“I get it,” he went on. “We both wanted to have the place to ourselves. Both of us are equally shit out of luck. Though it looks like you insist on having the shorter end of the stick way over there.
“How about this, I’ll agree not to talk to you and you agree not to talk to me. Deal?” he offered.
She looked at him, debating his proposition. It would still be awkward since he had nothing to occupy him except the warm fire. Perhaps if she made a point of keeping her nose in her e-reader he’d stick to his word. Maybe he’d eventually get bored and take his boozefest back to his room.
She shrugged and made her way to the chair directly across from him in front of the fire. As soon as she sank into the seat she realized what an uncomfortable situation she had settled into. The way the chairs were situated they were directly facing one another. In fact, from here she could see that he had to actually twist his neck to stare into the fire, otherwise he’d be looking right at her.
Natalie put her Baileys spiked milk on the table between them. She noticed the faintly disgusted look he gave as she set it down. We can’t all be boozers, she thought with a snippy little twitch to her mouth. Just to make the point, she brought it right back up and took a healthy sip, looking him straight in the eye.
The frown on his face grew deeper as he watched her. “Are you some kind of teetotaler?” he asked teasingly.
“What happened to not talking to one another?” she volleyed right back at him.
He put his hands up in a mea culpa surrender and turned back to the fire, ceding the point. She saw the way the corner of his mouth creeped inward, suppressing the smile that he refused to let out. By god, he actually had a tiny dimple forming! Natalie wondered what it would look like if he ever bothered to indulge in a smile.
She left it at that and returned to Thrust the exciting, erotic tales of Scarlett and Blade, the alpha biker. The entire book was a ridiculous, sex-filled romp…and she was loving every minute of it.
A few minutes later she reached down to take another sip from her glass.
“Sweet Jesus, I can’t watch this anymore,” she heard the voice across from her complain.
Natalie looked up at the stranger across the way with mild annoyance. He strode over to the bar, leaned over to say a few words to the bartender and came back with a glass. She put the e-reader in her lap as she watched him go through the motions of pouring a finger from his bottle into the glass and sliding it her way.
“If you’re going to imbibe, you might as well have a real drink,” he said.
Natalie looked down at the amber liquid placed before her as though it was toxic waste. She placed one index finger on the rim and pushed it right back in his direction.
“Thanks, but no thanks,” she said with a look on her face that suggested he might be somewhat out of his mind. “I don’t take drinks from strange men.”
“Am I really all that strange?” he asked with slight smile.
“Um, you’re drinking alone, with a full bottle, staring into the fire,” Natalie responded. “Kinda strange to me.”
“Well I wouldn’t be drinking alone if you accepted my gracious offer,” he said smoothly, tipping his own glass to the one on the table. “That’s a pretty good whiskey there.”
“I’m good,” she said, picking up her own glass in a salute.
“That’s not drinking,” he said, chuckling and shaking his head. “That’s what kids have with their Coco Puffs.”
“Kids who are over 21,” she responded, getting annoyed. “This isn’t just milk you know.”
“It doesn’t matter what’s in it,” he said smartly. "It's a kid's drink."
“If I take a sip will you ‘agree not talk to me if I agree not talk to you?’ ” she asked, a wee bit of sarcasm creeping into her voice. She lifted the glass up and brought it to her lips, taking a tiny sip. The liquid rested on her tongue and she could instantly sense the alcohol content. It went down her throat in a rush of heat and she winced, closing her eyes and shaking her head.
“Nope,” she coughed out. “Not my kinda drink.”
She pushed the glass back in his direction.
"Well, it's yours now," he shrugged. "Please don't let it go to waste."
Why wouldn't this guy leave her alone?
She looked down at the small amount of liquid in the glass he’d given her. It had been strong…maybe just the thing she needed to cap off this weekend. She reached over, grabbed the glass off the table and upended it into her own drink.
"Happy now?" She asked with finality. "I'm officially an adult."
