by Cathryn Cade
He was handsome, personable and ambitious, so Carlie figured in twenty years, he would own his own firm or have taken over Stark Bros. Heck, with Tiffany behind him poking her manicured nail in his back, he’d probably do it in ten.
Which was cool, because Carlie wanted her brother to be happy, and she wanted him to stay in Portland. For Seth, she’d get along with Tiffany, no matter how difficult that might be, and someday she’d have nephews and nieces to spoil rotten, buying them those annoying toys that made loud noises and had tons of teensy parts that got into carpets and thus vacuum cleaners. That was something to look forward to.
Carlie reached La Fortuna a little early, and was escorted by a smiling teen with dark eyes and hair in a heavily embroidered Mexican dress, to a table by the windows. Carlie sat, smoothing a hand over her white dressy capris and belted, raglan-sleeve gauze top, navy with white polka dots and squiggly lines. She wore navy ankle-strap sandals and a navy headband held back her hair. Her jewelry was simple, her chunky silver bangle watch and silver heart pendant on a long, heavy silver chain, with oversize silver hoop earrings.
For a while, she entertained herself watching traffic zip by on the busy Pacific Highway, then watching for her father’s silver Lexus and Seth’s black Toyota SUV. Finally her attention wandered to the other people being seated amongst the sombreros, pottery and potted cacti.
She played with a strand of hair, winding it around her finger as she watched a tall, auburn-haired woman in a no-nonsense business pantsuit stride across the restaurant, followed by two men also in business suits. The woman’s eyes met Carlie’s, and Carlie froze. Holy cow, the businesswoman was Twila, the fem domme from Club 3.
Without so much as a twitch of recognition on her perfectly made-up face, the other woman walked past Carlie, the men following.
Carlie let out her breath on a whoosh and picked up her water glass to take a long drink of ice water. Okay, Twila didn’t “recognize” her, so she would not show by so much as an eyelash flicker that she knew Twila. Especially that last time she’d seen the woman, when she’d been wearing pink chaps and a teeny bikini, and wielding a flogger on her lesbian lover.
Her face turned to the windows, Carlie pressed her fingers to her lips to quiet her irrepressible giggle. The two men had followed the domme through the restaurant like well-trained submissives. Evidently, Twila was also in charge outside the club.
Hmm. Kind of like Jake. Carlie had seen him interact with his gym employees, both men and women, and although he did not smile a lot, their body language and the way they hung on his words said they respected him and wanted to please him.
On her last visit to the gym, she’d watched from the upper balcony as he spoke with one of the young women who worked the front desk, who had clearly been upset to the point of tears. Jake had listened intently. He’d said a few words, and Carlie watched with fascination as the girl nodded and calmed immediately. She smiled shakily and trotted back to the desk while Jake went on his way.
Carlie did not want to work for him, but she wouldn’t mind passing on her sexual hangups to him, letting him take over so she could be worry free. She pictured him telling her exactly what to do in bed, and a happy shiver ran through her body.
This lasted until she turned back to the restaurant to see her brother striding through the diner toward her, their father close behind. Carlie sat up straight, searching Seth’s face for clues of why he was here.
Seth was clearly their father’s son, with his broad shoulders and sandy hair, and his brown eyes. But he was also twenty-some years younger, in fit condition thanks to regular workouts and rugby matches on weekends, and wore his thick hair very short and spiked up a little in front, flattering for his square face. Today he wore a well-cut gray business suit, although the jacket was over his arm, and the sleeves of his gray and white striped shirt were rolled up, his orange patterned tie loose around his neck.
Their father wore navy slacks and an untucked shirt of the style Seth referred to as old-guy Hawaiian, with a navy and beige pattern in the cloth. Such jibes rolled off George’s back like water. He was comfortable, dressed up as much as he needed to be for his business, and that was enough for him.
Carlie gave them a little wave, then tipped up her face for a kiss on her cheek from first Seth and then her father, who added a hug before sitting beside her. Seth chose the chair across from her and rested his forearms on the table.
“Well, this is nice,” their father said, looking back and forth between them. “Lunch with my kids.”
