It was a good idea. You could learn a lot about a man from his home. “Maybe Wednesday evening? I could swing by after dinner for a half hour.”
“Why don’t I make you dinner? I promise I won’t poison you.”
She put a finger to her lips. “Hmmm. Maybe I should do a criminal background check on you.”
“If you like.”
“I was joking.”
“But it might make Maya feel better about me,” he said, “given her ex was a drug dealer.”
“I think you need to have a reason for a criminal background check, and they might not approve of ours.”
“True.” He quirked his lips. “And I may not have been caught yet.”
“Until you poison me and I drop dead.”
“I still might not get caught. I’m that good.”
The wind picked up, and she pulled his jacket around her more tightly. It was enormous.
“Are you cold? We can go in.”
She looked at her watch. “Actually, I should be off. I’m meeting a friend.”
“Of course. I shouldn’t keep you.”
She linked her arm through his, although the height difference made it a little awkward. “I want Samuel to think your date is going well,” she said as they headed toward the door to the patio.
“Then you should kiss me.”
Oh?
He stopped walking. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to say that. I don’t think my kissing abilities are something you should be investigating for Maya.”
They continued toward the door, but she was curious now. What would it be like to kiss him? She bet his abilities would not be lacking. It would be gentle but not—
Get a grip.
Inside, he took the jacket off her shoulders. Gently. After he folded it over his arm, she gave him a peck on the cheek. Actually, it was more his jaw than his cheek—he was tall. A perfectly chaste kiss.
“You didn’t need to do that,” he whispered, and his voice, so close to her ear, thrilled her.
Then he kissed her cheek in return, and she tried not to think of his lips on hers, of his strong arms pulling her tight against him. It was wrong to be having such thoughts. She was setting him up with Maya, and they’d make a cute couple.
“I guess we should be going.” She took a step toward the elevator. “Thank you very much for the lovely dinner.”
His feet seemed stuck to the floor, but finally he came to join her by the elevator. “Yes. Of course. And it was my pleasure.”
Mmmm. He was great. He’d win Maya over.
* * * *
“So how was it?” Allison asked the next morning.
“I think he’s just right.” Kristy reached for the pepper shaker. They were having brunch at a diner near her apartment.
“Just right for you or just right for Maya?”
Kristy glared at her. “Maya, of course.”
Allison pushed the potatoes around on her plate. “Maybe my mind’s going. I spent ten hours working yesterday and—”
“You work too much.”
“Perhaps,” Allison said. “Anyway, as I was saying, maybe my mind’s going, but I’m still convinced you like him. You’re more excited when you talk about Grant than you ever were about what’s his face.”
“Because it’s very exciting that I finally found the right guy for Maya.”
“Maybe you and Maya have your types mixed up.”
“Very funny.”
Allison tapped her temple. “I’m the doctor of chemistry, as I’m continually reminded.”
* * * *
“So how was it? Is she there now?”
Jon, of course, had called the following morning.
“No, she’s not,” Grant said.
“Sorry, man.”
Grant rolled his chair away from the desk. This would probably take a while. “It wasn’t actually a date. She plans to set me up with her friend, and she just wants to get to know me before she does.”
“But you like Kristy, the woman I talked to for fifteen minutes, right? Not her friend?”
“Well, I haven’t met her friend yet. But…yes.”
“She seemed to enjoy all the stories I told her,” Jon said.
“Thanks for leaving out the details of the snow-fort story.”
“Don’t worry, man, I got your back.” The bastard started laughing. “Just a moment.”
“Are you going to—”
“Hey, Sheila.” Jon may not have been speaking into the phone, but Grant could hear him clearly. “You won’t believe this. It wasn’t even a date!”
Grant put his palm to his forehead.
“So what’s the plan?” Jon was back on the phone.
“I don’t know, exactly. But I’m cooking her dinner on Wednesday.”
She’d kissed him. Innocently, on the cheek. The sort of kiss with which Europeans greeted each other. But a kiss, nonetheless. She’d even looked mildly embarrassed afterward, so maybe it wasn’t quite innocent. A guy could hope.
“I’ve got a great recipe for you to make,” Jon said.
Right. Grant was still on the phone with his brother.
Chapter 3
“Whitley and Associates,” said an unfamiliar male voice.
“Does Grant work there?” Kristy paced the sidewalk in front of the dental office, clutching her cell to her ear.
“Of course. He’s Whitley.”
Yeah, it was a stupid question. Just to be sure.
“But he’s not in the office at the moment. Could I take a message?”
Grant had said he’d be at a meeting in Mississauga that morning, so she’d called his office to talk to one of his employees.
About what, exactly? Confirm his business was real? There were links to projects on the company website, and nothing raised any red flags.
“Actually, it was you I wanted to talk to.”
“I’m Mario. I highly doubt it’s me you want.”
“What’s he like as a boss?” she asked, although Mario might not be honest with her.
“Grant? He’s hardly Godzilla. But who’s calling?”
“You can tell him Kristy called. Thanks, that’s enough.” She didn’t want to weird Mario out any more.
