Regardless, Caroline tried to search for words that she could use. “Just,” she pleaded, “don’t do anything until I tell you okay?”
Jess sat back in the chair, turned away from the computer and the anticipation clearly on her face made Caroline nervous. “What? You have an idea?”
She sighed. “I don’t know what I have. Be careful, hmm?”
Her sister rolled her eyes again, making Caroline wonder whether they’d eventually fall out of her head. “Duh. I don’t intend to cause an international scandal all by myself.”
I DON’T INTEND to cause an international scandal all by myself.
Caroline could not stop thinking of Jess’s flippant words as she headed to dinner. What she desperately wanted was to drown herself in sake, even more so when a country song put her sister’s words to music.
Instead, she set her shoulders back and walked into the restaurant with her head held as high as possible while covered in a baseball cap and wearing a jacket that was too warm for the weather. Of course she sat down next to him; his eyes were focused on her, like there was nobody else in the world.
Those eyes were dangerous. He was dangerous. In every possible way for her, Max Wilcox was dangerous. And yet there she sat, pulse pounding, heart beating. A question on her tongue.
But “Do you want sake?” was what came out of her mouth.
He looked at her, as if he could tell there was something else lurking under the surface of her question. He probably could tell she was terrified. Especially when a slight lift of his broad shoulders was followed by the lift of the corner of his mouth.
“Sure. Why not?”
The nonchalance of his answer made her feel unbelievably stupid for the relief that coursed through her veins. It was sake, it was alcohol but it was so much more than a drink. It was an opportunity. It was an acknowledgement that they had come specifically to see each other. Could she trust him? And…
The touch of his hand felt warm on hers, breaking apart every single thought she might have had. “Cheers,” he said in a way that made her realize he knew something more than the sushi was happening.
MAX’S DAY had been boring. The presentation he’d prepared had been the subject of way too much bureaucracy and even more revision than he’d been in the mood to handle, but he’d sucked it up anyway.
On top of that, Monday was heaviest on the admin requirements for the rec league he’d cofounded. ‘Hockey For Hope or ‘H4H’, made a charitable donation each week of league play based on a percentage of their ticket sales. In his experience, it was easier to work with some charities than others, and of course the charity chosen for the week he had to deal with the admin, was on the more difficult side.
As a result, his tolerance for garbage had gone out the window, though he wondered if part of his problem was due to a sudden, increased desire for sushi.
Sushi, her, or both.
“You’re crazy, Wilcox,” he’d told himself as he headed into the restaurant.
“What the hell are you doing?” he’d scolded himself as he sat down at the same spot in front of the sushi bar, staring at the same empty chair.
Until she walked in and his brain stopped completely. She was gorgeous: legs for miles, a body he knew was stunning, and a personality that made him relax. In the dark, wrapped in conversation and sushi, her identity hadn’t dawned on him. But tonight, where anticipation and focus made his senses more acute, there was something else.
Recognition.
His sushi companion, the beautiful woman with the haunted eyes, who he’d spent almost a week waiting to see again was Caroline Eleanor Crosby. Third of the hated president’s children, the Crosby kid who spent the least amount of time in the public eye.
It took him a minute, but he realized that the most important thing about this adventure, no matter what happened was the fact that he and Caroline liked each other’s company. He smiled at her as she sat down.
Then she asked him if he wanted sake.
“Sure,” he’d said. “Why not?”
His answer was nonchalant, even though sharing something with her meant a whole bunch of questions they’d have to answer later, including whether this mutual order counted as an admission of the fact that they were there together?
But the tentative smile on her face broke apart every single one of his questions, and his concerns. It was real, unguarded and aimed at him. He took a deep breath, smiled back and tried to focus on the necessities of sitting at the sushi bar. The wooden table in front of them, the glass counter, the pounding of the sushi master’s feet against the tile floor.
“Sake?”
He turned, letting the Secret Service officers place the vessel in between them, taking up precious space on the bar. The metal top opened on a hinge, the small ceramic container poured the clear liquid into tiny porcelain cups. He took his, his knuckles brushing against hers.
“Cheers,” he said, the simple touch of his knuckle on hers exploding. She was … she was fire and ice and so much more.
“Cheers,” she said.
A sip each from the small cup, the liquor burning his throat as it went down. Her eyes were wide, focused on him. He wanted to touch her, to press his mouth to hers…
Max yanked himself back down to earth, realized he had leaned towards her. He pulled back, though he still couldn’t take his eyes off of her.
What the hell was going on?
There sure as heck had to be something, aside from the chemistry suddenly driving him towards her like a tractor beam.
So he asked, “What are we doing here?”
“Eating sushi, drinking sake, having a moment? Maybe more?”
He raised an eyebrow. There were layers in that word; angles. What did she mean? What could she mean? “More? What do you mean?”
She took a long swallow of the sake. “I could need something from you, or want something from you…you could want something from me.”
He could barely breathe. What did she think was on the table, aside from chemistry? What did she think she could ask him for beyond his body? Not that he wasn’t willing to give her that, but still. What? Because satisfying that chemistry didn’t require sushi, didn’t require a second meeting. Only a bed in a room with a locked door.
