He appreciated her nervousness. Not so much her determination to get out there.
Before he could respond, a shout sliced the air between them, immediately followed by a Frisbee, then a lab that had to weigh eighty pounds or better. Sawyer caught Kelsie’s arm as they both stumbled backwards out of the dog’s path. Seconds later, the man who had shouted jogged up to them.
“I’m so sorry,” he said, more to Kelsie than Sawyer. Taking the hint, Sawyer backed off, although he wasn’t happy about it.
“No problem,” Kelsie said. Her voice rattled with nerves, but she seemed to recover nicely when she added, “My brother could use a good knock to the head. Too bad you missed.”
The douche bag laughed.
Minidick, who had apparently survived the near miss with the lab by hiding in Sawyer’s shadow, didn’t growl at the bastard. Figured.
“You live around here?” the douche asked.
“Just a couple of blocks away.”
“I haven’t seen you around.”
“We normally walk near the water,” she said. “Marmaduke and I, I mean. Not my brother. We like to watch for fish.”
The water? Oh, hell no.
He. Hated. Water.
He also hated fish.
And he was really starting to hate this guy. While his dog ran apeshit, the jerk was running his hand down her arm, way too touchy-feely for a stranger, especially when Kelsie wasn’t encouraging him. Only…she was. In response, she turned that gorgeous smile of hers on him. And all because he’d almost nailed her with a Frisbee?
Nope.
“Hey, Kelsie,” he called across the short distance, not entirely sure why he was so pissed. He’d probably pulled the same moves a dozen times. “Your boyfriend just texted me. Said you’re not responding to his messages.”
She shot him the proverbial look that could kill, but he didn’t care. And now that he had her attention, he pulled the scarf out of her hand and took it upon himself to put it back around her neck, covering her exposed skin the way she’d had it back when she thought the only guy looking at her would be him.
Her stilted attempt to visually pulverize him—presumably without scaring off the other guy—left Sawyer grinning. Until she jerked the scarf completely loose so it barely clung to her shoulders, leaving her entire neck exposed. Her neck. Which really shouldn’t have bothered him, but it did.
He glared.
She glared.
The douche backed off and started looking around, probably for his dog. Or maybe for another woman.
Mission accomplished. Unconventional, but whatever it took.
“What did you do that for?” she asked tersely.
Just in case she was as mad as she looked, he angled away from her and her knee. “That guy was a tool. Promise.”
“How do you know that?”
“Because his dog tried to swallow Minidick whole, and that asshole was too busy trying to cop a feel to stop him. Not that you noticed.”
Her face fell to the point that he was pretty sure he was the tool. She probably didn’t see him frown—she was too busy looking for her mutt, who was parked behind Sawyer’s legs—but he saw hers. Jerk.
“But look at the bright side,” he said. “He was definitely interested.”
“His dog almost ate my dog.”
Yeah, and guilt ate at Sawyer. He sighed. “Take a walk. Make eye contact. I guarantee someone else will strike up a conversation.”
“You think?”
“Yeah. I don’t see another woman here by herself without her face glued to her phone. You’ll be beating them off with a stick.” Which kind of pissed him off, but whatever. He definitely needed to find her a date before guilt over upsetting her gnawed him into a corner. A water-filled corner of nopes.
Her gaze tracked left, then right, before resting on him. “Okay, you have a point. This is incredibly awkward.”
“How do you think I feel? I’m standing entirely too close to a mini-mutt in a pink vest.”
“It’s a harness.”
“It’s still pink. We’re both emasculated.”
She blinked. “You’re speaking for the dog?”
He held out his arms for emphasis and kind of wished she’d fall into them. “We’ve finally bonded. The dog and I, that is.”
She rolled her eyes, but her face quickly softened into a smile. “Thanks for this, Sawyer.”
“Go.”
Not surprisingly, she didn’t make it far before a man stopped her. Within seconds, they were both grinning like idiots. The man was wearing a business suit before eight on a Saturday morning and carried a briefcase. In a dog park. After a conversation that lasted far too long for his comfort, they parted ways. Kelsie shot a glance back at Sawyer, at which point Minidick also saw him and started snarling.