“It’s enough that he doesn’t terrorize cities?” Mario said. “Really?”
* * * *
“Your place looks like it belongs to a serial killer.”
“Maybe you should reconsider that criminal background check,” Grant said from the kitchen. “May I ask why you say that?”
Kristy was studying his CD collection, which was just as well organized as his DVD and book collections. The place seemed almost too neat to be lived in, but she suspected he hadn’t cleaned up for her—this was its natural state.
“Everything’s too perfect. It’s suspicious.”
“I’ve also been told it looks like an engineer’s place.”
She wondered where he’d gotten his shelves. Very sturdy. Not like the ones in her apartment, which she’d done a poor job of assembling.
“You know, I had an engineer in today,” she said. “Chemical engineer, I think. Didn’t understand what he did. Horrible teeth.”
“I’m also compulsive about oral hygiene.”
“That’s good.” She’d noticed he had nice teeth. “Apologies for the serial-killer thing. I quite like your place, I really do.”
She looked up at Grant—he had an open-concept condo, like Allison’s. He was washing something in the sink. When she’d arrived, he’d said something about mussels. As she had ordered seafood linguine on Saturday, this seemed like a thoughtful choice.
“Are you a good cook? It sure smells like it.”
“I can make a few things,” he said. “Or maybe the smell is just to cover up the poison.”
“Now you’ve really got me worried. And I’m sure if something were to happen to me, no one would crack the case.” She sat on his black leather couch and tapped the glass coffee table, which was empty except for a
single book of photography. “I like your coffee table. Your shelves, too.”
“Thanks.” He threw something into a pot, then came to join her on the couch, sitting at the far end. “I made the shelves. I don’t have any workspace here, so I had to do it at my parents’ house.”
“That’s so cool. I couldn’t even assemble my IKEA bookshelf properly. It wobbles a little.”
“I could make one for you.”
“Really? That’s so kind.” Sometimes he made her melt. “You don’t need to.”
“But I’d like to. I don’t need anything else myself, and it’s relaxing.”
“I’ll think about it. I’d pay for the materials, of course.” She patted the cushion beside her. “Why are you sitting so far away? I don’t bite.”
He shifted toward her a little. “And yet you called my office to find out what kind of boss I am.”
She put her hand to her mouth. “It was Maya’s idea. She was joking, but I thought, what if you’re a tyrannical slave driver?”
“Mario telling you I wasn’t Godzilla satisfied your curiosity?” His lips twitched.
“Once I asked him, I realized he might not be honest about his opinion of you. Especially since he didn’t know who I was.”
“He was very curious.” Grant crossed one ankle over the opposite knee and draped his arm over the back of the couch, his hand just above her head. “So I explained the situation to him.”
She was such a weirdo. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay. I think it made his day. He thought it was hilarious.” Grant put his hand on her shoulder for a moment before returning it to the couch.
With those big hands…
She wished he’d massage her shoulders. She bet he would know how to use his hands, just like she was sure he’d know how to kiss.
Stop it, Kristy. Don’t go there. Maya, remember.
Still, she asked, “Do you give good massages?”
“I was once told that I do. Are your shoulders tight?”
“A little.”
To her disappointment, he stood up. “After dinner. The mussels should be ready now.”
* * * *
Kristy was sitting at his dining room table, complimenting his cooking and filling the place with her presence.
Grant was wishing she’d change her mind about him.
“You must send me the recipe.” She reached for another chunk of baguette to sop up the broth.
“From Jon. Supposed to be for impressing dates.”
“Maya would like it.”
Right. He was supposed to be thinking of Maya. “I’ll remember that.”
Once they’d finished eating, she offered to help him clean up.
“You’re a guest. You don’t need to do that,” he said. “It’s not because you won’t wash things to my compulsive standards.”
“I’m not sure I believe you. I think that is the reason.” She stood up. “As a guest, am I allowed to see if your bedroom and office are freakishly neat?”
“That’s where I keep the bodies. In my office.”
She laughed. That musical laugh he loved.
Every minute he spent with her just made it worse. Her laugh, her voice, her smile, her hair. The clingy, black top and tight jeans she was wearing sure weren’t helping. She looked amazing in them, but he kept thinking of pulling them off. And she wanted to see his bedroom and get a massage. Interesting…but he didn’t think she meant anything by it.
She only peeked into the bedroom—it seemed like she didn’t think she should be there—but she was very interested in his office.
“I bet you have an excellent filing system.” She nodded at his cabinets, then stepped toward the framed picture above his computer. “Where’s that?”
“Portugal.”
“I’ve always wanted to travel there. Allison and I are going to go someday. You went? Did you take the photo?”
He could say he took it, but he didn’t. “My ex-girlfriend did.”
“That’s something we should talk about. Your love life.”
She turned toward him, and he put his hands in his pockets, looked down. Given she wanted to set him up with her friend, it wasn’t surprising she’d asked about that. But if this were a second date—like he wished—it would be strange to bring it up.
“It’s hardly extensive.”
