“A plane.” I keep a neutrally bland expression on my face.
Ford rolls his eyes at me, and it’s a completely endearing maneuver. The man has to be in his early forties by my calculations of stalking him on his firm’s website, but that immature display makes him completely sexier for some reason.
I don’t make him ask the question again, just give a very brief rundown of my transition from a Swedish citizen to an American citizen. “When I was fourteen, I was approached on the streets of Stockholm by a talent agent. An American talent agent. They wanted me to sign with their agency to do fashion modeling.”
Ford places his forearms on the table and leans forward, listening intently. “Not surprised.”
I take that as the compliment it was meant to be. Obviously, he has made his attraction to me known in more ways than one. And with those few simple words, he tells me he believes I’m beautiful enough to be a model. It’s crazy how I’ve always doubted that about myself even if I was in a Vogue fashion spread or walked the catwalk in Milan. I never saw in myself what others did, I guess. I also think it was probably the fact I was so young and hadn’t had time to let my confidence develop.
I continue my story. “My mother was a model in Sweden. She’s a beautiful woman and loved that lifestyle, although she was never quite successful at it. When I was offered the chance to pursue what was really her dream, she sort of forced me to take it. So she and I moved to the States.”
“And your father didn’t come?” He asks.
“Never knew who my father was,” I say with a wry smile. My gaze drops down to my drink for a moment before returning to him. “At least not at that age.”
Ford nods, and it’s obvious he’s filing away further questions about my father. I continue. “Let’s just say my modeling career was very good for my mother and me. Actually, let me amend that. It was very good for my mother. I made a lot of money and she managed it, and by manage, I mean spent most of it. She led a very posh lifestyle on my coattails.”
There’s no mistaking the sympathy in Ford’s gaze. I am utterly shocked when he makes an astute observation about a woman that he doesn’t know. “I guarantee you she didn’t do that for long, though, did she?”
That simple question tells me Ford has figured out in a very short time I’m not the type of woman who will be walked all over for long. He knows enough to realize I would never let anybody take advantage of me, even if it’s my mother. It means a lot he recognizes that, because it’s probably the personality trait I’m most proud of. If I have a daughter one day, it’s what I will encourage her the most in.
I shake my head and give him a smile. “When I was seventeen, I got myself emancipated from my mother. I stopped modeling, got control of what money was left—which wasn’t much—and because I had graduated high school early with homeschooling, I went off to college, much to my mother’s dismay.”
Ford cocks his head curiously. “Was your mother’s dismay in the fact you chose an education over modeling or that she’d lost her gravy train?”
Laughing, I point my finger playfully at him. “Both. You win.”
Ford picks up his drink and takes a sip. He sets the glass down, and his words are measured. “Let me guess… college at seventeen, graduated at age twenty and went off to law school. Had your degree by about the time you were twenty-three, and then was well on your way to becoming an animal lawyer.”
Chuckling, I roll my fingertip around the edge of my drink glass. “Almost. I started out doing corporate law in Georgia. It wasn’t until I saw someone abusing a dog out on the street that my career path changed.”
“What did you do?”
“I beat the guy up with my briefcase and stole his dog,” I say simply.
I’m not prepared for the bark of laughter that erupts or the respect shining in his eyes. He gives an amused shake of his head. “You are something else, V.”
He picks up his glass to take another sip, and I do the same. When we set our glasses down, he asks, “What brought you to North Carolina?”
“My ex-husband transferred his residency from Emory’s university hospital to Duke. When I passed the North Carolina bar exam, I used that as an opportunity to start my career in animal law.”
Ford’s eyebrow raises. “You were married to a doctor?”
I nod. “A neurosurgeon.”
“And how long have you been divorced?”
“About two years.” And I can’t believe it’s been that long. I also can’t believe it had been more than two years since I’d had sex. I’d been through a rather dry spell after my marriage fell apart, but Ford has proven it’s kind of like riding a bike.
