“Did you want wine?” he asked.
Calla narrowed her eyes. “The last time I drank with you, I wound up naked and married.”
Jared laughed. “I promise only to get you naked this time.”
Warm ripples worked up her spine and filled her stomach at the promise. “Only one glass.”
He put his hand up in surrender. “If you say so.”
Their waiter arrived and Jared ordered a bottle of wine. They were left with their menus and that night’s specials before the man left.
“So your dad still makes you speak French when you go over?” she wondered while perusing the leather bound book.
There were no prices marked and she had a feeling nothing listed would be cheap. Also, everything was written in French.
“Yup,” he replied. “He says it’s my heritage and I should respect it, which I do, of course, but man it sucked when I was a kid and had friends over.”
Calla chuckled. “I remember. Everything on here looks so good. I just wish I knew what half of them were.”
“Do you trust me?”
She looked up over the menu. “What?”
He closed his and set it aside. Then stretched out a hand for hers. She passed it over and watched as he set hers on top of his.
“I think I know what you’ll like.”
“It better not be snails,” she warned. “Or frog legs.”
Jared snickered, which did nothing to help ease her apprehension. “Trust me.”
“Said the lion before he ate the lamb,” she grumbled to herself.
His eyes sparked. “That comes later.”
The place between her thighs gave a twang of longing and she barely managed to stifle her moan at the promise.
Instead, she replied, “Well, someone’s awfully sure of themselves.”
His chuckle was low, husky, and sexy as all fuck. “The only thing I’m sure of is that I want you out of that dress and under me.”
Their waiter took that moment to appear with Jared’s wine request and a basket of breadsticks. He promptly produced the label for Jared’s approval before filling their glasses. Calla had never been so happy to get alcohol. The warmth of it buzzed straight through her as she downed her first glass. Not saying a word, the waiter promptly refilled it, stuffed the bottle into a bucket of ice and turned to ask if they were ready to order.
Jared, taking his sweet damn time, peeled his hot, stripping gaze away from her to answer the man in French. But it returned to her the moment he was finished and Calla all but combusted in her seat.
“Stop looking at me like that!” she finally snapped.
“Like what?”
“Like you’re fucking me in your head.”
His grin was slow and devastatingly gorgeous. “Maybe that’s because I am fucking you in my head and you’re loving it.”
Despite the heavy sexual tension thickening the air, Calla laughed. She shook her head.
“You’re incorrigible.” She nipped a breadstick and nibbled pensively on it. “How did Ms. McPherson’s awning go?”
“Fine,” he answered. “I told her I’d come by Wednesday and help with her door.”
Calla frowned. “What’s wrong with her door?”
“The hinges squeak.” He took a breadstick as well. “Just needs a spray of WD40. Won’t take me long. I would have done it today, but the awning needed new brackets and took longer than I expected.”
Their chatter continued at a steady pace. There were no awkward silences as Calla had originally feared. They seemed to have plenty to talk, or laugh, about. It was almost a shock when their waiter returned and asked if they wanted dessert.
Jared checked his watched. “We might have to rain check that movie,” he said with a laugh. “It’s after one.”
“What?” Calla checked her own watch. “Oh my God! We’ve been here for almost three hours?”
She glanced down at the table in front of her where her food had been what seemed like only moments ago. It was empty now and she couldn’t even remember having finished her platter of Confit de Canard, which she recalled Jared telling her was preserved duck.
“How long is this place open until?” she wondered.
“One,” the waiter told her.
Yet the restaurant hadn’t dimmed in noise, which was a relief; she would have felt horrible if they were the only ones keeping the kitchen open.
“Would you like dessert?” Jared asked.
Calla shook her head, not only because she was full, but because she was a little afraid of how much that place was costing Jared.
“I’m good.”
The waiter placed the check down discreetly at Jared’s elbow, cleared away their empty wine glasses and hurried away.
“Let me at least pay for half,” Calla offered, reaching for her purse.
Jared’s head came up, his eyes narrowed in genuine offense. “Uh, no!”
“I don’t mind!” she protested.
Still eyeing her, he slipped his credit card into the leather sleeve and closed it without even glancing at the bill. Then he rose and moved around to her side. She was pulled out of her chair and into his arms.
“Jared…”
He silenced her with a kiss. It didn’t feel like a very long kiss, but when he finally released her, the check was gone and his card was sitting on the table on a silver tray with two mints. Their waiter stood a discreet distance away holding their coats.
“I can’t believe we were in there for so long,” she said as they made their way out of the restaurant towards the car.
Jared reached for her car door and yanked it open. “Tired?”
She took a moment to assess how she felt before shaking her head. “No, actually.”
“Good,” was all he said as he helped her into the cabin.
He took them to a coffee shop tucked away in a quaint little section of town where the buildings were older and the roads were cobblestone. Had it not been for the streetlamps, Calla would have felt like they’d transported backwards in time to Paris in the thirteen hundreds. Most of the shops were modernized, but still held the aura of coziness. There were art studios, coffee shops, and elegantly displayed boutiques.
