“What made you choose physical therapy as a career?”
She shrugged. “My grandmother is a nurse. I didn’t want to do what she did, but I liked the idea of doing something in the healthcare industry. I took a few PT classes in college and it was a good fit.”
He pulled up the hand he held to look more closely at her fingers. “Definitely a good fit.”
She really didn’t want to read any special meaning into that comment, but it was hard when he was staring at her with those sexy blue eyes. Shit. How could he possibly be such a good actor? He was a hockey player, damn it.
Why the hell was he putting on the charm so strongly? She cast a quick glance at the driver and noticed him looking into the rearview mirror. Realization dawned.
Fine. She could deal with this. She could keep in mind it was all an act and not get carried away. She could. Really. She could.
They chatted a little more about her job and then moved on to talking about his upcoming games, the road trip he was leaving on tomorrow, all harmless things that didn’t lead to anymore darkly sexy looks from him. Though he held her hand all the way to the restaurant. By the time they arrived, she nearly collapsed in relief when he finally let go.
Once again, he opened the car door for her then led her up a short flight of stairs into a narrow little Italian restaurant where the maitre d’ knew him by name. They were seated immediately at a table near the back, far away from the front windows and the passing pedestrian traffic. The restaurant was crowded for a weeknight, but where they were sitting had a semi-private feel to it.
“Nice,” she commented as she opened her menu. “Neighborhood place?”
“Mostly locals on a weeknight. Gets really busy on the weekends. But I don’t usually get here then. Everything on the menu is good, by the way.”
“Have you tried everything?” She smiled.
“Yes.”
She ordered a small carafe of red wine—small because he was sticking to water—and they continued with the small talk, which got easier after her first few sips of wine. He asked more about her grandmother which lead to questions about her dad.
“He owns a plant nursery in Connecticut. Does pretty well.”
“Really? My parents were both botanists. My dad was a professor at North Dakota State University.”
“Your mom, too?”
“She was mostly a housewife, though she did some private biology tutoring. But her specialty and passion was plants. I think that’s what drew them together.”
She swirled the wine in her glass and decided to risk a possibly touchy question. “How did they die?”
“Car accident. Dead of winter. Head-on collision with a semi. Driver dozed off. I was a sophomore at college at the time.”
“I’m very sorry. That must have been hard.”
He shrugged. “It was a long time ago.”
Because things had gotten too serious, she switched subjects. “I understand the recruiters tried to get you into the NHL during your junior year. Why didn’t you go pro then? You could have gotten injured your senior year, ended the possibility of a pro career.”
He waved that away. “My degree was more important to me. My parents wanted me to have that security. I respected their wishes. Don’t get me wrong, I love hockey. I’m lucky I can make money at it. But I didn’t grow up wanting to play in the NHL. I never even considered it would be possible.”
“What do you want to do after?” She was very curious about this. He’d said he had a plan for when he was done with hockey. It surprised her to hear a pro athlete was even thinking about that when he was in the middle of the best season of his career. He was a little on the older side at thirty-one but not at the end of the line yet by any means. So long as he didn’t get hurt or killed in the next few weeks. She shook that off to pay attention to his answer.
“I’ve invested in some businesses which are all doing really well despite the economy. So my money is in good shape.”
“Is that what you went to college for? Investment and finance?”
“I got an economics degree. My practical Russian parents wanted me to study something that would guarantee I’d always have work. I’d intended to take the CPA exam after college.”
“What happened?”
“I went to the NHL instead.”
“Will you take the exam when you’re done? You want to be an accountant?”
He grinned, a charming little smile that made her head spin. She really wanted to believe the wine caused that reaction but she knew better. She’d been nursing the same glass for most of the meal.
“I was going to be an accountant,” he said. “Now, I can afford a little more whimsical path.”
“Whimsical? The Wall wants to do something whimsical? I can’t even begin to guess what that might be.”
“Pastry chef.”
She blinked, took a sip of wine, and then very carefully set her glass down. Tilting her head to one side, she said, “Pastry chef?”
“I love food. I really love the sweet stuff.” He shrugged. “I thought owning my own bakery would be fun.”
“You do realize that means you have to be up at five a.m. every morning, and it’s really, really hard work?”
“I know. I get up early now anyway.”
“Oh, no. You’re not one of those?”
His eyebrows popped up. “Not an early riser I take it?”
“I’ve tried. I have.” She shuddered. “Sunrises are lovely. But I really prefer coming at them from the back end rather than the front.”
He choked on the sip of water he’d taken. “Meaning?”
“I’d rather stay up all night to see them.”
“Ah. I’ve never heard it described that way before. So, night owl, then?”
“Very much so.” She lifted her wine glass again in a silent salute to night-owl-dom.
“You realize that’s one of the few things we don’t have in common? Unless you hate sweets?”
“No! I love cake. And anything chocolate. I can’t bake to save my life. Outside of a few fruit bread recipes I have for some of the Sabbaths. And I can whip up a mean cake from a box mix.”