“Thanks, Daddy,” Carlie said, smiling at him.
Seth nodded, but he was watching Carlie. She raised her eyebrows at him, and he shook his head, one corner of his mouth turning up. She was familiar with that look, having received it many times from her younger brother. It meant anything from can’t believe you just said that to you’re a girl, you’re weird and I’ll never understand you. Herself, she preferred an all-purpose sisterly eye roll.
The waitress brought ice water and menus, which the three of them ignored.
“I’ll have the taco salad with a side of guacamole, please,” Carlie said. “Iced tea.”
“Same, with a side of quesadilla,” Seth said.
“Chicken enchilada,” George added.
The waitress nodded. “I will bring you chips and our special salsa while you wait.”
As soon as she walked away, Seth tapped his fingertips on the table. “So, Car, what’s going on with you, Mom and Tiff? Something about the wedding?”
Startled by his direct approach, Carlie blinked. “Um…”
George patted her arm. “I told Seth there’s a problem.”
“Daddy,” she muttered, her cheeks burning. She really wished he hadn’t said anything.
Her father shook his head. “Honey, this needs to be dealt with. You can smooth some things over, ignore some, but others swell until they finally blow up in your face.” The line between his brows said he’d weathered plenty of explosions. Knowing her mother, Carlie could believe it.
“Dad’s right, Car,” Seth said, his voice definite. But then Seth was always definite. She gazed at her brother with mingled affection and resentment. Why couldn’t she have been born with the of-course-I’m-right gene? It had gone from Paula straight to her son, bypassing her daughter entirely. “I want to enjoy my wedding. Don’t want some family feud behind the scenes. I’ll talk to Tiff, but I want to hear your side of it first.”
“Ohh,” Carlie groaned, fidgeting in her chair. “I don’t want to start some big, messy thing, you know? I can just forget this.” She actually could not, but she hated confrontation so much she was willing to try.
Seth gave her a look. “Want you and Tiff to get along,” he said. “I love her, so I’m gonna end up taking her side in a showdown. I’m aware she’s not perfect. Although she’s a lot closer than you, brat.”
Carlie curled her lip at him, going along with the joke. “Back at you, brother.”
The waitress arrived again with their iced tea, followed by a young waiter with a basket of warm, fragrant tortilla chips and a bowl of salsa.
“Thanks.” Seth held up two fingers. “Two more bowls of salsa please.”
The Miltons loved their salsa. After scooping up a large bite on a chip, Carlie slid it into her mouth and chewed with relish. Perfect, fresh and spicy, contrasting with the crunchy chip.
Her father and brother followed suit. Good, maybe they could just eat and not talk.
Then Seth raised his brows at her in impatient inquiry.
“You’re sure we can’t just drop this?”
“Yes, I’m sure.”
She sighed, fiddling with another chip. “Okay.”
She related her mother’s words about the bridesmaid gown. By the time she finished, Seth was pinching the bridge of his nose with thumb and forefinger, his eyes closed.
“Jesus,” he muttered. “Can’t believe this shit.”
Carlie took a drink of iced tea to quell th
e hot lump in her throat. Her father, who had listened without interjecting, sipping his ice water and watching the traffic outside, patted her arm again.
“I’ll talk to Tiffany,” Seth said. “I’m sorry about this, Car. You know we wanted you in the wedding, but Tiffany has been tight with her four girls since grade school, and then her mother foisted that whack job of a cousin on her. I would’ve had to invite Deron Howe to be a groomsman to make up the numbers, or someone from my office.”
“I know,” Carlie said. “I’m the one who told you not to, remember? It’s okay, really. I just…don’t want to feel like I’m last night’s leftovers.”
“I know. Should’ve just put you on my side of the aisle,” he muttered.
Carlie and her father laughed at this.
“Here’s lunch,” George said. “How about we table this and enjoy a meal together?”
Carlie and Seth both nodded obediently, then exchanged a wry smile. One that meant come what may, they were family. Or so Carlie chose to interpret it. Whatever, she was definitely ready to be done with uncomfortable conversations.
