by Irene Hannon
“Honestly?” His gaze locked with hers. “It wasn’t as hard as I expected—and that’s a tribute to you. You have excellent listening skills.”
“Is that why you told me? Because I was a receptive sounding board?”
She already knew the answer to that question, but it was important for him to acknowledge it to her—and to himself. If he wanted to override his instinct to back off when the subject matter got too personal, he had to learn to talk to people he could trust.
Like her.
And he did want to conquer his problem. Otherwise he wouldn’t have risked what he had tonight with her.
As she waited him out, he shifted in his chair. Swiped his thumb over a stray piece of icing on his plate. Picked up his mug of cooling coffee.
The dark liquid sloshed against the edges.
Telling.
This strong, capable, accomplished man who’d gone head-to-head with very bad people on the streets was big-time scared.
Her heart melted.
He squared his shoulders, as if preparing to face an enemy. “No. I told you about my past because I feel a connection between us—and I’d like to get to know you better . . . even if that’s not smart.” Grooves of tension bracketed his mouth. “I shouldn’t have caved and come in tonight.”
Uh-oh.
That wasn’t encouraging.
Was he regretting how much he’d shared?
Jump in here, Eve, or this could go downhill fast.
“Um . . . you do know that I’ll keep everything you told me confidential.”
“Yes.”
“Then why isn’t it smart for us to see where a friendship could lead?”
“For a couple of reasons—including the issue we talked about tonight. I’ve listened to you on the radio, Eve. You put it all out there for the world to see, facts and opinions and feelings. You’re an open book in the best sense of the term. You don’t hold back, and what you see is what you get. You deserve someone who can reciprocate.”
“After the past hour, I’m pretty sure I’m looking at someone who can. With me, anyway—and in a relationship, that’s all that counts.”
“One evening doesn’t change the habits of a lifetime.”
“It’s a first step. And for the record, I also feel the connection between us. I hoped it was mutual. Now that I know it is, I can see promising possibilities ahead.”
“I’d like to say the same.” His tone was sad. Defeated. “But there’s another barrier.”
The strains of “I Won’t Back Down” riffed through the kitchen again.
Eve glared at her cell. “I’m letting that roll.”
“If you want to get it, that’s fine. I have to go.” He stood abruptly, as if the urge to flee was too strong to resist. “The cake was great.”
She checked his plate.
Empty.
When had he finished his dessert?
“Let me get you another piece to take home.”
He edged toward the doorway to the hall. “You don’t have to do that.”
She ignored him.
Brain whirring at warp speed, she retrieved the cake from the refrigerator. As she cut another generous slice and encased it in plastic wrap, his barrier comment kept looping through her mind.
What was the other obstacle between Brent and a relationship?
If she could detain him a few minutes, there was a chance he’d tell her—and she needed to know. Otherwise she wouldn’t be able to address it.
She slid the cake back into the fridge and turned.
He was already waiting in the doorway between the kitchen and hall, keys in hand.
Her spirits tanked. There would be no more conversation tonight.
Stifling her frustration, she crossed to him and passed over the cake. “Would you like to borrow an umbrella?”
“No thanks. I can run to the car.” He walked toward the foyer, leaving her no choice but to follow. “I’ll let you know as soon as the lab weighs in on tonight’s note and any findings from the CSU.”
“I’m not holding out much hope for helpful news.”
He stopped at the front door and angled toward her. “You’ll give Phoenix a call?”
“Top of my list tomorrow—after I arrange to get new tires put on my car.”
“Do you have to be anywhere in the morning?”
She could lie to take advantage of the implied offer of a lift—and a chance to see him again—but working on the floors was the primary item on her schedule for tomorrow.
“No. Under the circumstances, I think God will overlook my absence at church.”
He hefted the cake. “I’ll enjoy this. Thanks again.”
“I have more if you run out—and I’m always available if you want to talk.”
He didn’t bite. “I appreciate that.” Turning away, he reached for the knob.
In five seconds, he’d be gone.
A bold idea sprouted in Eve’s mind, and she stopped breathing. Brazen wasn’t her style—but letting him leave without impressing on him how much he’d come to mean to her in their short acquaintance felt like a mistake.
“Brent.”
He paused. Slowly pivoted back toward her.
Without giving herself a chance to get cold feet, she closed the distance between them . . . rose on tiptoe . . . and brushed her lips over his.
He froze as she lowered herself to her heels.
“They say actions . . . speak louder than words.” Her sentence came out choppy, as if she was winded. “That action is to let you know how much I care about you—and that I’m willing to work with you on whatever other obstacle you think stands between you and romance. The sparks we’re generating deserve to be explored.”
His nostrils flared, and his chest rose and fell as fast as if he’d run a hundred-meter dash. “You don’t play fair.”
“I’ll always play fair with you. But I’m not afraid to go after what I want—or let you see how I feel.”
“A classic example of the difference between us.”
“You opened up tonight. If you can do it once, you can do it again—until it becomes a new habit.”
“That could take a long time.”