Sawyer wasn’t the least bit intimidated, although he sort of got how the dog felt. He felt like snarling, too, and he wasn’t sure why. She could have been the hottest woman on the planet and not the least bit inclined to hide herself under baggy clothes, and even if she’d just crawled out of his bed, he still wouldn’t care who she talked to. He didn’t date, he didn’t stake claims, and he sure as hell didn’t do relationships. Just the word made him shudder. Nothing terrified him more. He’d grown up thinking he’d eventually find someone perfect for him, to have the kind of life his parents had. He’d just never met the right person. But his brother had and married his high school sweetheart. Then Ethan’s wife, Amy, died, and if that shocking loss and shattered perfection hadn’t ruined Sawyer’s opinion on happily ever afters, Ethan’s devastation had. His brother was a shell of who he’d once been, and Sawyer just wasn’t ready to trade his blissful bachelor existence for that kind of emotional devastation. He wasn’t sure he ever would be, truth be told.
He shook it off as Kelsie approached.
“Find a date?” he asked.
“No, he’s married.”
Yep, her dog definitely snarled at the wrong person. “That friendly and he admitted he was married?”
“He works for a firm I’m contracted with. He recognized me.”
Sawyer wasn’t convinced the guy was just being friendly, but he was more interested in Kelsie. “What do you do for a living?”
“I’m a digital strategist.”
Jesus. Maybe he should hook her up with his brother Crosby’s almost-fiancée’s brother, Grady. That guy never looked away his from computer screen, and according to Grady’s sister, he hadn’t had a date in ages. He was probably perfect for Kelsie, but the idea didn’t sit well. He frowned, annoyed that he even cared. “What the hell is a digital strategist?”
She smiled brilliantly. Clearly this was a topic she was comfortable with, and to see her loosen up was a beautiful thing. “I advise companies—and sometimes people—on ways to improve their digital presence, and I help make websites more user-friendly and informative and help with social media. It’s an amazing job, but I’m either stuck at home alone or working in-house, which pretty much leaves every guy there off the table for professional reasons.”
“So you don’t mix business with pleasure?”
“That is correct. And,” she added warily, “for some reason, I bet you don’t share that philosophy. What do you do?”
“My three brothers and I own an HVAC company. It’s a family business, three generations and counting. And for the record, I have yet to sleep with someone on the job, which is more than I can say for my older brother.” Crosby had totally nailed one of their clients…and on the day he met her, no less. Sawyer had been damned impressed. Of course, they were practically engaged now…
“But after hours?”
“Do you really want to know what I do in my free time?”
She scowled. “I guess it’s a good thing you do plumbing in your spare time.”
He smiled but didn’t fall into laughter. He was too much on edge. He didn’t like seeing her with other men. Maybe because she wasn’t willing to be with him. That had t
o be it.
But he wasn’t ready to give her up. Not yet. He wanted his seven dates, dammit, and he wanted to hold more than her hand. Guess it had been a while since he’d enjoyed the chase.
Inspiration struck. “You have plans tonight?”
Her gaze narrowed with suspicion, but a smile toyed with her lips. “You tell me.”
“Put on a dress, sweetheart. And only a dress—no scarves, no shawls, no mummy wrappings of any kind. We’re going dancing.”
Chapter Four
Kelsie dug out her only cliché-worthy little black dress for the evening. She felt naked, and that, along with Sawyer’s suggestion that she not cover quite so much, left her thinking he’d be pleased. Not that she cared if he was pleased, but despite his admonishment at being her own person, she definitely wanted a date. She’d worry about being her own person in two weeks. After the wedding.
Oddly, however, he didn’t seem pleased. Instead he appeared…puzzled. When she opened the door he just stood there, surprise and uncertainty etching his face.
