by Jordyn White
“It’s not your fault,” he says quietly.
“That’s not what I’m sorry for.”
His face softens. He nods and lightly brushes my arm with his fingertips. “Thank you.”
I don’t move, react, or change my expression, but a dangerous fluttering starts against my chest. It’s a different kind of wanting for him than I’ve had up to now.
“What about you?” He smiles and grabs another piece of duck. “What were dinners like for you growing up?”
I’m inclined to share the truth with him, as he’s done with me. But it would only feed that fluttering in my heart, and that would be a bad, bad thing.
“They were fine.” I shrug. I start to clean up, the plates and silverware clinking as I stack them. “Normal.”
“What’s normal?”
“Well...” I stand with the dishes and he follows suit, grabbing the platter and the bowl. The switch in activity has changed the sense of intimacy and my heart is settling down. See? I’m fine. It’s all fine. “I don’t know. We didn’t have the Leave it to Beaver thing you had.”
Heading out of the dining room, I glance over my shoulder to make sure he didn’t take that the wrong way. He’s right behind me, and just grins at me. I smile back and go into the kitchen, setting our plates next to the sink.
“We had dinners like that sometimes, but more often dinner was on-the-go or every man for himself. Our schedules were kind of busy.”
“Really? What did your parents do? Are they still married?”
“Um...” Again, I want to tell him everything, and I mean everything. Which is weird, because I don’t talk about that with people. But of course I keep my mouth shut. He’s not my confidant. He’s my boss.
I start rinsing our plates with warm water and he retrieves some containers for the leftover food. “Yes, they’re still married.” Miraculously. “My father is a CPA.” Well, he was anyway. “My mother’s a receptionist for an airplane parts manufacturer.” A job she was lucky to get and she’s still struggling like hell to get by, thanks to my father.
I’m trying to forgive him. I guess I’m still working on it.
Time to change the subject.
“Are you and your siblings close?” I start loading our plates into the dishwasher. “I mean, I know you work together, but do you hang out, too?”
He nods, dishing the rest of the duck into a square container. “We have dinner together once a month and do other things together sometimes, too.”
“Do you have just the two siblings?”
“Yes. But we have a cousin who’s practically a sister. Corrine. We keep her under wraps and out of the public eye, though.”
“The public eye?” I take the now-empty platter from his hands and start to rinse it.
He grabs the bowl of beet salad, which is nearly empty, and gives me a wry look. “You don’t read the The Voice, do you?”
The Voice is a free Indie newspaper that’s in stands all over town. “No.”
“Good.” He empties the remains of the salad into a smaller container. “You’re not missing much.”
I examine his grim expression. “Why? What do they say about you? Just news, right?”
“If there’s real news, the regular papers will cover it. That, we don’t mind. When we remodeled and re-opened the Cottages, the press was helpful. But there’s a gossip columnist who seems to take pleasure in causing trouble for certain people around town.”
My heart is pounding uncomfortably now. I know what it’s like to have your family name smeared through the papers. “Are you one of the people she likes to make trouble for?”
A hard look flashes across his face and he pops the top onto the salad. “Me and my family, yes. Often enough.”
I load the platter into the dishwasher. “Sorry. It’s frustrating to have people gossiping about you.”
He sighs. “Most of it’s not true. Just drivel.” He joins me at the sink and starts to rinse the bowl. Our shoulders are almost touching. I resist the urge to scoot closer. “We’ve been dealing with it since we were kids, because our parents were such visible members of the community. So we’re used to it. But yes, it can get frustrating.”
I’m curious what kind of rumors that gossip columnist has spread about him and his family, but I vow never to try to find out or give that column the time of day. Not that I have before, but I definitely won’t now. I wouldn’t want him finding things out about me and my family that way.
Course, most the crap published about my father was, unfortunately, completely true.
I realize something. “Wait! You’re not supposed to be helping!”
I try to take the bowl out of his hand, but he pulls it out of my reach.
“No,” I protest again. “This is my job.”
He loads it into the dishwasher. “It’s not a problem. Don’t worry.”
“Well then, what are you paying me for?”
He laughs. “I know how to load a dishwasher. That doesn’t mean I know how to make roasted duck. Speaking of which...” There goes another piece out of the container. He should just have another helping for real and be done with it. “How about you?” he asks. “Any siblings?”
I grab a clean fork and hold it out to him, along with the duck leftovers.
“No, I shouldn’t.”
“Sit down and eat.” I point at a bar stool with the fork.
“No, this is going in the fridge.” He takes the leftovers and tries going for the lid, but I’m done with him doing my work.
I take the container back, put it on the counter, and press both my hands against his chest, steering him toward the bar stool. That gets his attention. Oh, that grin!
Well, my hands on his chest is affecting me, too. He’s so deliciously firm, I want to feel around a bit, but I’m on a mission and refuse to let his muscles distract me.
“Sit or I’m not answering any more questions.”
He sits, laughing, and I busy myself putting the leftovers away, hoping my cheeks cool off before I have to face him again. It’s as bad as when he grabbed me by the hips to scoot me out of the way and close the refrigerator door. I felt that in more places than just my hips.
