by Nancy Warren
“He told me to go get crutches.”
“I know. And he told me you wouldn’t. He said to tell you to use the cane on the opposite side to your bad leg.”
He switched the cane to the other hand. “Huh.”
“Where are you going?” she asked him. “Do you want a ride?”
He shook his head. Under the blue glow from her umbrella, her eyes were as blue as the sky would be if you could see it. “Only tourists use umbrellas,” he informed her.
“And people who actually care about their appearance.”
“I’m heading for that coffee shop over there,” he said, hoping he sounded casual, as though he’d be there in a couple of minutes, no biggie.
“Bruno’s place?” she asked.
“Beananza,” he said, since he had no idea who Bruno might be.
“Right. That’s Bruno’s place. I’ll come with you.” A crease appeared between her perfectly shaped brows. “Or I could drive you.”
“It’s a block.”
“You have a bullet in your leg.”
“Do not.”
She let out a sigh of frustration. “Whatever.”
They started off and he thought he made a pretty respectable showing, thanks to the cane. He hoped his companion couldn’t tell how heavily he was leaning on the thing. It was a little awkward, her with her umbrella, him with his cane, as they made their slow way toward the cheerful yellow sign.
To take his mind off the ache in his thigh he checked out her legs, slim and toned and sexy as hell in those heels.
5
AT THE ENTRANCE TO BEANANZA, Hailey shut her umbrella and stepped in front of Rob, pushing the door open so he could limp in without making a big deal of it.
“Since you’re a client it’s my treat,” she said, and he somehow knew she was saving him the hassle of navigating the small tables and trying to balance coffees and the cane. He liked the simple way she helped him without making an issue of it.
“Thanks. An Americano.”
“Hi, Hailey,” a familiar voice called out.
“Julia.” Hailey checked her watch. “I should have known you’d be here.” She slipped off her coat and slid it over the back of a wooden chair at Julia’s table, pulling out a second chair and angling it so he could slip into it without a lot of maneuvering. “Can I get you another?” She gestured to her friend’s half-empty cup.
“No, thanks. I’m counting calories.”
While Hailey clacked up to the front, her heels hitting the reclaimed fir floors, he looked around. The place was packed. Two old men at a corner table talked politics; one wore a blazer, as though he’d spent so many years dressing for the office that he couldn’t stop even in retirement.
A trio of young mothers gossiped while their offspring dozed in strollers or gummed some kind of food from a reusable plastic container. A young guy with earphones on typed frantically into a computer. Two Asian women sat in a corner with textbooks and open notebooks.
Change the faces, the clothing and the language, and you could be in any public meeting place in the world, he thought.
“It’s funky, isn’t it?”
He turned back to Julia. “Yeah. Lots of character. I like it.”
“Wait until you taste the coffee. It’s so much better than anything you can get in a chain.”
He nodded, thinking how people always seem to say that whether it’s true or not. “You working?”
“No. Taking an email break.” She blushed. “I’m like a teenager. It’s ridiculous. He calls me sweetie. Isn’t that romantic?”
A guy calling a woman sweetie might have trouble remembering names, but he kept that thought to himself.
“Have you done much online dating?”
“No. This is my first time. I can’t believe I lucked out first time.”
Hailey arrived with two steaming china mugs, and placed one down in front of him.
“Thanks.”
Hers was some frothy drink. “I got an umbrella,” she said to Julia.
He glanced over half expecting that the baristas had taken to putting paper parasols into coffees now. It would hardly surprise him. Every time he came back to the States there seemed to be some new and crazier innovation—Earl Grey lattes or raspberry flavoring or some damn thing. It turned out though that they were talking latte art. The barista had decorated the foam with the outline of an umbrella. He checked the surface of his own coffee before taking a sip but found it blessedly manly, black and decoration-free.
He drank and found the brew gratifyingly strong.
“I was just telling Rob that my engineer calls me sweetie in his emails.”
“Oh, that’s so cute.”
Julia shifted forward in her seat. “I’ve already lost two pounds. I think I can lose another one before we meet. Do you think I should go for jeans and a sweater for our date? Or do I put on a dress? I can fit into that red one I wore to your birthday last year.”
Hailey seemed to ponder the choices the way a judge might consider a felon before a sentencing. “Where are you going on your date?”
“I’m not sure. He asked me which are my favorite restaurants so I assume he wants to go for dinner. He said he’s getting his Mercedes tuned up so he can pick me up.”
“He drives a Mercedes,” Hailey said, sounding impressed.
“Or says he does,” Rob mumbled into his coffee. When Hailey moved her chair slightly, he caught her scent again, even over the coffee, or was he imagining that cool citrus underlaid with something hot and dangerous?
“I want to look my best, but I don’t want to seem too eager.” Julia turned to him. “What do you think? Jeans or dress?”
He wanted to bolt to the other side of the coffee shop and talk politics with the old guys. Instead he tried to recall to the last actual date he’d had. It would be dinner with Romona, after work but before bed. Romona looked hot in jeans, dresses, fancy gowns, and best in nothing at all.
