Be What Love Is

by Malouff, Ellie

  “That must have been quite the distraction,” she says and then slowly drags a fingertip across her lips.

  She’s baiting me, inviting me to join in her flirtation. I bite.

  “Oh, it most certainly was,” I reply in a deep voice. The tablecloth pulls her way as she fidgets in her chair. “Especially at first.”

  “How did you handle that?” she asks dramatically.

  “I leaned into it,” I tease and rub gentle circles into the table with my thumb.

  She smiles and drops her gaze to the salad in front of her. Her cheeks are a darker hue of pink, and I like knowing I did that to her. She clears her throat and looks back at me. “Did you always want to be in investment banking or did you study something else at college?”

  Damn. Playtime is over. She sure has a knack for asking questions that cut right to the heart of the matter. She’s poking all my pain points tonight, and I’ve handed her the stick.

  “I studied architecture.”

  She cocks her head to the side. “Architecture, really?”

  “Yes. Sitting at the drafting table with all my tools and creating something on paper that could turn into something real, well that used to be everything to me.”

  “Used to be? Why did you stop?” she asks and waits for my answer, leaving her salad completely untouched.

  “My mother got sick and then she died.” I want to kick myself for admitting it so readily. Now my throat is tightening.

  Her eyes soften, and she reaches out toward me. For a moment I think she’s going for my hand, but she stops abruptly and rests her arm on the table.

  We’ve arrived at a place in my personal timeline that I never talk about. I’ve become a master at glazing over it, of diverting my story to the business side of my life, but not with Cara. The wicked woman somehow gets me to spill all my secrets.

  Without prodding I keep going, “I lost my way. Suddenly, I was completely alone. I inherited everything at twenty-one, and I had no idea how to make that all work. So I took off.”

  It’s the most I have shared with anyone, outside of Trevor and Anna, and it actually feels good. I like the idea of Cara knowing me better.

  “What do you mean, you took off?” she asks and leans forward.

  “I left England, left school. I felt like I couldn’t breathe. The responsibility put upon me was overwhelming, so I sold as much as I could. The townhouse in London, the country estate, all of the furniture, the heirlooms. I grabbed a big chunk of money and traveled abroad.”

  Her eyes turn to saucers. “Where did you go?”

  “Everywhere,” I reply, and a corner of my mouth lifts up.

  “Care to elaborate?”

  I let out a big breath, happy to elaborate. “I’d already seen most of Europe, so I went to the Middle East, then India, and then to Australia. I stayed there for a year.”

  “What did you do in Australia?”

  I’m really smiling now as I remember my time in Australia. She’s never going to believe it, and I can’t wait to see the expression on her face. “I surfed by day and drank by night. Got in a few fights.”

  She blinks wildly. “Wait, back up. You surf?”

  “I surfed,” I correct her. “Like I said before, being on the water is where I find peace.”

  “How did you learn to surf?” she asks, more curious than ever.

  Remembering my Australian days is always bittersweet, but I’m more than happy to answer this question. “I rented a room right on the Gold Coast from this surfer from Hawaii. He was pro and training for the tour with an Australian coach. He taught me everything. We had a bloody good time that season.” Talking about my time with Jake Garrant always brings a smile to my face.

  “And you got in fights? With who?” she asks a little too loud for the atmosphere.

  “I have no idea, it was always at the bar after I hit on some bloke’s girl.”

  “What, really?” she asks, even more flabbergasted.

  I defend myself, “Honestly, I felt like I had nothing to lose. No family or responsibility. I was more than okay with wandering the earth, moment to moment, careless about the consequences.”

  Cara stares at me as if she’s really seeing me for the first time. She opens her mouth to speak a few times, but nothing comes out. Finally, “How did you end up like this? How did you go from bar brawls and unemployment to galas and high finance?”

  I laugh at her astonishment. “What? You don’t think I can still throw down?”

