Enchanting the Beast

by Maggie Dallen

  “And we haven’t even gotten around to eating yet,” he teased. The logical part of his brain insisted that he turn this around. It was time to get to know Holly. “What about you?” he asked. “Did you grow up wanting to be Batgirl?”

  Okay so it might not have been a Rorschach test but it was a start. An opening to get her talking about herself so he could try and figure her out.

  “I was more of a Supergirl fan growing up,” she said. Before he could even ask himself what that might say about her, she spelled it out for him. “I was always the awkward one at school. Never really fit in.” Her smile made it impossible to think. “Compared to my popular sisters, I might as well have been from a different planet. Needless to say, I definitely related to the teen angst in the Supergirl stories.”

  He leapt at the opening. “Did you come from a big family?”

  She shook her head. “Not really. Two sisters.”

  “Are you close?” he asked.

  She nodded and he saw a flicker of…something. But then her smile was back. “Very. They’re all I have, really.”

  He didn’t know what to say to that so he kept quiet, hoping she might expound on her family. Give him any clue as to what she was up to and why. Instead she turned it around on him. “What about you? Any siblings?”

  He shook his head, but then he said, “Just Andie.”

  She raised her brows in question. “Andie?”

  “My foster sister,” he explained. “We were put in the same home when we were kids and have been close ever since.”

  She studied him and he hated whatever she was seeing there in his expression. He hated talking about that time in his life, not only because it sucked but because the word “foster” seemed to bring out a pitying look that made him want to hit something.

  Although Holly didn’t give him a pitying smile. She just looked interested. Like she cared…

  He seriously needed to get a grip. He wasn’t sure why she was in his life but it certainly wasn’t because she cared.

  “You actually met Andie,” he said. “Sort of. She was the woman I was talking to the other day when you showed up with your, er…cookies.”

  For some reason cookies sounded like a euphemism. He blamed Andie for having put that thought in his head. But it wasn’t just him. To his amazement, Holly was shifting uncomfortably on the couch and studying her hands.

  “Yeah, about that,” she said. “Your, um, your foster sister seemed to think that I was here with some kind of…” She waved her hands for a second in lieu of words and he watched her with unabashed interest.

  She bit her lower lip and looked up from him from beneath her eyelashes. Did she have any idea how seductive she looked when she did that?

  “Andie seemed to think I was here to…” She faded off again and he took pity on her.

  Leaning forward, he said, “Proposition me?”

  Okay, maybe he hadn’t helped matters.

  Her cheeks went from pale pink to screaming red at those words. “Yes, but no,” she said quickly, confusing them both if her look was anything to go by. “I mean, that’s not why I was here.”

  “Then why were you here?” He asked it quickly, quietly, hoping against hope that she might end whatever charade this was and be straight with him like she had been about everything else.

  But no. He saw it the moment she decided to lie. Her eyelashes fluttered for the first time all night. “I was here to bring you cookies.”

  Lie.

  Why? Why would she lie about those stupid cookies? What was her real reason for coming to his door? That burning question got temporarily placed on hold when she continued without a single eyelash flutter. “I’m really glad I got to meet you.”

  Truth.

  “Me too.” The words slipped out before he could stop them. “And don’t worry, I hadn’t thought you were here to seduce me.”

  Her smile was filled with relief. “Good, because I wasn’t.”

  He didn’t know whether to laugh or groan at her insistence. In the end he found himself reassuring her since she seemed so perturbed by the idea. “Of course not. You’ll have to forgive my friend, Andie. She’s an eternal optimist.”

  Even he could hear the derision in his voice when he said the word “optimist” and judging by her look of amusement, she’d heard it too. “I take it you’re not an optimist?”

  He gave a snort of disgust. “Hardly. Andie and I are polar opposites in that sense. Where I see reality, she tends to see what she wants to be true.”

  Shaking her head, she said, “I don’t get it.” She looked torn between amusement and confusion. “Was your foster sister hoping someone would come to your door to seduce you with cookies?”

  He laughed and told her the truth. “She’s hoping that I’ll meet a nice girl and settle down.”

  Her eyes widened. “Ah. But that’s not your plan, I take it.”