At the glass door, Jared held it open for her and ushered her into the warm space scented with the scent of rich, freshly brewed coffee, wood polish, and cinnamon. The ambiance was dim, illuminated solely by the roaring hearth against one far corner and the occasional halo of light spilling out of nicks in the ceiling. A plush, red sofa sat facing the hearth. There were other armchairs, settees, and an assortment of bean bags, benches and chairs circling different types of coffee tables. Against the back, a long, curved bar gleamed beneath the four dangling lights. A woman stood behind it wiping ceramic mugs.
“We’re closing in five minutes,” she stated without glancing up. “But we open again at six tomorrow.”
Calla stiffened and started to edge back, only to be drawn short by Jared’s arm around her middle.
“Oh I’m sure the boss won’t mind,” he said.
The woman’s head jerked up. She shook the silky brown strands of hair out of her face and squinted across the room.
“Jared?”
Jared grinned. “Busy night, Hayley?”
Laughing, Hayley set the mug down and hurried around the counter. Her boots clacked loudly in the silence before she was right in front of Jared, with her long, dark arms wound tight around his neck and her mouth fused enthusiastically over his.
Jared nudged her back, looking sheepish. “I brought someone,” he told the woman, who seemed dazed and bemused in Calla’s opinion. “Hayley, this is my wife, Calla.”
Hayley blinked enormous brown eyes, but rather than even glance in Calla’s direction, she stared at Jared.
“Wife?”
Jared nodded. “We got married yesterday.”
That finally got her to notice Calla. She wasn’t even subtle about her surveying. One finely penciled brow lifted against a beautiful fa
ce gifted with a pair of generous lips, stunning brown eyes fanned with thick, dark lashes and cheekbones Calla would kill for.
“You could have just phoned,” she said at last, looking at Calla, but talking to Jared. “You didn’t have to bring her all the way down here.”
“I don’t need to call,” Jared replied in a tone that suggested he was not appreciating Hayley’s attitude. “I own the place.”
Calla’s stunned confusion was put on hold by Hayley’s response.
“Half,” she muttered, turning on soft, brown boots and marching back to the counter. “I just finished cleaning the machines so I hope you weren’t thinking of ordering anything.”
Rather than answer, Jared led Calla to the sofa and motioned her down on the cushion.
“Tea or coffee?”
It took her a moment to pull her jaw up off the ground before she could answer, “Coffee. Please.”
Jared got the drinks himself, ignoring Hayley’s death glare and grumbling about making a mess. It must have hit his patience, because he told her to leave, which she did with a stream of unprofessional cuss words.
“You own this place?” Calla asked the moment Jared returned with their drinks.
“Yes and no,” he said evenly. “I co-own it with a buddy of mine. He does all the actual work and calls me when something needs to be fixed. So, if we’re honest, I don’t really have any hand in the place.”
“But you own this place,” she repeated slower, taking the dark brew he offered her.
Jared chuckled. “Half.”
“Why did I never know about this?” she cried, setting her cup down on the low, glass coffee table.
Jared did the same and used his hand to rub the back of his neck. “Well, probably because I haven’t told anyone, not even Damon. Like I said, I have no real dealings here. I’m more of a … on call repairman. Occasionally, I’ll come in and see how things are, but I couldn’t tell you a damn thing about the paperwork, or what brand of coffee we use.”
“Then why open a coffee shop?” she wondered.
He had the decency to grimace. “When Lucas came to me with the idea, I thought why not? I love working at your uncle’s company, but I know I’m not going to be doing that forever. Eventually, I’m hoping to do something else. I might work here, get Lucas to show me the ropes, or just keep things the way they are. I’m in no hurry. The place makes good money and I could easily live off it, I just choose not to.”
Calla could only simply stare at him.
“It’s really not that big of a deal,” he said. “I’m still the same person I was fifteen minutes ago.”
“But you own a business,” she blurted finally. “And you never said a thing about it.” Something began tightening in her chest. “This is what I was talking about last night. We don’t know a damn thing about each other.”
His hand settled over hers when she started to get to her feet.
“And that is why we’re here,” he replied. “It’s our first date, Calla, and I’m clearly not hiding anything, or I wouldn’t have brought you here. I’m being honest with you.”
She couldn’t argue with that. How could she? Yet it didn’t settle the nervous, anxious knot in her stomach.
“Ask me something.”
“What?”
“Ask me something,” he repeated. “Anything you want.”
Instead, her gaze roamed over the cream colored walls, the smooth, marble floors dressed in plush area rugs and the promised comfort just at first glance. And it was ridiculous, the coiling sensation of unease and fear and yet she couldn’t shake it. Maybe it was because it was no effort at all for him to simply share pieces of himself with her and she wasn’t sure she could ever do the same.
“Hey.” His warm fingers closed around her chin and she was forced to confront him. “Does it really bother you so much?”