“Have you ever been married?” I ask.
Ford laughs and shakes his head a little too vigorously. “No way.”
If I were sitting beside him, I would probably give him a playful punch on his shoulder. Instead, I have to say, “You say it like it’s a disease or something.”
Ford shakes his head a little more vigorously, and his expression turns slightly apologetic. “No, it’s not that. It’s just… marriages are forever and well… Let’s just say a few months for me is a long time.”
My eyes widen, and I drawl, “You don’t have a lot of staying power.”
“I haven’t so far,” he says. “And to be clear, we’re talking about relationships—not my stamina in the bedroom.”
“At least you’re honest,” I say, and I mean it as a true compliment. Ford has his ways, and I can’t necessarily say that they are wrong knowing what I know about marriage now. Still, I can’t help asking. “You don’t feel like you’re missing out on anything?”
Ford shrugs, and it’s not casual in any way. If anything, it conveys he’s given this some thought. “I’m not sure. It’s not like I’m anti-relationship or anything. I guess I’ve just been so busy with my career. There’s never been anyone I’ve met who has held my interest for very long or who I wanted to share my life with.”
I can’t help but tease. “So what you’re saying is I shouldn’t be making any long-term plans with you?”
I had hoped he would get I was joking. Instead, his expression remains somber. “Do you want to get married again?”
I give the same type of shrug Ford had just given me. I honestly don’t know the answer. However, unlike Ford, I have not really thought about it. There’s been no reason to. “What is marriage anyway? A piece of paper. What does that even mean in today’s day and age with the rate of divorce?”
“I’ve had those same thoughts myself,” Ford admits, but then leans even closer over the table. “But I watched my best friend Leary fall in love with a man a few years ago, and they’ve actually given me hope for humanity.”
My insides melt over the affection in his voice for his friend. I grin. “Maybe there’s hope for you yet, Mr. Daniels.”
He stares at me a moment, and I wonder how this conversation got so serious so fast. I hardly know him at all. The fact we fell so fast into bed leads me to believe there is nothing of substance at this table other than perhaps the two drinks sitting before us. I try to think of something light and airy to say, to bring us back around to a fun, flirty conversation.
But to my dismay, Ford turns his wrist over and glances at his watch. His eyes come back to me, and he says, “Look at the time. We need to get out of here so you can go meet Frannie.”
I check my cell phone I had set on the table. I can’t believe we’ve been here for almost an hour talking. The swell of disappointment tells me that my rationale is probably not seeing this as a one-night stand or a booty call. I don’t know if he can do anything more after a few months, but I do know I want to see him again.
Surprisingly, there’s hardly anything left of my drink. I pick it up and drain the last of it as Ford does the same with his Jack and Coke. After, he pulls his wallet out and leaves some money on the bar for a tip.
Ford walks me to my car, his hand at my elbow as we cross the parking lot. When we get the
re, he turns me to face him and steps in close. Peering down, he asks, “I’ve got two tickets tomorrow night to see the North Carolina Symphony? Would you like to go with me?”
I can’t help wrinkling my nose. “I’m sorry, but that’s sort of not my thing.”
Ford’s lips tip up. “You don’t like classical music?”
“Oh, I like classical music well enough, but my days of fancy dresses and elegant galas are kind of in the past for me. I don’t even own a dress that would be suitable enough.”
Ford blinks in surprise. “You’re kidding me. I get your practice may not be as lucrative as mine, but you were married to a neurosurgeon. Surely you had a cocktail dress or two when you divorced?”
His tone is light and teasing, and that’s the only way I can take what he’s saying.
“Well, believe it or not… My ex-husband wasn’t into that sort of thing either. We never did fancy stuff, and he worked all the time. I think the last time I got to dress up all fancy was my wedding. And probably prior to that was when I was still modeling.”
“I don’t know whether to be sad about that,” Ford says, seeming perplexed.
