“I’m honored to be here tonight,” he began. “I was raised in a military home and taught from a young age to respect and honor those who serve not only abroad, but here at home, whether it be in the military or in law enforcement. It was a great privilege to portray an officer, a hero. I was able to go through the police academy right here as I prepared to take on that role.”
I remembered reading about that long ago. At the time, I thought it was the most amazing thing. It solidified my unrealistic love affair with him.
“Those men and women became true friends. The instructors and those on the force here taught me invaluable lessons about integrity, honor, and bravery. I’ve lost two of those friends in the line of duty.” He choked up so much he had to pause.
That caught me off guard. By the wave of silence in the crowd, I would say it had the same effect on everyone. In the silence, a thought popped in my head. He was an actor. No. This seemed real. I hoped it was. But I’d been fooled before.
“Tonight their wives are here. Heather and Janelle, we owe you and your children a debt of gratitude for your sacrifice that can never be repaid. You, and others like you, are why we are here. Please, ladies and gentlemen, think of these families without fathers and mothers, husbands and wives. Think of them when you go to bed tonight safe in your homes. Think of them when you kiss your children good night, knowing somewhere there is a child who no longer has a mom or dad to tuck them in. Especially think of them tonight when you are opening your pocketbooks. Think of the opportunity you have to make a difference in their lives.”
The names of the women he mentioned floated around in my head. I recalled the news reports about their husbands’ deaths. They were partners and best friends. They died responding to a domestic issue. I had no idea he knew them. Regardless, he had me ready to pull out my checkbook.
“I thank you on behalf of myself and all the organizers for your generous contributions already, but we can do more. These families deserve the best we can give them. It is the least we can do for their ultimate sacrifice.”
There was some chatter around. “Isn’t he so wonderful? I heard he actually visits some of the families and has paid for several college tuitions.”
I eavesdropped the best I could.
“And he’s gorgeous to boot.”
“He’s using that techno dating service. I’m thinking of joining. I would love to get a piece of that.”
That concluded my eavesdropping session.
Nick’s speech ended with thunderous applause. I even found myself clapping for the perplexing man. How could a man do so much good, but be so egocentric? I found myself wanting to dissect him piece by piece and figure out who he really was. See what made him tick.
I thought maybe I would get a little insight once we had a moment to talk. Without even thinking I made my way through the crowd toward him. The festivities in the room had begun again and he wasn’t everyone’s focus, though many clamored for his attention. I had a feeling the first women who hugged him were Heather and Janelle. Such tenderness accompanied the embraces. Each woman wiped her eyes. There was laughter too. It was beautiful.
I stood back and let everyone get their turn, thinking I would get mine too. After all, he asked me—okay he coerced me, but still, I was his guest.
I waited and waited and waited. My feet ached, I waited so long. Flashbacks of waiting for Douglas hit me with force. Even after we married, I wasn’t the first person he came out to greet after his brilliant lectures. I was the last. Always the last. Though I held no place of affection in Nick’s heart—one could even say I never did in Douglas’s—I knew one thing, and that was I didn’t have to be last ever again. At the very least, I didn’t have to forget myself.
I turned and headed for the exit, never looking back.
Tonight, Kate remembered herself.
Chapter Twelve
“James, play me some mood music,” I called out to my hands-free speaker as soon as I kicked off my shoes in the living room. I’d named him James because I’d always thought the name was sexy, kind of like Nicholas, but I didn’t need any more Nicholases in my life. I didn’t need the one I left at the event. Not like he noticed or cared. I sighed and pulled out my phone. I supposed the polite thing to do would be to at least tell him I left, even though he was anything but polite to me.
I sank into my couch and stared at my phone while letting the soothing sounds of Norah Jones invade my soul and calm me. What a waste of an evening. Well, maybe not a complete waste. I was able to donate a nice bit of change to a worthy cause. It was the only good to come out of the evening. I debated texting. I doubted he would even see it until he left with some gorgeous woman on his arm. My bet was Dana. She did her best to be wherever he was all night. And it was for more than her job’s sake. But despite his lack of manners, I had some.
I decided to call it a night. Thank you for . . .
Thank you for what? Thank you for ignoring me all night. Thank you for the blister on my foot. Thank you for dredging up memories of my ex. Thank you for proving to me that you are the last person in the world I would ever want to be with despite how your touch encompasses all my senses.
I went with Thank you for the interesting evening.
I still had to associate with him, so I kept it cordial. I was happy he didn’t take Chanel to this thing. She’d be asking for a refund and probably shouting about how awful he was all over social media and then Nick would sue her for breaking her NDA. That wouldn’t bode well for Binary Search. So maybe this was a good thing, even though it was the worst date ever. I was starting to feel like a sacrificial lamb. I didn’t get paid enough for this.
I tossed my phone on my ottoman and headed upstairs to change. It was going to be an evening of reading and wine for one. I unzipped my gown as I went, happy to be out of the constricting thing. Yoga capris and a tank top were more my speed on the weekends.