  How to explain to this woman that settling down with a woman meant being in a relationship, which meant trusting someone enough to get that close. Definitely not a part of his plan. Instead he said, “It’s not a priority.”

  She nodded quickly. “That’s how I feel too. If it happens, then great, but if not…”

  He smiled as she trailed off with a shrug. If it happens. It would happen for her, he had no doubt. She was open and kind and sweet and caring and…ugh, there he went again.

  She turned on the couch so she was facing him fully, drawing one leg up to get comfortable. She looked so at home on his sofa, in his living room, waiting on dinner. He should have been freaked out by how comfortable she was, but the weirdest part about it was how weird it wasn’t. It seemed totally natural to be sitting around making chit chat while they waited on dinner.

  “So,” she said. “If finding yourself a girlfriend isn’t your priority, what is?”

  “Work,” he said automatically. Then he paused. She was waiting expectantly and he realized that he’d sound like a workaholic if that was his only answer. Which might have been true, but for some reason he didn’t want her to see him as someone so one-dimensional and boring. Not that her opinion mattered. But even as he told himself that, he found himself mentally searching for anything else he cared about besides work. “My house.”

  Her brows shot up in surprise. “You have a house?”

  He could understand her shock. His apartment was perfect for him but it wasn’t exactly luxurious. The landlord was little more than a slumlord, the security practically nonexistent, and the walls so thin they could currently hear his neighbor’s shower running. What was he doing here if he had a house?

  “Not yet,” he said. “I’m planning on building a house upstate later this year. I’ve been saving up for a lot of land that’s as far off the grid as I can get while still having Internet access.”

  Her excitement seemed genuine as she asked him about the details. He was halfway through describing the plans he’d been working on with an architect when he realized that he was talking about himself. Again.

  How did this keep happening?

  “What about you?” he asked. “Any plans to move out of the city?”

  She shook her head. “This is where my sisters live so it’s home. I could never leave them.”

  He studied her for a moment, noting the firm set of her jaw and that look in her eyes when she spoke of her sisters. It was the same look he’d noticed before when she mentioned them. It spoke of love and stubbornness.

  It was loyalty, he realized with a start. Devotion.

  He was more shocked than he cared to admit. No, not shocked. He was impressed. Loyalty was a rare commodity, as far as he was concerned. If it wasn’t for Andie and Hunter he would have said it was a human trait that had gone extinct, along with authenticity, substance, and chivalry. But there it was, clear as day in this mystery woman’s eyes.

  Wonderful, now there was one more admirable quality to add to his list of Holly’s attributes.

  A sudden wave of irritation had him making h
is excuses so he could go check on the chili. Truth be told, the chili didn’t need any tending. He’d made this dish a million times before. All it needed was time.

  But he needed distance.

  If that woman didn’t show her true colors soon, he would be in serious trouble. But she would, he told himself. No one was perfect and everyone had something to hide. It was just a matter of time before her secrets came out. She was hiding a lie and he could almost guarantee that once it came to light, it would shatter this ridiculous illusion of the perfect woman.

  Giorgio’s was her favorite restaurant and she was in her favorite, cozy table in the back so she supposed it was only natural that she was comfortable. The surprising part was that she was comfortable sitting across from Spencer. It was just the two of them and unlike the other two times they’d hung out, this wasn’t some neighborly visit. This felt real. Like a date…but not. A date implied that they truly liked one another.

  While she did enjoy his company, and she felt fairly certain that he enjoyed hers, she reminded herself again and again that this was not real. This was business. Still, she couldn’t remember the last time she’d been on a date—real or otherwise—where she’d felt so at ease.

  Spencer, on the other hand, looked like he was the victim of some cruel and unusual form of torture. He tugged at the collar of his buttoned-down shirt and glanced behind him for the fifth time since they’d been seated.

  “You hate this, don’t you?” It was clear in his every move. He was not comfortable, not at ease. He’d let her pick their date location and her choice was an abject failure.

  He glanced once more over his shoulder as he mumbled a response. “What? No. No, it’s fine.”

  She sighed. This man should never try to lie. He was terrible at it. Leaning over the table, she was determined to get his attention. “Are you in the mob or something?”

  Yup, that did the trick. His head snapped forward so he was facing her. “What?” He looked perplexed, and rightfully so.

