by Holly Hart
Without thinking, I place my hand on his chest. Even through his heavy wool coat, my touch catches his attention, redirecting his focus on me.
“It’s okay,” I tell him, my voice sounding much calmer than I feel. “I was teasing. I don’t mind a night in.”
“Are you sure?”
No, not at all, but there’s no way I’m going to tell him that. It’s time to pull on my big girl pants and get over my past. “Yes. I’m not exactly dressed to go to a nice place. Besides, I wouldn’t want anyone to overhear our conversation.”
Beneath my palm, I feel the tension drain out of his body. “Good point.”
Side by side and in complete silence, we wait for the elevator. A cheerful ding announces its arrival and the stainless-steel doors slide open.
I stare into the carpeted interior and swallow. Getting into the elevator means I’m committing myself to spending the evening with him.
Upstairs. In his place. Alone. With just him.
I rock back and forth in a desperate attempt to ease the worry twisting my gut and heart. This won’t be like the last time, I sternly tell myself. The situation is completely different from then. And I’m older now. Wiser. Able to take care of myself.
The carpet whispers against the rubber soles of my shoes as I follow Jeremy into the elevator. He shoots a sideways glance my way.
“Are you okay?” he asks. “You look a little pale.”
Swallowing, I try to convince my face to fall into a relaxed, natural expression. Without a mirror, I have no idea how successful my efforts are.
“I’m fine, just a little hungry.”
“We’ll solve that problem.” Jeremy hits a button on the control board and the elevator springs into action. “I’ll start dinner as soon as we walk through the door. Okay?”
Desperate for something, anything, to distract me from my rising anxiety, I scramble for a topic of conversation.
“How come you live here? I thought billionaire playboys who run one of the most successful businesses in the country all have fancy penthouse apartments that overlook the entire city.”
Jeremy rolls his eyes and props his shoulder against the elevator wall. “One, I’m not a playboy. Far from it. I told you that already.”
“Your big date with Ailisha – you know, one of those supermodels who’s so beautiful she only needs one name – was all over the papers last week.”
A self-satisfied smile lifts the corners of Jeremy’s mouth. “So, even before our first face-to-face meeting you were checking up on me.”
“Hardly,” I retort. “The information was splashed all over the papers, internet, and even the local news channels were discussing when the two of you were getting married and how many babies you’d have.”
Jeremy chuckles. “And they were way off base. Ailisha was in town doing some promotional work for a charity she and I are both involved with. I took her out to dinner as a way of thanking her.”
“Uh huh,” I mumble.
“The reason the media blew the whole thing out of proportion was because it’s the first time I’ve been out with a woman in ages. I can barely remember the last time I went out on a date for the sheer pleasure of dating.”
“Okay, so you’re not a playboy. Or at least you claim you’re not. That still doesn’t explain the lack of a penthouse apartment.”
“Technically, I do live on the top floor, which I have all to myself. No one else can even access it without my code. So it is a penthouse. This building just doesn’t happen to be very tall.” He smirks. “Can I salvage my reputation as someone with money to burn by telling you that I own this entire building?”
That statement gets my attention. “You do?”
“Yep. When we were twenty, Evan and I inherited some money from our maternal grandfather. It was the first time we had money that wasn’t controlled by our father. Evan bought a garage full of fancy cars. I bought this building and arranged to have the top floor converted into an apartment.”
“Why?”
The elevator stops moving. A split second later the doors glide open, revealing a small landing.
“It was for sale, I had the money, and it’s just a few blocks from the university I was attending at the time.” Jeremy steps out of the elevator. I follow close behind. “Plus, I guess if I’m being completely honest, I thought it would impress my dad.”
“Did it?”
He shrugs. “It’s hard to say. He was so pissed off about my choice in both colleges and field of study that I don’t think anything would have made him happy. Still, I was just looking at the accounts and realized that I got a return on my investment after just eight years, and since I don’t pay myself rent, it was probably even sooner.”
He unlocks the door and pushes it open before stepping back. He gestures to the space behind it. “Be my guest.”
Heart pounding and palms sweating, I step across the threshold, a little surprised my knees don’t give out.
I look around the room. Here, for the first time, my expectations of how I expect billionaires to live is fulfilled. The place is huge and has been set up loft style, with as few walls as possible. The interior is all earth tones with an occasional splash of color. Expensive art that I’m guessing is more about prestige than actual appeal hangs from the walls.
The place looks divine, but I don’t see any of the personal touches that would show some insight into Jeremy’s personality.
“Nice place,” I mutter as Jeremy closes the door behind me.
“Think so?” He shrugs out of his coat and tosses it onto a nearby chair. “I had a professional decorator come in last year, told them to do whatever they wanted with the place, and this was the result. I’m still not sure how I feel about it.”
Jeremy turns back to me. “May I take your coat?”
I undo the zipper and slide the coat off my arms. Jeremy takes it and hangs it on a hook beside the door, treating my cheap, found-in-a-thrift store clothing with more respect than his fancy coat that probably cost more than the monthly mortgage payment on my shop.
“And how are your feet?”
I look down and grimace. Not only did the slush soak through the thin canvas, but my socks are also wet. And now that I’m thinking about them, they’re cold.