I settled into my oversized chair with a stack of books on the small table next to it. A larger than normal glass of red wine accompanied them. A Serendipity bag rested on the floor near me full of books I’d yet to read. I wasn’t sure what my mood would be and I wanted some backups ready to go. I could finish the psychological thriller I was reading, or perhaps go with a well-loved classic, or maybe the romances that filled the bag. I would see how it went.
The music, words, and wine began to do their job, relaxing me and pushing out thoughts of Nick. Just when I really settled into my book, there was a knock on my door. I jumped and sat up. I rarely had visitors and it was—I looked on the large decorative clock on my wall—it was almost eleven.
I grabbed my phone in case I needed to dial for help. Maybe I shouldn’t read psychological thrillers at night. All I could think was there must be a psychopath on the other side of my door. Be rational. It was probably some kids playing a prank. Not that a lot of kids lived around here.
Maybe it was my imagination. Another knock. Definitely not my imagination. I crept toward the door and, with great trepidation, I looked through the peephole, clutching my phone, ready to dial 911.
My first thought was right. Psychopath.
I leaned my head against the door. “What are you doing here?”
“Will you open the door?”
I thought about his request. “I’d rather not.”
Silence.
Did he really go? Was that all it took? Fabulous.
“Please,” he growled.
I didn’t even know that word was in his vocabulary. I sighed and unlocked the deadbolt, but only opened the door as far as the chain lock would allow. I peeked out at the brooding but devastatingly handsome man in a tux on my porch. What did he have to be so broody about? By the look of it, he’d had a fantastic evening.
“Why are you here?” I repeated my earlier sentiment.
He rested his hand against the door’s frame, leaning forward, eyes dancing brilliantly in my porch’s light. There was no mistaking the fire, though, that burned in them. “Y
ou left.”
“How long did it take for you to notice?”
He pressed his lips together as if not wanting to admit to a thing. “Can I come in?”
“What would that accomplish?”
“Apparently everything I do around you is wrong. I would like to know how to fix that.”
I narrowed my eyes at him, unsure if he was in earnest or why he would care. A debate within me raged on whether to let him in or not. And there was the tiny matter that I wasn’t wearing a bra, other than the built-in one provided by the tank top I wore. I was flat chested enough it did a decent job, but one accidental bend over and I would be exposed. So no bending over in front of him. That was, if I let him in.
He leaned in, turning on all the charm he possessed, which had to be over the legal limit. A half smile danced on his face, making him more handsome.
Forget butterflies. A flock of birds took off in my stomach. It’s because you’re ovulating, I told myself.
“Are you refusing me?” It was like he blew some type of magical elixir in my face that shut down any rational thought.
“Maybe,” I stuttered. I was trying to hold strong. Someday I could tell my daughter I refused to let People’s Sexiest Man Alive into my house. That was something I could be proud of.
“Let me guess, you have a rule against it.” His voice was becoming deeper with a sultry quality to it.
It had me mesmerized. Oh no, no. I was immune. “I did. I mean I do,” I managed to say.
“Please, Kate?”
He was good.
I closed the door and slid the chain off. Tapping my forehead lightly against the door. What was I doing? I slowly opened the door.
He stepped in right away as if he knew I could change my mind at any given second.
I wasn’t exactly sure what to do with him, but it hit me how tall he was. I looked up at him while I shut my door.
He scanned my place, everything from my empty dining room to the great room and kitchen. It could all be seen from the entryway. I was sure it paled in comparison to his own home or the homes he frequented. He didn’t make any remarks. His eyes landed on me as if he was waiting for me to make the next move.
“Would you like to sit down?” I waved toward my great room.
He didn’t hesitate and headed straight for my couch, undoing his tie as he went and removing his jacket. He landed on the couch and placed both articles of clothing beside him. He got more comfortable by rolling up the sleeves on his white shirt and unbuttoning a few buttons.
I swallowed from my nearby chair, watching the scene play before my eyes. It was like a nightmare and daydream all wrapped up together. I glanced at my copy of The Science of Why Good Girls Love Bad Boys on the coffee table right in front of us. It gave me some strength and a good reminder it was only biology at play here and I should not be listening to my screaming ovaries. In a couple of days, they would be so over him.
Once he was finished making himself comfortable he pointed up. “You like Norah Jones?”
I nodded.
“I saw her live a few years ago. She’s impressive.”
So we had one thing in common.
I didn’t know what to say. My twenty-year-old self would have had a list of questions.
He, on the other hand, seemed very interested in his surroundings. He reached out and picked up the best book ever written from the coffee table with a smirk on his face. “Is this any good?”
“Life changing.”
His famous eyebrow arched before he tossed it back on the coffee table. He took note of the pile of books near me on the side table. “You like to read.”
“As often as I can.”
His eyes shifted down and he saw it. The bag. The bag with the bookstore name on it. His eyes widened before they landed on me. They went back and forth a few more times between the bag and my face. I could see the light in his eyes connecting the two. He remembered.