“What could you want from me?”
She laughed, her fingers tapping the table in front of her. He took her hand in his, the touch of her infectious, making him want more. And when she settled, her hand relaxed against his, her smiled bloomed once again.
“Someone to believe in,” she said.
He felt a responding smile tugging at his cheeks. “Mmm. And what could I want from you?”
“Someone who believes in you.”
“I believe the sake is good, and I believe you’re a good drinking partner.”
“For sake alone?”
“Well,” he said as she took a bite of the crab the sushi master had given her, “now that you’ve demonstrated you’re not solely focused on the power of New York fish.”
“I’m from New Jersey,” she replied, her voice loud enough for him alone to hear. “I can always find ways to hate New York.”
“Which explains that horrible hat you’re wearing.”
She raised an eyebrow. “I can deal with the Blossoms. I can deal with the Tornados. But please, for the love of all that is holy, do not tell me that you’re an Empires fan.”
He nodded, took a chopstick in hand and smiled back at her. “What can I tell you? You have Semenov in goal, and if the coach uses St Laurent as he should, you have a cup contender—a cup winner, might I add. Which we have. How can I not like them?”
“You’re….you’re from Virginia. How are you an Empires fan?? How???’”
He snickered. “Blame it on my grandfather, the one who chose my middle name. I fell in love with his faith and his favorite hockey team.”
“There are many things I can find fault with,” she said, “but if I was going to be able to deal with someone who ha
ppened to be a freaking Empires fan, that would, probably be the reason why I could handle the fandom.”
He laughed. Not quietly, but truly. “This is nice,” he said. “I like it.”
He could see something in her eyes. Something beyond the chemistry that burned him every single time they touched. But the heat, the chemistry, the evidence that a kiss would burn them both, that wasn’t the only thing that waited inside of her. It was as if she was working up to something as she got comfortable. He didn’t know what, but he wanted to.
Once they’d finished the mochi they ordered just because they could, he put his hand on hers. She leaned towards him, cupped his cheek with her other hand, and leaned in. He could barely move, barely breathe.
A centimeter separated them, distance as long as a fingernail…
“Check.” The waiter placed the leather billfold just between them, in a space they would have occupied only moments before.
The bubble burst, the magic evaporated as he sighed, pulled back the leather folder with his free hand.
But she hadn’t moved. Her hand still cupped his cheek. But instead of the almost dazed expression she’d had before, there was focus in her eyes. “Can I trust you?”
Her question was earnest, clear and the words slammed him back down to earth. There were many reason she could be asking him this question, many scenarios playing out in his mind.
Yet once again, he felt ready and willing to take a leap. Of faith? Of…something. A step away from his slowly developing complacency.
“Yes.”
She nodded, her hand falling down from his cheek, setting on her wallet, then moving to the napkin, almost as if she was looking for something to do.
Was she nervous? Had she expected him to agree? He almost took his response back, the equivocation a heavy weight on his tongue.
“Good.” She nodded again.
As she looked around, he couldn’t help but notice the way her eyes seemed to capture every single detail of the restaurant as it closed down around them.
Suddenly, her hand brushed his cheek, her eyes focused on him as she leaned in. “I may need a favor,” she whispered. “Text me tomorrow afternoon and I’ll tell you where to meet me.”
Despite the potential for danger, he knew all too well he’d be unable to resist the lure of a quest and a favor from a damsel in distress. He dreamed of medieval knights, quests, swords and Caroline.
THREE: TUESDAY
M ax was still a mess early Tuesday morning, and he wasn’t exactly sure what the culprit was. The sake? Caroline? The sushi? Her mysterious question? He had no idea, but there was something that made him sluggish still. So he needed to talk. Thankfully his buddy who worked at the Canadian Embassy was free for lunch.
“Kleiner,” he said as his friend slid into the booth across from him. Adam Klein was a former hockey rival turned H4H cofounder and repository of random lunches that usually involved talking shit out.
“Wilcox. So.”
His friend’s efficiency of words always amazed the shit out of him. In that ‘so’ were way too many minefields, none of which he wanted to deal with head on. Instead, he shook his head and gestured at the cream soda in front of him.
“I take it you want a beer, but this is your consolation prize?” Klein asked.
Max was glad he hadn’t had any of the soda; Klein and his white shirt would have been wearing it.
“Why do you think we’re here?” The restaurant was known in their small circle for one dish and one alone, the choice purveyor of a Quebec classic. It was the perfect dish to eat after a game or for sopping up way too many crappy beers.
Klein knew it, but he laughed anyway. “It’s still not the real thing.”
“Shut up, asshole. I don’t critique your choice of bagels.”
“Because you’re wrong and I’m right.”
He rolled his eyes. “This is the US, friend, and even though I hate their baseball teams, New York bagels reign supreme.”
“I will never agree with you,” Klein shook his head. “Protocol insists I defend all things Canadian.”