“A little damp, but not a big deal. They’ll dry soon.” I hope.
Jeremy snorts. “Of course they’re wet. Who wears such stupid shoes in the middle of winter in Denver?”
My temper sparks. I hate it when people question my choices, even when they’re right and I was wrong. “I’m fine.”
Jeremy either doesn’t hear me or pretends not to. “Sit down and take your socks and shoes off. I’ll be right back.”
Without another word, he stalks off.
My stubborn streak tries to insist I stay standing, and keep my feet fully dressed, but since they’re growing colder and more uncomfortable by the second, common sense wins out and I sit down and remove my socks and shoes. I’m careful not to drip any of the mucky water on the carpet or sofa. I definitely couldn’t afford the cleaning bill.
I prop my right foot on my left knee and massage the cold skin, grimacing as my efforts trigger a painful prickling sensation. Guess I’m colder than I thought.
“Hey, Caitlin,” Jeremy calls out. “Do you have any allergies?”
Strange question, but maybe he’s thinking about dinner and doesn’t want to feed me something that’s going to have me breaking out in hives. “No.”
“Good.”
A full minute later Jeremy reappears. He changed out of his business suit and into a pair of worn jeans and a plain green sweatshirt. In one hand, he’s holding a pair of red and blue ski socks. He hands them to me.
“Here. They’ll be too big, but they’re nice and warm.”
“Thank you.” I slide my toes into the first one and slowly tug the sock up and over my calf, nearly weeping at the feel of soft, warm material sliding over my frozen skin. Who could have guessed that simply pu
tting on a pair of socks could feel so good?
I repeat the process with the second sock before nodding at the pile of fur Jeremy’s holding against his left hip. “Who’s this?”
As if it knows I’m talking about it, the large, long-haired, grey and orange cat flicks its tail and fixes its huge yellow eyes on me.
“This is Sasha. She moved in here about three years ago.”
“Hello, Sasha.” I reach out and scratch the cat behind a tattered ear. Scars and bald spots cover her face. “What happened to her?”
“Some asshole threw acid all over her.”
I suck in a breath. “How horrible.”
“It left her scarred, but she doesn’t seem to resent anyone.”
Jeremy bends and sets the cat on the ground. Holding her tail high, she walks away. Her proud strut reminds me of ancient Egyptian queens.
“C’mon.” Jeremy reaches down, grabs my hand, and pulls me to my feet. “Let’s get dinner started.”
“I would have pegged you as a dog person,” I tell Jeremy as I follow him into the kitchen.
“Mmm.” Jeremy tugs a large bottle of wine from an under-the-counter wine cooler. “I’ve had a few of those. My last one, a dachshund named Draco, passed away about four months ago.” He holds up the bottle, but I see a hint of sadness at the memory on his face – sadness which he tries to hide. I wish he wouldn’t. “Red okay with you?”
“It’s perfect.” Anything to take the edge off my nerves. “How did you end up with a scarred-up kitty?”
“Let me guess. Sasha doesn’t fit your image of the kind of pet a billionaire owns?” Jeremy pulls two wine glasses out of a cupboard and uncorks the bottle.
“Not really.”
“I spend a few hours each week volunteering at a local shelter, the one that eventually got Sasha. It didn’t take long to see that because of her scars, she wasn’t very adoptable even though she’s a sweetheart, so I took her in.” He passes a glass to me before opening the refrigerator. “What about you? Any pets?”
“No. I had a cat and a dog growing up, but since leaving home, I haven’t had the time or money for one. I miss them.”
Jeremy holds up a packet of filet mignon. “Steak okay with you?”
Just the sight of the meat makes my stomach rumble. I can’t remember the last time I had steak. I pick up my glass and sip the brilliant red liquid. My eyes meet his. “It’s perfect.”
65
Caitlin
The wine was a mistake.
It didn’t take any time at all for those first couple of sips to hit my bloodstream, making me both jittery and relaxed at the same time. If I was smart, I would stop drinking it, at least until I have some solid food in my stomach.
This knowledge doesn’t stop my hand from wrapping itself around the heavy bottle’s long, slender neck and pouring myself a second glass.
The microwave dings and Jeremy pops the door open, removing the two enormous potatoes he nuked for our dinner. Watching him place one on each of the plates causes something in me to warm and shift.
“I’ve never had a guy offer to make me dinner before,” I tell him as he uses a pair of tongs to toss the salad he threw together. “Nope, that’s not true. My dad used to make me macaroni and cheese whenever I got sick.”
Jeremy tongs some of the salad into two small bowls. “I wouldn’t get too excited. I’m not a great cook.”
“You seem to be doing just fine.” I sip my wine and swear I feel my bones starting to dissolve. “Why did you learn to cook? Or is it something all rich guys know how to do?”
“Since neither my father nor my brother can so much as boil water, that would be a no.” Jeremy opens up the small countertop grill and removes both steaks, adding them to our dinner plates. “I learned out of a desperate attempt to get some privacy. Being able to feed myself means I don’t have to eat out all the time. I can come home to my kitchen and enjoy some peace and quiet.”