He closed his eyes and shuddered, which made she her laugh.
“But anything more complicated is beyond me,” she finished.
“I’ll have to make you something some time.”
The idea of Alexander Semenov baking her a cake was a little too much to consider on only one glass of wine. “You really planning on becoming a pastry chef after hockey?”
He dipped his head in a slight shrug. “I’d like to.”
“I would not have guessed that. Ever. Not in a million years.”
“There’s a lot about me people can’t guess. But I’m not the only one.”
He was right about that. And still so much he didn’t know about her. She reined in the girly part of her that had started to think of this as a real date and went back to small talk.
After they finished dinner, he helped her into her coat. “Richard is waiting with the car at the house.”
His fingers slid across her neck as she settled the coat on her shoulders and she felt the slight touch all the way to her toes. Tingling tightened her belly and started her knees wobbling. To keep from showing how severely his little touch had affected her, she stuffed her hands in her pockets and preceded him out of the restaurant. The staff wished him a goodnight, all very friendly and easy. Like they were used to having him around.
Outside, the temperature had dropped, but since there wasn’t any wind, she liked the shot of cold after the warmth of the restaurant. Despite the fact she kept her hands in her coat pockets, Alex slipped a hand around her elbow, keeping her close to his side as they walked.
“Anything look familiar?” he asked, leaning his head down close to hers.
“Nothing from my vision, no.”
They walked in silence for a few blocks before she said, “Maybe you should tell me a little more about your routine? I know
the incident happens at night, everything was dark outside. So what do you do at night?”
“Go to and from the Brooklyn Bank Center—Richard drives me most of the time.”
“When he doesn’t?”
“Someone else from the car service collects us.”
“Us?”
“Chris Emerson. He’s my roommate.”
“Oh. I didn’t realize. I guess I didn’t think you’d need a roommate.”
“I don’t. But the arrangement means we both have more money to put into other things. People don’t realize it, but Chris is a genius with money. His investment advice has been invaluable.”
“Wow. This is the same guy with the blue streaks in his hair? He comes across as such a playboy.”
“Yeah. He has problems avoiding trouble. Actually, trouble just seems to find him no matter what he does. But he’s not that guy in real life.”
“Huh. Good to know.” She made an effort to look around the streets they walked along. Foot traffic was quiet this time of night, but they still passed a few people. No one took any notice of them or even seemed to recognize Alex. The fact that he wore a black wool coat and a wool hat that didn’t the Empires logo on it pulled low over his brow probably helped. At a glance, he just looked like any stunningly gorgeous man walking down the streets of New York.
“What else do you do at night?” she asked to keep her mind off the feel of his hand on her elbow.
“Mostly I just go to and from the arena. I don’t do much during the season. Need my beauty sleep.”
She snorted. “Not really. I think you’re beautiful enough. How early do you get up?”
His hand flexed on her elbow. “On a training day? Five-thirty. On a day off, seven.”
She groaned. “That is just so wrong.”
“When do you get up?”
“Well I have to get up early on work days. My alarm goes off at six. I’m out of bed by seven. But on my days off, I sleep till at least nine or ten if I don’t have plans.”
“Lazy bones.”
“Bet your ass. Do you leave the house before sunrise ever?” She continued to scan their surroundings, but the streets were markedly lacking in construction sites, just as he’d said.
“Sometimes to go for a run.”
“Where do you run?”
“Mostly, across to Central park and then around it.”
“Do you ever pass any construction on your way to the park?”
“No. Not that I’ve noticed recently.”
“Okay, then I think that’s safe. Which is good because I really don’t want to get up before sunrise to follow you on a run. Plus, I don’t like running. I walk. I love walking. But I don’t run.”
“I could always slow down and walk.”
“We still have the ‘before sunrise’ problem with that scenario. If you don’t do anything else before sunrise besides that, I think you’ll be safe enough. I kind of got the impression of late night rather than early morning anyway.”
Before he could ask, she clarified. “Just like I could tell it was in New York and not somewhere else. And that it was cold. Plus, there’s a feel in the air at different times of night, you know? Like you can feel the sunrise coming when it’s that early.”
“Yeah. You can. But I’ve never met anyone else who noticed.”
“Guess it’s my witchy training.” His soft snort of amusement made her smile. “Anything else you do at night? You obviously eat at that restaurant often enough they know you. Do you frequent any other places?”
“A few in the neighborhood. And one or two near the arena where a few of us players will go after a game sometimes.”
“Okay, walk me past the places in the neighborhood. If I don’t spot anything, I’ll have to meet you after your next home game.”
“Why don’t you meet me there on Saturday? We’re back in town late Friday night. No need to wait for our next BBC game to walk the area.”
“Fair enough,” she said, trying not to sound disappointed. She would have liked the excuse to go to a game.
“You still want to come to our next home game?”