I laugh and lightly touch his arm. “Maybe we can do something else another time,” I suggest.
Ford surprises me by putting his palms against my face and pulling me in for a kiss. It’s not soft, but it’s not sensual either. It feels more like a claiming. When he pulls back, he murmurs, “I hate classical music and the symphony. I thought I would impress you with the fact I had tickets, which really belong to the senior partner at our firm and are available for the taking if I want. What would you like to do tomorrow night?”
I stare at him a moment before trying to be the mature voice of reason. “You know we’re on opposing sides of a legal case. This is probably not a good idea.”
“Fuck that,” Ford says. “I can be impartial in court next week, and I guarantee you can as well. We’re both professionals. When it boils right down to it, this case has nothing to do with what’s between us.”
“At least not for a few months,” I quip, teasing him about his self-imposed deadline where his interest in me will purportedly wane.
Ford grins, and I’m not sure what it means that we can joke around about the fact that this is probably a temporary thing between us. “Exactly. So let’s make the most of our time together.”
I study him for a moment before I incline my head. “All right then… Dinner tomorrow night.”
CHAPTER 7
Ford
It’s 6:59 PM when I knock on the front door. She doesn’t have a doorbell; I doubt any of these houses do. She lives in an older, slightly rundown neighborhood not far from her office.
It is not exactly the safest area to be in.
Still, her house is cute and well maintained. The cement board siding looks new, and the bright white color contrasts with black shutters, giving it a charming appearance.
The front porch is hardly big enough to hold me but it does have a portico-type roof that extends over it and shields me from the slight mist of rain that’s going on.
There’s the distinct sound of a deadbolt unlatching and a chain sliding off the track, then Viveka is standing before me in the open doorway. When we made plans for dinner yesterday, I did not give her any indication of what to expect, only that I’d pick her up at seven.
From her appearance, she clearly thought I would be taking her out to a fancy restaurant. The woman may not own any fancy cocktail dresses, but she rocks a little black dress like no one I’ve ever seen before. It’s simple with a neckline that’s cut severely across her chest just below her collarbone so not even a whisper of cleavage is showing. Her bare arms are amazing and the hem is right above her knees, which still shows plenty of her beautiful legs.
That I hope to fucking God will be wrapped around my waist tonight.
Viveka’s hair is down—it’s wavy and loose, parted down the middle in soft waves that fall all around her shoulders. Her makeup is impeccable and by that, I mean it doesn’t look like she’s wearing any. Her skin is dewy and flawless. Her blue eyes are sparkling inside a magnificent rim of long dark lashes. Lips with a pale gloss on them but they are full and pink, and I also know what they would look good wrapped around.
While I shamelessly ogle her from head to toe, she is clearly doing the same to me. Her eyes run over me, and she says, “I’m obviously overdressed for whatever you have planned tonight.”
I’m dressed super casual in jeans, a well-worn button down, and a pair of chukka boots.
My lips curve, and I tip my head toward the large paper bag I’m resting against my hip. “I thought we’d cook dinner here.”
Without hesitation, Viveka pulls the door open wider and motions me in. As I walk past her, she asks, “You’re going to cook for me?”
I flash what I hope is a charming smile. “No. I suck at cooking. I was kind of hoping you were good at it. If not, we can order in.”
She tips her head back and laughs before shutting the door. Inclining her head to the left, she tells me, “You can go put that stuff in the kitchen. I’m going to go change into something more casual.”
“Or… You can just go naked,” I suggest with a waggle of my eyebrows.
She smirks before giving me her back to head down a short hallway I assume leads to her bedroom. I call, “Your ass is amazing in that dress. You could leave it on.”
She wags her finger up in the air without even slowing her pace. “You’re so bad.”
You have no idea, V.
