Men Like This

by Roxanne Smith

  Sometimes Quinn wished she would’ve tried harder to be that woman. Maybe Blake would’ve respected her had she been Very Important in an Office like him. Instead, she’d happily taken up the reins of housewife and become what he liked to sneeringly call complacent. She’d confused it for content.

  She fought the urge to cry. “Soon.”

  He nodded his approval. “Good. It’s been stressful. Things will get better once Seth moves back in with you.”

  Her nostalgia faded abruptly, replaced with disappointment and a familiar mild surprise. “Seth’s a great kid. How stressful can having him around be?”

  “He’s a teenager. Thirteen. He’s loud and distracting. When Kira and I bring work home from the office, it’s impossible to get anything done around here. And forget entertaining clients.”

  Quinn smirked. The asinine smile always rubbed Blake the wrong way. “Maybe try spending some time with him instead of letting him sit up there alone in his room.”

  Blake sighed in his put upon way. It was, she believed, designed to let her in on how tedious he found her. “It’s nothing personal. He is a good kid. I love him.”

  She sensed more to the story. Her ability to read him irritated him more than usual since the divorce had been finalized, but the old adage proved true. You can take the girl out of the marriage, but you can’t take the marriage out of the girl. She crossed her arms. “And?”

  He started to reply, hesitated and began again. “Kira and I would like to start a family of our own. He’s my son, but Kira wants—”

  It was like being zapped with lightning if lightning zapped people with outrage instead of electricity. “Let me guess. Kira wants purity. Am I right?” She didn’t need to wait for an answer. “Of course I’m right. She doesn’t like having Seth around because he’s mine. Blake, he’s yours, too. Why aren’t you offended? If she really loves you, shouldn’t she want to learn to love your son?”

  Blake leaned back in his wheeled chair and spoke like a man trying to explain the cosmos to a monkey. “She can’t help but feel a certain way about my child with you. It’s not her fault. Our marriage is something Kira feels she has to live up to no matter how many times I’ve assured her you and I no longer care for each other. Our history intimidates her.”

  Why wasn’t he capable of a single pinch of sensitivity? She nodded absently. “If that’s how you feel, you’re not going to like what I came here to tell you.”

  Blake eyed her warily. “You didn’t come here to tell me you were going to find a house soon?”

  Quinn shrank beneath his hard glare. “No.” She sucked in air through her teeth and dove in. “I’m leaving the country. London. I’m going to London.” Not the smooth announcement she’d practiced in her head, but she still managed to stun him into silence.

  She enjoyed the fascinating array of emotions passing over his handsome features. First came shock, evidenced by his slack jaw and deadpan eyes. Then his blond brow creased in confusion. She hoped it gave him wrinkles. Finally, his mouth snapped shut, and he zeroed in on her with narrowed eyes.

  Mint and honey? Maybe not. Right now they were more like molten amber. “I don’t think so.”

  Even coming from Blake it was an unexpected response. How much control did he presume to have over her?

  “Excuse me? I’m not requesting permission. I’m going, and Seth isn’t. I’ve already given him the option, and he chose to stay. I can’t say I blame him. At his age, I wouldn’t have wanted to spend a year away from my friends, either, going to some strange school in a foreign country.”

  Blake’s expression of extreme ire might’ve been carved from granite. She pressed on. “It’s only for a year. He’ll be in school. He’ll have his friends and my family, plus vacations and the summer with me in London. It’ll be over before you realize it. Hell, he might even have a new baby brother to occupy him, huh? He’s a built-in babysitter.”

  Blake started to say something but stopped. His brow creased again. With his thumb and forefinger, he stroked his chin in a thinking man’s gesture. “A year, you said? That’s a pretty specific time frame, isn’t it, Q? It’s about the length of time needed to, oh, I don’t know . . . write a book?”

  He’d used his old nickname for her. She didn’t point it out—a strategic move on her part. “You were paying attention the last ten years. Yes, I’m going there to write.”

  Not a muscle twitched. “Are you being funny?”