Their food delivered, they ate, chatted about their respective jobs, how the Mariners were doing this season—not well—and about the work being done on the house Seth was buying in Orenco Station, a trendy neighborhood in Hillsboro built around a stop on the MAX light rail system.
Carlie would not mind living there, as it had shops, homes, apartments around a big park, with plenty of walking and bicycle trails. But since that pretty much summed up many areas in Portland metro, she couldn’t see paying the premium home prices in Orenco. Daisy, who worked in a realty office and was studying to become a Realtor herself, assured her the area would hold its value, so Carlie was glad for Seth, but still. She kind of liked older homes herself. They had character and a story to tell.
“Tiff wants the house perfect before we move in,” Seth said.
Carlie, on the other hand, could picture herself working alongside her husband, laughing and talking as they painted a house and worked in the yard, fixing it up together. Then her cheeks burned as she realized her hypothetical husband had assumed a face and form—Jake’s.
“I gotta run,” Seth said, checking his watch and then setting his napkin on his empty plate. “You two have a good week. Carlie, I’ll call you. Dad, take it easy. Tell Mom I said hi.”
He strode away, the picture of a successful young businessman. George smiled after him and then turned back to Carlie, his gaze searching. “You mad at me?”
“Oh, Daddy,” she said. “Of course not. Well, maybe just a teensy bit. But I’ll get over it.”
They exchanged a smile, because both of them knew she’d inherited his inability to carry a grudge. He leaned sideways, bumping her arm with his. “Good. Seth will help sort it out. And I’ll tell your mother in the future to stay the hell out of it between you girls.” Not that this would work, but since they both knew this, Carlie forbore to mention it.
“I like Tiffany,” he added. “She thinks Seth could walk across the Willamette without using one of the bridges.”
Carlie gave him a look of deep affection. He would like whatever guy she ended up with too, as long as he treated her well. That was the simple yardstick with which her father measured the people in his children’s lives.
“I like her too,” she said. “Or I will once this wedding is over.”
George nodded. “Tiffany and her mother are very much…immersed in the process.”
They exchanged a guilty grin. That was putting it mildly.
“When you get married,” he said, “I’m emptying the savings account set up for you, and you can elope to an undisclosed tropical location and blow it all on your honeymoon.”
Carlie nodded. This was a good alternative to having Paula plan her wedding and having to live with her while she did so.
“Speaking of that,” her father added. “Dating anyone?”
She bit her lip, concentrating on folding her napkin neatly beside her plate. “Um, I’ve met someone. Daisy’s boyfriend, Dack? Jake is his best friend. It’s nothing steady, though. We’re just getting to know each other.” She thought of the ways in which she planned to let Jake get to know her, and blushed, her cheeks hot.
Her father hummed encouragingly.
“They own the fitness center I belong to,” she added. “Big Iron Fitness. Jake manages it for the partnership.”
“Really? I’ve driven by the place.” George looked impressed. Then he checked his watch and sighed. “Better get going, honey. You okay?”
Carlie rose and leaned over to hug him. “I’m okay, Dad. Thanks.”
Or she would be, once she knew what Tiffany’s response was to having her fiancé school her on his sister’s feelings. And once she got through her Saturday night “date” with Gerry. And then her first appearance at Club 3.
Yikes. Maybe it was time to move to Seattle.
Chapter Seven
Carlie heard the voices outside her car, but she kept her head down, sobbing into her sodden tissue. She jumped as knuckles rapped on her car window. Oh no. Even though it was dark, someone had spotted her. Geez, how humiliating was this? Saturday night, and most others her age were out on a date, or partying with friends.
What was she doing? Crying alone in her car in a parking lot.
She wasn’t really sure why she’d ended up here in the small parking area of Club 3 instead of back at her condo. She’d fled from the fiasco of her latest attempt to date and found herself driving familiar streets to Big Iron Fitness.
Not wanting to sit in the brightly lit gym parking lot, she’d driven back here like a small animal diving into the dark safety of a burrow. She’d hoped no one would even notice her in this shadowed corner of the lot, facing the club. She wasn’t going in tonight, that was for sure. Unless it was Crybaby Night, red, swollen eyes a must.