“Even if they suck? Anyway, speaking of protocol, I have a question.”
“Protocol questions before poutine? This is serious. Can you at least wait until I don’t feel like eating the table?” Klein’s eyes met his, and he sighed. “I guess not. Okay. So?”
“Random slightly weird situation involving a… we’ll call her a person of interest.”
“Person of interest to me or person of interest to the world in general?”
“General. Anyway, my gut says something is going on — that this…weird situation is more than just a random….”
“Okay.” Klein threw up his hands. “You’re talking nonsense. Can we have a few specifics here, even if you can’t divulge very much? Because honestly, from the way you’re talking, I feel like I’d be picking up pieces if things went haywire, and I’d like to know what I’d be getting into.”
Max was, in fact talking nonsense in an attempt to get his friend to understand, or at least to get himself to understand what Caroline Crosby was up to. “I feel like I’m about to be dragged into a heist or something. “
The sound of Klein’s laughter wasn’t good for his ego but it sufficiently broke the ice. “I take it you’re serious. And this isn’t some invitation for a secret off-the-charts hookup?”
He nodded. “It’s like I’m being drawn in to some...weird thing. Now, of course the person of interest is smoking hot. But I feel like if she was in it for a random hookup, it would have happened already as opposed to some weird ‘text me tomorrow and I’ll tell you where to meet me’ nonsense.”
Klein suddenly sat up straight against the bench, a flat hand running over his head in a familiar gesture of exasperation. “Time out. Whoa. So does the random weird person have a name, or is it something you’ll mention when you call me to bail you out of jail or political trouble?”
“If I decide to do this, I’ll tell you.” He paused. “So that you’ll be able to rescue me from political trouble.”
“Because you think this isn’t a random hookup but an invitation to political intrigue. With a person of interest?”
Max nodded. There was chemistry, sure—the feel of her still burned him. But there was also something else, something that stared him directly in the face. “If it was just a hookup, she wouldn’t have asked me if I trusted her.”
That was when Klein nodded back. “Okay. I say text her, or was your original plan to do so while sitting with me?”
It wasn’t. But texting her, expecting political intrigue while sitting with a guy who worked at an Embassy was a pretty good idea, even if he hadn’t thought of it. “Okay.” He pulled out his phone, and the number she’d written down.
Hi, it’s Max.
And now he waited.
A SUB with random Italian meats on crunchy bread was good no matter where you got it. It was comfort food, perfect for a day where Caroline’s stomach was full of nerves and anticipation. Why was it so important that Max text her? She had said afternoon, but she wasn’t sure, whether it was the sake or the feel of his skin, his stubble under her fingers.
“Am I going to see you tonight?”
Deborah, of course. Ever since Deborah had told her that her sister’s short film had a wrap party date, she’d been somewhat insistent that Caroline attend. And she wanted to go, especially considering it was a movie about resistance, about standing up for your beliefs.
What Caroline had realized the night before, but couldn’t articulate, was that an event like that would be the perfect thing to take Max to, as an unexpected…event. The first test. To see if she could tell him about the notebook and other things.
“Yes,” she said. “But I might bring someone.”
“Bringing someone for attention or bringing someone for bringing someone purposes?”
She shrugged. “Both, I guess.”
Deborah sat back in her chair. The flimsy metal back was prob
ably digging into her friend’s skin. “I’m listening.”
“It’s this guy,” Caroline said. “He’s…I don’t know. He could be different, he is different. He could make me different, or believe I can be.”
Deborah rolled her eyes and took a big bite of her own sandwich, the melted cheese erupting out of the bread. “You need to stop being so hard on yourself. You don’t need someone else to make you believe you can be better. You’re already doing that, Caro.”
And that was when her phone buzzed. Short and sweet, quick and to the point. A sigh of relief. And so she texted him back, hoping she’d see him at the event.
“I take it that’s the boy?”
Caroline nodded. “One and the same. And Deborah?”
Her friend’s eyes widened. “Yes?”
“I know people aren’t supposed to be able to do that, but this one might.” She took a bite of he own sandwich. What was she going to wear that evening? And what was she going to do if Max passed her test?
MAX AND KLEIN finally ordered their poutine, but no text from Caroline.
Their poutine arrived, but no text from Caroline.
They talked hockey, but no text from Caroline.
They compared political situations, making it a working lunch for Klein, and letting him talk about how lucky he was that Canada had a leader he liked, even though he had gone to a Uni that rivaled his own and had a very sheepish reputation. Max also informed Klein that sheep were the dumbest reason in the history to hate a school. That led into more hockey talk.
Finally his phone buzzed. He grabbed it and took a breath. The text specified an address in Arlington he recognized from ordering way too much pizza. The place was gorgeous and pretentious, but it made the best pizza he’d had in the DMV and was prompt when you ordered takeout.
Party, movie premiere. Suit and tie. Be ready to smile. More later.
Klein put his fork down and reclined against the bench. “So?”
“A party and a public appearance.”
“Not political intrigue?”
Rogue Desire: A Romance Anthology (The Rogue Series) Page 22