He slides one of the plates in front of me and sits on the chair across from me.
The flavor of the tender meat on my tongue nearly makes me groan. Steak never tasted so good.
“If privacy and quiet is so important to you, how will you cope with having a child in your life? I’m not an expert on child rearing, but even I know that they don’t respect boundaries and that the only time they’re quiet is when they’re getting into trouble.”
Jeremy sips his wine. His gaze captures mine. “I know that the whole point of this dinner was to discuss our … potential arrangement, but could we table it for a little while? Maybe use this time to get to know one another.”
I can see his point. This meal is way too good to spoil with a discussion that will most likely end in bitterness and tears. I’ve thought of little else all day and I still don’t know what to do.
“Okay,” I agree.
Jeremy cuts his potato in half and covers it with a generous layer of sour cream. “What made you decide to become a florist?”
“I’ve always liked flowers. When I was sixteen, my 4-H club leader got me a job working part time at a flower shop. After leaving high school, I studied horticulture and design at community college. I managed to get a good job with a landscaper. Once I saved up enough money, I bought my shop.”
Jeremy cuts into his steak. “It looks like you’ve been successful.”
I take another sip of wine, letting the liquid sit on my tongue for a moment, savoring the exotic flavor before letting it slide down my throat.
“I’ve stayed on top of my bills and enjoyed a small profit.”
Sasha finishes the dry kibble Jeremy gave her and makes her way to the table. She winds her soft body around my legs and purrs loudly. “Why do you volunteer at an animal shelter?”
“I wanted to be a veterinarian.”
I gape at him. “Seriously?”
He nods. “Yep. When I graduated top of my high school class, my parents concocted this grand scheme. They figured I’d become a doctor, taking care of humans, and Evan would run Caldwell industries.”
“But you didn’t go to medical school?”
“I took pre-med and liked the classes, but couldn’t get excited about the idea of treating humans. But animals, I’ve always liked them. I had this big plan to start a low-income practice and treat all these animals for rock-bottom prices.”
“How’d your parents handle the career change?”
Jeremy grimaces. “Not well. My mom, she was disappointed, but my dad was livid. He spent weeks storming around the place, ranting and raving, threatening to disown me. He even looked into ways to block my schooling, but since I’d already come into my grandfather’s trust money, there wasn’t much he could do.”
I try to picture him working on an injured dog or cat, soothing the animal while explaining the situation to the owners. The image is surprisingly easy to conjure. “Why did you change your mind?”
All warmth fades from Jeremy’s expression. “My dad had a stroke, and wasn’t well enough to handle Caldwell Industries. That wasn’t a problem since Evan was already there, working as the company’s vice president. He simply moved into my dad’s office. Then, a year later, he had his accident. I’d just started my first internship, but I put that on hold and went into Caldwell. My plan was to take steps to have someone else run it and then finish up my internship and become a vet. But things didn’t work out like I’d hoped.”
My mind flashes to my current situation, to the tough choices we have to make. “Sometimes fate has a way of stepping in and screwing up the best laid plans.”
“That’s the truth.” Jeremy stands and picks up his own plate. He nods toward mine. “Finished?”
I look down, startled to find only the potato skin remaining on the plate. I was so engrossed in his story, I didn’t notice I’d demolished my dinner. “Looks that way.”
He picks up my plate and starts walking toward the sink.
“Hang on.” I jump to my feet and follow him. “You did all the cooking, it’s on
ly fair that I should wash dishes.”
Jeremy shoots a look over his shoulder. Amusement dances in his eyes. “You’re a guest, so that means you don’t have to do anything but sit back, relax, and keep me company.”
My brow furrows. “That doesn’t seem fair.”
“It doesn’t take much effort to load a dishwasher.” As if to prove his point, Jeremy pops the appliance door open and loads our plates inside. “But, if it makes you feel better, if you decide to take me up on my offer and become my wife, I promise to let you wash the dishes each and every night.”
His wife.
Maybe it’s the wine, or maybe it’s the idea that he loves animals and once dreamed of taking care of them, or maybe it’s just the fact that it’s been so long since a man, a kind man, has paid any attention to me, but the idea of marrying this man, of having his baby so that he can retain control of Caldwell Industries, suddenly doesn’t seem so insane.
In fact, it’s starting to sound like a pretty good idea.
“Jeremy…” My voice is so soft I’m afraid that maybe he doesn’t hear me, but his head snaps around.
“Yeah?”
I lick my lower lip. His eyes narrow and track the movement. “Would you do me a favor?”
“Maybe. Depends on what the favor is.”
“Will you kiss me?”
He doesn’t need to be told twice.
He dips his head, taking my lips in a gentle kiss that sends tiny shivers of anticipation shooting all the way to my toes. Without breaking the kiss, he wraps his arms around my waist, lifting me up and placing me on the countertop. He adjusts my position until I’m flat on my back. He rains light kisses along the side of my jaw as he settles beside me, tugging my body tightly against his.
With a low growl, he releases my lips. He stares into my eyes, asking silent questions that I don’t completely understand. I don’t need to understand. The only thing that matters is that I crave his touch, his taste, even more than I do the very air I breathe.