Love Undiscovered (Love in San Soloman Book 2)

by Denise Wells

  During the ride home, I remind myself just how much I trust Chance. To tell me the truth, to not be married, to not break my heart. And I obviously trust him physically, with my life, on the back of a motorcycle. I feel safe with him. And that is a really stark difference from the way I’ve felt with any other man before. Plus, I’ll definitely get my money’s worth on these jeans if I have to keep seeing him for a month.

  A month.

  Then we’re done.

  The thought of not seeing him again after the month is done makes me feel hollow and cold. As if he can sense my mood change, Chance puts his hand over mine and runs his thumb lightly over the back, then squeezes gently before returning it to the handlebar at a corner. I miss his hand when it’s gone.

  Miss his hand!

  God, what am I thinking?

  Stay strong, Remi.

  This is Chance Bauer. Player extraordinaire. He wanted to sleep with Kat for fuck’s sake. Although, I’ve wanted to sleep with Kat too, so I can’t blame him there. But, if the fact that it’s Chance is not bad enough, then I need to remind myself that it’s a bet. A bet that I can’t afford to lose.

  Louboutins. Louboutins. Louboutins.

  But he got me off. That’s never happened before. And I came multiple times.

  We pull up in front of my house and Chance kills the motor. He helps me off the bike, then climbs off himself. I hand him my helmet, and he offers to walk me to my front door. Which I take as a sign he’s going to ask to come in. Or at the very least make some kind of sleazy comment about it.

  We get to the door, he takes my keys from me and opens it for me.

  “Do you want to come in?” I ask since he has yet to mention it.

  “More than anything,” he says. “But I’m going to pass this time.” His voice is filled with regret.

  “Why?” I ask, more shocked than anything.

  “I had a great time tonight, Remi. A much better time than I thought I would. Even with the drama with my ex. And, I don’t know about you, but I’d kind of like to explore where this could go with you and me. So, I’m just going to play my hand now and tell you that I don’t want to rush into anything that might freak one or both of us out. But I want to see you again. Soon. So, for now, I’m going to say goodnight. And tell you to sleep well, beautiful.” He runs his knuckles along my cheek, then leans in and gives me a soft kiss on the lips.

  Is he fucking with me right now?

  But one look in his eyes and I realize he’s serious.

  Holy shit.

  “I don’t do relationships, Chance,” I blurt out, and then can’t tell if I regret it or not.

  “Me neither, beautiful. Me neither.” He turns and walks back toward his bike, stopping, without turning around to say, “Don’t forget to lock your door.”

  I walk into my house, and lock the door, feeling like my whole world just got rocked a little bit. He starts his bike and I watch through the window as he drives away. I keep watching until the sound of the motor has faded to silence. Then I sit on my couch and try to figure out what the fuck I’m feeling right now.

  Do I stand strong or give in? Can I stand strong and still give in? I mean, on the one hand, I had a great time with him. But I’m not ready or willing to date someone outside of fulfilling this bet.

  Am I?

  On the other hand, the idea of not seeing him beyond a month leaves me feeling empty inside. And he’s got some magic fucking fingers. Literally. There are solid arguments for both sides of this equation. What the fuck do I do?

  You aren’t going to figure it out tonight, Remi.

  I wash my face and get ready for bed. As I’m climbing under the covers, I hear my phone ding with a text.

  Chance: We forgot a date question.

  Me: Oh the horror! What do we do now?

  Chance: Well, I think we have to schedule an emergency date for first thing in the morning.

  Me: Really?

  Chance: I’m pretty sure in order for it to count, it has to be within 18 hours of the date when it was forgotten. And then we can do two questions.

  Me: Didn’t we do two questions during our lunch date?

  Chance: Yes we did. I think 3, maybe 4. Which might not have been allowed. Excuse me while I consult the rule book.

  Me: LOL!

  Chance: Okay, multiple questions may be asked on the first date only. Subsequent dates get one question each. Only one question per date until all questions are answered.

