Because last night didn’t feel like a quick, satisfying, casual affair. Come to think of it, our first time together in the hotel at O’Hare hadn’t exactly felt like that either.
The way Caleb overwhelmed me in bed, the way he completely owned me until there was nothing else in the world but him and me, made me feel uneasy. It wouldn’t be difficult to begin to like the man he was when we were together like that. He was an amazing partner. Simultaneously wild and rough and savage, yet sweet, reverent, and generous.
No man should be that good. The truth was, however, that he made me a different kind of lover. Sex with Nick had been great, but we’d always just been satisfied with a bit of foreplay followed by the main event. Once that was done, we were finished for the night. I couldn’t remember rolling around in bed with him for hours or striving to make him groan with pleasure the way I had with Caleb.
So I had to wonder if Caleb had ever been like this with a woman before, or if our sheer need to pleasure each other just made us more exceptional than ever.
The reality was that our physical appetite for each other felt dangerous to me.
I didn’t want to admit out loud that sex with Caleb had confused me, considering the sensible part of my brain knew he was still rude and unappreciative to people. A huge personality no-no for me.
But still, I needed to talk to my best friend before my brain exploded with overthinking. Harper was contracted to work five days a week at Canterbury, but sometimes she worked extra days when she was helping train new apprentices. She worked twelve-hour shifts in the kitchen doing everything from devising dessert menus to developing and testing new pastries and desserts, from overseeing the pastry department budget to procuring ingredients and maintaining the inventory of supplies, as well as overseeing the training of new staff members. I knew all this because I wanted to learn what I could about her job, why she was there for twelve-hour days, and what it was about it that made it worth it to her.
She had a passion for it, but I worried that the sixty-to seventy-two-hour weeks were going to cause her to burn out quickly.
Having such a demanding job meant she and I had to fit in our time together whenever we could. I called her as I was leaving Fred’s and asked if she had a moment to spare.
“I’ll make time,” she said, sounding concerned. “I’ll take a quick lunch break early. You okay to meet me at the restaurant or do you need more privacy?”
“Grab one of the booths in the back and we’ll be good.”
“Okay, babe. See you soon.”
Canterbury was on Pearl Street in the Financial District, and Russo’s was on the corner of Washington and Waltham, so I decided to jump in a cab. Kelly, the daytime hostess at Canterbury, recognized me and led me to Harper.
My friend was dressed in her chef whites and ripped black jeggings with a pair of black and silver sneakers. She loved her biker boots, but running around a kitchen for twelve hours required comfortable footwear. Harper got out of the booth to hug me in greeting and then we settled down.
She gestured to the small samples of the lunch menu sitting on plates that covered our table in the back of the restaurant. Canterbury had a modern rustic design; it was all glass, heavy dark woods, Spanish brick tiling, and copper, wire, and naked lightbulbs. Jason was from Canterbury in England and the style of the food was British gastropub. “Eat,” she said. “And talk.”
So I did, cutting into a miniature gourmet burger. I told her everything that had happened with Caleb yesterday, wondering how only a day had passed from the moment Patrice had “introduced” us to now.
“Holy shit. I want to meet him.”
“No,” I said adamantly. “He’s only here for a week or two and this is nothing serious. Meeting my family does not scream ‘casual.’ ”
She squeezed my arm at being referred to as family. “Okay. Whatever you want. But can I ask something?”
“Shoot.”
“You wanted to talk to me about this because you needed to tell someone, or you wanted to talk to me about this because something about it is bothering you?”
My smile was reluctant. “You know me so well.”
“So what do you think is bothering you?”
“Why? Are you going to tell me what you think is bothering me?”
“You know me so well.” She grinned cheekily.
“Okay, you first.”
Harper sighed. “I think that you try to control everything in your life because your parents were flakes when you were a kid and because you couldn’t control your life falling apart after college. Controlling everything now makes you feel safe. But you can’t control this guy. And you can’t control how he makes you feel. And that freaks you out.”