  She laughs back. “To be perfectly honest, no I do not.”

  Should I tell her the next part? I don’t want her to see me too differently.

  “Well?” she prods.

  If I’m going to let her in and really know me, then she has to know this. I swallow hard and spit it out, “I got arrested for assault. One of the fights went too far.”

  “No way,” she exclaims.

  “Yes, and Trevor came to get me.”

  “My grandfather? Went all the way to Australia?” she asks, her mouth left agape.

  “One and the same.”

  “Holy shit,” she says under her breath. “Was he angry?”

  “Oh yeah,” I answer and bite my lip. “To this day, I don’t know how he got me out of it, but he did, and he took me right home. I moved into Canterwood Manor and stayed there for a long time. I needed it, and I think they needed it too. They helped me straighten everything out emotionally and financially. Eventually, I dried out, got a haircut and went to work.”

  “Did you go back to Cambridge?”

  My head shakes no. “I started working for Trevor, and he showed me the ropes. I always wanted to go back and finish up, but I never got around to it.”

  “And Architecture?”

  “Oh, it’s just a hobby now. I imagine one day I’ll design my own house or something.”

  I take a long sip of wine and try to feel better about the fact that I just called my one true passion in this life a hobby.

  She studies me from across the table for a bit.

  “What are you thinking?” I ask her.

  “Did my grandfather like his career?”

  “Yes, I think so. He was really good at it, brilliant. He knew how to manage risk and make a lot of money.”

  “I can’t even picture that. To me, my grandfather was just this lovable guy who walked in and out of the house with his leather briefcase. I guess he checked all the work stuff at the door.”

  “Trevor always knew how to strike the perfect balance between home and work life. It was admirable and not something I have on a handle on personally,” I reveal.

  She leans forward. “So, you’re a workaholic?”

  “Probably, I think this is the longest I’ve been away from work since Trevor brought me in after Australia.”

  “Really? Not even for a vacation?”

  “I travel for work sometimes, but no, not generally.”

  “Does that put a strain on your relationships?”

  Where’s she going with this? Is she considering a potential future for us? Suddenly my heart is beating much faster as I answer, “I hope it won’t.”

  She blinks away from me. I want her attention again, so I turn the tables. “How about you? How do you balance work and school and life?”

  “Naturally, school is my top priority, but I make time for my friends and for myself.”

  I don’t hear much about a boyfriend in that answer, but I sure do like what she said about taking time for herself. I want to learn more. “Care to expand on that?” I ask, using the same question you used on me.

  “On what?” she asks and shares a sly smile.

  I dab at my mouth with a napkin and turn my salad fork over on the plate. “On what you do when you take time for yourself,” I banter and lift an eyebrow in her direction.

  “I read and go for bike rides.” And then with pink cheeks adds, “And other me-time activities.”

  The image of Cara spread across her bed naked, touching the most s
ensitive parts of herself, loops in my mind. Needless to say, my cock is all I can feel south of my waist. To make matters worse, she starts playing with her hair, twirling it between her fingertips.

  “And you? How do you unwind?” she asks as our salad plates are taken away.

  My mind flashes back to that moment on the couch and her straddling me. The way her pelvis rocked against mine, her skin beneath my fingertips, and her breath on my face. My own breath gets caught in my throat.

  I swallow hard. “I go to the gym, row, and other me-time activities,” I answer, throwing her words back at her.

  Cara

  “I go to the gym, row, and other me-time activities.”

  I blush and study my hands, suddenly wishing I had a plate of food to focus on. My belly tightens and my breath hitches.

  “Was it something I said?” he asks.

  I’m mortified. Am I that transparent? I look up to see him across the candlelit table, gazing at me the same way he did on the couch. Our dinner arrives before I can answer and I have never been so happy for an interruption. The food smells divine, but my body doesn’t want food, it wants Reid, and I can’t blame the alcohol this time. Nope. This is full-on sober desire. I dare to look back across the table at him, and he’s still staring at me.