  Me: Except for the 18-hour rule.

  Chance: Right. Except for that.

  Me: Well, we can’t break the rules. What would all your police officer friends think?

  Chance: Detective, Remi. They are detective friends. Just like me. I’m a detective.

  Me: Tomato, Tomahto.

  Chance: You’re lucky I find you attractive.

  Me: Ditto, Detective.

  Chance: So? Tomorrow?

  Me: I need to work tomorrow.

  Chance: All day?

  Me: Pretty much.

  Chance: Early morning coffee?

  Chance: Don’t do it for me. Do it for the sake of first date question lists everywhere.

  Me: LOL!

  Me: Can you do 8am?

  Chance: I can. I’ll pick you up at 8am.

  Me: I can’t believe we’re doing this.

  Chance: It’s just coffee.

  Me: We both know it’s not just coffee.

  Chance: See you in the morning, beautiful. For COFFEE. Sleep well.

  Me: Goodnight.

  I turn off the light and hunker down into my bed, trying to ignore the smile on my face.

  I wake early the next morning so I can do some yoga before Chance picks me up. I like the muscle strength that yoga gives me, but more than that I like that it can quiet my brain for just a little bit. I shower and get ready for my day, foregoing making coffee since we’re having it first thing anyway. I dress a little nicer than I ordinarily would for a Sunday in the lab, because I’m seeing Chance.

  Today’s ensemble is a pair of dark navy-blue cigarette pants with a white V-neck wrap-around sweater and black ballet flats. I put my hair up in a ponytail and leave bangs on my forehead. Light makeup, a spritz of perfume, and I’m ready to go with fifteen minutes to spare. I should probably just drive myself since I have to go to work after.

  Which makes me think we should just meet somewhere close to my building. I call Chance to see what he thinks.

  “Good morning, beautiful.” I can hear the smile in his voice. It makes me feel warm inside.

  “Hey, I was thinking we could just meet at a place near my office? That way you don’t have to come all the way to my house. Although I don’t really know where you are coming from, so maybe that’s more out of the way. Oh, but I guess not if that’s where we are going anyway.”

  He laughs. “Not quite awake yet, huh?”

  “Not quite, I suppose.” I laugh.

  “Text me the address and I’ll meet you there.”

  I text him, then get in my car and head to the cafe. Anxious to get out of the house before I start thinking too much about what I’m doing.

  I arrive before Chance, so I grab a table but wait for him before I order. He pulls in to the parking lot a short time later. I watch as he removes his helmet and runs his hand through his hair to ‘fix’ it and gets off his bike. Well, me and every other woman in the place watch him.

  “Hot guy on a motorcycle, two o’clock.” I hear a woman say from the table behind me to her friend.

  She’s right.

  He’s wearing low slung jeans that fit snug in all the right places, his motorcycle boots, which are sexy as hell on him, a plain white t-shirt, and his leather jacket. He’s like a walking advertisement for Hot-Guys-R-Us. If such a place existed. He walks in and looks around. I give him a little wave. He smiles and heads in my direction.

  “Lucky bitch,” I hear the same woman say, her voice barely above a whisper.

  She’s right about that too. />
  He leans in and gives me a kiss on the cheek. “Good morning, beautiful.”

  He smells good, fresh like soap with a hint of something woodsy.

  “Good morning yourself,” I say.

  “Did you order?” he asks.

  “No, I was waiting for you.”

  “What would you like?” he asks. I tell him what I want, and he goes up to order for both of us. I watch him as he walks back to the front of the shop. He has so much confidence with everything he does: walking, talking, sitting, driving. It makes it hard not to watch him, the magnetism that comes with that confidence is dizzying.

  I’m still watching him when he comes back to the table and sits down.

  “Did you sleep well last night?” he asks.

  “Is that my next first date question?” I tease.

