ONE NIGHT
by
Lorhainne Eckhart
A blind date goes deadly on a night she’ll never forget!
A high-stakes suspense and sizzling, red-hot romance!
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Information
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
About the Author
Links to Lorhainne Eckhart’s Booklist
Other Works Available
Sneak Peak to His Promise
Copyright Information
ONE NIGHT
COPYRIGHT © Lorhainne Ekelund, 2015, All Rights Reserved.
No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Cover Design: Steven Novak
Contact Information: [email protected]
ISBN: 9781928085256
Chapter 1
Kate Sikes’s short-lived online dating venture started with a MacBook Pro, a pair of killer heels, and a trip to the salon. How it ended was deadly.
For nearly her entire young adult life—she was now at the ripe old age of twenty-two—Kate had continually dated the wrong guys, losers looking to freeload off her success. She’d remained hopeful even though each guy she fell for lacked ambition. When she met the last guy, Todd, she’d been convinced her luck had changed, as he was an up and coming stockbroker whose one and only fault was that he lived with his mother. However, she soon discovered that Todd had anxiety issues and preferred to consult his mother before making any plans. So Kate, in one of her smarter decisions, had said goodbye.
Kate Sikes was the assistant front desk manager at the Hotel Monaco. She was smart, attractive, a hard worker, and on track for manager. She lacked nothing in her career. She was ambitious, a self-starter, and had the ability to think outside the box—at least according to her last evaluation. Kate decided that whatever kept attracting her to the same passive-aggressive, noncommittal losers was about to change. That big old “S” for “stupid” tattooed to her forehead was going to be erased. She was turning over a new leaf, reevaluating herself, and determined to find a suitable match.
So she signed up for one of the premier dating sites, submitted her credit card information, and completed her profile—all accurate, except for her weight. Although she was curvy, not overweight, she decided it was best to keep that last detail to herself. Then she started shopping through profiles. It was like being in a candy story, looking for a match among all those drop-dead gorgeous guys. She waited for a response from all the matches flooding her inbox, weeding out the ones that sounded too good to be true, and voila. It was like hitting the lottery of man-candy heaven.
But not only did she soon discover this wasn’t as easy as it had sounded in the dating site’s ads, she also found that most men were as noncommittal as the losers she’d been dating—until match number twenty-five: Ryder Connelly, five foot ten, athletic, dark haired, with a smile to die for. He was a dentist who worked out regularly and wanted to meet her. Oh my God! Kate was both excited and a basket of nerves as she finished her shift at the four-star resort. She’d watched the clock all afternoon, knowing she had to be out the door as soon as her shift ended. That left her three hours until she needed to be at the restaurant to meet Ryder and kick off a night of many firsts.
“Taking off for the night, Keith,” she told her boss, tapping the frame of the door to the back office.
A short, compact middle-aged man typing away on the computer glanced up. “Have a good night, Kate,” he said, leaning back in his ergonomic chair. The hinges squeaked. He twirled a pen between his fingers as he glanced up to her. “Listen, did you handle that room service complaint?”
“I did. Comped them a free dinner in the dining room. The wife was happy. I don’t think anything will make the husband happy, though. He was more interested in rehashing how the kitchen put onions on his burger even though he’s deathly allergic to them. The wife did tell me he’s not really allergic to the onions, he just hates them. At least Jerome is the head waiter tonight. He’ll make sure they’re given the best. If not…” She waved her hand and stopped talking as Keith shot her an unreadable glance, the same one he always did when he was about to cut her down for something. She hated when he did that, making her feel inadequate.
“I’ll follow up, make sure it’s handled. Just don’t be too liberal with all the freebies you’re handing out.”
She wanted to roll her eyes. What did Keith expect? He wanted the guests happy but implied that the front desk, at times, should work with nothing. She was about to ask what he would have done to appease the disgruntled couple—who were two of the most frequent reviewers on Trip Advisor—but then decided it was best to drop it before he could question her about something else she’d handled or, worse, suddenly rope her into picking up another shift. Keith was famous for that. So she slipped out the door, telling herself to let it go.
She glanced at her watch as she raced outside onto the concrete sidewalk and next door to the hotel spa, where she’d booked a hair appointment. Theirs was one of the better salons in town, and considering she got a reasonable employee discount, it was a safe bet. She’d considered all afternoon what to do with her hair. She’d added highlights a month ago, but she needed a trim, maybe something different that would frame her round face and bring out her hazel eyes. Her hair was thick, a mousy brown highlighted with blond.
“Hey there, Kate,” Darlene said. “Right on time! Come on back to the sink.”
Darlene, one of the beauty advisors, was the junior hairdresser on staff. She was tall and slim, close to Kate’s age. Because she was a junior, she was half the price but still good—one of the better ones, as far as Kate was concerned. Kate hung up her black blazer on the coat tree in the corner. She smoothed down her staff uniform, a black skirt and white shirt, and followed Darlene to the sink in back.
