by BETH KERY
“Well, apparently Latimer mentioned my story to Atwater in regard to making it into a film, and Atwater loved the idea,” she said, hoping to bring the conversation to an end. “I’m going to call Ellie about it. It’s completely up to her whether or not she’d want her life put on film.”
“That’s it?” Ruth asked when she shifted her attention back to her layouts. “Who else was at the party?”
“I really only met Atwater. And Elizabeth, of course.”
“What about Latimer? Did he make an appearance?”
“He did, in fact,” Harper said nonchalantly as she did a markup. “A brief one.”
“Well?” Ruth demanded. “Give me details, the dirtier the better.”
“I haven’t got much to tell,” Harper eluded. “The chardonnay was excellent. I caught a glimpse of the bottle. Apparently, Latimer has his own label.”
“He owns a small winery in Napa.”
“The terrace was fantastic, and so was the house. There was a jazz band.” Ruth looked like she wanted to bite her head off for giving such boring details. Harper hid a smile. Thankfully, her phone started to ring. She reached for it, but Ruth put her hand on the receiver, halting her.
“Did you speak to him? If not, to whom did Latimer talk? How long did he stay? What was his mood like? What was he wearing?”
“What was he wearing? Seriously?”
“The juice is squeezed from every detail, no matter how small.”
“There isn’t any juice. I told you, he only showed up briefly.” She shooed the other woman’s hand from her phone, scowling pointedly at her as she picked up the receiver.
“Sierra Tahoe Gazette, Harper McFadden speaking.”
“Hi.”
A shock went through her. She blinked, her gaze darting to Ruth. Ruth’s expression segued slowly from irritation to dawning curiosity.
“Hi,” Harper managed after a pause.
“I hope you don’t mind me calling you at the office. I’m often told I’m not a patient man,” Latimer said.
She picked up her cup, taking a sip of cold coffee in an attempt to look normal. “What is it you’re so impatient about?” she prevaricated.
“Your answer.”
“Oh. Yes, that. I haven’t spoken to Ellie yet.”
From the corner of her vision, she saw Ruth place her hands on Harper’s desk and lean in.
“That isn’t the answer I was referring to.”
She felt a flickering sensation in her lower belly at the sound of his low, compelling voice. She glanced up at Ruth, who was watching her like a hawk.
“It’s more complicated than you’re assuming,” she said, her manner brisk and professional.
“Is there someone there?”
“Absolutely.”
“Okay, I’ll make this brief. I’m picking you up at your place for dinner tonight. Six thirty? Does that simplify things for you?”
“I wouldn’t say that,” Harper said, squinting at her layout and making a nonsensical change.
“Yes. Well, like I said last night, some complications are unavoidable. Say yes.”
“Yes?” she muttered, confused momentarily as to what he meant.
“Perfect. I’ll see you at six thirty. Dress casual.”
“But—”
The line went dead.
“Who was—”
“Not now, Ruth,” Harper said more sharply than she’d intended, slamming down the receiver. She gathered up several papers from her desk in a random fashion. “Excuse me. I have to see Sangar.”
She glided past a furious-looking Ruth.
* * *
As the clock inched toward six thirty that evening, Harper grew increasingly anxious. Latimer had said to dress casual, but what did that mean, exactly? Casual as in taking a lakeside stroll, or casual as in going to a classy, but easygoing restaurant. Plus . . . her townhome was in a gated community. He had to call to be buzzed in, and he didn’t have her cell phone number or her residence number. Of course, she still had no way to reach him, so she was stuck.
She shouldn’t have let him bulldoze her into making a decision.
It’s just dinner, she thought as she stared at herself in the mirror. You don’t have to make any huge decisions—like about whether or not you want to have a physical affair with a gorgeous, mysterious, complicated male—until you’re good and ready.
