James knew this, too, but this was a side of Isabel Baxter he’d never seen—the excluded heiress. All those years when she’d pranced around town with designer jeans and purses, freezing out some girls and warmly accepting others, he’d never imagined that she’d felt frozen out in her own family.
“Well, you’re a grown woman now,” he pointed out.
“Sure am.” She grinned, and he felt the heat rise in his face. She was certainly a woman—something he’d been uncomfortably aware of for some time now. Her slender fingers moved fluidly as she reached for the next mushroom, and he turned his attention back to the food in front of him.
“You know what I mean.” He swirled the oil around in the iron skillet, then gently laid the steaks in the pan to sear. “He might have thought of you as his little girl when you were a little girl, but a lot has changed. Maybe he’ll see reason yet.”
“Not as much has changed as you’d think,” she replied. “He’s still waiting for me to get married.”
“Are you going to oblige him?”
Isabel laughed, her eyes lighting up with humor. “Absolutely not!”
“No?” He grabbed a towel to wipe his hands. “Out of spite?”
“Maybe a little.” She laughed softly. “It’s complicated.”
“How so?” The pan spattered and sizzled as the steaks cooked, and he planted a lid on top. “It seems pretty simple, really. Meet a nice guy. Fall in love. Get married. Lots of people do it. In fact, I’ll probably be the one to hammer out your prenuptial agreement.”
“The prenup.” She smiled wanly. “That’s the problem. Whoever marries me is probably going to be angling for my father’s money.”
“So you don’t know who to trust?” he summarized.
“Partly. When you come from privilege, you tend to marry privilege. That’s just how it works. That way, you know that the man isn’t just after the money. It’s an emotional safety net. My mom’s family was the one with money. My dad had nothing when he married her, and her family was furious. They had to elope. Ironically, my dad warned me not to do it their way—too risky.”
“So that means that regular Joes are out of the running.”
“Yes.” She arched a brow, looking every bit the society woman. He shot her a teasing look.
“Yeah, but if you only have a pool of, say, a dozen men to choose from, how do you know he isn’t just marrying you because of your family? He’s still marrying you for money, even though he’s got it, too. It doesn’t leave a lot of latitude for falling in love.”
“You prove my point,” she replied. “It’s complicated. I come with enough money to doubt the honest feelings of guys who don’t have any, but at the same time look at me. I’m not going to be anyone’s trophy wife.”
“So what do you want?” he asked. “You’ve been talking about what everyone else wants. What about you?”
“To press Rewind...” Her tone was wistful, and for a moment, he pitied her.
“And without the rewind button?” he asked.
She smiled. “I want my chocolate shop.”
“A consolation prize?”
“Hardly.” She slid the board of chopped mushrooms down the counter to James. “I’ve wanted this for years. I’m just finally doing it.”
The cooking was a relatively quick process. James was never a gourmet cook. He cooked for results, and he tended to start the cooking when he was hungry, which meant that he wanted those results sooner rather than later.
It didn’t take long to get both steaks on the table with a fresh salad. As Isabel took her first bite of steak, she rolled her eyes toward the ceiling and sighed happily.
“Oh, this is good,” she said, and James felt a surge of satisfaction.
“Don’t get your hopes up. I only cook about three things well, and steak is one of them.”
“Good enough for me,” she murmured past another bite. “I could live on this...”
Her appreciation of his cooking was rewarding in itself, and for a moment, he wondered what it would be like to do this more often. But this was her father’s idea, and Mr. Baxter had made it clear that James wasn’t to cross any lines. Still, he had to admit that he didn’t exactly regret that paternal nudge. This was nice...maybe too nice. He wasn’t supposed to get attached.
“What would your dad think of this?” James asked carefully, wiping his lips with a napkin.
“This?” She raised a brow and swallowed. “As in the two of us eating together?”
“Exactly.”
She was silent for a beat, and their eyes met. She shrugged weakly.
“I thought this might be his idea,” she said. “I doubt you’d be going out of your way to have dinner out with me.”
“Why not?” he asked.
“Come on, James. You’ve already told me what you think of me. Besides, when you asked what my father would think, you tipped your hand.” She smiled wryly. “It’s okay. I appreciate the gesture.”
James felt the heat rise in his neck. “It’s not entirely your dad,” he countered. He was enjoying this on a personal level, too.
“No?” She didn’t sound convinced.
“Don’t we count as friends at this point?”
“Friends don’t get manipulated into dinners by my father.” She rolled her eyes. “But don’t worry. This was worth it for the steak. You’re a good cook.”
This hadn’t exactly gone according to plan, but part of him was relieved that she knew about her father’s requests. It was better than deceiving her and wondering if he was leading her on. She was smarter than he’d given her credit for, and he found that he liked her that much more.
She glanced at her watch. “But I’ve got to get going. I have to catch my dad before he goes to bed.”
“Oh?”
She rose to her feet, dropping her napkin next to her plate. “I refuse to have you paying our bills. I’m going to get that property tax taken care of tonight. I’ll feel better.”