“Any ideas of what you’d like?” Darlene asked as she scrubbed Kate’s hair with shampoo.
“Well, I need a trim for sure. Trying to look my best for tonight. I have a date.” She couldn’t help the grin pulling at her lips.
“Oh, do tell. Who’s the man?”
“He’s someone I met online. We’ve talked some by email and once on the phone, but tonight’s the night I get to meet him,” she nearly squealed.
“Well, good for you, girl. Let’s see what I can do. Are you looking to go shorter or just clean up the style you already have? I’ve got to tell you, you have great hair.” Darlene wrapped a towel around Kate’s head and led her to a chair, then pumped it up as she dried the ends of her hair with the towel.
“I don’t want to go too short,” Kate said. No, she liked that her hair wasn’t too long, just past her shoulders. Long enough she could pin it up and short enough it was still manageable. It was thick and had body.
Darlene combed her wet hair and seemed to study it for a minute. “Well, I could layer it a bit to giv
e it more body. That will frame your face nicely, bring out those to-die-for cheeks you have. Do you want me to style it for you too? That will cost extra.”
“I planned for it, all the extras, so make me look good,” Kate said.
“You got it. By the time I’m through with you, this guy is going to be drooling across the table.”
True to her word, Darlene had Kate out of there in under an hour, her hair cut, styled, and shaped, looking better than she could have ever done herself. That left her two hours until she had to meet Ryder at 525, the new hot and trendy restaurant everyone was talking about.
Kate hustled the seven blocks to her building in downtown Portland, to her small one-bedroom apartment on the fifth floor. She bathed, careful not to get her hair wet, and then took her time applying her makeup—not too heavy but enough to give her eyes that smoky, sultry look. Satisfied, she pulled on a red sheath with cap sleeves. It hugged her curves and was low enough that it showed her generous C-cup cleavage. She checked her image in the mirror, turning sideways to see if her control-top hose were working.
Damn, if she didn’t look good. Her butt was round and firm, and there was plenty there to hold on to without being too much. She put in a pair of simple gold hoops and slipped on her black stilettos, then stood on a chair in front of the mirror to see if they worked. Damn straight they did, and then some. Fuck-me heels for sure. For a minute, she worried about whether they would send the wrong message. She glanced into her closet, spying her brown wedge heels, which were two inches shorter, manageable, and easier to walk in but did nothing for her legs.
“Stop questioning everything. You look fantastic,” she said to herself as she climbed down and then glanced at the clock to see that it was nearly six thirty. Time to go. One last stop on her MacBook Pro. She checked her email and then looked at Ryder’s photo from his profile page, memorizing the dimples and the killer smile. Damn, he was good looking. Then she grabbed her keys, her black clutch purse, and her black and white coat and hurried out the door. She heard it click shut behind her, already locked. That was handy, but she worried that if she wasn’t careful, she could lock herself out.
Instead of walking the four blocks, which she could easily have done in flats, she hailed a cab and arrived ten minutes early. In front of the busy restaurant, alive with chatter, suits, and all the downtown action, she paid the cabbie and climbed out. The restaurant had a crowded bar on one side and a busy dining room on the other. It was simple, all glass, open concept, with clean lines. The waiters dressed in white and black, serving the best of the best. When Kate pulled open the door and stepped inside, she looked at all the faces filling the waiting area—and then her heel caught on something, and she went down.
She landed on her knees, letting out a squeak. Her palms scraped the carpet, her ass in the air.
“Are you okay?” A man touched her arm, and his grip firmed as he helped her up.
He had a welcome strength, as her legs were shaking and she wasn’t sure she could get up on her own, especially in her godawful heels, which were starting to hurt. She could feel her face warming—no, burning—and the sting of where she’d landed on her knees. She glanced into the faces around her: people waiting, staring, watching. She was sure someone was laughing, and of course she was embarrassed as she struggled to remain upright on the stilts she was wearing.
“Yeah, fine, thank you,” she said.
She could see into his green eyes. Nice, she’d never seen a man with green eyes before. He had short red hair, not bright or orange but a lighter color. He also had one of those light beards guys got after not shaving for a week. On some guys it looked messy, but on this guy it looked hot. Kate realized he still had her arm and he had a look in his eyes that bordered on appreciation, humor, or maybe annoyance. As he took in her dress and shoes, by the way his eyes lingered, she had a feeling this was a man who didn’t apologize for anything.
“Hey, you must be Kate,” said a man behind her.
She was startled when the face in the picture she’d memorized appeared beside her. He had the same killer smile with dimples. In person, he was even better looking and could have replaced any of those guys on the cover of GQ.
