Just Believe
Page 8
“Miss Tinker, wait.”
Gaelen's footsteps echoed behind her, making her stomp louder to drown them out. When he started to run to catch up, she felt a wave of apprehension.
“Wait, now.” He got in front of her and blocked her way, stopping her. “I think we got off on the wrong foot, Miss Tinker. I'd like very much to try to make it up to you. If you're not busy, would you go to dinner with me tonight?” He grinned, blue eyes twinkling. “Let me try to prove I'm not a monster.”
“Why are you asking me out?”
“Why?” He appeared confused. “Because I want to.”
“I really don't know you at all.”
“That's something I'd like to fix,” he said.
Why did she blush? It wasn't like he was serious.
“Come, now,” he chided. “It's a very simple question. Will you come with me? Just a simple dinner at The Tea Room?”
The Tea Room was Chapel Hill's priciest eatery, the one place everyone in town had to go at least once in their lives. Even though she'd been born and raised in Chapel Hill, Annabelle had only passed by The Tea Room when shopping on Franklin Street, promising herself she'd have a grand dinner there someday. Now, here was Gaelen Riley tossing the suggestion like he was offering her McDonald's.
And she really wanted to say yes. She'd have wanted to say yes even if the invitation had been McDonald's.
“Well? Are you going to make my day, or leave me in loneliness and depression?”
Unbidden, a smile came to her lips as she looked into his eyes.
“Yes?” he asked with a tip of his head, tossing forward a lock of his wheat-gold hair.
Only for a moment did Annabelle think about using her mother as an excuse.
“Wait. Don't decide now, when you're irritated with me.” He pulled a business card and a pen from his breast pocket. Scribbling on the back of the card, he said, glancing away from the card to her face, “Here's my cell phone number. If I don't hear from you by six, I'll assume you've decided to give me another chance. I'll pick you up at your mother's house at seven.”
Annabelle stared at the card for a moment before reaching for it. Her fingers closed around the very edge. She couldn't believe he made her afraid to let their fingertips touch. Then she made the mistake of glancing up. Gaelen held her eyes and the card tight for just a second. Releasing it with a promising smile, he turned and strolled toward the stairwell.
She watched him go, watched the eyes of all the women in the hall follow him.
“Ms. Tinker?” Dr. Duncan came up behind her in the silent shoes all the staff wore around the hospital. “You may return to your sister's room now. We're finished.”
“Thank you,” Annabelle answered, fingering the card in her hand. The name was plain on it in bold black letters on the creamy stock.
The doctor's eyes were fixed on the card, on Gaelen Riley's telephone number. Annabelle slipped the card into her slacks pocket. Dr. Duncan smiled shyly, caught peeking.
“Please be careful what you say to Erin. I think we've made some progress today,” she said and turned without waiting for a response, heading down the corridor toward her next patient.
Annabelle glanced at the tiny woman's purposeful progress as she pushed open the door to Erin's room.
“So, what did the Wicked Witch say about me this time?” Erin asked, her lips pursed in a pout.
“That you're certifiably nuts, and we should donate your brain to science since you're not using it.”
“Be serious, Annabelle.”
“I am serious. She'll be back in fifteen minutes to perform the procedure. You should get your affairs in order. Can I have your Barbie dolls?”
Erin's pout rearranged itself into a sweet smile and a laugh.
“You always could do that to me.” She sat up. “So, what did the totally dreamy Dr. Riley want to see you about?”
“What are you talking about? When I came in, he was sitting on the edge of your bed telling you Lucas stories.”
“He was only waiting for you to show up. He came up here to talk to you.” Erin's eyes sparkled. “I think he likes you.”
“He asked me to dinner.”
“Really? Well, see?”
“Please, Erin. Think about it. His invitation has nothing at all to do with me. He just wants to find Lucas and he thinks I can help him. He'll probably quiz me over the appetizer.” She frowned. “Erin, does it seem funny to you that he's apparently not able to find his own brother? Has Lucas said anything to you about problems they're having?”