“You didn’t answer my question,” he says.
“What question?”
I need another minute for my blush to disappear, so I go into the dining room to retrieve the rest of our dishes: the wine glasses that are nearly empty and the little ramekins.
“I asked if you have any siblings,” he calls from the next room.
“Oh.” I wait until I’m back in the kitchen so I don’t have to holler. “Just one.” I set the ramekins next to the sink and head over to give him his glass. “A half-brother who’s sixteen years older than me.”
Rayce raises his eyebrows, reaching for his wine. “That’s quite a gap.” He downs what’s left in his glass and I do the same. It’s this delicious pear wine he had in the wine cooler that went perfectly with the duck. Sweet and smooth.
“He’s from my father’s first marriage.” I load my glass into the dishwasher, and make an asking gesture toward his. He hands it over, indicating he’s done. “We weren’t raised together or anything, but we try to keep in touch.”
I load his glass and start looking around the kitchen. It’s pretty much clean now, but I grab a rag to wipe down the counters anyway. I need something to do.
“Are you close?”
I shrug. “Doug hasn’t been much a part of my life. He’s got his own stuff going on. He’s in Virginia. Works as an accountant. Has a wife and three daughters. He has his hands full.”
Too full to help when things got tough, that’s for sure. Who could blame him, though? He has a family to support, and like he said, Dad got himself into that mess. Let him suffer the consequences.
I’ve asked myself if I should’ve let Dad suffer the consequences.
I wouldn’t be in the mess I’m in now if I had.
But as sideways as things have gone, I can’t say I re
gret doing what I could to help. I couldn’t stand by and do nothing, no matter how disappointed in Dad I was.
“I can’t believe you’ve only been in the chef business for a year”
I glance up at him tentatively, working my way over the already-clean counters. “Well, I’m not a real chef.”
“Could’ve fooled me. Did you cook a lot when you were younger or something?”
“No. But it’s really not that hard. And I had a good teacher at my last job.”
Well, shit. Why did I mention my last job? I need a quick diversion. I turn my back on him to rinse out the rag. “You’ve been in the resort business your whole life, right?”
“Mmm-hmm.”
Silence.
I glance over my shoulder. Amused, he narrows his eyes at me. I know he knows what I did. I just don’t know if he’s going to let me off the hook.
I dry my hands and start to circle the island, looking for something else that needs to be done. “Do you like working the family business or was it thrust upon you by default?”
I glance at him again. He definitely knows I’m trying to change the subject. Oh that evil grin.
“Don’t bother asking. My last job ended badly and I don’t want to talk about it.”
Nice, Emma. Real smooth. Way to dodge that land mine. I swear, it’s like I have no boundaries with him.
I lean one hand on the counter, not knowing what else to do with myself. Too late, I realize how close we are. Why didn’t I pick a different place to stand? I’m forced to look at him and pretend he’s not making me all fluttery.
“I’ll agree to that if you tell me about your roommate,” he parries.
“Um... okay. What do you want to know?”
“Is he really gay?”
Now it’s my turn for an evil grin. Hey, fair’s fair.
“You don’t have a boyfriend?” he asks playfully, as if he already knows the answer. Because come on, if I did, would I even be here?
“Why should you care?”
“You know why.”
“Um, employee. Boss.” I point first at myself and then at him.
“Yes, I’m aware. It’s unfortunate. But we can’t really help that, can we?”
There is one way around it, as I know too well. “You could always fire me.”
Another land mine successfully dodged. Score.
“Why would I fire you?” He looks genuinely perplexed.
“I don’t know. Why are we talking about whether or not I have a boyfriend? Why did I just have dinner with you?”
He puts his strong hand over mine. That gesture both settles me and gets my heart pumping.
“You’re here because I want you to be and because you want to be.”
I open my mouth to protest but he goes on, saving me from the lie. My heart is still pounding and my skin is humming against his touch.
“We’re talking about this because we’re both thinking it anyway. But if you have any fears of being fired, that’s not going to happen. Unless you do something like steal my car or attack me with a meat mallet, your job is in the bag. What happens between us is not a factor.”
I’m shaking my head. “We can’t. You know we can’t.”
He squeezes my wrist gently, then lets go and leans back in the stool. He grins at me. “If you say so.”
“Now cut that out.”
“Cut what out? I’m agreeing with you.”
“You are not.”
He laughs. It’s a big, warm laugh that I long to crawl inside of. Lord help me, why am I doing this to myself.
“Okay, no talking about jobs, roommates, or the inevitable.”
The inevitable? The thought gets me tingling in more places than just my wrist. Once more, I open my mouth to protest, but again he goes on before I can interrupt.
“What about our childhoods? Can we talk about that? How about movies we like? Video games we like to play?”
I laugh. “Yeah, sure. Let’s talk about all the video games I like to play. I have a long list.”
He purses his lips. “Are you teasing me, Emma?”
“About what?”
“I happen to be a video game aficionado.”