She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, wondering if he’d read her mind. “I’d love to. Not sure I can afford a ticket though.”
“I can arrange one. Or do you want to bring someone with you?”
She thought of her grandmother—who loved hockey, too—but she didn’t want Yaya involved in this thing with Alex.
“One ticket will be enough. Don’t go to any trouble. I can sit in the nosebleeds. And I’ll pay for it. I don’t want you to feel like you have to do me any favors.”
He gave her a narrow-eyed stare. “You’re trying to keep me alive. You will not be paying for your ticket to the game. Or any other meals we share.”
She hadn’t paid tonight, but she figured he was referring to the pizza last night. “If you insist. You make more money than me, so I’m not gonna argue. I need to save my money anyway.”
“What for?”
She looked up at him with her brows lowered.
“I mean do you have something specific you’re saving for? Or are you just frugal?”
“Saving for something specific. Which is why I don’t want to lose my job.”
“You won’t. What are you saving for?”
“A house,” she admitted. “I want a backyard where I can grow things.”
“Really? You like plants, too? Like your dad?”
She nodded. “I want my own little greenhouse where I can grow herbs, and some garden space to grow whatever I can convince to grow. I love getting my hands into the dirt. But it’s hard to have that in a one bedroom apartment without a balcony.”
“Why don’t you work with your dad if you love that kind of thing so much?”
She shrugged. “Not my path.”
He led her past a few more local restaurants, most of them small and intimate looking. When they walked by a Moroccan place, he said, “I’ll take you there next. The food is superb.”
Finally, he turned up his street, just off Second Avenue, heading east. The street got even quieter as they strolled by rows of beautiful brownstones. “Nice block,” she commented. “Which one is yours?”
He pointed to one just two houses away. “With the green front door.”
“Beautiful.” She looked up and down the street. “I thought you said Richard was waiting here for us?”
“He’s probably parked around the corner. Not an easy neighborhood to park in. I’ll give him a call.”
But when they stopped in front of his house, he didn’t immediately pull out his cell phone.
“Do you want to come in for a coffee?”
Her stomach tightened again in that giddy dance that left her a little breathless. “I’d better get home.” Not a real date, NJ, not a real date. The way he was studying her mouth argued sharply with her nagging voice of reality. “This was nice,” she said. “For a fake date.” Good, girl. Remind him this isn’t real. Remind your own damn self, too.
“But you didn’t see any place I should avoid?”
“Nothing. Sorry. Would have been easier if I had.”
“Why?”
She lifted her shoulders. “We wouldn’t have to keep up the farce of dating. My job wouldn’t be in danger. And I could stop worrying.”
“Ah.” He glanced past her to the silent street. When he met her gaze again, he said, “Did you notice any camera happy paparazzi following us tonight?”
“No, but—”
“But you were safe enough, right?”
“You live with Chris Emerson.”
He frowned at what he probably thought was a change of subject.
“Chris attracts the paparazzi. I can’t come and go from your house without someone eventually noticing.”
He muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like “fuck” as he stuffed his hands in his coat pockets. “This really doesn’t have to be an issue, you know. They look for Chris, no
t me.”
“But if they spot you bringing a woman into your house, they’ll get interested, even if it’s a passing interest.”
He looked her over, then took a step closer, close enough to crowd her. Because she knew he expected her to step away, she didn’t. But she had to tilt her head back to look him in the face.
“There aren’t any cameras here now. There won’t be later. You can come in for a coffee to warm up and not risk your precious job.”
“Don’t dismiss my worries just because they aren’t yours. You should know better.”
This time she heard his “fuck” quite clearly.
“I’m warm enough,” she said to try and ease the tension. “Besides, it’s late. You have a big trip tomorrow. And as you said, you need your beauty sleep.”
“You said I was beautiful enough,” he reminded her, his gaze returning to her mouth.
“Alex…”
“I’ll have a ticket for our first game back waiting for you at the Will Call,” he said, and pulled out his cell phone.
As he made the call to his driver, she stepped back and took a deep breath. What the hell? Fake dates were not supposed to feel like this. She sure as hell shouldn’t be thinking about kissing a man this dangerous to her peace of mind. She was here to save his life, not ruin her own.
He insisted on riding in the car with her back to her apartment, despite her best effort to dissuade him. And even though she told him in no uncertain terms he didn’t need to walk her to her door, he still did.
As she unlocked her multiple locks, she could feel the solid heat of his body standing entirely too close to her back. When the door swung open, she turned to tell him goodnight and found herself practically pressed against him. “Thank you for dinner,” she muttered, her throat tight.
“You’re welcome.” He cupped her cheek, stroking her cheekbone with his thumb.
She held her breath, not at all sure what to do because while she knew she needed to tell him to back off, she wanted to kiss him so badly she could barely think.
“Sleep well,” he murmured and dropped his hand. “I’ll call you when I get back into town Friday night. We can make a plan for Saturday then.”
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