Erin shook her head. “No. All I've heard from Lucas about his brother is very complimentary. I think Lucas has a bad case of hero-worship for Gaelen.”
“Then why would he be afraid of Gaelen finding him? There's more here than brotherly love.”
“I don't have any idea. But maybe you can find out on your date.” Erin smiled slyly. “So, when is your date?”
“I didn't say I said yes.”
Erin flashed a look of disgust. “You're telling me a man who looks like Gaelen Riley asks you to dinner and you're hesitating even a second? Where is he taking you? Provided you get smart and accept, of course.”
“The Tea Room.”
“You're kidding. You are going?”
Perhaps a little investigation of her own was called for. There was more to this whole situation than met the eye and it was time to put her skills to the test.
“Sure I am.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Gaelen stood at the front door of the Tinker residence at seven sharp as promised, looking like an ad out of GQ, a fresh bouquet of daisies in his hand. Peeking from behind the living room curtain, Annabelle went all gooey. How had he known daisies were her favorite?
She let the lacy curtain drop and took a deep breath to calm her racing heart. And she chastised herself for getting all excited about this date. It was the same chastisement she'd flung at herself as she took great pains getting ready, even borrowing the sleeveless black cocktail dress with the scooping neckline from her mother's closet. She hoped it would be dressy enough.
Opening the door slowly enough to not look anxious, but quickly enough to be polite, Annabelle pasted a smile over her nervous jitters.
“Dr. Riley, right on time.”
“I try to never keep a lady waiting.” His eyes traveled down her body, then back up. His examination, though not leering, left her tingling in its wake. “You are lovely.”
She stared for a moment, struck dumb by the simple compliment. “Thank you,” she whispered, then rousing some of her backbone, she added with a grin, “you're lovely, too.”
He chuckled, the rich, deep sound sending a ripple down her spine.
Then she realized she'd left him standing on the front porch. “Oh, I'm sorry. Please, come in.” She stepped aside, allowing him to enter. As he passed by, a warm, grassy scent followed him. Annabelle found herself breathing deeper to draw it in. “I'll just get my wrap and bag.”
“Is your mother here? Should I tell her I'll have you home by midnight and no hanky-panky?”
“I don't think that will be necessary. I'm almost thirty years old. Plenty old enough to take care of myself.”
“As old as that?” He chuckled again and seemed to be enjoying a private joke.
She ignored the sense she was missing out on something very funny and got her things. “Okay, I'm ready.”
With a wave, he motioned her ahead of him out the door, then waited as she locked up. His warm fingers cupped her elbow, not guiding or directing her movements, not helping her descend the three shallow steps off the porch, but somehow so, well, courtly.
They didn't speak as he accompanied her down the walk to his car, which she hadn't noticed.
Boy, did she notice it now.
“Oh, my,” she whispered. “An Astin Martin, just like James Bond used to drive.”
His reply was a satisfied smile as he opened the door. She folded herself into the low-riding car. The leather coveri
ng the dash and the seats shone. The chrome gleamed. Why it should be so, she didn't know, but she felt a twinge of jealousy at the tender care he lavished on the machine.
Gaelen got in and started the engine. It caught on the first try and purred like a well-fed jungle cat.
Again he smiled, obviously pleased she appreciated his baby.
They drove in silence, but Annabelle didn't feel uncomfortable. That in itself struck her as odd. She didn't date much, and certainly none of the men she'd gone out with were in Gaelen Riley's class.
“You know,” he said, breaking the silence, “I was a little afraid you'd call and tell me not to come tonight.”
The honest uncertainty in his voice surprised her. She wasn't sure how to respond. He relieved her of the responsibility with a grin.
“Should I confess now or after dessert that I've had my cell phone turned off all afternoon?”
She laughed. “I refuse to believe you were nervous about this.”