“I’m on no deadline.”
A gust of wind sent a spray of cool mist through the door.
“I’ll call you.” He moved to the porch. “In the meantime, watch your back.”
“That’s my plan.”
No commitment other than a phone call—but she’d take it.
He hesitated . . . then spun away and jogged down the walk through the rain.
Eve watched from the door until nothing but the dim glow of his receding taillights remained. As far as she could tell, he never looked back.
With a sigh, she locked the door and wandered back to the kitchen, where the faint scent of his aftershave lingered. Closing her eyes, she inhaled it—and tried to gear herself up for the call to Grace. Her sister was going to ask pointed questions about her guest, that was a given.
Sad to say, she wouldn’t have the answers to many of them.
Especially the key one.
Because while she could assure Grace she’d made her interest crystal clear to Brent, she had no idea if he would follow up—or give up.
And between that uncertainty and this evening’s new threat from her tormentor, it was going to be a long night.
At least she’d make serious headway on her floors.
Dan
Sat., Sept. 1, 10:15 p.m.
U home?
Al
Sat., Sept. 1, 10:16 p.m.
Almost. Long drive.
Dan
Sat., Sept. 1, 10:16 p.m.
How did it go?
Al
Sat., Sept. 1, 10:17 p.m.
Damage done. But cops showed up fast.
Dan
Sat., Sept. 1, 10:17 p.m.
Not the plan.
Al
Sat., Sept. 1, 10:18 p.m.
I know. But ready 4
next step.
Dan
Sat., Sept. 1, 10:20 p.m.
Need to think about that.
Al
Sat., Sept. 1, 10:20 p.m.
I can handle.
Dan
Sat., Sept. 1, 10:22 p.m.
Window is closing. Can be no mistakes.
Al
Sat., Sept. 1, 10:22 p.m.
Won’t b. U have plan?
Dan
Sat., Sept. 1, 10:23 p.m.
Yes. Finalizing details. Will text 2morrow.
Al
Sat., Sept. 1, 10:23 p.m.
What is timetable?
Al
Sat., Sept. 1, 10:26 p.m.
U there? Timetable?
Dan
Sat., Sept. 1, 10:27 p.m.
Soon. In two weeks, ER will be gone.
12
DOUG HAD SHOWN UP —and the corners of his lips rose when he caught sight of her waiting in the restaurant’s bar—but his face didn’t brighten like it always did. He was also late.
Neither boded well for their weekly lunch.
Giving him her warmest smile, Carolyn slid off the stool and wove through the crowd in the foyer toward him. “I thought you’d stood me up.” She used the coy, teasing tone men seemed to like. “I was afraid I’d have to eat alone.”
“Sorry. I was stuck in a meeting.” The apology was perfunctory, and he did no more than glance at her before motioning toward the dining room. “Ready for lunch?”
“Sure.”
She took the lead, weaving through the other diners toward their usual table, and slid onto her chair. As she picked up her napkin, Doug signaled for the waiter.
He wasn’t wasting any time on small talk, trying to stretch out their lunch as long as possible.
Another bad omen.
“I can’t linger today.” He straightened his silverware. “It’s crazy at the station.”
“I can imagine.” But the undercurrent of tension in the air suggested there was more to his haste than work issues.
The waiter appeared, and after they gave him their orders she focused on Doug. “You seem more stressed today than last week. Fallout from the last-minute bombshell that caller dropped on Eve’s show Wednesday?”
“No. She handled the response masterfully on her blog and on Friday’s program.”
Yes, she had.
It was hard not to admire the woman, even if you wanted her programming slot.
“She’s a pro.”
“Yeah.” Doug brushed at a speck on the tablecloth. “And the sponsors are sticking. So we’re holding our own at present.”
“That’s positive news.” For Eve—and the station—anyway. “Any recent developments on the case?”
“Yes—but we’re keeping the latest under wraps. Eve doesn’t want it broadcast to the public.”
She called up her flirty smile. “I’m not the public.”
“No. You’re press.” He picked up his water and took a sip, avoiding eye contact.
O-kay.
Her phone call to him after Eve’s Wednesday program must have done more damage than she’d estimated.
This required finessing.
She touched his forearm and put on her worried face. “Doug . . . you know I’d never divulge a confidence. I’m not here as a newspaper reporter. We have a . . . friendlier . . . relationship than that.”
His gaze dropped to her fingers. Lingered. Then he swallowed and eased his hand away. “I thought we did too.”
Thought.
Past tense.
Fighting back a wave of panic, she retracted her fingers and smoothed out the napkin on her lap. Something was very wrong.
And avoiding the issue wasn’t going to fix it.
Since charm alone no longer appeared to be working, she might have to turn up the heat and resort to the plucking option—as soon as she convinced him she’d been on overload after a tough morning at work on Wednesday, and apologized for coming on too strong about her radio ambitions. Doug, of all people, would understand the difficulty of coping with stress.
She leaned toward him, making no attempt to hide her concern. “You’re not yourself today. What’s going on?”