She wasn't sure what her drink would taste like now, but getting drunk wouldn't be such a bad thing. After all, that was an important part of Natalie's Big Cathartic Weekend Getaway with the gals. Besides, Denise was driving them back in the morning. At the very least, maybe it would put her to sleep finally.
She looked up at the guy with a satisfied smile that immediately faltered when she saw the look on his face. His forehead was furrowed into a deep V between two eyes that were blazing with disbelief. The entire expression was cemented with an open mouthed gape.
“That was about $50 worth of whiskey you just poured into your milk,” he said with an accusatory tone.
Natalie’s own mouth dropped open and she looked down at the spiked milk.
“Who the hell buys a bottle of whiskey for…?” She paused trying to do the math in her head.
“Over one thousand dollars,” he finished for her.
“Well, what in the world are you giving it away to strangers like—like it was milk?” she said, turning the fault back on him.
“If I’d known you were going to commit that blasphemy I would have poured it in the fire instead,” he shot back, but she could hear the smile creeping in his voice, despite his obvious consternation.
“Well some of us can’t afford to waste $50, so if it makes you feel better, I fully intend on finishing this,” she said, bringing it up to her lips to take a sip. “It actually doesn’t taste too bad now.”
She knew the last remark would get under his skin and sure enough he gave a melodramatic wince.
“It’s your fault for wasting on me,” she laughed, taking another sip. “This,” she lifted the glass of milk in his direction, “should have told you I’m not a heavy drinker.
“Unlike some people,” she noted, eying the bottle in front of him. “Speaking of which, are we celebrating or drowning our sorrows?”
“We are…” he paused, “celebrating I suppose. I just finished my book. At least until the editors rip it a new one.”
A writer! Natalie’s eyes shot wide open. She worked as librarian in the Architecture Library at U.S.C. and was an avid reader. Granted, her usual fare was modern romance, and this guy didn’t exactly look like the Danielle Steele type.
All the same, the stranger before her had just become more interesting.
On the other hand, it could have been his first book and he was just hoping to get lucky. A thousand dollar bottle of liquor…she wasn’t sure what that meant. Either he was a new, hopeful novelist splurging for good luck or he was well established and could afford such an extravagant purchase. Or maybe just liked spending all his money on alcohol.
“Is this your first?” she asked, gently probing for more information.
He smiled as if he knew exactly what she was doing. He shook his head.
“This would be book number seven,” he said.
Her eyes shot up over her glass mid-sip. Seven books! She usually didn’t pay much attention to author’s pictures in the back covers of books, but this handsome face she would have remembered. Seven books wasn’t a huge catalog, but it was a pretty good run. He obviously knew what he was doing.
“Anything I would have heard of?” she asked keeping a casual tone to her voice.
He scrutinized her with a small smirk. “I seriously doubt you would fall into my target audience.”
“Try me,” she said, challenging him to reveal hi
mself. “After all, I think I should know the name of the man who ‘wasted’ fifty dollars on me,” she added for good measure.
“Jake Cavanaugh,” he said.
JAKE
For some reason, Jake gave his real name rather than his far more well known pseudonym, Jake Steele. He wanted this woman across from him to see him as himself, not the best selling author.
Thus, he probably should have left off the part about the book. Still, there was no way she’d be putting a face to the Nick Zane novels. It was his one stipulation with his publishers. It wasn’t just his concern about his past catching up with him, and it wasn’t that he wasn’t proud of his work either.
He just liked his privacy.
Wright Publishing hadn’t been happy about it. Apparently Jake Steele had a “marketable face.” Rugged enough to appeal to men, handsome enough to appeal to women, or so he had been told. The answer had still been a flat no. He hadn’t rejoined civilization only to be thrown back in the trenches again. He had a feeling it might just be worse than anything he’d experienced in the Middle East.