He cast her a glance. “I've been very nervous. And I'm very glad you are here with me now.”
Annabelle gazed at him, a silly glow warming her. She'd just met the man. She had reason to distrust his motives, yet here she was drinking in his deep, sexy voice and the words that were balm for an ego too often bruised.
Obviously he was what her mother called a real ladies's man. He knew what to say and how to say it to get what he wanted. Annabelle wasn't fool enough to think herself the object of fascination he wanted to make her think she was.
Her head spun with all the convolutions of the situation. Couldn't she just enjoy the evening?
He pulled up in front of The Tea Room, parking in a spot right at the front door. Was the man charmed or something? There were never open parking spaces on Franklin Street. She watched him drop coins into the parking meter and then come to open her door.
“Here we are, mademoiselle.” Offering his hand, he helped her out of the low-slung car and, she was certain, saved her dignity in the process.
Annabelle tried to pull her hand from his, but he held her, looping their arms and smoothing her fingers over his forearm.
“Dr. Riley, how are you tonight?” the maître d' asked, reaching for two menus from under the desk. “Your usual table?”
Gaelen pressed his lips together and glared, just for an instant at the man. “No, Ivan. I think we'd prefer something a little more secluded.”
Ivan flicked a glance over Annabelle and winked—winked—at Gaelen. “Of course,” he said in a perfectly smarmy, New York-waiter way. “This way, please?”
Annabelle wondered at Gaelen's reaction to Ivan's remarks. So, he came here a lot. It was a great place, one of the few in Chapel Hill not populated by students. It wasn't surprising a professor who saw plenty of his students during the day would prefer a place he'd not be likely to run into them. She found herself looking around, trying to figure out which one was his usual table.
“Your menu, miss?” Ivan plunged the menu in front of her face. “Your server will be with you momentarily.” Again Ivan winked at Gaelen and sauntered off.
“What was all that about?” she asked, studying her menu, pretending not to really care.
He did her the courtesy of not trying to pretend he didn't know what she was talking about. “I come here quite often.”
“So, where's your usual table?” Annabelle smiled to make the question seem less important to her than it actually was.
“There,” he tipped his head back, “by the front window.”
There was only one table by the front window. A table for two.
“Not very intimate.”
“No, it isn't.”
“So, do you sit there alone?”
Where in the world had that question come from? she wondered.
“Not usually.”
The words jabbed through her heart.
Luckily, they were interrupted by the waiter getting their drink orders. Annabelle had a chance to cover her reaction.
And fuss with herself for being so stupid. Of course a man who looked like him, talked like him, drove a car like he had, wouldn't spend very many dinners alone. And she reminded herself—again—she was perfectly aware of his motive. He thought she could lead him to Lucas.
One more thing to remember, as well. She wasn't here to spend a wonderful evening with a fascinating, gorgeous man. He must know what Lucas was so worried about. That affected her sister, so it was her business, too.
“Miss Tinker?”
She raised her eyes from her reverie.
“Your drink?”
“Oh, ah, rose.”
The waiter nodded and left them alone again.
Brazenly, Annabelle plowed ahead, as though the interruption and her own introspection had never happened. “Why do you sit there, then? When you're not alone, that is?”
“I'm something of a show-off. I like to show off the women I'm with.”
A knife couldn't have sliced her any deeper.
“Of course,” he covered quickly, “there are times when I like to keep the woman my own secret for a while.” He took her hand in his, stroking her fingers.
“I'm flattered,” Annabelle lied, pulling her hand away.
Darn it all, why should she be hurt he didn't flaunt her in the window for all Chapel Hill to see and envy?
~*~
Damn it all! He'd hurt her. She'd withdrawn like a snail rolling up in its shell, in spite of his clumsy attempt to cover his mistake.
How was he to get what he needed from her if she clammed up on him?
And what would she say if he told her he was hiding her back here in the shadows? Could she understand he was protecting her? And himself?