“Ryder!” she said quite exuberantly, attracting more glances. She wanted to kick herself and tone it down a bit. “Hey, it’s a nice to see you,” she added, a little softer, feeling about as awkward as she had on her first day of school. At the same time, she wondered whether he’d seen her ass on the floor after her ungraceful entrance. She plastered a practiced smile to her face, the one she used when she was working. When she tried to glance over to the handsome stranger who had helped her up, he was gone.
***
Chapter 2
“So you’re a dentist?” she asked.
What was it about meeting someone for the first time and having to figure out what to say that was so damn hard? For some it was easy, that art of directing a conversation. Then there were those who’d only mastered the art of talking about themselves. She’d dated many of those, the type of guy that made her feel so comfortable that, for a minute, she wanted to trust them with anything and everything, to open up and tell them her biggest, darkest secrets. Big mistake.
It hit her why she was wound so tightly, sitting there in that trendy restaurant, combing her brain, trying her damnedest to think of something intelligent else to say: because Ryder was not the typical guy she dated. He was different, and she was determined to remain hopeful that he was, in fact, the real deal.
He flashed her that spectacular dimpled grin, showing off a perfect set of straight white teeth. Of course, being a dentist, he’d had his own teeth fixed, because no one could naturally have been born with such a perfect set of teeth. He held up his hand as he steered the conversation. “I need to clear up a few things first. Just so you know, I’m thirty-five, not twenty-eight. Don’t like to put all my personal information on the Internet. You know, hackers.”
He had a deep voice. Normally, she loved a man’s deep voice, but Ryder’s lacked something. It seemed so practiced and unauthentic. Maybe it was just guilt in his voice from lying about his age, or maybe she was getting surface talk without anything genuine. She considered what he’d said, doing the math in her head. She liked older, but thirty-five? That was thirteen years on her. Then again, he did look good—but there was a big difference between five years and thirteen years, considering women lived, on average, longer than men. Her technical mind kicked in. When she’d be in her prime, he’d be an old man.
“Wow, I just can’t get over how gorgeous you are.” He gestured at her from across the cozy table for two in the corner by the window. It was a nice spot, and she wondered how he’d managed to snag it, considering the wait list for tables in this restaurant was weeks, if not months, long.
“Thank you,” she said, still ruffled from her ungraceful fall in the doorway. She still wondered whether he’d seen it. Maybe it was the gentleman in him that prevented him from mentioning it. She actually looked around, glancing quickly to see where the attractive man who’d helped her up had disappeared to.
A waiter appeared with menus and took their drink orders. She ordered a glass of their house white, he the red, and they chatted about the weather, the tourists, and then about him. He liked to talk about himself—a lot.
“So you’re a Red Sox fan, living in Oregon, grew up in Kentucky, one brother, two sisters, you don’t like to dance, you raced in a triathlon last year, and you hate the water,” she said just as the waiter approached. She took a healthy sip from her glass of wine. It was good, fruity, something different. “Hmm, yummy. How’s yours?”
He was watching her. “Ah, haven’t tried it.” He picked up his glass, took a sip. “Good,” he said as the waiter pulled out his notepad to take their orders.
She ordered the restaurant’s trademark shrimp dish. Ryder ordered the curry. The waiter left with their menus, and an uncomfortable silence followed, so she took another generous sip of her wine.
He was watching her with light blue eyes, not green. Why did that stranger keep popping into her mind? He wasn’t gorgeous like Ryder. No, he had a roughness about him that had been so damn attractive. Stop thinking about him!
“I guess I talk a lot about myself. Sorry,” he added. “You must think I’m strange, living so close to the ocean but hating it. Never liked boats either—get seasick. What about you?”
“I like the water, boats, being on the ocean. My dad was a commercial fisherman at one time, so you could say I spent a better part of growing up on a boat—”
“Wow, really? I knew a commercial fisherman, was one of my patients. He had bad teeth, crooked, needed bridge work. Very depressed and very negative about life in general, always on about what a crappy year it was, happy only if he could complain about something…”
She couldn’t believe he’d cut her off. It was as if he hadn’t even heard her, and he was still talking about Joe Shmoe, whom she didn’t give two hoots about. Like, seriously?
“Sorry,” he said, this time looking about as uncomfortable as she felt. “I can see I’m taking over again. You’re so quiet. Tell me about you,” he added with enthusiasm.
Really? Talk about putting her on the spot. It was kind of hard to talk when he kept interrupting, and there was something annoying about people who didn’t know how to listen. There were, as far as Kate was concerned, two types: those who talked and those who listened. This guy was a talker.
She had to remind herself to try. After all, she had enjoyed their emails back and forth, and the phone chat had been good. He wasn’t bad looking even though he was thirty-five. Most important, he had a job, a very good one, a professional career. That said a lot, right? Maybe he was nervous. Yes, that had to be it. First dates always sucked.
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