So he watched with a bit of enjoyment as the gorgeous thing sitting across from him—sipping on $50 of his very fine whiskey—struggled to place the name.
“Hmm,” she finally shook her head, “sorry, I don’t think I’ve heard of you.”
She gave a piercing look at him as she worked her way down the half empty glass in her hand. “What kind of books do you write?”
“Mostly special ops, CIA, your average international intrigue sort of stuff,” he admitted. He saw no harm in revealing that part. That type of book lined entire shelves in bookstores and libraries. By the way she had been gasping and squirming in her seat while reading her e-reader, she was into a different sort of reading material. It was probably sexist of him to presume, but even his own publisher had told him that his audience was something like 80% male.
Her very appealing lips twisted to the side and she shook her head. “No, I probably wouldn’t know you. My dad might, he loves that stuff. I’ll have to be sure and ask him. Sorry,” she shrugged with a smile.
She was probably thinking he’d be hurt by her ignorance, which couldn’t have been further from the truth. Still, he was happy to let her simmer in it. Any bit of sympathy he could get from this creature would be worth it.
“Well, even if you don’t know my books, you know my name and I’m still quite ignorant of yours,” he raised an eye.
“Natalie Damond,” she answered in response to the implied question. She bowed her head, “librarian of no great renown, at your service.”
It was Jake’s turn to be a little more interested. Librarian. It was sexy, even if she didn’t really look like much of a stereotypical librarian. No glasses, hair finally out of that silly bun. The shoes were still an issue, but with that face and legs of hers, he could forgive them. Almost.
She lifted her glass to him. “Still, we should toast to your accomplishment.”
He used the opportunity to tease her again. “No way are you toasting with that atrocity,” he chided. “You might bring me bad luck.”
He leaned in and stuck two fingers over the rim of the empty glass he had poured for her earlier and brought it closer to him. He poured another shot of whiskey into it and smiled to himself as he saw her mouth shoot open in protest.
“Are you just trying to get me drunk?” she asked. “I’m already starting to feel the stuff I poured into this glass,” she held up the almost empty drink she had in her hand.
“It’s bad luck to toast with a drink the honoree doesn’t approve of,” he replied.
“That’s not true,” she said rolling her eyes. “If you’re just trying to get me into bed, you’re wasting your time. I’m anti-men this weekend.”
She immediately frowned after saying that, actually bringing a hand up to her mouth as if to push the words back in.
It was an interesting development. Jake had no interest in listening to drunken ex-boyfriend rants and was beginning to regret pouring her another glass. He didn’t mind her well lubricated if it meant she would be more amenable to certain activities. However, he didn’t want her to start moaning about whatever man troubles she might be having.
“Sorry. I promised myself I’d stop thinking that way.” she said shaking her head vigorously as if to eliminate the thoughts from her mind.
“I should warn you,” she said with a sly grin, “I’m in rebound mode.”
That was perfectly fine with Jake.
CHAPTER THREE
NATALIE
Natalie couldn’t believe it. Why in the world had she said that?
First, she had basically admitted she recently had a bad break-up. The next moment she had confessed that she was ripe for the picking.
She looked at Jake across the table. The small twitch on the side of his mouth at her last words was not lost on her. Ugh, she really wanted to escape back into her book. What had happened to the agreement not to talk to one another? Now all of a sudden it was a spill-the-beans fest.
He seemed to take some pity on her, and decided to shift the subject back to toasting his book.
He lifted his glass to her and made a point of shifting his eyes down to the untouched second round of absurdly expensive whiskey he had just poured for her.
“To my seventh novel,” he said, waiting for her to pick it up.
It was the least she could do. She picked it up and joined him. “To your seventh novel. May it be a thousand times more successful than your previous six.”
She threw the glass back and swallowed it whole. The liquid fire that raged down her throat nearly put her body temperature on par with the crackling fire in front of them. She scrunched her eyes shut as she felt the flaming fingers tickle their way from her intestines out to her limbs. She gave a hearty shiver and loud gasp as the heat subsided. Oh boy, she was going to feel this in the morning.