My heart thumped hard at her words and I felt an uneasy roiling in my stomach. “You should have been a psychologist, Harper.”
She glared at the bite in my tone. “You asked what I thought.”
I studied my glass of water, unable to meet her eyes, because for some inexplicable reason I wanted to burst into tears. Why couldn’t I just enjoy being with this guy without overanalyzing everything! I wiped at a nonexistent smudge on my glass and said softly, “I don’t even like him, Harp. How can I possibly want him this much and not even like him? What does that say about me?”
“What don’t you like about him?”
I looked at her, recognizing the curiosity and concern in her gray-blue eyes. “He’s arrogant. He’s rude to people in service—never says please or thank you. Just treats them like servants. There’s a coldness to him. Not in bed. Not at all. But outside of it, yes. And sometimes … he looks at me like he can’t stand me and hates himself for wanting me.”
She was quiet a moment, her brows drawing together at my last sentence. “Maybe you’re right to be uneasy about this, then. Casual sex is supposed to be uncomplicated. He sounds way complicated.”
“You say that … and it makes total sense.” I nodded. “That’s what I think too … and then I’ll think about not seeing him again and I feel …”
“Yeah?”
“Agitated.” I smirked as I encountered the right word. “Like an addict would.”
Harper—adventurous, grab-life-by-the-balls Harper—didn’t tell me to just ignore my concerns and go for it. Instead, she touched my arm and said, “I thought sex with this guy would be a nice distraction. That it would maybe shake off the shadows in your eyes. The ones Gem’s death put there. But they’re not gone, Ava. Maybe you should quit it with this guy and find someone else to do the casual thing with.”
Her concern made me pause.
If Harper was telling me that, then I should listen. I nodded and looked away, my gaze skimming distractedly across the restaurant.
Wait. What?
My eyes swung back toward the hostess podium, where none other than my Bastard Scot was standing with a group of three other men. He was wearing a different suit but wearing that same brooding, intimidating expression.
“How is this happening?” I groaned.
“What? What is it?” Harper’s eyes followed mine.
“He’s here.”
“Who’s here?”
“Caleb,” I snapped, turning to her with what I was sure was a look of horror. “Seriously. Some omnipresent being is playing with us. No two people can keep bumping into each other like this without the help of some twisted Fate.”
“Oh my God.” Harper’s lips parted in awe. “Is he the tall blond who hasn’t shaved in a few weeks?”
“Yup.”
“I thought you said he was a biker Viking dude?”
“He wears suits for work. He’s the CFO for Koto, remember. But yes, biker boots, jeans, and tattoos are his usual deal. None of which matters because they’re on the move. Oh God, please don’t see us.”
However, my pleas went unheard as Caleb’s eyes came up from the man he was walking beside as they were shown to their table. He scanned the restaurant and his gaze promptly snagged on the sight of me.
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I saw them widen a little as I schooled my expression to neutral.
I gave him a nod, not wanting to be rude, but hoping he would just nod back and otherwise ignore me.
Apparently, Caleb didn’t feel like being his usual rude self. He excused himself from his group and began making his way over to us.
“Oh my God, he’s gorgeous,” Harper said under her breath.
“Shut up.”
A smile played around his beautiful mouth as he slowed to a halt in front of our booth. “I’m really beginning tae think you’re stalking me, Ava Breevort.”
I rolled my eyes. “I was here first, Mr. Scott.” I gestured to Harper. “My best friend is the pastry chef. Harper, this is Caleb Scott. Caleb, meet Harper.”
Harper reached out her hand and he shook it. “Pleasure.”
She grinned. “You too.”
Her grin gave away too much about her knowledge of him and he shot me an entertained, knowing smile. “Lunch break?”
I nodded. “We both work long hours. We grab time together when we can.”
“I look forward tae trying your food, Harper.”
Who was this charming guy?
