Sara had stood at one end of the counter and watched as Lucas had sliced and diced tomatoes and eggplant and bell peppers and onions with knife skills that could only belong to a professional chef or a surgeon. It was like watching a dance in a way, every movement purposeful and elegant and controlled.
And it had been a complete and utter turn-on. She’d barely restrained herself from jumping him in the kitchen. Only the smell of the sauce he was concocting restrained her. She’d watched and found the herbs he’d asked for, and set the table and poured the wine he’d brought, but otherwise he’d insisted on doing it all himself.
“I could get used to this,” she said, pausing before she scooped up another forkful of pasta.
Across the table, Lucas lifted his water glass and sipped before he said, “I could, too.”
And there was the opening she’d been looking for. She’d been avoiding having this talk with him, but meeting Maggie and Alex earlier had meant that avoiding wasn’t going to work any longer.
“I know we said we’d just see how things go but this changes things, yes? If I go to the ball, it says something.”
“It says you’re going to the ball with me.”
“It’s taking things public. That will change things. Your world is … different.” She didn’t know if he understood just how different. She doubted he’d ever had to be aware of how much money he had to the exact dollar and do mental math to make it through another month. And if he had problems with an insurance company he could just set a whole squad of lawyers on them.
“I understand,” Lucas said. “And I understand if you don’t want to change the status quo. This isn’t what you signed up for.”
He wasn’t what she’d signed up for. He’d tilted her world off its neat little flight path. She hadn’t expected to like someone like him. Let alone let him start to get a foothold on her heart.
Foolish.
Not enough words to describe just how foolish.
But also too late to stop now. And the thing was, in her heart of hearts, she would love to go to a ball with Lucas. To stand at his side and let the world see that this gorgeous, ridiculous man was hers. Even if it was just for one night. Sanity was warring with desire and she had a horrible feeling that, just like it had every night she let him into her bed, sanity would lose.
“I need to think,” she said. “I need to think about this. So do you.”
She wished desperately that Viv were just across the hall like she had been in Manhattan. She would be an objective opinion. But she wasn’t.
“I’ve thought about it,” Lucas said. “And I want you to go. I want to show you off.” He smiled at her. “But that doesn’t mean I’ll force you to go.”
She pushed pasta around the plate with her fork. Such a seemingly simple choice, pasta. Red sauce, some vegetables, some chicken, some red wine. Simple. But dig deeper and there was a world of subtle complexity in the dish he’d made.
If only she could figure out her life as easily as she could decide if she liked the pasta.
“And if I say yes?” she said. “Do you think Mal will go along with Maggie’s plan?”
“I think Mal likes Maggie and he’s not dating anyone at the moment, so I can’t see why not.”
“I’m not sure that plan even makes sense.”
“Probably not. Like you said, there will be plenty of people who know me there. No pictures will keep it out of the press and the wider world but not from them. But it’s an option if you want to take it. I can understand not wanting your picture in the papers. I don’t like it, either.”
“Where is the ball, anyway?” she asked. It was a relatively minor detail at this point but maybe knowing the venue might let her figure out what level of craziness she was getting herself into.
“At the Paragon.”
Huh. The Paragon. Right in the heart of the city. Times Square. Better than it being somewhere ridiculously extravagant like the Met, but still, not exactly a hole-in-the-wall venue. About the only point in its favor was that it was in Manhattan, which meant the Staten papers wouldn’t cover it. Or would they? After all, it was a Saints fund-raiser, and the Saints belonged to the island even if they were called the third New York team.
“And it’s full-on black tie?” She didn’t hold out much hope that it wouldn’t be. She thought about her wardrobe for a moment. She had one simple long black gown that had seen her through a couple of wedding receptions and an army shindig or too. She hadn’t pulled it out of her wardrobe in a while, though. God knew what shape it was in. Or even where it was. She thought of the boxes that she’d dumped temporarily in her parents’ garage while she settled into this apartment. Hopefully it was somewhere in there. She couldn’t even remember if she’d seen it in her city place since she’d gotten back from deployment.