Truthfully, him owning, or half owning, his own business didn’t bother her in the slightest. She thought it was wonderful, but it was the sudden rush to be honest with the man she swore to love and cherish that was killing her. Granted, his confession wasn’t nearly as devastating as hers.
“No,” she whispered, getting to her feet.
She moved around the coffee table towards the leaping flames. Despite her coat, she couldn’t stave off the shivers making her tremble from head to toe.
“I’m twenty-one years old.” She heard rather than saw him get off the sofa. “I never planned on being a mover for the rest of my life, Calla. I have plans and dreams, as lame as that might sound. Owning a coffee shop might not fall into those plans, but I put a lot of work into building this place and that’s what I love doing. I love building things and fixing things. I mean, I went to school for three years to get my diploma in construction engineering technology because that was my dream.”
“I know.” She turned to face him, letting the fire warm her back. “I think it’s great that you have this place and it’s beautiful.”
Flames painted over his face, hollowing out his cheeks and the indents of his temples. His eyes appeared almost white in the flickering light.
“Then what?”
She started to turn away, but his hand caught her arm and she found herself melded into his chest with her head tipped back and her eyes locked with his.
“What?” he demanded.
“I was with someone,” she blurted before her brain and her mouth could conference the wisdom of her decision. “He was with someone else our entire relationship.” Her arms curled around her own midsection, like that could somehow ward away the chill that had begun seeping through her clothes. “I left him when I found out, but—”
Enough! Her brain slammed down on the rest. The sheer force of it resonated through her like the vibrations of a struck gong. Everything else, all the things still left unsaid stayed trapped behind the titanium wall. It was all her consciousness would allow her to tell him.
But maybe it was enough. Did he really need to know the rest? At least their relationship … their marriage wouldn’t start based on an entire lie.
“I would never do that to you.”
Calla blinked. She had almost forgotten he was still there.
She nodded. “I know.” And she meant it.
What she’d had with Richard hadn’t disillusioned her to the world. If anything, it had opened her eyes. She wasn’t jaded enough to think every man in the world was a cheater, or that they would do what he’d done. She still wanted to be loved. More than that, she needed to move on, to tuck the past away in the deepest recesses of her mind and forget. That was why she’d agreed to give her and Jared a chance, why she hadn’t fought harder to break their marriage. It might not have happened the way she wanted, but he made her feel safe and inexplicably whole. After being broken and alone for so long, she was selfish enough not to want to let it go.
Tender hands rested lovingly on her waist and she was folded into the warmth and security of his chest.
“Come home with me,” he murmured into the top of her head. “I want to hold you.”
Calla felt her lips twitch against the collar of his coat. “I don’t want to just be held.”
Chapter Ten ~ Jared
“Stop swaying!” Damon hissed through his teeth. Beads of sweat trickled down his temples despite the bandana and cut down the sides of his face. His blue eyes stayed narrowed as he adjusted his grip on the solid oak hutch. “Tilt your left in five.”
They’d taped the glass doors shut, but they continued to rattle ominously as Jared tightened his fingers around the base and counted five steps backwards. The fucking thing weighed about a million pounds. It was incredible how something that seemed flimsy could threaten to crush his spine.
At five, he tilted his hold and they eased out the door and onto the front porch of the house. His boots thumped on the wood paneling.
“Three,” Damon told him.
Having worked at the Company for a little over three years, he and Damon had developed their own move
r’s code. It never took more words than was necessary and the other was so in tuned with the other that it was fluid.
In exactly three steps, the back of Jared’s heel caught the sharp rivulets cut into the moving truck ramp.
“Shift,” he grunted.
Damon set his jaw, but stopped moving just long enough for Jared to better adjust his grip. Then they were off again, climbing into the back of the truck. They set the hutch down and bundled it up in blankets to keep it from getting dented, scratched or broken.
“Shit!” Damon breathed as they ambled their way out, both panting.
“Right?”
Damon blew out a breath and swiped his forearm over his brow. “That was the last of it for the downstairs. Another twenty minutes and we’ll get the whole place into the truck.”
Jared nodded. “Break?”
“Fuck yes!”
Damon didn’t even pause. He dropped down on the porch swing. Jared joined him.
It was just the two of them on the job that day and they were completely alone. The owners were waiting at their new house for the truck to arrive and Jared was already exhausted, granted, not all of his aches were from moving furniture. Most of it was from Calla’s insatiable hunger in bed, and while he would cut his hands off before ever admitting it, she was wearing him out, which was marginally also his fault. He could never say no. Hell, he didn’t want to. He would happily stay in bed with her for the rest of their lives if it were possible. Just fuck, sleep, shower, eat, and fuck again on an endless loop. But every morning he watched her climb out of his bed, shower, and leave for work.
On his days off, he went to see her at lunch. But most days, he swung by on his way after work and picked her up for dinner. Then they’d go back to his place and spend the whole night wrecking his sheets. It was by far the best routine of his life.
“Beers after work?” Damon asked.
Jared checked his watch, calculating the time between them finishing and Calla getting off work.
“Yeah.”
Be My Baby Page 14