  “Hungry?” he asks. He isn’t eating either.

  “Not really,” I answer, and our eyes lock. My chest starts to rise and fall from labored breath. Everything around us disappears, and our gaze is unbreakable. There are no words, just heat. My heart is racing as a new feeling overcomes me. Fear. Because for the first time I want someone so desperately I can’t breathe right. If I’m right and Victoria turns out to be his girlfriend, I’m going to be devastated. But maybe Julie’s right. Would he be looking at me this way if he was taken?

  “Cara,” he says softly.

  “Yes?” I’m nearly out of breath and on the edge of my seat.

  He’s searching for his words when there’s suddenly the distinct sound of a cell phone vibration coming from beneath our table. Snapped out of our spell, he shakes his head for a second and smiles awkwardly as he reaches in his pocket and pulls out his phone. “Sorry, I have to take this,” he says and stands abruptly.

  I take a big breath, as I come down from the high I’m on.

  “Victoria, hi,” he says as he walks out to the hotel lobby.

  My heart suspends, and I sit up straight. Dear God, they are together. I knew it. I knew it. Why on earth would she need to talk about business this late at night?

  He paces around as he talks to her. He’s apologetic and pleading with her or explaining something. My mouth is dry, so I drink an entire glass of water. It doesn’t help, and I get sick to my stomach.

  “Excuse me,” I ask our waiter. “Where’s the restroom?”

  “Through the lobby, toward reception,” he answers.

  “Thank you.” I grab my purse and leave the restaurant. I quickly dash behind Reid, who is facing away, still on the phone with Victoria.

  In a hushed voice, he says, “Yes, I promise I will move this along. I’m sorry.” She’s clearly pissed and who can blame her? I don’t care much for Victoria, but she deserves a dedicated and faithful boyfriend. No one deserves to be cheated on. It has the power to change lives, and I know that first hand from what Trevor and Anna did.

  In the restroom, I splash some cold water on my face and lean against the counter with my face in a wet paper towel. I hold back the hot tears that so desperately want to spill out of me. I’m so sick of crying all the time, and I really don’t want to cry about Reid. There’s no reason since he was never mine to lose. This attraction was momentary and meaningless.

  As if this moment isn’t bad enough my phone rings. I pray that it’s Julie, but I’m not that lucky. Mom. I am still reeling from the discovery that she returned all the letters my grandfather sent to me. There is no way I’m in the right state to talk to her. I send the call to voicemail.

  When I return to the table, Reid is patiently waiting for me, he hasn’t touched his food. He stands up when I approach and pulls out my chair.

  “Sorry about that,” he says.

  I shake my head, as if it’s no problem, when in fact my heart is shredded.

  He pauses mid-step when he sees my red, blotchy face. “Are you all right?”

  “Yeah, I’m fine,” I answer coolly as I take a seat and start eating. I won’t let it go to waste, especially since I fully intend on paying for my meal. No more Reid bailouts.

  The ride home is chilly and fast. I stare out the window most of the time, lost in thought. The stereo keeps us company as Reid winds around the country roads. As we get closer to home, his headlights flash briefly on a flower-covered cross, pinned to a giant damaged tree. What poor soul hit that tree? My stomach sinks. I already know the answer.

  “Is that where Trevor and Anna died?”

  “Yes,” he whispers.

  I slouch deeper into the seat and wrap my arms around my chest. The hot tears I’ve been holding back for Reid slip down my cheeks for my grandfather and Anna.

  Reid

  The Tiffany lamp on Trevor’s desk dimly lights the room as I draft a strategic advisory document on an investment opportunity one of our top clients is considering. As Victoria so harshly reminded me, it’s due by tomorrow morning. I glance at the time on my laptop, it’s nearly two-thirty in the morning.

