Aubrey looked at him, incredulous, before clamping her hand on his arm again. "You cannot."
He studied her through narrowed eyes before lifting an eyebrow. "Can too."
"But I've tried everything," she exclaimed. "Covering my ears with my hands." She paused to demonstrate. "Drama—mamma—meen. Vodka. Nothing helps. Well the vodka does, but consumption of alcohol is strictly prohibited while working."
Unable to keep a straight face, John nudged himself against her. "You're just gonna have to trust me. We can start tomorrow, if you like." Peeling her hand off of his arm, he wrapped it with his hands. "Call me in the morning."
With a nod, she declared. "I will."
"Promise?"
She leaned into him. "You know you have beautiful eyes. They look just like, well, you. Earlier."
He gave her a steady stare that made her lose all track of time, space, and everything in between. "Is that right?" he murmured.
Again, she nodded. "You know what?"
Teddy's advice sprang to mind. A one-nighter. With a really hot stranger.
Like the one sitting right next to her.
Teddy never steered me wrong before.
She took a deep breath. "I think we should start tonight."
* * *
The minute the valet had pulled John's Maserati Quattroporte VI to the curb at Larson's, he'd regretted not having driven his Range Rover instead. But he hadn't been able to resist.
Slipping behind the wheel, he was no longer the working class guy without a dime to his name who couldn't even get a woman in a coffee shop to give him the time of day. John had become as smooth as his ride and had the power of a twin-turbo engine at his fingertips.
He'd maneuvered his way back to his family home as quickly and carefully as he could, given the crowds that had been lured to come out and play on a Friday evening by the unseasonably warm weather. As soon as he'd walked through the door, he'd pried his newly clean work clothes from a surprised Eugenia already poised at the ironing board to press them, ditched his suit, and swapped one luxury ride for a far less ostentatious one—his Range Rover. It was much faster than the CTA.
Like a man on a mission, John had barreled down the Kennedy Expressway on his way to the Lower West Side. With a neon-orange and purple sunset on his right and the Chicago skyline just beginning to twinkle in the pending dusk on his left, he had concentrated on how in the hell he could possibly help the woman from the coffee shop get over her fear of falling from high places—and in love with him.
1. Start with the Ferris wheel on Navy Pier. Nice and slow. Easy does it.
2. Take her to the Sears Tower observation deck.
After that, his plan had become a little fuzzy.
3. Romantic dinner in the Signature Room on the 95th floor of the Hancock Building?
4. A champagne hot air balloon ride?
5. Tandem parachute jump?
He had pulled off at 18th Street and started looking for parking near Racine Avenue. Taking it as a good sign that he'd finally found a spot in front of St. Procopius Church, he'd made his way to Chessy's where his bride-to-be was waiting for him.
The stakes were high, and time was short. And he had never felt so directed in all his life.
He'd ducked into the crowded bar and texted her. Where r u?
When she'd replied that she was in the bathroom, he had looked around until his eyes fell on the sign and made his way in that direction. Along the way, he'd spotted Cruz coming in from the outside and followed him towards the men's room.
"Hey, man—so did she call you?" he'd asked.
John had brightened as his eyes scanned the crowd. "That's why I'm here."
Honoring the unspoken guy law of not talking to each other during a simultaneous bio break, silence ensued—until John had heard the stall door behind him swing open and a female voice say, "Oh, sorry."
With one subtle glance over his shoulder, he had been able to confirm that—yes indeed—a woman was standing directly behind him. And it hadn't been just any woman—it had been the future Mrs. Delaney. He had gotten her text declaring that she was in the bathroom. He had just assumed it was the ladies room.
But she hadn't left. She'd just stood there, talking.
He had barely heard a word she'd said as he'd made his way to the sink to wash his hands.
"Double or nothing, man." Cruz had chuckled on his way out.
Then she'd come and stood right by him and started washing her hands in the next sink over. That she had yet to actually look at his face had brought some small degree of comfort.
When she finally had looked up and made eye contact, it took a minute for the recognition to register. And it had been so worth the wait.
Given that their first encounter happened a little over twelve hours earlier, she'd acted as if they hadn't seen each other in weeks.
Like she was already in love.
John had thought to himself Take it easy. Slow it down a couple of notches.
The light had danced off her dark eyes like stars twinkling in the night sky. He'd noticed something else. Her breath. Ninety proof. He had known he would need to sober her up first before he could get any romance started.
While Eugenia may not have helped him master any of her recipes, she had taught him a thing or two about how to be a gentleman.
After getting her out of the men's room and into the fresh air of the festive patio, he had dived back into the kitchen to request a hot cup of coffee. On the way back, he'd taken a quick detour and tracked down his site supervisor.
Javi, ever the responsible big-brother type, routinely dubbed himself the designated driver whenever they went out drinking so he could make sure his hard-working, hard-playing crew got home safely. Tonight had apparently been no exception.
"You have a garage right?" John had asked after pulling Javi away from the rest of the guys and handing him the keys to his Range Rover.
His supervisor had balked. "No way. I'm not touching a hot car, man."
John had laughed, "No. It's mine. I just won't be needing it for the rest of the night."