She could afford a new dress; she could spend some of the money the Saints were paying her. But she couldn’t spend the sort of money a designer ball gown cost.
“Yes,” Lucas said. “Penguin suits and gowns all around.”
She made a face. “They didn’t want to buck the trend and do an all-jeans ball?”
“You have to look like money to ask for money,” Lucas said.
It sounded like a quote. She wondered who from. Alex, perhaps?
“And,” Lucas continued when she didn’t say anything, “it’s only fair. You already got to see me in a tux. I think it’s only fair that I get to see you in a gorgeous dress.” He stopped and tilted his head at her, humor gleaming in his eyes. “You do own a gorgeous dress, don’t you?”
“Yes, I own a dress.” She narrowed her eyes at him, but to be fair, he’d only ever seen her in her uniform, yoga pants, or jeans and casual things. It was warm in Florida but not yet dress weather. Not when she had to fly helos anyway.
“Just one?”
“More than one.” She stuck her nose in the air. “And I look good enough in them to give you a heart attack, rich boy.” Lies, damned lies, but he didn’t have to know that. Though she did scrub up quite nicely.
He smiled then and waggled his eyebrows at her. “Oh good.”
“What will you be wearing? That tux you wore to the Hamptons?” She assumed he probably had more than one, though it was hard to imagine he had one that made him look better than he had that night in the chopper.
He shrugged. “I guess. Why, did you like that tux? Is that why you jumped me?”
“I didn’t jump you.”
He snorted. “Yeah, you did.” He poured more wine—the same red he’d used in the pasta—into his glass then topped hers up with water. She didn’t drink if she was flying.
“It was a momentary lapse of reason,” she said.
The glass tilted in her direction. “To momentary lapses of reason, long may they continue.”
“I thought surgeons were all about logic and reason.”
“Not when it comes to getting beautiful women into their beds, they’re not. Then it’s whatever works.”
She rolled her eyes. “Like you ever had to work that hard.”
“You might be surprised. And speaking of jumping me, if you need another incentive to come to the ball, then let me offer this. We’re going to have to fly in and then fly out afterward. So if you want to drag me into a supply closet to have your wicked way with me, then the ball is going to be your only chance that weekend.”
The vision of Lucas and a small dark room derailed her train of thought. “What?” she said, suddenly thinking of his hands sliding over her in the dark.
He laughed. “I said, it’ll be your only chance to have your wicked way with me that weekend. If you’re sticking to your no-sex-in-Florida rule.”
“Yes, I am. I’d rather not deal with everybody I work with knowing about us just yet. So. You think I can’t live without you for a whole weekend?”
His mouth quirked. “As much as I like our hotel phone sex, I prefer the live-action version. I think it’s more like I can’t live without you and I’m hoping I do
n’t have to. So Cinderella, do you want to go to the ball?”
She forced her mind back to somewhere near the vicinity of rational. As lovely as balls and supply closets sounded and as much as she definitely didn’t want to go a whole weekend without getting some quality naked time with Lucas, she had to be sensible. Even though it was killing her. She took another swig of water, wishing that it were wine. “Cinderella wants to sleep on it.”
Chapter Eighteen
Lucas tracked Sara down near the front of the bleachers halfway through Monday’s game. She was munching popcorn and following the action with an expression of fierce concentration that was kind of adorable. A Saints cap shielded her skin from the sun. She looked pretty cute when she was so engrossed. He stood still and watched her for a minute or two.
When the batter connected solidly and the ball went flying across the park like a rocket, the crowd—small but not too bad for a Monday game playing the Pirates—erupted. Sara applauded, grinning and whooping along with the rest of the crowd.
Ha. The baseball bug was starting to bite. He made his way along the row and slid into the empty seat next to her. “You know, we have this nifty owners’ suite back there.”