She’d finally decided that a silvery gray, button down maxi-dress along with a soft, cropped pink sweater in deference to the recent cool evenings, could be interpreted as casual. She wasn’t showing much skin, which was good. Although did the sweater accentuate her breasts in a manner that perhaps Latimer would think was intentionally provocative?
Was she being provocative?
Her uncertainty on that topic loomed large.
Her doorbell rang as she began to unbutton the pink sweater in preparation to change it. Flustered, she refastened it and hurried to find her purse.
By the time she jogged downstairs and got to the front door, she was breathless. The sight of Latimer waiting patiently on her front porch made it even harder to get air into her lungs. Did one ever get used to looking at him?
His short hair was sexily mussed. There was an evening scruff on his lean jaw. He wore a cobalt blue shirt with the sleeves rolled back, a pair of worn jeans that fit his long legs and narrow hips with a casual, sexy perfection, and a pair of deck shoes. His hands were in his pockets. Harper’s gaze stuck on the vision of his bare, strong-looking, hair-dusted forearms.
She realized uncomfortably that he hadn’t spoken, either. He’d been checking her out like she’d been checking him out, his sharp, hazel eyes moving slowly down the length of her. Did his stare linger on her breasts? He seemed so solemn, despite the male heat in his eyes. Latimer’s brand of appreciation was unlike any other she’d experienced before. By the time he met her stare, only a few breathless seconds had passed, but he’d managed to make her breasts feel conspicuous and tingly, and a warm, pleasant ache to expand in her core. She recalled vividly what it’d been like to have him touch her, and found herself craving the feeling of his skin against hers.
She cleared her throat. “How did you get in?” she asked, forcing a smile.
His eyebrows arched. “I’m not ‘in’ yet,” he replied, deadpan, nodding at the threshold and then at her, his eyebrows quirked slightly.
She laughed and stepped back, waving him into her townhome. He moved past her and she shut the door behind him. “No, I meant how did you get past the gate?”
“I came from the lake, not the road,” he said, glancing around her foyer and peering into her distant living room. He looked especially tall and striking in the familiar setting. And he smelled good.
“This is nice,” he said.
“Thanks. Do you want to look around a little?”
He nodded and she led him into the great room, which was a large, airy space that included her kitchen, dining area, and living room. “It came fully furnished, so I don’t know how much it actually represents me yet.”
“Yet? Does that mean you plan to redecorate? Plant roots in Tahoe Shores?”
“I’m not sure,” she admitted. “This whole thing with me taking this job has been a sort of . . .”
“An unexpected detour off the main road?” he finished for her when she trailed off.
“Yeah, I guess you could say that.” She met his stare and found herself lost there for a moment. He had the longest lashes. The dark ring around the outside of his iris highlighted the complex, fascinating color of his eyes. His gaze had an almost hypnotic quality on her. No . . . it wasn’t that. It evoked the opposite of the hazy, dreamy quality of hypnosis. She knew that from experience. Instead, Latimer’s stare was almost alarmingly alert. It seemed to slice down to the heart of her.
Also: His mouth
was indecently sexy. When she looked at it, she couldn’t help but think of him doing things with it.
“I’m not usually so impulsive,” she found herself saying. “Any detours I take are usually well thought out and planned.” His lips twitched slightly.
“Then it’s not much of an adventure, is it?”
She laughed and tore her gaze off his face. “I suppose that’s what you think I should consider you as well?” she asked, trying to make light of things. “An adventure?”
“Would that help?” His low, mellow voice seemed to caress the side of her cheek and neck.
“I’m not very good at adventures.”
His hand enclosed hers. She glanced up at him in surprise.
“That’s okay. I am.” His eyebrows arched. He gave her that small, heart-knocking smile that always struck her as sweet and mind-bogglingly sexy at once. “I’ll keep you safe, Harper.”
For a few seconds, she just stared at him, a sense of strong familiarity going through her again. She gave an anxious laugh.
The confusing thing was, she had the strangest feeling that he hadn’t been teasing her at all. That in fact, he’d just uttered a solemn promise.