  The tantrum she’d been expecting closed in. It would be one of the first she didn’t bow to. She rose from her seat and clasped her hands together. Hopefully standing made her appear more authoritative. “I’d never put so much effort into a joke.”

  Blake bowed his head and closed his eyes as if warding off a headache. He probably was. He joined her in standing and placed his hands on his hips. The toe of one exquisitely polished loafer tapped an angry staccato on the oak-paneled floor. “Explain to me why you’re going to London to do what you’ve always done right here in California.”

  Not a question. A demand for information.

  Quinn’s mouth tightened. She could tell him about the romance novel she wanted to write, or how this was all her dad’s big idea, but she wasn’t going to make excuses or offer explanations. He’d simply have to deal with her decision to go to London the same way she’d dealt with his decision to get a divorce.

  The mere memory brought a rush of flame to her face. After learning about Blake’s affair, she’d wrongly assumed the power lay in her hands. Didn’t cheating men generally beg their wives not to give them the boot? She’d confronted him and promised forgiveness if he’d stop seeing the other woman.

  He’d thrown the offer in her face. He didn’t want a second chance. They were done; he was leaving—rather, she was—and it was over. Thank God, he’d told her, because keeping his affair secret for five years had been exhausting.

  Quinn pinpointed it as the exact moment her heart shattered. “I’m going because I want to and I can. End of story.”

  He met her eyes. “So you don’t need to. You want to. We don’t always get what we want.”

  His hypocrisy stunned her. “Are you going to lecture me on the virtues of selflessness? I don’t believe you’re the man for the job, honey.” Anger had her slipping into old habits. It only peeved her off further. “You certainly don’t make it a habit to ignore your own wants. You corrupted our marriage and destroyed our life together to get what you wanted. Now you’re prepared to throw away your relationship with Seth to get more of the same.”

  This was the man she loved? This hypocritical, selfish jerk?

  Her tirade failed to make an impact.

  “Don’t throw the divorce in my face, Quinn. You might not realize it, but you weren’t happy either. We were living our lives around each other. I made a move to be happy. You should’ve done the same.”

  Tears sprang to her eyes. Bitter anger gave her the strength to keep fighting. “I’m doing it now.”

  Her tears used to make Blake weak in the knees. He’d never been able to resist coming to her side. Since he met Kira, though, the man had iron in his legs. He stayed rooted to the spot and watched her show of emotion dispassionately.

  He chided her. “You’re being ridiculous. London isn’t the answer.”

  Quinn snatched a tissue from the dispenser on his desk since he hadn’t offered one and dabbed her eyes. After several deep breaths, she faced him again. “In two months I’m going to London for a year. Seth doesn’t want to go, and we’re not forcing him.” She hadn’t planned on giving a time limit. Too late now. “My suggestion is you take this time with your son and get to know him. It might be your last chance.”

  “You’re overreacting again. I just believe he should live with you. Weekends and holidays are fine. It’s the typical arrangement, isn’t it?”

  “Of course. You wouldn’t want your precious reputation to suffer if anyone ever found out you don’t want your own child.”

  Blake’s
eyes narrowed. “That’s not true.”

  She’d won the war but didn’t have the strength for another battle. She wiped her eyes again. “Whatever you say. I wouldn’t take him, anyway. You’re his dad. He needs you.” A glimmer of something that might’ve been love, pity, or regret crossed his face.

  She didn’t stick around to find out which.

  Quinn hadn’t been very generous to herself.

  Two months hardly covered the time she needed to prepare for living abroad. She managed, though, determined to stick to the deadline she’d given Blake. May he never underestimate her again.

  First, she’d needed an agent. With only a flimsy outline of her novel in hand and her established career in another genre to lean on, she went about the process of finding the right representative for her new endeavor.

  It didn’t take long for Carla Darby to pounce on her proposal. During their initial phone conference she’d surprised and encouraged Quinn with her eagerness and immediate assumption of success.

  She’d literally laughed at Quinn’s expressed doubt. “Romance is pie! Anytime you get stuck, throw in a knifing or two to get yourself back on familiar ground. Those weren’t pretty times. People were savage. No one will blink twice at a little violence. Or a lot.”