“Really?”
“I don’t think I come across as a ladies’ man.”
“I think you could be. You’re handsome; you have a good career. I bet you’re great at the meet-the-parents thing.”
But she didn’t want him for herself. The first woman he’d been keen on in ages, and she thought he was a great guy—for her friend. It was sweet she was doing all this for a friend but…damn.
She’d called him handsome, though. He smiled.
“The type of guy you want to take home to meet your parents is usually not the kind who’d be described as a ladies’ man,” he said.
“True.” She glanced at the Portugal beach scene, then turned back to him. “So. Your previous relationships.”
“I’ve had two serious relationships. Sara—we broke up almost four years ago. Just wanted different things, I guess.” Actually, she’d wanted a hotshot lawyer rather than Grant. But he saw no reason to mention that. “Callie—we started dating in high school and broke up in university. Long time ago now.”
“People change a lot at that age.”
“Yes. That’s what happened.”
She was silent for a moment. Remembering someone, he thought.
“So that’s all?” she said.
“Plus a couple dates in between. The past few years, I’ve been focused on getting the business started.” And he wasn’t very good at picking up. Like how he hadn’t gotten up the nerve to talk to Kristy first. “What about you?”
“You got a while?” She laughed.
“Turn around first.”
She turned around, facing the photo, and he rested his hands on her shoulders. “Right! You promised me a massage.”
Not only would he get to give her a massage, but this way, he wouldn’t have to worry about his facial expression as she told him about her exes. Maybe he shouldn’t have asked about that. “So how long is a while?”
“An hour, if you’re going to do this the whole time.”
He dragged his thumbs over her upper back, on either side of her spine, then started rubbing her shoulders. He couldn’t help imagining that she was shirtless, and he was running his hands over her bare skin. Then she’d turn her head back, and he’d kiss her…
“I’ve had nine relationships that lasted more than three months,” she said. That snapped him out of his daydream. “Sounds like a lot, but it’s less than one a year since I turned eighteen. I have a bit of a thing for hipsters.”
He was definitely not one of those.
“The reason for the two-month rule?” he asked.
“O-oh,” she faltered. “I have a tendency to sleep around a bit after a breakup. And nothing that’s happened within two months of a breakup has gone anywhere.
“If you enjoy it…” Not that he liked to think of her being with someone else, but there was nothing wrong with it.
“I don’t, really. Hence the rule.” She tilted her head back slightly. “Oh, that feels amazing. Stay right there.”
This was the great thing about massages: they often prompted a similar response in a woman as sex. And all he could think about was Kristy naked, squirming underneath him. He kept on rubbing her pretty shoulders, felt her loosening slightly, and his mind stayed in the bedroom. She was arching her body against his, skin against skin, taking him deeper.
“Oh, yes. That’s great.” And it wasn’t his imagination—she’d actually said that.
Maybe the massage hadn’t been such a good idea. It was giving him an awkward erection.
“Just like that, but you can go a little harder.”
Harder. He was getting harder. Did she realize what she was sayin
g, what she was doing to him? It didn’t help that he hadn’t had sex in a very long time. The last woman he’d slept with, Sara, had since gotten married and had a kid. Yes, it had been a while.
He made sure he wasn’t standing too close to her, but he kept massaging. A little harder now. But he kept his eyes on the antique lamp his mom had given him and tried to get his thoughts into safer territory.
Or maybe she was thinking the same thing as he was. He couldn’t help hoping that was the case.
She threw her head back. “God, that’s good. You’re amazing.” Then she put her hand to her mouth and laughed. “Would you listen to me.”
Yeah, he sure had been listening, and it had put his imagination into overdrive. He dropped his hands from her shoulders, then spun her around to face him.
Her laughter faded, her smile disappeared. Her big eyes focused on his, and she parted her lips invitingly, like she had been thinking about the same thing as he. Yes. He would gather her in his arms and show her what he wanted.
But before he could do that, she asked, “Where’s the washroom?”
“Next door on the left.” He cocked his head in that direction.
She shook her head and fled his office.
He sank into his office chair. He wasn’t quite sure what had happened a moment ago. But likely she’d realized he was lusting after her and didn’t like it. What he thought he’d seen written on her face—that must have been his imagination. Wishful thinking. He was an idiot.
When she returned, looking as if the past couple minutes had never happened, she said brightly, “I’ll give you Maya’s phone number.”
What? Apparently she hadn’t noticed. Because if she had any idea what he’d been thinking about, she wouldn’t be setting him up with her friend. Then why had she scurried away?
“My phone’s in the other room. I’ll write it down.” He didn’t know what else to say.
She dictated the number.
“What about the bookshelf?” he asked. “Do you want one?”
“Okay. Sure. Just like yours. But no rush on that.” She came over to the desk and regarded the phone number he’d written down. Then she looked up at him. “I was thinking I’d come watch you work on it one day. Maybe help you out a bit. Or would I get in the way?”
“No, no. Of course you can.” In fact, he’d love it. “This Sunday afternoon?”
Not For Me Page 3