* * *
He really had arrived by water. He led her to her townhome association’s pier and a huge moored black and white boat. She recognized it as one of the two boats that had been tied to buoys last night at his home.
“I hope you don’t mind dinner on the water,” he said, leaping gracefully onto the boat and turning to extend his hand to her.
“No, that’d be great,” Harper assured, her feet landing on a polished wood deck. She looked around the boat while he unfastened the moorings with quick precision. He was obviously very comfortable on the water. She enjoyed boating, but had never been on a craft this large. Strangely, although it was enormous compared to a typical motorboat, its sleekness and aerodynamic design made her think of speed. “Is this a yacht?” she asked him when he approached her again.
“A small one. But it’s unique because it’s deft and fast, as well. It was specially made for me by a man I know. I liked the design so much, I decided to go into business with him,” Jacob said, his tone making it seem like it was a common, everyday practice for him to start a new company.
Which maybe it was, Harper mused.
He reached for her hand. Harper liked not only that he did it, but that he made the gesture seem so natural. Not only on his part. On hers. It felt nice, feeling his hand enclosing hers. Comfortable, and yet thrilling at once.
He led her up some stairs. Harper counted four separate levels on the small yacht. She noticed another flight of steps going downward from the main deck. She caught sight of a salon of sorts with indoor and outdoor seating, then on the next level—miraculously—a small outdoor pool and cabana. Jacob took her all the way to the top level, where he guided her over to an open-air bridge. He settled behind the controls. Harper sat in the leather chair next to him.
They didn’t talk as he maneuvered the craft away from the pier and then slowly took it out of the small harbor. The bridge had a lot of high-tech and sonar equipment that Harper couldn’t make heads or tails of, but it was clear Jacob was completely at home. She settled in her chair, surprisingly okay with the silence between them.
They left the harbor behind and soared into a gorgeous Tahoe evening. The lake sparkled and flashed in her eyes, the brilliant azure color a striking contrast to the dark green, pine-covered mountains, the pure blue sky and the white wispy clouds. She liked watching him handle the craft even more than admiring the stunning scenery. She kept stealing glances at his solemn profile and his agile, comfortable movements as he navigated the craft. Her gaze kept sticking on his strong-looking hands. She thought of what he’d done to her with those hands on the terrace last night—what he’d done to himself.
She turned her hot cheeks into the fresh breeze, cooling her flash of embarrassment and lust.
“I thought we could anchor at Emerald Bay for our dinner,” he said, speaking loudly over the sound of the engine and water rushing against the boat.
“That’d be nice,” she said, gathering her windblown hair at her nape. He did a double take, and she realized she was smiling broadly.
“You like the water,” he stated more than asked.
“I do, very much. So do you, obviously. How long have you liked boating?”
“I was around water and fishing boats my whole life, but when I was about fifteen, I moved to a place that was on a lake,” he said, keeping his profile turned to her as he steered. “I met a man there—a neighbor—who kind of took me under his wing and taught me how to drive his boats. He had a whole collection of motorboats, sailboats, and Jet Skis. I started working for him after school and in the summers. When I got a little older, he’d let me and my friends take his boats for water-skiing and camping trips.”
“Nice neighbor.”
He shrugged, his mouth going hard. Did he look bitter at that moment? “He got more than his share of work out of me in return.” He glanced over at her. “I should have warned you so that you could have brought something for your hair. Do you want to go below until we anchor?”
“No,” she said steadfastly. “It’s too nice up here.”
He returned her smile. She ducked her head, finding her purse on the deck next to her. “Besides, I have a hair tie in here,” she mumbled, very aware of the continued heat in her cheeks. They’d flamed up again at his smile.
She told herself it was the speed of the sleek craft and idyllic evening that had her giddy as they flew across the cerulean blue lake, but she wasn’t convinced. She knew the reason for her intoxication was one hundred percent him.