He directed his anger at Lucas. This was what came of dallying with mortals. Lucas would sure as hell get a lecture on the dangers of not sticking with your own kind when this was all over, if for no other reason than Gaelen felt he was earning the right.
He tried to be irritated at her thin skin, even as he sensed her vulnerability. No, it was more than that; it was tenderness, the pain of a bruised soul, but one still willing, in spite of all the hurts.
Her brown eyes flew open, staring at him as though she could hear his thoughts. Only then did he realize he'd probed, sent his mind into hers, seeking.
He withdrew, grateful for the sudden appearance of the waiter with their drinks.
Still shaken, Gaelen allowed the silence to hang between them. It was actually restful to be with a woman who didn't demand to be entertained. Though he was good at entertaining his companions, he also enjoyed the rest Annabelle unwittingly offered.
Did she feel it, too?
Again her eyes met his, questioning. Yet she didn't open her mouth to give him an answer to his unspoken question.
“Are you ready to order, Dr. Riley?” The waiter hovered.
“Miss Tinker? What will you have?” Gaelen asked.
She jumped, as though not expecting the question. “I'm sorry. I haven't made up my mind.”
“May I suggest the beef Stroganoff?”
She nodded with a thin smile.
“Make that two,” he told the waiter.
“Two Stroganoff. Thank you.” The waiter took their menus, the shields they'd used to maintain their distance.
Gaelen felt exposed and covered his sudden uncertainty by picking up his vodka martini.
Conversation was definitely called for.
“I was just thinking,” he started, then stopped. What he'd started to say was how nice it was to just be with her.
What the hell was wrong with him, anyway?
This is a mortal woman, Gaelen. You can't allow her to get to you. Look at the mess Lucas has gotten himself into.
“What?” she asked when his silence became conspicuous. “What were you thinking?”
The willing soul was back. She leaned forward, resting her arms on the table before her. Did she notice how her breasts molded against her arms?
“Oh, nothing. I think
I've been working too hard.” He sipped his drink to give himself a reason for pausing. Better get to business. He didn't think he could do this again. She was way too much for him. “Actually, I was thinking of Lucas, where he is. Why he hasn't returned my calls.”
~*~
Since she had been prepared for it, his raising of Lucas in the conversation didn't throw her. But the tone of his voice, the worry, touched her. Did he know how much he loved his brother? She could hear it clearly enough.
So, why was Lucas so afraid of Gaelen? Why was he desperate that Gaelen not find him?
Annabelle put on her reporter's hat. How could she get him to talk about his relationship with his younger brother?
“Why wouldn't he return your calls?” she asked.
He looked at her as though she'd grown wings. “Didn't I just say I didn't know why?”
His tone was decidedly edgy. Should she proceed?
Why not?
“Well,” she offered, leaning forward, selecting her words carefully, “if he's avoiding you, there has to be a reason. From what Erin tells me, you and Lucas are close.”
“Why would she say that?”
“Aren't you?”
“Well, not close like you and Erin are.” He rolled his drink glass between his large hands. His large, strong hands. “We talk, but we've taken vastly different roads.”
“Does that matter? You're still family.”
“I don't think men are as family-oriented as women.” He drained his drink and slammed the glass on the table. “Let's stop talking about me. I'm a very boring subject, I assure you.”
“I doubt that,” she said, not knowing where the words had come from.
The waiter delivered their Stroganoff and lightly steamed broccoli.
“Ah, good. I'm starved,” Gaelen said, greeting the waiter's arrival.
Annabelle wasn't sure it was the food he greeted, so much as a chance to change the subject. She watched him dig in with typical masculine gusto for good food. He even seemed to enjoy the broccoli.
She took a forkful of the Stroganoff that was the restaurant's specialty.
“Ummm!”
“Good, huh? I was right?” His fork hovered over his plate as he waited for her reply.