  Quinn signed with Carla that day.

  The day before her flight departed for Heathrow, an announcement from Blake arrived in her e-mail inbox. Kira was pregnant.

  Quinn couldn’t be happier to be leaving the country.

  Chapter 5

  London, England

  Eight months later

  Nicholas Braum knocked on the door of Quinn’s Kensington flat at precisely seven o’clock. She answered and smiled brightly at his appraisal of her outfit, which he indicated with the slight widening of his eyes.

  The red cocktail dress with its tight bodice and flouncy skirt was the only clean outfit she had left since neglecting laundry last week. The black ballet flats didn’t do it justice, but she’d learned her lesson about high heels many moons ago. They weren’t for her.

  “You’re early.” She reached for her clutch and the thick black peacoat hanging from a peg near the door. Fall loomed. Days were crisp, and nights were downright chilly.

  Nicholas held up a finger and contradicted her. “Not so, my dear. Seven on the dot.” He tapped his watch for emphasis and offered Quinn his other arm. He guided her down three concrete steps and onto the busy sidewalks of her chosen London borough.

  Her flat, which she opted to buy outright, had what they called “European charm.” Known to the wise as a pseudonym for very tiny. It was a simple two-bedroom apartment on the first floor of an ancient building—ancient on American terms, anyway. The sheer depth of London’s history fascinated her. The U.S. was a wee babe in comparison.

  Nicholas hooked his thumb out to catch a passing cab, and Quinn brushed a bit of lint from her shoulder. “I usually get a five-minute grace period. It’s a fluke I’m ready on time.”

  He smiled beneath a neatly trimmed mustache in a muted shade of red. “You’re right, of course. Forgive me. I’m excited about tonight, that’s all.”

  Maybe the dress had more of an impact than she realized. She noted the smart blue bow tie he wore. What was his excuse for getting dolled up?

  “It’s only dinner.” She cast a nervous glance at the bow tie. “Unless we’re going parasailing afterward, and you’ve neglected to tell me?”

  He chuckled and patted her hand. “Nothing so dramatic, my dear.” A cab pulled up to the curb, and they slipped inside.

  They were shortly deposited at the front entrance of the Milestone much to Quinn’s surprise and dismay. This wasn’t cheap fare. She eyed Nicholas and tried to keep her concern from showing.

  She didn’t want to embarrass him, but he couldn’t earn much running the quaint paper supply store within walking distance of Quinn’s flat. The Milestone was definitely a few notches above his pay grade. Proud gentleman he was, going Dutch wasn’t an option. She readied herself for an awkward meal and took solace where she could.

  At least she had an explanation for the bow tie.

  Neither Nicholas nor Quinn hailed a cab this time. They had plenty to discuss. A long, chilly walk home would provide ample time to clear the air.

  Quinn wanted to jump straight into an explanation, but Nicholas wasn’t the only victim. To put a woman on the spot in public was a risk few men braved a mere seven months into a relationship.

  They made it an entire block in stone-cold silence before he spoke. Perhaps he realized she wasn’t going to break the skin on the impending discussion. “Are you afraid to marry again?” He continued his steady pace. The tight line of his mouth remained unchanged.

  Honesty would serve her best even though a lie would be easier. Oh, the trials of the decent. “No. I look forward to trying it again someday.”

  “Is it bad timing?”

  She sensed a thread of hope in his question and didn’t dare glance his way. It would only break her heart. “Timing is something.” She laughed with little humor. “I’m going home soon, back to California. Back to my real life.”

  He said nothing.

  Quinn pressed on. She needed him to understand but didn’t want to crush him in the process. “You’re great, a really wonderful man, but I’m not sure if what we have is enough to build a union on. Marriage is no small thing.”

  Nicholas stopped walking and turned so they stood eye to eye. He searched her face. “Then what is enough? It’s been an easy, natural evolution from friends to lovers. I love you. Do you love me?”

