn’t ready for the recriminations that were sure to come if he told her the truth. He was in too deep now, and he wasn’t ready to let go of the tenuous thread that held them together.

  “More than what I paid for it. The sale will definitely put me on track for the new spot.”

  “Have you looked at locations in Philly?”

  “A few.” He needed to change the subject. “Did you have a professional design your space?”

  She laughed. “Yeah, me. I actually have a degree in interior design. Never got a chance to use it, except here.” She glanced aroun
d.

  “Really? Well, that explains it.”

  She turned her head in his direction. “Explains what?”

  “This place is totally you.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Soft but defined. Warm, inviting. Eclectic. It showcases things about you from the art to the furnishings, the placement.” He stared at her. “A hidden treasure.”

  Her cheeks heated. “Thank you.”

  “You have real talent. It’s a shame that you don’t get to use it more often.”

  Jeff never really encouraged her pursuits. He merely looked at it as something to keep her busy—apparently while he pursued his own passions.

  “Maybe you should think about incorporating your design skills into your business.”

  Her neck jerked back. “Seriously?”

  “I’m very serious.”

  She pursed her lips in thought. “Hmm. How do you see that happening?”

  “Well.” He leaned back against the plush softness of the couch. “Offer it as part of your services when you have a property for sale. I can’t imagine that every property you come across is sale ready.”

  She chuckled. “You’re right about that. Having the right look certainly entices buyers,” she said, running the idea through her head. She was a big fan of all of the design shows, and they always talked about “staging” the property. She simply never thought of incorporating it into what she did. “I like it!”

  “That’s what I like to see.”

  “What?”

  “That smile.” His eyes sparkled from the lamplight. He reached out and tenderly ran the tip of his finger along the curve of her bottom lip. His voice was a raw whisper. “You should do it much more often.”

  Her body tingled from his touch, then ignited from the heated look in his eyes. She held her breath as he moved closer.