Shaking his head, Javi had eyed the keys before slipping them into his pocket. "I'm paying you way too much money if you can afford a ride like that."
John had replied, "It's parked in front of the church." With a wink and a smirk, he'd added, "I'll be by to pick it up tomorrow."
That taken care of, he'd rejoined his future bride on the patio. Just a few minutes into their conversation, while she sipped her coffee, she had informed him he had forty-eight hours to prove his acrophobia-busting ability. And she wanted to start that night.
As grateful as he was for her sense of urgency, a tipsy nighttime Ferris wheel ride just wouldn't have the same impact as a stone-cold sober ride up in broad daylight. Turning to her, he said, "Sure thing. But first things first."
She lowered her chin. "What do you mean?"
"How about introductions? I don't even know your name."
"Oh. Of course." She pressed a hand to her chest. "Aubrey Michelle Thomas."
"Aubrey." He liked the way her name rolled out of his mouth. "And I'm…" John paused. After thinking about it all day, he still wasn't sure whether he should stick with what had been working for him all along or play the soul-mate's-initials-in-the-tea-leaves card.
He looked into her gypsy eyes, all happy, curious, and expectant, and decided to stick with John, figuring he could pull his real first name out if things started going south.
"John."
Catching a flicker of disappointment in her eyes, he knew he had done the right thing.
"That's it? Just John?"
"Oh. Sorry. Trelawney. John Trelawney."
Now she looked really disappointed. And really sober.
Having clutched his arm for the bulk of their chat, she let him go and wrapped her hands around her coffee cup. "So, John. What are your qualifications?"
"For what?"
She turned to him, looking vaguely annoyed.
"For helping me…?"
"Oh, that." He looked out at the crowd of patrons, some of whom had abandoned their seats and started dancing in the middle of the patio, wishing he had done a better job fleshing out his plan.
"Qualifications," he muttered. "Let's see." He looked at her and listed the only credentials he had. "I've been sky diving before. Lots of times. Love it. Uh, I dangle from high-rises for a living and, believe it or not, I used to be just like you."
"What do you mean?"
"Afraid of falling."
She seemed impressed. "Oh. Really? How'd you get over it?
With a shrug, he answered, "I just decided I didn't want to be afraid anymore."
Now she really looked pissed off.
"Wow. Seriously? Why didn't I think of that?" After steaming for a couple of seconds, she took a deep breath and another sip of her coffee. "So, what's in it for you?"
With a completely straight face, he shot out, "A wife. I need to get married by my 30th birthday, or I'll lose my inheritance."
Aubrey nearly choked on her coffee before she burst out laughing. "Oh, right. Ha. That's hysterical. You're a funny guy."
At least he had her smiling again.
When she regained her composure, she asked again, "No seriously, what's in it for you?"
John just shrugged, "I remember what my life was like before I let go of my fear. If I can make just one person feel as free as I do now, I'll do whatever it takes."
What a crock of sh—
And Aubrey apparently saw right through it because she started to stand, muttering, "I'm outta here," under her breath.
When she teetered, he shot up, took her by the shoulders, and did the only thing he could think of—he pressed his lips against hers.
When she didn't resist, didn't even try, he yanked her closer and pressed her body against his.
Everything felt so perfect, so right—until he felt a pincer-like grip on the muscle connecting the back of his head to his shoulder.
"Ah," he gasped as he pulled away from her and turned towards his attacker. "What the hell?"
Shocked again to find a woman standing behind him, this time a gangly redhead, he heard Aubrey gasp, "What was that?"
"Vulcan death grip," the woman announced, looking quite pleased with herself. "Is this guy bothering you?"
"I wasn't talking to you, Nance. And, no, he wasn't bothering me," he heard Aubrey growl.
Trying not to grimace while he massaged the point of impact, John turned back to her and breathed an apology, "So much for an icebreaker."
Catching the slightest hint of a grin beneath her otherwise surprised expression, he felt the pain leave him. Nodding in the direction of his attacker, he asked, "Friend of yours?"
Before she could reply, a shorter dark-haired woman swooped over and, with a thick Mexican accent, apologized as she pulled the other woman away. "I'm so sorry. You guys just, you know, carry on. We were just coming over to say we were leaving."
Then she stopped and looked directly at John. "Don't tell me—Leo, right?"
Who are these people?
Confounded, he stammered, "No. John."
"No. I mean what's your sign? What month were you born?"
"June?"
The woman stood looking at him a minute more. "Huh, I coulda swore…" Turning to Aubrey, she gave her a quick wave and sang out, "Talk to you tomorrow, honey."
John watched as Aubrey drew in a long slow breath, her gaze following her friends through the crowd.
Then she shifted her focus to him and delivered a verbal punch to the gut.
"Just to be clear, I'm not interested in a relationship." The way she puckered up her eyebrows in the middle of her forehead when she said it, she may as well have added, "With you."
Message received.
Feeling his insides cave a bit, John looked away. He thought it was the best damn kiss ever. And she seemed all in. But now, she looked just as uptight as she had in the coffee shop earlier that day.