  “No, but I do have one for you, and it’s perfect since you have to go to work anyway.”

  “Let me guess, what do I do, or do I like what I do.”

  “Ding, ding, ding,” he says. “Tell the lady what she wins, Bob.”

  We both laugh at the corny joke.

  “So, do you like your job?” he asks.

  “I do. I don’t necessarily like the people I work with. They can be sexist and judgmental, but I love the work that I do. I love that if I’m successful, it could make a difference in the world.”

  “Do you need me to beat up the sexist and judgmental ones? ‘Cause I will.”

  I laugh.

  The barista brings out our order, I see that Chance has also purchased a selection of pastries. He tells me what each of them are, then proceeds to cut them in half, so we can both try them all.

  “Do you like your job?” I ask.

  “We’re not completely through talking about your job, because I still don’t totally understand what it is that you do. But, yes I love my job.”

  “What made you go into law enforcement?” I ask, picking at my muffin.

  “My dad was a detective, so was his dad before him. I grew up seeing what the two most important men in my life did, how they locked up the bad guys, and helped people in the community, and made an effort to right the wrongs. I wanted to do the same. I guess, like you, I wanted to make a difference. Or at least try to.”

  “Do you think that in wanting to make a difference” —I use finger quotes as I say the last part— “we are both being too idealistic?”

  “I hope not. At least I don’t think so. Do you?” he asks.

  “I’d have to say the same.”

  “So, what exactly is it that you do?” he asks, leaning forward, forearms resting on the table’s edge.

  “My degree is in chemical engineering,” I say.

  “And you have a master’s degree, right?” he asks.

  “Yes.”

  “My girl is smart,” he says, shoving half of a pastry in his mouth.

  I ignore the flutter in my stomach when he refers to me as his girl. “Did you even taste that?”

  He nods, then wipes his mouth with a napkin. “Food. Good.”

  He’s so corny I can’t help but laugh.

  Then he asks, “What does a chemical engineer do, besides the obvious that I can guess from the name?”

  “Well, I’m sure just that, what you can guess from the name. But I am working on developing a process that will breakdown products that were previously non-biodegradable for repurposing.”

  “Essentially recycling that which was not recyclable before?”

  “Yeah, in a sense.” I nod my head.

  “That seems like a no-brainer, no offense. How come it’s taken people until now to figure out how to do that?”

  “Well, that’s just it, I haven’t figured it out yet. So, it still remains non-existent. But I’m close.”

  “So, when you go to work today, and you sit down in your lab, what is it that you’ll be doing?”

  “In simple terms, I’m running trial tests on the process to see if it works.”

  “Keep it simple for the simpleton?” he asks with a wink.

  I laugh at him.

  “So, are you in danger with what you do?” I change the subject. “I mean, like, do people shoot at you?”

  “Not typically. I trained, for lack of a better word, in homicide. But San Soloman is small enough that here I get a taste of pretty much everything. However, everything doesn’t necessarily mean danger.”

  “So, people don’t shoot at you?” I ask, surprised.

  “I didn’t say that,” he chuckles. “It just isn’t what normally happens every day. Why, you worried about me, beautiful?”

  “I didn’t say that,” I say throwing his words back at him. He smiles at me and I spend a minute getting lost in that smile. It’s a nice feeling.

  My phone dings with a text. I look down and see it’s from Kat and make a mental note to look at it later. I know that she’s asking about our date last night anyway. Then I glance at the time and am shocked to see that we’ve been here over an hour.

  “Time to go?” he asks.

  “Yes,” I say. I’m surprised to realize how disappointed I am.

  We stand, he brings our plates and cups back up to the front, then opens the cafe door for me. We get to my car and he takes my keys from my hand and opens my car door for me.

  “A girl could get used to all this chivalry,” I say with a grin. “Do you want to follow me around all day and open doors for me?”

  “A guy could get used to the view of walking behind you all day.”