“I can promise you’ll like it,” she said confidently, making him grin at her in a way he never smiled at me. “Where in Scotland are you from?”
I hadn’t asked him that. I was too afraid to ask him anything because we weren’t about that.
Caleb was unruffled. “I live in Glasgow, but I grew up in a wee place in central Scotland. Linlithgow. It’s not far from Edinburgh.”
“I’ve always wanted to visit. Ava and I try to travel somewhere once a year, and Scotland’s on our bucket list.”
Stop telling him things about me. I threw her a tight smile, which she ignored.
“Well, call me biased, but I’d recommend visiting it over any other country.”
“Straight to the top of the list, then. So you here with your work people?” She gestured behind him.
“Lunch meeting, aye.” He frowned distractedly.
It was on the tip of my tongue to ask him what was wrong, but I stopped myself.
That wasn’t what we were.
His gaze moved to me, the frown only deepening. “I’d best get back.”
“Sure,” I said casually, as if I didn’t care one way or the other.
Caleb’s frown turned to a full-on scowl. “See you later, then. Harper, it was nice tae meet you.”
“You too. We should all have drinks together while you’re in Boston.”
He nodded but didn’t give her a definite answer (thank God) before he shot me one last enigmatic look and turned around.
As he was walking away, Harper huffed. “Rude? Really? Because I found him perfectly charming.”
I cut her a look. “He’s not normally like that. Although … he was like that with Patrice.” A bitter chuckle of realization escaped me. “He’s only a shit to me.”
“You’re right about the way he looks at you,” she mused. “When he first came over he looked almost happy to see you … and then …”
“And then?”
“Pissed off at you.” She rested her fist on her chin. “But it could have been because you were as warm as a frozen waffle to him.”
“I wasn’t that bad.”
“You were cooler toward him than I’ve ever seen you toward anyone. Even to the many men you’ve shot down in the past.”
“I’m protecting myself,” I admitted. “I don’t see what is so wrong about that.”
“Well, have you thought that maybe he’s reacting to your coldness by being cold in return?”
I thought of last night, lying vulnerable beside him on the hotel bed. There was nothing cold about me then. I was feeling playful even. And then he’d told me in that sharp, resentful tone that I wasn’t his type, that everything about me was the opposite of what he really wanted.
“No. His defenses were up before mine ever were.” I smiled sadly at her. “He said something to me last night that hurt. I told him I hated him. Do you know what his reply was?”
My friend’s concern was back. “What?”
“He said, ‘Good.’ ”
“Okay.” Harper shook her head. “I was momentarily charmed by the whole sexy accent and that body, but if I was telling the same story to you, you would tell me that it sounded super unhealthy, right?”
I heaved a sigh. “Right.”
“Babe, I have to get back to work. Lunch is on me.” She leaned over and kissed me on the cheek. “But I expect that the next time we talk you’ll have called this”—she gestured over to him—“off.”
She was right.
She was totally, totally right. I just had to ignore the way my body clenched in agitation at the thought. “Right.”
“Okay, good. We’ll talk.” She threw me a loving smile and got out of the booth, heading toward the back of the restaurant.
Feeling a little shaky and not really knowing why, I grabbed my purse, left a tip on the table for the server, and got out of the booth without looking at Caleb. I would have to pass him, but I decided to delay it by visiting the ladies’ restroom first. It was down a low-lit, brick-walled passage at the back of the restaurant.
Inside, I stared at my reflection as I was washing my hands. I looked a little pale. Dark circles were beginning to bruise under my eyes from my lack of eight hours’ sleep the night before. But more than that, I looked melancholy. Harper was right. The shadows were still there.
My gaze lowered, unable to bear the fact that I couldn’t hide it. How could Caleb not see that when he was with me? Or did he just not care? And why would I want him to consider my feelings? That was never what we were supposed to be about.