I jumped up. “Do want something to drink?”
I didn’t want him to bring up the first time we met. That was mine. All mine. And he would ruin it by saying something stupid about it. I know that didn’t make sense, but for some reason I could keep the past and present him separated. My twenty-year-old self needed that serendipitous moment. I never wanted the magic of that day to go away. My skeptical, introspective self needed it.
He studied me for a minute. I could see he wanted to say something about that day. My eyes pleaded with him not to. And somehow, he seemed to be able to read me. He looked at my half empty glass of wine. “I’ll take whatever you’re drinking.”
“I’ll be right back.” That came out breathy. I darted to the kitchen to pour him a glass.
He took that as his invitation to get up and walk around. I’d never known anyone who would feel comfortable doing so. He headed toward my built-in bookcases and perused the titles, pulling out a few books and flipping through them.
I watched him from my island instead of doing what I’d come in the kitchen to do. Next, he moved to the entertainment console and dang it if I hadn’t left out the DVD case of A Step Up, and worse, my entire collection of On the Edge.
He held up both and faced me with the look of a cat who had caught a mouse. “I thought you weren’t a fan.”
“I didn’t know you wrote and produced that movie when I bought it,” I defended myself.
“Right.” He held up my collection of his TV show. “What about these?”
I cleared my throat. “I set those out to donate them to the library.”
He looked them over with the smuggest grin. “Looks like they’ve gotten plenty of use.”
Had they ever. “I could have bought them used.”
“But you didn’t.” His eyes dared me to contradict him.
I wasn’t admitting to a thing. I shrugged before reaching for the bottle of wine.
He placed the DVDs back on the console. “You are determined not to like me.”
“That’s not true.” I said that before I thought. On some level that was probably true. But I didn’t need to like him. It was probably better if I didn’t. There needed to be a professional line between us.
He walked toward me in the kitchen, taking a seat on one of the barstools around my island. “Then tell me why you left tonight.”
I scooted the glass of wine toward him, perplexed as always around him. “Do you really not understand why I had good reason to?”
His blank stare said he didn’t get it. Interesting.
“What is it that you expected?” He returned my question with one of his own.
“From you? Nothing.”
He didn’t appreciate that answer by the way his jawline tightened and pulsated. He stretched his neck from side to side. I’d noticed he did that when he was trying to not say what he really wanted to.
“Let me rephrase my question,” his tone had a little bite to it. “How would you have liked to see the evening go?”
“With someone besides you?” I grinned.
“Sure.” He took a hefty drink of his wine.
I walked around the island and took the stool next to him after pulling it a reasonable distance from him. My elbow landed on the island and I rested my head on my hand, deciding how to proceed.
He waited. And every signal he gave said he really wanted to know my answer.
It occurred to me that maybe it would help to tell him. This way he could use it with the women he would be paired with.
I sat up and took a deep breath. “Well, for starters, it would be nice if my date greeted me with a ‘hello’ or ‘I’m so happy you could make it. How are you?’ Any pleasantry would do.”
His brow crinkled. “I greeted you while you were flirting with that man.”
“I wasn’t flirting with Trent.”
“You remembered his name.”
“It’s a gift.”
That got a lip twitch out of him.
“And you didn’t greet me. All you said was, ‘Kate.’”
He leaned toward me. “I like your name.”
I, on the other hand, had to lean away. He was intoxicating, and wow he knew how to deliver a line. “Be that as it may, it would be polite if you said, ‘Hello, Kate’ or Chanel or whoever.”
“I’ll try and remember that.”
Huh.
“What else, Kate?”
I did like it when he said my name. Moving on. “Um . . . My date should have realized how uncomfortable I was in an unfamiliar setting without knowing anyone but the person I was there with. Not to mention how ridiculous I felt wearing an evening gown. It would have been nice if my date would have thrown a compliment or two my way and then introduced me to some of his friends. Or, since I was his date, he might have thought to keep me company instead of ignoring me all night. I know what a crazy notion that is.” I ended with a smirk.
“First of all—” He reached out and intimately tucked a tendril of my hair behind my ear.
The spine shivers were back, so much so I almost fell off my stool. He couldn’t touch me unexpectedly like that.
“I mentioned you looked good.”
“On your arm,” I added.
“If you looked good on my arm, don’t you think I thought you looked good off?”
“Women don’t think like that.”
“How do you think?”
“What I heard was that I was only an accessory there to make you look good.”
He opened his mouth but paused and thought. “I suppose I could see that, but I was trying to compliment you.” His eyes locked on me. “You were stunning.”
I couldn’t breathe. My dumb ovaries. I had to force my eyes away from his. “Thank you,” I stuttered.
“You’re welcome. Now back to the other charges you’ve leveled against me.”
“You’re not on trial.”
“I beg to differ, Dr. Morgan. You’ve been judging me from the moment I stepped into your office.”
“It’s my job.”
“Fair enough, except you already decided who I was before you ever tried to get to know me.”
Dating by Design Series Box Set Page 60