She jerked her popcorn and bits of it shot everywhere. That earned him a sea-blue glare. “I think you need to wear bells on your cufflinks or something.”
“Sorry, but you looked kind of cute all intent on the baseball. I didn’t want to disturb you.”
“Well, for once we seem to be winning. I thought I should enjoy it while it lasts.” She stuck out her tongue. “Sam’s doing pretty good, isn’t he?”
“He’s sitting on a 4.5 ERA—that’s Earned Run Average. Yep, that’s not too shabby at all.”
“Is he going to get a slot?”
“If he keeps pitching like that, then probably.” He grinned. He’d grown fond of Sam. He worked like a dog and sucked up knowledge like a sponge. He listened and he implemented. He kind of reminded Lucas of himself many moons ago. Tico wasn’t doing too badly, either. And there were still a few weeks left until the season proper began.
“I’m glad, he’s trying so hard.” She held out the popcorn. What was left of it.
He took a piece and looked at it before tossing it into his mouth. “You know we have real food in the owners’ suite.”
She wrinkled her nose and gestured widely at the crowd with her free hand. “But isn’t this what it’s about? Sitting with the crowd in the sunshine, eating junk, and enjoying the game?”
He smiled. A woman after his own heart. During the real season he was going to have to be in the owners’ box because there would be sponsors and VIPs and all that bullshit to deal with. He hadn’t really thought about it until now, but he wasn’t going to get many chances to just sit in the stands and kick back. Not unless he snuck out to non-Saints games. Damn.
Well, then. Today he was going to play hooky and sit here with Sara and try to be a fan for as long as he could. Alex and Maggie could hold the schmoozing fort.
He looked around, spotted a guy with a tray of hot dogs, and waved a bill at him. “If you put it like that…” He took the hot dog—loaded with mustard the way he liked it—and sat back down.
“Don’t spill mustard on that suit,” Sara warned.
“My dry cleaner laughs in the face of mustard stains,” Lucas said and Sara laughed. “What?”
“Do you actually know who your dry cleaner is?” she said, voice amused. “Or do you have a housekeeper or someone who deals with all that stuff?”
“I know my dry cleaner.” Well, he knew one dry cleaner, the one he sometimes dropped stuff off with at the hospital. He had no idea where his housekeeper took most of his suits. But he wasn’t going to tell Sara that.
“That’s a relief.” She fished out more popcorn and grinned before she ate it, looking as though it was the best thing she’d ever eaten. That was baseball for you—it made even the junk food taste good.
He bit into his hot dog. It was gloriously terrible. Salty and beefy and tangy with mustard. He could almost feel his cholesterol spiking. But who gave a damn? He took another bite and chewed happily.
“Did you come to ask me something?” Sara said when he’d swallowed. “Do you need the helo?”
He frowned. It stung that she was surprised by him seeking her out. “Do I need a reason to come talk to you? Maybe I just wanted to see you.”
Sara nudged his leg with her knee, and the quick flash of heat eased the sting. And replaced it with a surge of why-the-hell-was-he-stuck-in-Florida-where-he-couldn’t-touch her?
“No reason required, Dr. Gorgeous. But I thought you’d be up with the bigwigs, doing your owner thing.” She smiled, expression teasing.
“They’ll live without me for a bit. But actually, I came to tell you that my office called. Your mom rang them earlier and your dad’s going to have some X-rays and scans done Wednesday. Then I can see him Thursday before we come back here for Friday and Saturday night.”
This time her smile was one of pure delight and relief. “Really?”
“Yup. It’s all sorted. And it’s on the house. I’ve got a friend who’s looking at patella fractures and recovery times, so he can use your dad’s data for his study and the hospital will cover it.”
Her smile ramped up another few degrees until the happiness in her face just about blinded him. He really wanted to kiss her. Really. But other than Mal, Alex, and Maggie, no one else in the Saints knew about them. So he couldn’t. That wouldn’t be fair. He contented himself with grinning back at her while making a mental note to get her alone as soon as humanly possible.