  I giggle at that. The sound still a foreign one to my ears. I think that Chance is the only man to ever cause me to giggle. Maybe even the only person.

  Chance puts one hand on the roof of the car, and the other on the top of the open door, effectively blocking me in where I stand by the car. I put one hand on his chest and stretch up to kiss him.

  “Thank you for the coffee and breakfast,” I say against his lips. “That was a great way to start my morning.”

  “I can think of much better ways to start the morning. I’d be happy to show you.” He pulls me in for a deeper kiss. I can taste the coffee and pastries with a hint of mint. I moan into his mouth. He grips my ass with one hand and lifts me up slightly, his cock already hard and hitting me in just the right place. I move to wrap my legs around his waist, but my right leg hits the car door. Which is when I remember where I’m at. I drop to my feet and slowly pull my lips from his.

  “Forgot where I was for a minute,” I laugh.

  “You seem to have that effect on me as well,” he says.

  “I’ll talk to you later?” I ask. Hating that my voice sounds almost needy.

  “Definitely,” he says. “I’ll call you.”

  I get in the car and start it. He shuts my door and then taps one hand on the hood as I pull away. I watch him in my rear-view mirror as I exit the parking lot. I’m amazed that I still enjoy his company. And, that I’ve not yet found a reason to stop seeing him. Well, that could change at any time.

  A little less than two weeks and that will change real quickly.

  Oh Fuck.

  Right.

  Because this is a goddamn bet and not reality. Get your head back in the game, Remi.

  Louboutins. Louboutins. Louboutins.

  Chapter 25

  Chance

  I have no idea what to expect with this whole movie night thing. In fact, I wasn’t even sure I would be able to make it until this afternoon. Lexie had invited me last week, but I wanted the invite from Remi, and that didn’t come until yesterday. So I had to scramble to find someone to cover my on-call for the night.

  Remi didn’t let me pick her up, instead choosing to meet me at Lexie’s winery, Lovestone, after she got off work. I get there about fifteen minutes before the movie is scheduled to start. I don’t remember which movie it is. Not that I care. I’m just happy that Remi asked me to do something.

  This whole thing with her is going way better than I’d ever anticipated. I actually enjoy her company, and I�
�m more attracted to her than I’ve ever been to another woman before. There’s just something about her, she’s different. She’s a dichotomy. Girly and high-maintenance, yet easy-going and down-to-earth. She acts tough, but I think she’s soft on the inside.

  I still can’t believe she climbed on my bike in that dress for the law enforcement gala, the woman has bigger balls than most men. But then she cried after she thought I’d sung the same song to Helen. I really just want to figure out what makes her tick. Not to sound like a chick, but I want to cement something between us before having sex.

  The tasting room is filled with people, but I don’t see any of the three girls. So I head off in search of a restroom. After which I intend to find Remi.

  I hear Kat say my name as I come up on a little room down the hall, and the detective in me is good at eavesdropping.

  “Okay, can I just say how much I like seeing you and Bauer together?” Kat says.

  Me too, Cookie. Me too.

  “It’s not real, Kat, you keep forgetting that,” Remi says.

  What’s not real? Is she saying we aren’t real. Why would she think that?

  We are as real as it fucking gets, beautiful.

  “It’s just a bet,” she continues.

  Wait, does she know about the bet?

  If that fucker Alex told her, I will end him.

  She doesn’t sound that upset about it. Maybe she doesn’t care I made a bet.

  “It’s real enough that you could lose your Louboutins if things go differently,” Kat says.

  I have no idea what a Louboutin is. Another word for head? Does Kat speak another language? If Kat is saying that Remi is losing her head over me, that would be outstanding.

  “Well, lucky for me, he’s interested enough that I don’t have to worry about losing my nine hundred dollar shoes, huh?” She sounds smug.

  Nine hundred dollar shoes? Who the fuck has nine hundred dollar shoes? Even with three sisters, I’ve never heard of shoes that expensive.