“Something wrong?” she asked. She tried to sound coy, but she didn’t have an authentically coy bone in her body. Instead she sounded a little desperate, even to her own ears. And that made her want to kick him. She’d long bemoaned her ability to snag a decent guy, but she’d never doubted who she was. Not until him and his stupid neck fetish.
“You look great,” he said. “But not like you.”
“Is that one of your usual lines? Because if that’s how you lure women into your bed, they’re even dumber than I thought.”
He took a step inside her apartment, uninvited. “No,” he said, all low and sexy and not the least bit apologetic. “What I meant was you look like you’re trying to be someone else.”
Thrown by the unexpected thrill of his proximity, she took a step back. Retreating on her own turf. Nice. She swallowed. “Was that not the point of this seven-date thing? So you could turn me into something tolerable?”
“No,” he said, a bit sharply. His face softened. “Just a more approachable version of yourself. So go get a necklace or something a little more you so these boys will know they’re getting someone unique.”
She bristled at unique, but no, there wasn’t a trace of criticism in his tone. If anything, she sensed appreciation, and that made her smile. “Okay,” she said. “I can do that.”
She left and returned wearing the bulkiest scarf in her collection. Even she had to admit it was over the top for fall, but the chunky, soft blue knit was her favorite, though she couldn’t imagine the size of the skein of yarn needed to knit it. It sat loosely around her neck, draping slightly over her shoulders and sitting in billowed stacks all the way up to her chin.
Sawyer looked at her in disbelief. “What is that? An afghan?”
“It’s a scarf,” she said sweetly.
He did a somewhat admirable job of masking the discontent she suspected he felt. Until he spoke. “It looks like you got tangled up in your bedding and staggered out here for help.”
If he didn’t look so alarmed she’d call him out for being a jerk. Instead, she had to fight back a smile. “You said unique.”
Still somewhat bewildered, he said, “Well, that’s great if you’re trying to attract an Inuit, but I’m guessing the club will be largely free of Arctic-dwellers. Can you put on a necklace or something instead?”
“Of course.” At her agreeable tone, his expression darkened. He probably wondered what she’d come out with next.
“But not like a horse collar or anything,” he called after her.
Ass. She didn’t reply, but she did find her clunkiest necklace—an artfully, intentionally tangled mass of metal and pearls. She fastened it and paused when she caught sight of herself in the mirror. The bold hunks of metal made a stark contrast to her smooth skin and drew her eye immediately to her cleavage. If she stepped out of her own head, she’d have to admit that it was sexy. Not what she had planned, but she liked it.
And she couldn’t help wondering if Sawyer would, too.
When she emerged from the bedroom this time, his eyes widened. “Nice.”
Marmaduke stared plaintively from his spot next to Sawyer’s feet. At least he didn’t appear to be attached to Sawyer’s pant leg. “See you in a little while,” she said to the dog. “Be good.”
Sawyer snorted. “Is that what I forgot to say when I was getting my ankle shredded?”
She rolled her eyes and followed him into the hall. Downstairs, she was surprised when he hailed a cab outside their building. “We’re not walking?”
He shrugged, all boyish grin and utter hotness in a crisp, white button-up shirt and dark jeans. “I have a friend who covers the door at a place in the Meatpacking District.”
She glanced down at her attire, unsure if she was dressed well enough for Manhattan. Granted, her dress was more mainstream than most of her wardrobe, but it lacked the pedigree of a designer label. And her heels were only four inches, and she could have sworn she’d read you couldn’t get into a Manhattan club on anything less than five. “Are they going to let me in to the Meatpacking District like this?”
His boyish grin took a devastatingly sexy turn, and her stomach shimmied inside. Just what she needed to do…actually ask him to check her out. And he did. Unapologetically. The look he shot her was lethal, in a seductive kind of way. No wonder he had women falling at his feet. Just. Not. Her.
Her nipples, however, hadn’t gotten the memo. Under his scrutiny, they tightened painfully. Her knees turned to scrambled eggs, and her breath quickened. And suddenly it mattered very, very much what he thought.