James stood up, head and shoulders taller than she was, and for a moment, he had a crazy idea that he might like to dip his head down and kiss her. Not that he should—he knew better. Starting a fling with a Baxter, knowing it could go nowhere, was a bad idea. He needed a woman who could share the burdens with him, have Jenny’s back, too. This—this was attraction and nothing else. Wanting to slide his hand behind her neck and tug her in closer...
Don’t be a fool. As if she’d let you!
She caught his eye, and for a split second, he thought he saw embarrassment in that look. “Thanks for dinner. Would you mind driving me back to my place?”
Had he embarrassed her? It hadn’t been his intention.
“Sure,” he said. “Let’s go.”
It was probably best to end the evening now, anyway, before he said something too revealing. Even now, Isabel had a strange way of making him want to talk too much.
She headed toward the door, and as she reached it, she glanced back.
“Next time, though, tell my father no, okay? I’m just fine. I don’t need rescuing.”
He didn’t doubt it for a second.
* * *
THE DRIVE BACK to Isabel’s house was quiet, but the silence was the palpable kind. The rustle of his shirt, the whisper of his hand against the steering wheel as it spun back to center under his palm...it all seemed louder, more meaningful. She’d almost spoken a couple of times, willing to be the first to break that silence, but then she changed her mind. She’d lose the upper hand—that impression of cool indifference she’d managed to set inside the house. It wasn’t as easy to maintain anymore, and it wasn’t just her loss of manipulative power. She cared more, somehow. She cared what James thought of her, and having him see her as a charity case stung.
Her father had set this whole thing
up. Somehow that didn’t shock her in the least, but it disappointed her. She’d honestly thought that James wanted to spend the evening with her before he’d mentioned her dad. She’d been blissfully ignorant, and it had felt good to be desired in some small way. She wasn’t naive enough to think that she could stir his blood like she used to do with men, but to be appreciated for herself... A small part of her wished she could have stayed in the dark about the true state of affairs, believing that James was feeling something more for her than simple professional interest. Just for the evening. Of course, she’d want to know before she saw him again, but to find out in front of him—that had hurt. She felt like those people who thought that servers and customer service agents were flirting with them. Some people were paid to be nice.
He looked over at her a couple of times, and she did her best to keep up that appearance of indifference, but she wasn’t sure that she managed it considering the regret written all over his face. Did he pity her now? Not if she had any choice in the matter! What she needed was to get home, crawl into her bed and cry this out. She’d be fine by morning, but this kind of humiliation didn’t need an audience.
As they crunched up her driveway, she felt a strange combination of relief and sadness. So this was how it felt to be toyed with. She’d done enough of it in her day with the many men she’d sweet-talked. Back then, she’d taken a perverse pride in seeing their hearts on their sleeves, sadness in their eyes when they realized she hadn’t been serious. She’d pretended not to see their emotions, because she thought that the nicer thing to do—to pretend they hadn’t taken it seriously, either. She thought it was respectful, but looking back on it now, it was only cruel. This was karma, all right.
“Thanks for the ride,” she said, and she felt the tightness in her throat. Her voice sounded different. She pushed open the door and got out. The shorter this goodbye, the better.
“Hey.” He’d gotten out of the truck, and they both slammed their doors. What did he want—to rub this in?
“Hey,” he repeated, and she sighed and turned toward him. He stepped closer, looking down into her face. He was illuminated by the silvery moonlight, nothing else, and looking up into his face, she found her careful reserve begin to crack. Cool indifference wasn’t as easy to maintain when gentle brown eyes were drilling down into hers.
“Thanks again,” she said, but she felt tears mist her eyes. Blast it. She wasn’t going to cry in front of him.
“I’m sorry.” His tone was low, and he reached forward, moving her hair away from her eyes. “I think I hurt your feelings.”
“No, I’m fine.” She attempted to smile and wasn’t sure how successful she was. “I’m used to my father, trust me.”
George Baxter was heavy-handed in everything he did, and she’d been at the receiving end of his well-intentioned but ill-timed parenting for her entire life.
“I didn’t want to do it,” James said. “It was highly inappropriate, and unprofessional—”
“Thanks, that makes it better.” Sarcasm might be easier to pull off than honesty at the moment. So he’d been strong-armed into spending an evening with her, not just asked. How low had she really fallen? She hadn’t realized it was this bad until her father’s intervention here. If her dad thought he was helping matters, he was sadly mistaken.
“That’s not what I meant,” he said. “I wanted to make you dinner. I didn’t want your dad to be part of the equation.”
“Oh...” That did make it better...a little. A gust of wind picked up, and Isabel rubbed her hands over her arms. James stepped closer, putting his warm palms over her upper arms, and she had to admit that it did feel good. She’d been noticing his good looks lately, but now she was close enough to detect a hint of his cologne, too. This wasn’t helping. If she was supposed to save face, standing here in the moonlight, noticing how good he smelled wasn’t the answer.
And as if to clinch her complete loss of dignity, a tear slipped past her lashes and slid down her cheek. Before she could wipe it away, James did, brushing it from her face with the pad of his thumb.