  “I do, of course I do.” It was true. She loved him in her way. She struggled for a kind way to express her reserve. “I mean, it’s . . . I do, but it’s a quiet sort of love. It’s too easy if that makes sense.”

  He scoffed. “I’m afraid it doesn’t. What’s wrong with quiet love? It’s sound and stable, the kind of love able to weather the worst of storms.”

  “But what of passion?” She suddenly sounded a lot like her fictional eighteenth-century heroine, Eileen. Yes, what of passion, Sir Nicholas? Pray tell.

  He let out an exasperated sigh and stalked off. “I’m not a man of passion. I do, however, admire it in others. I assumed yours was locked away in your stories.”

  She shared in his frustration and struggled to keep pace. He walked like he intended to outdistance their conversation, but she wouldn’t leave it unfinished. “There’s no cap on passion, Nicholas. I’m passionate about an abundance of stuff.”

  “Not me.” Not a question. A statement.

  There was nothing else to say. She wouldn’t deny it. How to make him understand? For all its stability, quiet love was boring love. She wanted fire and soul.

  They made the rest of their walk in stony silence. When they arrived at her flat, she made one final attempt at reparations. What a stupid thing to lose Nicholas over. “We shouldn’t leave it this way. Come inside. I’ll make some tea, and we can talk.”

  He looked at his shoes. “I’d rather not if it’s all the same. I’ll be on my way.”

  “Fine. Is breakfast still on?”

  “No.” The single syllable left no room for argument. “You didn’t mean to hurt me, Quinn, but you have to understand it’s quite a blow. I need a few days to put myself to rights. Even then I’m not sure if I can spend time with the woman I love and endure a daily reminder she doesn’t return the feeling. I do hope you understand.” He refused to fix his gaze on hers.

  She tried and failed to bite back her exasperation. “What did you expect to happen when it came time for me to leave?”

  Finally, he looked at her, but his faded blue eyes were hooded. “Why do you think I proposed? So you’d stay here. Seth would come to live with us, naturally. He and I got along well. My business is growing. I’m a capable provider.”

  She hung her head in regret for the happy little family he’d obviously fantasized over. “I’m sorry. I feel like I’ve somehow misled you, but I didn’t k
now. I really didn’t.”

  He offered her a small smile. “I believe you, and I forgive you.” He started to walk away but turned back after his first step. “One last thing, my dear.”

  “Yes?”

  “You might want passion now. But your divorce, and the pain you suffered from it, also came from passion, albeit someone else’s. One day it might be quiet love you wish for.” With that final piece of unsettling advice and uncharacteristic insight, Nicholas left.

  She watched him go and pondered his words on passion. As a writer, she often used it for the tumultuous tool it was, a vehicle driving characters to do insane things in the name of love or science or religion. He may be right in the end, but she’d marry with fervor and blinding joy or not at all.

  She gazed after him and tested her resolve. Nothing changed. Just as her heart had guided her to London, it was leading her away from Nicholas.

  She wasn’t about to stop following it now.

  The next morning brought with it waves of doubt. They alternated between gentle and crushing. Quinn buried her face into the down pillows. Had she made the right choice? Had she considered every possibility, every angle? Did she know what she was doing?

  Hell no. She’d met a questionable man who inspired her and a wonderful man who bored her. The cherry on top? She was in London writing a blooming romance, which ironically would’ve sounded like a horror story a year ago.

  She reluctantly left the sanctuary of her bed and forced herself to brush her teeth and dress. She threw on yesterday’s jeans and a canary-yellow sweater. Maybe the sunny color would infuse her with some of its cheeriness. She slipped into tennis shoes—trainers, she’d learned to call them—and grabbed her purse.

  By force of habit, she started in the direction of Casey’s, a small café a block away from her flat where she met Nicholas for breakfast most mornings. She paused midstride and promptly turned heel. He was the last person she wanted to bump into.

  She’d have to get her caffeine fix elsewhere today. Another café a few blocks over called The Black Kettle had always intrigued her. Something about kettles and brew seemed promising, but she could never convince Nicholas to break from routine. He also claimed they made horrendous coffee.