Which didn’t seem like information he wanted to share with two women he’d only just met.
“It depends where you’re going for the date, I guess. But I like a nice dress on a woman.”
Both women listened to him as though he might have the answer to life’s greatest mysteries.
“It’s more about chemistry than clothing. If you click, you click. It’s a bizarre and unpredictable fact of life that sometimes you meet a woman and there’s no spark, and sometimes, for no reason at all, there’s this huge attraction between you.”
Instinctively he glanced at Hailey. The inconvenient attraction was sizzling between them even now, in this crowded coffee shop with steamy windows from all the damp coats and sweaters drying off from the rain. Just the way her body curved into the chair turned him on. The way she held her coffee mug with two hands like a little kid. The way her head tilted when she listened. The sound of her laughter, the shape of her legs. “You have no control, even when it’s the last person you want to be attracted to.”
Their gazes locked and, as he felt the heat traveling back and forth between them, her lips parted, giving him a glimpse of white teeth and pink tongue.
She blinked and turned away, taking a quick drink from her china mug.
Julia gnawed some of her lipstick off. “I feel a huge attraction to this guy and I haven’t even met him. I can’t imagine what will happen when we do meet.”
“Neither can I,” Rob mumbled.
Hailey reached over and touched her friend’s hand while simultaneously kicking him under the table. Luckily his bad leg was on the side farthest from her. “I really hope this works out. He sounds perfect.”
As opposed to this huge and inconvenient attraction he felt for Hailey that was far from perfect.
A smart man would keep his distance.
* * *
HAILEY RECEIVED A CALL the next morning from Diane, who said she had clients who might be interested in Bellamy House.
Hailey cleared it with Rob and showed up half an hour before Dian
e and her clients were due, to make sure he was as neat as he claimed he was.
After checking the downstairs rooms and sighing with relief that all she had to do was hide a coat and some boots in the closet and give the kitchen sink a quick polish, she hurried upstairs.
She walked into the master bedroom and discovered Rob had done away with the designer cushions Julia had placed on the bed. She unearthed them from where he’d stuffed them—under the bed.
As she was bending over, fluffing them as close to their original pristine state as she could get them, a voice said behind her, “Are you going to put mints on the pillows and turn down the bed?”
She turned abruptly. “Rob, what are you doing here?” And then her eyes widened. He’d emerged from the master bath in nothing but a towel loosely tied around his hips. His hair was wet, his chest hair clung in damp, dark curls to his skin and one water droplet slid down his shoulder in a way that fascinated her.
He smelled of soap and toothpaste but she could swear she got a whiff of hot, star-filled nights under a desert sky.
“You need to go. I’ve got a Realtor coming in twenty minutes.”
“Her name Diane something?”
How could he know that? “Yes.”
“She called here. Her clients couldn’t make it today.”
“She called here? She should have called me.”
He shrugged. “She said she couldn’t reach you. We had a good talk on the phone. She knows a lot about this neighborhood. She said she’d be interested in talking to me about the history of the house.”
“Oh, did she.”
“She also mentioned that you’re pretty new in the business, and if I need any advice from a more experienced Realtor she’d be happy to oblige.”
Hailey’s blood began to boil, but she was determined to maintain her poise. “What did you tell her?” Please let him not have fallen for that phony snake’s tactics.
“I told her she should be selling used cars down on Federal Way.”
She was so surprised a snort of laughter erupted before she could stop it. “I wish I’d seen her face.” She tried not to notice how gorgeous Rob was in nothing but a towel and a few lazy drops of water.
“I don’t like those tactics.”
“Good.”
He took a step closer leaving a damp footprint on the rug. He had narrow feet with long toes. If she concentrated on those she wouldn’t obsess about his near-nakedness and the big, tempting bed looming
behind them.
“If I dump you for another Realtor it won’t be to someone devious.”
Her gaze connected with his, warm and intimate. “Are you going to dump me?” Her voice came out husky.
“I don’t have you. Yet.”
She flashed to an image of herself pushing him onto his back in that bed with one hand while the other rid him of his towel.
The thought was so compelling that she had to clench her fists.
They were inches away and she felt tingly all over. She tried to think of something completely unsexy to say.
“Why were you so negative to Julia about her date?” was the first thing she came up with.
“I wasn’t negative,” he said. “I told her to wear a dress, didn’t I?”
“You sounded sarcastic.”
“I have a hard time believing you can fall in love over the internet. The guy sounds like a dick.”
“Why? Because he asks her what restaurants she likes? Doesn’t drag her to his cave by her hair?”
He reached for his watch on the dresser and she wondered how hard she’d struggle if he tried to drag her to his cave. She suspected not very.
“No. Because he drops into the conversation that his Mercedes needs an oil change. Who does that?”
“He’s trying to impress her.”
“I think he sounds suspicious.”
“You know you’re not in a war zone now where every other person could be a spy or the enemy. You’re home. Maybe you should give your suspicion a rest.”
He looked as though he wanted to say more. His eyes were a clear green in the morning light. His hair, now almost dry, was trying to curl. “Maybe.”