Still, she wasn't leaving. Despite the loud crowd that was drinking, dancing, and having a great time all around her, she just stood there frowning at him with her arms folded in front of her.
"I don't think it worked."
"What?"
"Your little icebreaker…experiment."
He did his best to push back the chuckle of defeat he felt bubbling to the surface. Raking a hand through his hair, John muttered, "Apparently not."
The movement seemed to trigger the ache in his neck. Through a wince, he argued, "Well, maybe if your friend hadn't interrupted."
Aubrey cocked an eyebrow. "Yeah, I'll give you that."
What she did next surprised him.
Unfolding her arms, she motioned him towards her. "OK. Gimme your best shot."
Never one to turn down a challenge, he took a step towards her but hesitated. "No relationship?"
She shook her head. "Absolutely not."
He felt the start of a smile tug at his mouth. "Well, all right then."
This time, John didn't lay a hand on her—not at first.
Bending his head, he pressed his lips against hers, gave her a soft, tender kiss, and waited for her reaction.
He didn't have to wait long.
When he felt her lips part, her tongue swiped his, and she melded her body against him.
Digging his hands into her oh-so-soft hair, he started to feel as if he was the one who had too much to drink.
By the time she finally pulled away, he knew she was the only woman he wanted to kiss for the rest of his life…and the only one with whom he wanted to go on adventures, make babies (lots and lots of babies), and grow old.
Looking into her eyes, he whispered, "Better?"
She titled her head, looking as woozy as he felt. "Not bad."
Then she took a step away from him, smoothed her hair back behind her ears, and checked her watch. "All right. Now that we've"—she held her hands up in air quotes—"broken the ice, you've got until 7:59 a.m. Monday morning to convince me."
He leaned towards her. "Convince you?"
"That falling isn't something I should be afraid of."
John started. He knew she was referring to heights, not love, but it didn't stop a surge of hope from pulsing through his veins—like he needed anything else in his body pulsing after that kiss.
"All right, but—"
Narrowing her eyes to thin slits, Aubrey mouthed, "But?"
"I'm gonna need 24/7 access. Otherwise, deal's off."
Very smooth.
When Aubrey clenched her fists and looked away, he pulled his face into a grimace.
After a minute, though, she relaxed her stance, and he slapped on his I've-got-this face.
"All right." She nodded.
"Oh. OK. So…are we good?"
While she mulled her response, his thoughts raced to his apartment. Clean and cramped, the best thing about it was his building's roof deck. Six stories up, it had built-in seating, landscaping, and a beautiful view of the Chicago skyline. And a hammock big enough for two with a sub-zero sleeping bag in the dock box. While the days were getting warmer, the nights were still on the cool side. And he usually had it all to himself.
When she finally gave him another nod, he asked, "You sure about this?"
This time, Aubrey didn't waste any time and quickly shook her head. Not looking entirely pleased, she hunched her shoulders up and sighed, "But you're my only hope."
CHAPTER SIX
"Living at risk is jumping off the cliff and building your wings on the way down." —Ray Bradbury
I'm leaving a bar with a strange man.
If that didn't rank right up there with sky diving on her list of reckless things to do, she didn't know what would.
And they were going back to his place in Logan's Square.
That's gotta top the list.
"Come on," he urged as he tugged her through the crowd. "If we hurry, we can catch the #9 bus on Ashland."
Aubrey stopped in
her tracks. "Wait. You don't have a car?"
Part of her knew she shouldn't be surprised. Living in the city, you really didn't need a car. But they were in Pilsen on a Friday night and had to cut through some dicey neighborhoods to get where they were going. While public transportation had its merits during the day, riding up the West Side on a Friday night easily edged into the #1 spot on her reckless things to do list.
She felt her disappointment sink a notch or two lower.
Maybe this isn't such a good idea.
While her track record of impulsive decisions was short—introducing herself to Max, hopping into to bed with him that same day, marrying him two weeks later, agreeing to bungee jump—each and every item on it had been life altering.
And my life is just fine the way it is, thank you very much.
John turned towards her, his face happy and hopeful, like an excited child's. "Problem?"
She gave her head a quick shake before announcing, "I'll pay for a cab to my place. I need to pack a few things, and then I can drive us to your place from there."
The words had no sooner left her mouth than she realized she'd have to explain to her nana, whose flat she had moved into after her husband's demise, that she was going to spend the bulk of the weekend with a man she barely knew.
Maybe she'll be asleep.
As they wove through the throng of partying patrons, she wondered what kind of car Malcolm had and hoped for the hundredth time since their lunch date that he'd accept her invitation to Mattie and Nick's wedding. And that he was as at least a fraction as good at kissing as John was.
Uh-oh. Bridal party bonding.
She tugged at his hand. "Wait."
When he turned around this time, he looked more exasperated than excited. "Now what?"
"It's just…I forgot I have this thing tomorrow night."
He looked into the distance over her head and gritted his teeth. "Crap. Me too." With another shrug, he reasoned, "We can cross that bridge when we come to it."
Aubrey winced.
What's a six-letter word for the structure off of which your husband dove prior to meeting his maker?
Flight Risk Page 8