“You’ll be lucky if I let you in to a club dressed like that.” The words came on a possessive growl just as a cab pulled up curbside. He opened the door and allowed her to slide in first. After climbing in after her, he said, “Fortunately, we won’t have to wait outside. Those guys out there have nothing better to do than gawk.”
After he’d given the address to the driver, she asked, “Haven’t you heard the best things are worth waiting for?”
He visually traced the lines of her body, all the way to the tips of her toes and back again. “Yeah, you can wait. Candles and roses,” he said, clearly on some other page. He leaned close, his voice a conspiring whisper that made rivulets of fire trace her skin. “Or I can throw open the door and push you up against the wall and fuck you hard, right there, because I can’t stand another moment without being inside you.” He shrugged, oh-so-casually, like he hadn’t cranked up the temperature a hundred degrees. “Up to you.”
She slid her gaze to the window. Where it was safe. Because the last thing she needed was to get all hot and bothered over him. He played a good game—she’d give him that—but she didn’t want to play games. And she really didn’t want to get played. Still, an electrical need made a shameless tour of her body, pooling low in her belly. Her chances of eradicating it were pegged at zero, so she settled for smoothing her skirt. The above-the-knee length felt a little scandalous now that he had her picturing herself up against a wall, but it was too late to change anything now.
Too late to back out, for sure.
She glanced at Sawyer. He met her gaze immediately, the connection impossibly physical. She swallowed. Hard.
“I’m surprised you dance,” she said as they crossed the Manhattan Bridge. Low clouds reflected the city lights, leaving a bright haze over the mirror-bright surface of the water.
He stared steadfastly ahead, not glancing once at the glittering view of the city reflecting far below. “Why is that?” he asked.
“Too much foreplay, maybe?”
He laughed. “I never thought of it that way, but you’re right that I don’t waste much time on foreplay. I just make sure the actual act counts.”
She didn’t ask what he meant—elaboration on this topic would prove dangerous—and the rest of the ride passed in silence. When they arrived at the club, Sawyer paid the driver and helped her out of the car. They bypassed a long l
ine full of beautiful people, no questions asked. She felt like a celebrity. And kind of like a jerk.
Inside, in the near dark, music blasted, the beat vibrating deep in her chest. Conversation would be impossible, which might be a good thing if not for one simple fact: she had no doubt Sawyer was fluent in the kind of communication that didn’t require words.
And that was dangerous.
He took her hand and led her straight to the bar, dropping a couple of bro nods along the way. Clearly, as promised, he knew the place. He helped her onto a tall bar chair, then sat next to her. “What do you drink?” he asked. Or, rather, mouthed against her ear. His lips made actual contact, driving deep in her the need to find a date with pretty much anyone else and end this thing with Sawyer.
Drinking took a close second.
“Something fruity,” she half yelled.
“Jack and Coke for me and something fruity for the lady,” Sawyer said to the bartender.
She barely heard over the thump of the music. Neon lights skirted the small dance floor, which was absolutely teeming with people. The drink appeared, and she took a small sip. It was delicious. She immediately felt the warmth of the liquor but didn’t taste the alcohol. She looked at Sawyer, intending to thank him, but he had his head turned, literally, to a redhead on the other side. The woman’s boobs lying on the bar were probably some kind of health violation, and if her skirt got any shorter, she’d need a hairnet to work in a cafeteria. Her bright red pout and matching Crayola-red dress were vibrant, but they made her hair look like a washed-out dye job. Naturally, Sawyer didn’t seem to mind.
What. Ever.
The woman quickly left, and Sawyer turned to Kelsie, probably to find her glaring. And she wasn’t sure why. It wasn’t like she wanted Sawyer. She was using him, for heaven’s sake, and she’d yet to determine what exactly was in their deal for him. Because he was so not having sex.
She put her hand on his arm, and immediately he leaned close. Clearly the touching thing worked. Problem was, it was working on the wrong man, and she liked it a little too much. “How am I supposed to meet someone,” she said in his ear, “when I can’t hear to have a conversation?”
For Seven Nights Only (Chase Brothers) Page 4