  Victoria’s kick in the arse was helpful. No doubt I need to get my head straight, for the sake of everything Trevor built, but I don’t regret the time I’ve been spending with Cara. If I have to lose sleep so I can keep up with work, then so be it.

  I’ve just clicked Send when I hear footsteps approaching the office. It can only be one person. My pulse quickens in anticipation. Cara comes around the corner, wearing one of the skimpy nightgowns I bought for her at H&M. Her pebbled nipples are apparent through the thin fabric. It takes everything in me to move my gaze away and up to her face.

  “Reid?” she asks and places a hand on her heaving chest. “What are you doing?”

  “Working,” I answer quickly, then stand up and walk around the desk toward her. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing, nothing,” she says, calmer and takes a deep breath. “I was just worried about you when you weren’t in your room.”

  My eyebrows lift. “You came to visit me?”

  She crosses her arms over her torso and shakes her head. “I was going to the bathroom and noticed your door was open. That’s all.”

  “Right, of course,” I reply. A pang of disappointment strikes me.

  We stare at each other for a bit too long and she starts to rub her bare arms up and down as if a chill has swept over her.

  “I should have bought you warmer nightwear. This house is quite drafty. At least a dressing gown.”

  She scoffs at my comment. “Yeah, I regret that too.”

  My sense that I’ve annoyed her is spot on. I’m still not sure what had happened at dinner, but we’d been having such a lovely time until I got that bloody phone call from Victoria.

  “Do you regret anything else?” I ask, hoping for a little clarity in the matter.

  Her forehead wrinkles. “Such as?”

  “Something changed tonight. You said you were all right when you returned to the table, but I’m not sure…”

  She stares at the floor while gnawing on her bottom lip.

  “Cara?” I probe and take a step closer.

  She looks up at me through her eyelashes. “I’m fine,” she says with conviction.

  “Did it have to do with the phone call?”

  “Not at all,” she says very quickly.

  “Because I’m really sorry about that,” I say and take another step closer.

  She moves back, to keep the same distance between us. “You have nothing to be sorry about. I’m not upset.”

  For the life of me, I can’t figure out why she isn’t forthcoming.

  “I’m going back to bed,” she says
.

  “I’ll go with you,” I tell her because I’m not ready to let her go.

  We walk across the house and up the stairs in silence. In front of her bedroom, we turn toward each other.

  “Goodnight,” she murmurs.

  “Same to you.” Without thinking, I lean in toward her and press a kiss on her cheek. “Sweet dreams.”

  I don’t want her to go. I want to pull her into my bedroom and have my way with her. At the very least I want her to invite me in. But that doesn’t happen. Instead, she blushes in response and rushes into her room, quickly shutting the door behind her. Why does she pull away every time we get closer? Especially when I’m the one who is quite literally paying the price for the distraction.

  Chapter Eleven

  Who You Are

  Cara

  The last few days have been crazy. I got an email back from the Fitzwilliam Library, requesting a video interview. I was thrilled. When I told Reid, he offered to help me set it up. We decided it would make a definite impression if I sat in my grandfather’s library for it. So we went to work, finishing up my categorization, making a complete inventory, then shelving all the books. He didn’t even fight me on some of the books I set aside to keep. When it was time for my interview, I was nervous, but having the library behind me gave me a huge boost of confidence and the interview went really well.

  When we weren’t working toward my awesome future, we kept making headway on the rest of the house. I figured that if we stayed busy, then maybe the sexual tension might fade away, but that’s not what happened at all. There’s a desire there that just won’t die.

  It’s the worst at night, after dinner and before bed. We keep lingering in the kitchen and talking for far too long, usually while drinking wine and poking at dessert. I’ve been making sure not drink too much, but no matter how little I have I keep slipping into his gaze and getting a buzz off him. It’s embarrassing at times, like when he’s telling me some crazy story from his adventures around the world or the one time he nearly drowned after a massive wipeout on the Gold Coast and I ended up fixating on his lips so much that I lose track of what he was saying.