My gaze sweeps around her small living room. This house may be old, but some work has been done on it. She’s got glossy hardwood floors, and the walls are painted a light, mint green. The fireplace appears recently refurbished to be fit with gas logs. The furniture is simple and modern. A sleek cream couch on one side with two butter-yellow armchairs with chrome accents on the other. There is a simple wooden table separating the furniture and a set of bookshelves on one wall filled to capacity. The style is light and unrestrained. It’s like a fucking IKEA showroom, or more accurately, a nod to her Swedish roots.
I walk through an open doorway that leads into the kitchen. It’s also been recently remodeled, with pricey cabinets and granite countertops.
Based on what little I know of Viveka’s law practice, I have to assume these upgrades to the house came before she purchased it.
I set the bag on a small butcher block table at the end of the L-shaped counter and pull the contents out. I’m folding the bag up when she walks in.
And if I thought she was stunning in a little black dress, let me just say the woman can rock a pair of sweats. Coupled with a simple t-shirt, she looks unbearably sexy. And at the same time, so beautiful she could easily model her outfit on the catwalk.
The last thing I notice is that her feet are bare with pale pink painted toes. It tells me she’s comfortable with my suggestion we stay in.
She eyeballs the items I had placed on the counter. Raising a sleek, delicately arched eyebrow of pale blonde, she asks, “A frozen pizza?”
I shrug and lean against the counter, placing one elbow on the granite. “It’s a fancy frozen pizza from Whole Foods.”
She points at two other small bags I laid on the wooden butcher block. “What’s in those?”
“I’m glad you asked,” I say. I push away from the counter and reach for the first smaller bag. It’s pink with white tissue poking out from the top. I hand it over to her.
She gives me a look… surprise and uncertainty… before she reaches inside and pulls out a plastic bag filled with bath bombs.
“It’s not mud masks, but perhaps you would like to take a bath later,” I say.
Her lips tip upward as she gazes from the gift to me. “Sadly, I don’t have a bathtub.”
I wince and take the bag back. “That’s just awful. I’ll take these back to my apartment and we’ll try them out in my bathtub at some point.”
Viveka chuckles. “I seriously doub
t the two of us are going to fit into a bathtub together.”
“Didn’t you check out my tub at all when you were at my apartment? It’s massive. We’ll totally fit in there together.”
She gives me the cutest smirk. “We’ll see. But what’s in the last bag?”
It’s a plastic Target bag and I open it, pulling out three DVDs. “Cheesy eighties’ films. I figured we could watch one tonight.”
Her eyes light up, and Viveka snatches the movies from me. She flips through them while grinning. “Big Trouble in Little China, Dirty Dancing, and… hey, Flash Gordon. That’s actually one of my favorite movies.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me?” I ask in disbelief. Because I seem to remember it being incredibly stupid, although the music is amazing.
“Oh my God… I swear. One of my favorites. We are so watching this one tonight.”
Her enthusiasm is contagious, and I realize I’m looking forward to it. Not the actual movie, but just being with her.
Viveka puts the movies down and grabs the frozen pizza, turning it over to peruse the instructions. She walks to her oven while she reads and then turns it on. While she rifles through a lower cabinet, she says, “Help yourself to some beer that’s in the refrigerator if you want. I also have a couple bottles of wine, or I might even have a bottle of vodka somewhere.”
I move to the refrigerator and ask, “What do you want?”
“Just a bottle of water. Frannie and I overindulged in the wine last night, and the thought of any alcohol makes me slightly nauseated.”
Chuckling, I open the refrigerator and pull two bottles out. I hand her one and open the other.
Viveka merely sets the water down on the counter. To my surprise, she hops up to sit down beside it. Because of her height, it was effortless for her to do so. That maneuver along with the way she’s dressed—her free-spirit attitude—makes her seem like a teenage girl. And while teenage girls aren’t my thing, I can tell you the carefree way in which she carries herself is.
“You seriously have never had a long-term relationship?” she asks. Her eyes cut over to the bath bombs and movies. When she turns back to me, she says, “Because you’re really good at the dating stuff.”
The Pecker Briefs Page 6