Wadding up the napkin in his lap, he finally gave her his full attention. “I need to ask you a question.”
A tingle of unease slithered down her spine. “This sounds serious.”
“It is.”
“All right. I’ll do my best to answer.”
He scanned the room, leaned closer to her, and lowered his voice. “Do you know anything about that call Eve got on her program last Wednesday?”
For a few seconds, the tinkle of cutlery against china, the clink of ice in glasses, and the background hum of conversation and laughter faded as she digested his question—and the implications.
Doug suspected she’d played a role in Wednesday’s incident. That her ambition had driven her to take desperate measures to unseat Eve and create a slot for herself.
Perhaps he even thought she’d been involved in the fake bomb and the latest incident he’d referenced.
Wow.
The man was much more astute—and far less blinded by attraction—than she’d deduced.
They were on dangerous ground here, and she had to think the situation through.
“Why would you ask me that?” She stared at him, her shock real rather than manufactured, buying herself a few moments to regroup.
His attention remained riveted on her. No eye shifting now. “Because I know you want a chance on radio . . . and you’ve always followed Eve’s career . . . and you were clear in your call on Wednesday that you’d be interested in her slot if the situation the caller created blew up.”
She swallowed past the expletive that popped onto her tongue.
All these months she’d been convinced she had Doug snowed.
But apparently hormones hadn’t disengaged the left side of his brain.
“I was super stressed Wednesday, and I overstepped. I’m sorry for that. However, I make no apologies for being ambitious.”
He saw through her hedge. “I don’t expect you to. Eve was also ambitious. But she got her chance through hard work rather than resorting to subterfuge.”
Despite the sudden churning in her stomach, Carolyn managed to keep her brain firing.
There was only one way to play this unexpected turn of events.
She snatched up her purse, pulled out a twenty, tossed it on the table, and stood. “I expect it’s too late to cancel my order. Take my lunch back to your office for someone to enjoy. I’ve lost my appetite.”
Lifting her chin, she walked away.
Before she got three steps, he spoke. “Carolyn. Wait.”
She paused. Exhaled.
Her bluff had paid off.
After letting him sweat for a few beats, she angled back, shoulders taut. Like anyone’s would be if they’d been accused of orchestrating the kind of coup her mentor had suggested.
Doug had risen, and he circled around the table to join her, keeping his voice low. “I’m sorry if I offended you.”
The words were appropriate—but he looked more uncertain than sorry.
“I can’t believe, after all the months we’ve known each other, that you’d think I could do such a terrible thing.”
“Ambition can be powerful—and temptation can be hard to resist.”
At such close proximity, the creases in his face were more pronounced than usual. Definitely a man past his prime.
The appeal of the plucking option continued to wane.
But in light of that remark about temptation . . . and judging by the hunger in the depths of his eyes . . . she might still have a certain amount of power over him if they could get past this glitch.
And she’d use it if necessary, distasteful though it would be.
She softened her stance—and tone. “What kind of temptation?”
His features tightened, almost as if he was in pain. “To have somethi
ng that isn’t in your best interest.”
Doug wasn’t talking about the radio show she coveted.
He was talking about coveting her.
That was reassuring—but for now, she’d play the innocent. “Why wouldn’t the chance of a radio job be in my best interest?”
“I’m not saying it isn’t—but rushing an opportunity could be a mistake. There are repercussions for every decision.”
Like cheating on your wife?
But that was his problem. Her sole concern was her career. “Not all repercussions are bad. And I’ve always believed you should seize opportunities, because they may not come again.” She smoothed out a crease in the lapel of his sport jacket. “That doesn’t mean I believe you should resort to anything underhanded to foster them, however.”
He studied her, conflict scoring his features. “I’d like to think you’re being honest with me.”
“As you should. Always think the best of people—especially friends who’ve given you no cause to distrust them.”
Her response didn’t placate him. “Carolyn—I want to give you the benefit of the doubt. But your call Wednesday . . . it bothered me.” He massaged the puckers on his forehead. “Can you assure me you’ve had nothing to do with all the troubles plaguing Eve?”
She huffed out a breath and retracted her hand. “Do I look like someone who would leave a fake bomb?”
“No—but I have no experience with people who leave fake bombs. I don’t know what they look like.”
She tucked her purse under her arm and hiked up her chin again. “This is not a discussion I intend to have in the middle of a restaurant. If you want our friendship to continue, I’ll expect an apology. Otherwise, I won’t be here next Monday.”
With that, she spun on her heel and stalked to the door.
Doug didn’t follow.
Unfortunately.
That meant he was unconvinced about her innocence. Unsure whether to trust the woman he’d been mentoring for the past eight months.
This setback was past aggravating. It was downright disturbing.
She pushed through the door, into cloying air thick with humidity.
After all the months she’d spent currying Doug’s favor with mild flirting and ego strokes, pinning her radio future on him, how could he distance himself from her? Aside from Wednesday’s ill-advised call, she’d done nothing to deserve his distrust.