* * *
“It must be so incredible,” Harper murmured dreamily.
It was an hour and a half later and she cradled a nearly empty glass of chardonnay while gazing out at the dramatic scenery of the tall, rugged mountains cupping the jewel-like Emerald Bay. They’d just finished a delicious dinner at a table set for two on the foredeck of the yacht. Jacob had admitted—a little sheepishly—that he wasn’t much of a chef, and that their meals had been prepared by his cook, Lisa. Harper had laughed off his apology. The food had been sublime, the scenery breathtaking, and the company thrilling. He had nothing to be sorry for. He’d been an excellent dinner companion, asking her questions about herself and appearing genuinely interested in her answers. Although his somber watchfulness was his trademark characteristic, he laughed often enough. Every time he did, her heart squeezed a little. There was an elusive quality to him, something she couldn’t quite put her finger on, something beyond his obvious handsomeness and his aura of quiet yet undeniable power and confidence.
She couldn’t help but recall her unrealistic fantasy about finding a guy who was not only confident, smart, and powerful, but who actually listened to her once in a while. Jacob was a focused listener. He couldn’t possibly be very interested in the boring things she told him about her life as a reporter at the Chronicle or her favorite places in San Francisco or Washington, DC, but he seemed to pay attention to every detail. No, to absorb it. It was probably a short-lived act to get her into bed.
But if it was an illusion, it was a nice one, she acknowledged. As the sun began to set over the mountains, Harper found herself wanting to believe in it very much. She realized she’d hardly dwelled on her parents’ loss or experienced that swallowing emptiness all night.
“What’s that?” Jacob asked.
For a moment, she didn’t recall what had inspired his question. He held up a bottle of wine in a silent query and she nodded once eagerly. For a moment, she didn’t answer and just watched as he tipped the bottle and golden liquid trickled into her glass. The moment struck her as sensual somehow . . . rich with possibilities. He set down the bottle and lifted his brows slightly, waiting for her reply. She recalled her former statement.
“Oh, I was just thinking it must be incredible. To be you,” she said, smiling and waving at the fantastic scenery and the lovely table that had been set exclusively for them with lavish detail. “Does it all seem passé to you at this point? The mansions, the yachts, being constantly surrounded by beauty and luxury?” she wondered. She’d asked him earlier if he lived in Tahoe full-time, and he’d admitted he also had homes in the Sea Cliff area of San Francisco as well as in Napa Valley, where he also owned Lattice Vineyards.
He took a moment to reply, lifting his wineglass and taking a sip. “I’d like to be able to tell you that it never becomes background noise. I’d like to be able to say that the ability to appreciate the finer things and the rare opportunities directly relates to just how low and dirty of a place you had to crawl from to get there.”
“But you can’t?” she asked softly.
“Sometimes, I forget. Sometimes, it’s easier just to imagine that this world is the one I was destined for, even though deep down, I know it’s a lie I tell myself. Because the truth is, every day, every hour, I have to scramble to keep it. Sometimes, I wish I didn’t have to work so hard and worry so much. Sometimes, I resent all this,” he mused, waving back at the yacht. “Because I hate that tomorrow I’ll have to be smarter and better and maybe even more ruthless in order to keep it. And yet . . . I want to keep it,” he said, meeting her stare dead on. “I want more.”
His eyes had taken on a simmering quality. Harper realized she was holding her breath.
“Why?” she whispered.
He shrugged. “The more you have, the safer you are from losing it all.” He met her gaze and smiled slightly. “Pretty pitiful, isn’t it?”
“I wouldn’t say that,” she said thoughtfully. “I can see how that mind-set would arise. And it’s not just the things you would worry about losing. It’s all the work you’ve done, too, and all that it meant to you. The struggles. The failures and the victories. All the effort you’ve put into creating what you’ve become. You wouldn’t want it all to be for nothing.”
For a moment, a full silence prevailed as they regarded each other.