“You’re a good guy, Dr. Gorgeous,” she said. “Want to take me to a ball?”
* * *
All dressed up with no date in sight. Aka where the hell was Lucas? He was meant to meet her at his apartment at seven and whisk her away to the ball. Once she’d said yes to him taking her, she’d decided she wasn’t going to hide away and sneak in the back or turn up with Mal. In for a penny, in for a pound. Or something.
She was with Lucas. So let the world think what they would for however long that lasted.
Of course, making a grand statement like that would be easier if he would show the hell up.
It was nearly ten past seven and she was starting to feel like an idiot. She had a coat flung over her dress, but she was still getting some curious looks from the people going in and out of the building.
She checked her phone again. No message.
Damn it.
The revolving door in the lobby started to move and she looked up. Only to see Malachi walking toward her, looking apologetic.
“Mal,” she said a little warily as he reached her. Mal bent and kissed her cheek. Since Lucas and she had come clean, she seemed to been moved into “approved friend” status with Alex and Mal and, other than in the office, they both had taken to kissing her hello and good-bye.
Which wasn’t so hard to take.
Mal straightened, easing his tuxedo jacket back into place with a shrug. It was unbuttoned and the bow tie around his neck undone. He didn’t wear the suit as naturally as Lucas did, but that didn’t make him any less spectacular in it.
“Hey, Sara. Lucas sent me to pick you up. He’s stuck in surgery but he’ll be done in an hour or so. Doctor’s hours, you know.”
She nodded and pasted on a smile against the sharp snap of disappointment. Lucas was a surgeon. A great one. In demand. That meant a lot of emergency calls from athletes around the country. A heads-up might have been nice, but if he was in surgery and something had gone wrong then maybe there just hadn’t been time.
She lifted her chin, determined to not let Lucas being late ruin her night. “Well, you’re kind of cute in that tuxedo. So I guess you’ll do.”
“Always the bridesmaid,” Mal said. He held out an arm.
Sara tucked her hand through it. “Somehow, I find that hard to believe. Pretty sure there would be potential dates lining up for you if you wanted them.”
“Not much time for socializing right now. And Alex and Lucas keep beating me to the gorgeous women at the Saints.” Mal navigated them through the revolving door and gestured toward the limo parked out front. “Our chariot.”
It took a few minutes to wrangle dress and coat into the limo without ruining either of them or her hair, but she managed with Mal’s help. He offered Bollinger but she took Perrier. She hadn’t eaten since lunchtime, butterflies about the ball killing her appetite. Alcohol and low blood sugar didn’t mix in her experience. Besides, she was flying later, so she’d rationed herself to one drink for the night. She was going to wait until she was with Lucas.
The fizzy water was cool, which was good because the limo was warm, even though she’d shrugged out of her coat once inside.
She watched Central Park, all dark green mystery and pools of light sliding by outside the windows. Limo travel would be easy to get used to. All the space was pretty sweet, and it smelled of clean leather and the deep smoky spice of whatever aftershave Mal had used rather than of sweaty cabdriver and fake air freshener.
All that was missing was Lucas himself. She tried not to think about what he might be doing to her if they were alone in a limo together but heat swept over her anyway. He’d kept teasing her about doing all sorts of things to her in a dark spot at the ball.
Part of her hoped he’d been joking but most of her, right at this moment, fervently hoped he hadn’t.
She swallowed more Perrier, trying to cool herself down. Nothing was going to happen if Lucas didn’t get out of his surgery.
Of course he would. She drank again.
“Nervous about tonight?” Mal asked.
“A little.” Make that a lot. Lucas’s parents were on the guest list, a little bombshell he’d dropped the night before. To be fair, he’d seemed surprised by the information himself, claiming that he hadn’t expected them to accept the invitation. But she’d dropped him in the deep end with her own folks, so she’d just have to woman up and cope with his.
Mal topped up her glass. “It’ll be fine. Just like any other party. Only bigger-scale.”
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