She opened her eyes to see Jake staring at her with amused awe. “That’s not exactly how you’re supposed to take it, but I suppose it’s better than the alternative,” he said, his eyes shifting to the milk on the table.
He lifted his glass again, nodded in appreciation and took a long sip of his own drink.
In an attempt to stray away from her earlier pronouncements, she brought the conversation back around to his book.
“So what is this book about?” she asked with overt interest.
“Hmm,” he pondered, “I could tell you, but then I’d have to kill you. Publishers like us to be very hush, hush about these things.”
Natalie laughed delightedly at this. Perhaps a little too delightedly. The alcohol was already starting to affect her. Still, it was fun to hear about publishing from an actual published author.
“Fair enough,” she said. “I guess I’ll just have to wait for the book to come out, Mr. Jake Cavanaugh.”
Jakes eyes squinted thoughtfully as she said this.
“Tell you what,” he said. “I’ll make sure to send you a free, early release copy, signed by yours truly. On my honor.” He placed a hand on his chest and bowed in her direction as he spoke.
Natalie giggled. “Deal,” she said. “But what do I have to give in return?”
“I can think of at least a few things,” he said, eyeing her body up and down.
Wait a second. Had she actually flirted with him? And was he responding?
She looked him over again. In the light of the fire it was still hard to pinpoint his exact features. Were his eyes green or hazel? Was his hair dark blonde or light brown? The fire did work wonders on all the angles and hard edges of his face and body. Strong jaw, complete with a dimple. Broad shoulders, curving down to biceps that were apparent even in a relaxed state. Was that a slight ripple of a six-pack underneath the front of his shirt?
Natalie turned to face the fire, crinkling her face in confusion. She should probably make her way back to her room, but there was no way she could fall asleep now. Besides, she liked being in the presence of th
is Jake Cavanaugh. He was handsome, and flirty, and obviously literate.
And after all, he had just wasted $100 dollars on her.
She ignored the implications of that thought and turned her attention back to her companion. It was time to pull in the reins on whatever direction this conversation was taking.
JAKE
Jake could see the debate going on behind her eyes. She liked him, but she didn’t want to make it easy for him.
Why did women have to make things so complicated?
He had no intention of pressuring her, but he also wasn’t going to let a good thing go to waste without at least trying.
“So, rebound-mode?” he inquired, re-opening the subject.
She immediately cringed in embarrassment.
Perhaps not such a good idea.
The cringe turned into a bitter smile as she stared into the fireplace.
“If you want the whole sordid story?” she offered, still looking at the flames.
He shrugged. “Sure, why not?” he said, wanting nothing of the sort, but if his sympathetic ear lead to other things….
“The whole sordid story is, I caught my bastard ex-boyfriend cheating on me with some blonde tart,” she said simply.
“How do you know he was cheating?” he asked.
“What would you call it if you found weeks worth of naked pics sent to the person you had just wasted 2 years of your life on?” she tossed back, turning to look at him with eyes far more heated than the fire before them.
His eyebrows went up and he pursed his lips in acknowledgement. “I guess that would count.
“Seems to me like you owe him a little payback,” he offered, teasing around the subject. He threw in a smile and said, “or maybe you owe yourself a little fun.”
Her resentful frown stayed a moment longer before she took the bait and broke out in smile. A quick laugh escaped her lips and she tossed back the rest of her “milk.”
“Why not?” she said, eyeing him over the empty glass she kept next to her lips.
He watched as her eyes crawled down from his face to his torso. He leaned back obligingly to give her the full view. Jake made it a point to keep in shape, running every morning and hitting the gym in the afternoons. Apart from his ritualistic bottle of whiskey, he wasn’t much of a drinker and he usually stayed on the healthy side when it came to diet.
One Night: A BWWM Interracial Romance Page 2