I laugh, but a little uncertainly. His eyes have that mischievous twinkle, but I somehow don’t think he’s kidding. But... surely not.
“You own and run one of the top luxury resorts in the country.”
“That’s what they say.”
“And you’re a video game aficionado?”
“A person has to unwind somehow. I prefer the retro games. Spyro. Crash. Mario Bros. The classics.”
“You’re serious.”
He grins. “You have to admit. Those are fun games.”
“I wouldn’t know. I’ve never played them.”
Now it’s his turn to look like he’s trying to figure out if I’m serious or not. “You’ve never played Super Mario Bros?”
“No.”
“Crash Bandicoot?”
I shake my head.
“What did you play growing up?”
“Nothing.”
I wasn’t the kid with that kind of time.
“You’ve never played anything?”
“Oh no, wait! I played Candy Crush once.”
He stares at me in disbelief. “What kind of childhood did you have?”
“Apparently the boring kind.” I grin at him.
“And you don’t play games now?”
“Well...no.” I lean forward slightly and give him a sly look. “I’m an adult.”
“Yes, but there has to be a kid in there somewhere. A really deprived kid.” He pops up from his seat and heads for the stairs. “Come on. Let’s go.”
My hand drops from the counter. “Uh...”
Ten seconds later he’s disappeared into the basement and I’m left wondering what he has in mind. Should I follow him down there? I mean, this night has already gotten out of hand. First dinner, now the basement? Isn’t that where things like making out happen? In basements?
My traitorous body gets tingly at the idea of making out with him in his basement.
Eventually.
The inevitable.
But... he promised he wouldn’t kiss me tonight.
“Emma?” he calls up. “Are you coming?”
“You promise,” I call down. “Right?”
His warm laugh drifts up the stairs. “Yes, I promise. Get down here.”
But I’m already heading for the stairs. He could’ve said, No way. Deal’s off. Get down here so I can kiss the fuck out of you, and I’d still be descending the soft, carpeted stairway.
I’d follow that warm laugh anywhere.
Chapter 15
Rayce
I do not do this with anyone I didn’t grow up with. Ever. I hope to God Emma keeps this little bit of trivia to herself. Who knows what that damned gossip columnist Rita Becker would do with it.
I couldn’t help it though. Emma does something to me. So much I can’t hardly keep track of it all. She’s a constant presence tingling on my skin and pumping through my bloodstream.
It’s taking a hell of a lot of willpower not to kiss this woman. The only thing keeping me from it is the promise I made.
But it isn’t just physical. Her confidence, her ease, her smile... it’s all settling down into me and making me pay attention. She’s bringing out the side of myself I don’t often show. With Emma, I’m not “Playboy Rayce Rivers”, as Rita Becker sometimes calls me.
Which I have to admit is fair.
Not just because I’ve been with a lot of women. But also because—and I’m just now realizing this—I have a dating persona. No matter who I’m with, I’m not just Rayce. I can’t seem to forget that I’m Rayce Rivers, Resort Owner and Bearer of the Rivers Family Legacy.
The women I’ve dated have all factored into that image in one way or another. I didn’t realize this until now, but... maybe I’ve been evaluating how they could help... or harm... the family image?
&nbs
p; But that’s fair. My siblings and I have to be aware of the same thing. Image matters, like it or not.
But it’s different with Emma.
I couldn’t care less what other people think of her because I think she’s amazing, and my dating persona is nowhere to be seen.
It’s just her and me. The real me. The me who likes to be playful and flirty and a little bit naughty and, yes, entertained with the occasional game of Super Mario Bros.
With Emma, I’m starting to see where I’ve gone wrong in the past. She’s making me think about what might really matter in a relationship with a woman.
And it’s nothing like what I thought.
“Come on, come on, come on!” she says.
We’re in the game room in my basement, sitting next to each other on the couch, the familiar Super Mario Bros music playing in the background. We’ve both kicked off our shoes and she’s sitting cross-legged, leaning forward in concentration, trying to get Mario over a Piranha Plant.
Aaand... failing.
“Dang it!” She sits up and scowls at the screen. “I died again.”
“That’s okay. Next time, wait for the flower to open, then run for it.”
“Shouldn’t I wait for it to be closed?”
“It’ll be closed by the time you get there. It’s all about figuring out the timing.”
She goes for it at the first opportunity—she’s bold, I like it—and makes it over. “Yay!” She bounces up and down on the couch. “Good tip.”
She likes to narrate as she goes. “Oooh, I’m big! ... Oh no! I’m little again.”
I chuckle. The only thing more entertaining than playing Super Mario Bros is watching Emma do it.
“Oooh the star! I want the star!” She’s leaning her controller and her entire body to the right as she tries to make Mario catch the star.
“Watch out for the—”
“Dang it!”
I laugh.
“I hate those stupid mushroom things. They keep killing me.”
“It’s okay. Try again.”
“I only have two lives left.”
“You’re doing fine.”
A few seconds later she’s down another life and handing me the controller. “Get me through? I don’t want to go all the way back to the beginning again.”