She was about to say something stupid, she was sure, when he tipped her face upward with a finger under her chin and brought his lips down on hers. She was shocked at first, but he didn’t pull back, and she realized after a moment that neither had she. Her lids fluttered shut and she leaned into those warm, strong arms.
For a moment it was gentle, chaste, even. And then, it was as if they forgot who they were, and why this was a bad idea, and they were just a man and woman in the moonlight, a cool wind swirling around them as they pressed closer together. She fit perfectly in his arms, and he felt solid against her—nothing like the teddy bear that Britney claimed him to be. No, he was a man in every sense, and as his lips moved over hers, it felt like coming home. Was that her loneliness talking, or was it just him?
James pulled back, and he smiled bashfully. “Should I not have done that?”
“Um.” She swallowed and stepped back. “I think it was my fault, too.” She certainly hadn’t stopped him, and she’d been a very willing participant. She pulled out her keys. “I’d better get inside.”
“Good night, Izzy.”
Her nickname sounded good coming from him, and she wasn’t sure she trusted herself to say anything. She’d do something dumber still and ask him in or something like that. No, she didn’t need to do anything she’d regret. She needed to think. She needed to make sense of this evening.
She climbed the three steps to her front door and unlocked it. When she glanced back, James was still watching her.
“Good night,” she said, and let herself in. She shut the door behind her and leaned against it in the darkness until she heard the growl of his truck’s engine. Then she looked out the window and watched as the taillights made their way back to the main road.
What had just happened? Had she really just kissed James Hunter?
CHAPTER ELEVEN
JAMES SAT IN his living room for a long time that evening, watching TV on mute. He wasn’t focusing on the television—his mind was back there in the moonlight with Isabel.
He’d most certainly crossed the line there. When George said that he expected him not to go breaking any hearts, he was pretty sure the old guy was thinking about that exact scenario, and Isabel had already warned him that George didn’t keep his business and personal as separate as he pretended.
But she’d kissed him back. That knowledge gave him a rush of elation. He didn’t know why he’d done it... It was a cocktail of things, like the fact that he’d hurt her by following her father’s orders—he’d seen it in the tremor in her chin when she’d been trying to stare him down as if she didn’t care. She had cared, and he had wounded her, and he couldn’t be the guy who stabbed her that deeply. Add to that a cool summer night, the spattering of stars that had twinkled overhead, the cool breeze pushing them closer together for warmth and the glisten of moonlight in those dewy eyes of hers... He’d been standing alone in the dark with Isabel Baxter—wasn’t that enough?
It had felt so right in the moment, and it had been the single stupidest thing he’d done so far.
He rubbed his hands over his face. He’d have to face her. That was the problem. If they’d shared a kiss in the moonlight and never had to see each other again, it would have been perfect. But they’d most certainly see each other again, and he’d have to see exactly how she really felt about him. He wasn’t sure he was up for that. A moment of weakness didn’t mean that she wouldn’t completely regret it.
He wasn’t that guy, the kind who stole kisses when the mood seemed right. That was another thing that was irritating him. He and Izzy had no future. Attraction—absolutely—but no future. So why had he jeopardized his job with George Baxter to steal a kiss with his daughter?
His phone buzzed, and he glanced down at it to see that his sister had sent him ano
ther email. He touched the screen, pulling it up so he could read it. It was a link to a job page for Haggerston.
“Hint taken, Jenny,” he murmured with a wry smile.
She wanted a job. She wanted to contribute, be a part of something bigger than herself. He understood that feeling all too well. Maybe he could convince her to take a sabbatical from the job hunt—maybe to take up a hobby or something.
But the jolt back into reality brought with it a wave of guilt. Jenny was part of the package for any woman he made a life with, and he had no business twisting up people’s emotions. He knew where he stood. He knew what he needed, and he resolutely refused to be the kind of man who jerked a woman around for his own entertainment.
Isabel was probably both tougher and more vulnerable than he was giving her credit for, but Jenny wasn’t. What you saw was what you got with Jenny, and she looked to him to take care of her.
He could not kiss Isabel again.
* * *
ISABEL GOT INTO her SUV and drove out to her father’s house shortly after James left. Her heart was still pounding just a little faster after that kiss. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t been kissed before, but there had been something about the way he’d held her—so gently, so firmly—that she’d never experienced. How was it even fair that a kiss like that had come from the family lawyer?
She knew better than to mix business with pleasure. She’d learned that the hard way with Andrew, and if she had to break off a relationship with James, too, it would affect more than her heart—it would affect business. She could hear her father’s opinion as if he was sitting right next to her: Izzy, keep it separate. Don’t let the man you date know anything about your money. Let him guess. Let him wonder. Just never let him know anything for a fact. And never mix romance with the legal team. Let a man do his job! Seriously, Izzy! Do I even have to tell you this?
No, he didn’t. And she’d never tell her father what had happened this evening. It wasn’t his business, anyway. Her father had asked James to take her out, and it had gone a little further than her father intended. So this one was his fault, if someone had to be blamed.
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