“Carlie,” ordered a deep, familiar voice. “Open up.”
Oh, double no. Of all the people to find her like this. Jake.
“Carlie. Open it.” Now he sounded adamant, as if he’d break in if needed.
Reluctantly, she fumbled for the lock button on her car door, and the locks popped. The door opened, warm summer night air wafting in.
She swiped at her wet face with the tissues and then with the back of her hand, keeping her head tipped forward so she could hide behind the curtain of her hair. Delaying the moment when she had to face him.
“Yeah, I got it,” he said over her head. “Thanks, guys. You can head out.”
Other voices answered faintly, then car doors slammed and a motor revved up. Carlie drew a deep, shuddering breath.
“Carlie? What’s going on?” Jake asked quietly, his voice nearer. “What happened?”
She shook her head. “I-I just…”
“Damn it. Are you hurt?” his deep voice was hard now. Her hair was pulled back from her face, her chin grasped in a huge, calloused hand. He turned her head, and a bright light arrowed into her eyes. Ack, he had a penlight.
She squinted her eyes shut, protesting wordlessly and he loosened his grip, his palm cupping her wet cheek. “Talk to me, or I call the cops.”
“No.” She shook her head. “You can’t—it’s not…”
“Carlie. Talk. To. Me. Are you hurt?”
“No, not physically.”
“Have you been sexually assaulted? Did someone try to force you?” His voice was quiet, but still powerful enough to drive steel spikes.
She shook her head, hard, her hair swishing. “No. No, honestly. Just another really, really crappy night in my love life. Or lack of one.”
He was silent for a moment. “Fuck. All right, sit tight, baby. I’m gonna go around and get in the other side. Okay?”
“Okay.” That sounded really nice, actually.
He strode around her car, a hard, uncompromising silhouette in the lights around the parking area.
She fumbled in the console for another tissue and wiped under her eyes. Geez, she pr
obably looked like a crazed raccoon with mascara and shadow beneath her eyes and her face wet with tears.
The car dipped under Jake’s weight as he settled into the seat beside her and turned to her, setting his near hand on the back of her seat. His wide mouth was limned in the parking lot lights, the upper half of his face in shadow, only the glitter of his eyes visible.
Good, that meant if she sat up straight, her eyes would be in shadow too, and he couldn’t see their puffy pinkness—she hoped. She hadn’t seen him for a week, and she’d hoped the next time they met it would be under entirely different circumstances. Like inside Club 3, with her ready for a night of sexy fun. Not her whining about her problems again.
“Now, talk to me.” It was an order, but strangely, as usual when he spoke to her that way, Carlie found it very reassuring. She had to tell him, no choice. She nodded and sniffled, twisting her tissue in her hands in her lap.
“My…my company, EbiTeck, has a lot of formal functions. Dinner dances and such. We’re all expected to put in an appearance. Usually, it’s kind of fun. T-tonight, I didn’t have a date, so I agreed to go with Ger—with one of the sales reps. He’s known as being a player, but I thought, you know, one evening, I can h-handle him.”
She paused, and Jake waited. She had the crazy feeling he would wait all night if necessary for her to gather the courage to finish her story. Which helped her do so. She took another deep breath and went on.
“Everything was fine until the owner left and the guys started doing shots. I wanted to leave, but I stopped to chat with one of the other women. W-when I walked through the bar, G-Gerry was waiting for me. H-he said…right in front of the other guys, he s-said he was going to do me a favor and—and ‘do me’, because I probably couldn’t get anyone else to do it.” He’d laughed so hard he’d nearly fallen off his bar stool. “‘Get it?’ he’d asked. ‘Do you a favor and do you?’”
The leather seat behind her head quivered. She turned her head and saw that Jake’s arm was shaking with the force of his grip on the seat back. His jaw flexed, the muscles standing out in a fascinating ridge. And he was making that utterly sexy, alpha male growling sound again, deep in his chest.