A shuddering sigh escaped me as my decision formed into resolve. This was really why I wanted to talk to Harper: because I knew she’d be honest with me. And she’d tell me to do what was best for me, even if it went against her adventurous nature and personal philosophy.
I would call Caleb later to tell him our interludes were officially over.
Patrice would just have to understand that I was too busy with work to “entertain” her guest.
My heels clacked on the tiled floor as I crossed the empty bathroom and hauled the heavy door open, but the sound stuttered as I stumbled at the sight of Caleb leaning against the opposite wall out in the corridor.
I stepped out of the restroom, letting the door swing shut behind me. Glancing left and right, I found we were alone. Slowly I returned my attention to him and felt unwanted desire thrill through me at his hungry gaze. “Hi.”
He pushed off the wall and was suddenly pressing into me, his hands braced above my head on the frame of the door behind me. His hot eyes searched my face. “Problem, Ava?”
Bewildered, I shook my head. “What?”
“Don’t lie.” His breath whispered across my lips.
Annoyance rippled through me. “Why do you care?”
“You’re overanalyzing last night. Letting it mess with your head.” He gently tapped my temple.
I smacked his hand away. “I’m not.” Liar.
He heaved a sigh in obvious frustration and dropped his arms but didn’t move back. Instead he studied me, almost curiously. “Harper. She doesn’t seem like the type of lass you’d be friends with.”
Anger flushed through me, my protectiveness toward her flaring. “What does that mean?”
He shrugged. “She’s pierced, punk, not reserved. You’re conservative—” His eyes dragged down my body. “Haughty and reserved.”
I decided there was no point in waiting to text him. I could tell him my decision now. But first … “Harper is smart, ambitious, loyal, protective, and kind. As for me, I have many flaws that I am well aware of, but I like to think that it’s exactly those good qualities we share that make us best friends. No, actually, we’re family. Not that I owe you any explanation of who I am or who she is.” When I glared up at him, I finally allowed him to see the hurt and a
nger his judgments were causing me. “I don’t owe you anything—and I am done.”
Caleb’s expression blanked. “With me?”
“Yeah, with you.”
“It’s just sex, babe. I keep telling you that.”
“No.” I shook my head. “It’s sex with a guy who somehow manages to make me feel this small”—I gestured with my forefinger and thumb—“every time he opens his mouth. I don’t know what it is about me that you despise so much, but it’s kind of killing my lust.” I tried to shove by him, but he wouldn’t let me, his strong hand circling my bicep tightly. “Let go.”
“And what about you?” He scowled. “How many times have you told me you dinnae even like me, that you hate me even? What do you really know about me that you can draw any real conclusion about who I am and whether I’m worthy of your like or dislike?”
I tensed. And then my shoulders slumped.
He was absolutely right.
His grip on my bicep loosened.
“You’re right,” I whispered, staring at his chest as I tried to gather the courage to meet his gaze.
“Ava.”
His tone drew my eyes to his face, where his expression had softened, a weary amusement filling his gaze. “This was supposed tae be fun.”
I let out a huff of laughter. “Sometimes it has been.”
“Well”—he gave me that arrogant smirk of his—“why don’t we agree tae agree that we dinnae know each other enough tae judge each other? I’ll quit making assumptions about you if you admit you dinnae really know me well enough tae hate me.”
I raised an eyebrow. “You still want to see me while you’re in Boston? Surely it would just be easier to pick up a random woman in a bar?”
His eyes grew smoky. “Do you really think it would be the same?”
My breath caught.
He heard it and gave a small huff of self-deprecating laughter. “Hard for two people like us tae admit it, but no one else quite does it for us the way we do it for each other, right? I’m here for a few more days, then I’m back tae Scotland. So why don’t we just take advantage of this opportunity while we can. It’s all right tae be that tae each other, Ava. Tae look back and remember that Bastard Scot that gave you bloody brilliant orgasms and for me tae look back and remember the American beauty who was the best sex I ever had.”
Fight or Flight Page 13