“And maybe they are falling in love on the internet, like old-fashioned pen pals.”
He turned to her, his expression intense. “You don’t get attracted by words on a computer screen. Sexual attraction is raw and immediate. It’s about a man and a woman seeing inside each other.” His gaze grew more intense. “It’s in the shape of her face, her expression in different lights, the way her hair falls.” He reached forward and touched the ends of her hair with his fingertips. As he did so, he brushed her shoulder and she drew in a sudden jerky breath.
She tried to speak and couldn’t. He was so close she saw the dark flecks in the depths of his eyes, the freckles on his shoulders.
“It’s about the feel of her skin,” he said, letting his fingers trace the line of her jaw. Rough fingers that hefted heavy cameras and schlepped equipment through gritty deserts. “The sound of her voice, the way she smells.” His voice dropped to a near whisper, its tone deepening. “The way she tastes.” And he closed the short distance between them and put his mouth on hers.
Even though she’d anticipated the feel of his kiss, nothing could have prepared her for the lust that punched through her system when their mouths connected. A light, teasing kiss turned hungry and hot in a nanosecond. His hand moved to the back of her head, fisting in her hair, tilting her head so he had better access. She made a little moaning sound in the back of her throat as she reached for him, wanting to feel the solid outline of his chest, to thrust her fingers into his damp hair. He tasted like the cool mint of toothpaste and the hot spice of lust, his tongue teasing and tormenting her, giving and taking in equal measure. She’d never been kissed like this. Never imagined anything close to this.
He kissed her, taking his time, not trying to rip off her clothes or talk her into his bed. He kept kissing her as though his whole existence depended on nothing but this moment.
Getting involved with Rob wasn’t on her list or her agenda or anywhere in her short-term plans but she knew in that moment that her careful personal agenda had just been seriously screwed up.
When he drew slowly away from her, gentling his embrace, he grinned at her wryly. “You can’t get that on the internet.”
She’d have replied except that she was currently speechless.
When he turned to get dressed she scooted out of the room and said softly, “Or anywhere else.”
6
JULIA’S HOME PHONE was ringing when she opened the door to her apartment. She’d left a bridal shower early to get home since Gregory generally phoned around this time. It seemed as though all her friends were either getting married or having babies and she wanted that, too. Excitement bubbled within her when her call display revealed an international number. “Hello?”
“Hi, sweetie.”
“Hi yourself, Gregory. How was your meeting?”
“Long.” The line crackled. “I miss you. I miss Seattle. Tell me what’s going on?”
“It rained today. Nothing new there. Let’s see. I destaged a house that sold, no doubt because of my excellent staging.”
“Is the statue of Lenin still keeping watch over Fremont?”
She smiled into the phone. “Of course. Oh, and I was trying to decide what to wear for our date next week. I can’t wait to meet you in person.”
“I can’t wait either, sweetie. I’ve never felt so close to a woman before.”
“I know. I feel the same and it’s so strange. We’ve never even met.” She moved a pot of rosemary on her windowsill, centering it. “I noticed you took your profile down.”
“I’m not interested in anyone else.”
She felt as though she’d endured years of feeling like second-best. Of giving out her number to men who never called her. Of seeing taller, thinner women walk off with guys she was interested in. So to have this man choose her, o
ut of all the women on LoveMatch.com was incredible.
“I feel the same way,” she admitted.
They never talked for long, but she always felt like the luckiest woman in the world when she hung up smiling.
She’d booked a hair appointment for Tuesday and then, thinking what the hell, added a mani, pedi and a facial into the mix.
When she imagined that beautiful, sexy man seeing her for the first time, it was easy to make sensible food choices. Dinner was a salad with oil and vinegar and a tasteless piece of broiled fish because she could still lose a pound or two by Tuesday if she remained disciplined.
She was contorted on her green yoga mat, trying to keep up with a Pilates DVD that would tighten her core, define her muscles and—something the cover copy had neglected to mention—make her sweat like a pig, when the ding on her computer signaled an incoming email.
Only too happy to give her core a rest, she leapt up to find, as she had hoped, that the email was from Gregory.
Hi sweetie,
I’m in a jam and I don’t know who else to turn to. My ex-wife ran up all my credit cards so I had to cancel them. My flight was canceled and I need to book a new one to get home in time for our date. I hate to ask, but could you wire me the money for the flight? It will be $1,200. I’ll pay you back when I see you.
Love, Gregory.
She read the email a second time, feeling worse by the second. Don’t jump to conclusions, she scolded herself. He could be legitimate. Anyone could get stuck in a foreign country without a credit card. Although it was hard to imagine why his own company couldn’t advance him the money for an airline ticket. In the background, the Pilates woman was encouraging everyone to “tighten those glutes as you lift your spine off the mat. And hold.”
Julia sat down in front of the computer, nibbling her lower lip as she read the email yet again, then began typing.
Dear Gregory,
I have to admit your request has puzzled me. There are warnings all over the website about not sending money to strangers. Maybe if I’d actually met you, it would be different. How would I even send you the money?