  She leaned forward a bit more, making sure to keep her pale blue blouse from dipping into the sauce on her plate. She wasn’t nearly as concerned with her clothes as she was with wasting precious sauce. Giorgio’s really was the best Italian restaurant in the city.

  Reaching for her glass, she repeated herself. “I asked if you were in the mob.”

  His forehead furrowed and his gaze turned far too serious. “Why would you ask that?”

  Jeeze, take this guy out of his apartment and he lost all sense of humor.

  She pressed her lips together to keep from smiling, but it was hard not to. She’d never seen him not at ease. Both times they’d hung out he’d been so sure of himself, so…cocky, almost. He’d seemed more sure of himself in her apartment than she had—like he was the rightful owner and she’d been popping in for a visit. And while she’d felt comfortable in his apartment, he’d seemed born to play host, leading the conversation effortlessly while making sure her wine glass was full. After they’d enjoyed his “world-famous” chili she’d told him that the next meal would be on her and, since she didn’t cook, that meant taking him to her favorite restaurant.

  She’d thought it would be a nice treat but the moment they’d left the apartment building, he’d changed. Gone was the confident, cocky neighbor who’d actually managed to make baking fun. In his place was this paranoid guy who she barely recognized.

  While she didn’t relish his discomfort, it was oddly reassuring to see him at odds for once. She’d gotten tired of being the only one with socially awkward tendencies. Maybe that was why watching him get all bent out of shape over her teasing comment had her feeling a surge of affection. “I just meant that you seem to be concerned about having your back to the door. Isn’t that a mafia thing to make sure you’re always facing the door?”

  His furrowed brow turned into a look that she loved. It was that mix of confusion and amusement, like she’d just said something adorably wacky. “You watch too many movies.”

  She shrugged. That was probably true and he knew it. Leaning forward she dropped her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Are you going to grab a gun you hid in the bathroom?”

  His grin was breathtaking. This was the smile she’d seen during that first encounter. It never got old. Every time it was aimed in her direction she grew giddy.

  Rather than answer, he donned a truly terrible mobster accent and leaned back in his chair. “Leave the gun. Take the cannoli.”

  She laughed too loudly at The Godfather reference, not because it was particularly funny but because it was just so darn nice to have an inside joke with someone who wasn’t one of her sisters.

  Their chili dinner had been largely spent discussing movies, books, and comics. Three passions they shared and where their tastes often surprisingly overlapped. The Godfather had been one of many movies they’d discussed in great detail. It hadn’t exactly been an enlightening, deep conversation but it had been extraordinarily fun. Unlike their first encounter, he’d been open and talkative. Chatty, even. And unlike their afternoon of baking, she’d been far more relaxed, probably because the initial “get to know you” questions had been put to rest and she no longer had much need to lie. Her excessive admiration for Haruki Murakami, for instance. That had been all her. The fact that his favorite book was The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle? Sheer serendipitous coincidence.

  She’d had so much fun chatting over dinner, Holly had even managed to forget that she was technically working. But the realization that she was being paid and that she was insinuating herself into this man’s life reared its ugly head when she least expected it. Like right now, when he was smiling at her in that sweet way that said maybe she was worth braving the outside world for. “It’s not just mafia members who follow that rule, you know.”

  “Uh huh.” She turned her attention to his still-full plate. He was picking at his food like he thought it might be poisoned. “Don’t like the chicken parm?”

  “No, it’s great,” he said, making a show of taking a big bite.

  Now she did roll her eyes. “You hate this,” she said again.

  He grinned. “Yeah, I hate this.”

  “But why?” It was honest curiosity talking, nothing to do with her assignment. “I mean, you’re a young, handsome, witty, intelligent man. Why are you so weird when you leave the apartment?”

  His eyes widened slightly, something she noticed he did when she was too blunt. Either of her sisters could have told him that blunt was her default setting. One of many reasons why she should not be the one faking it for a paycheck.

  She felt bad the moment the words came out and she looked down at her plate. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have asked that.”

  “No,” he said quickly. “It’s fine. I’m glad you did. Most people just leap to conclusions.”

  “Like what?” She risked glancing up again and found herself looking into his eyes. He had sexy eyes, especially when they were giving her that squinty look of concentration, like she was the most interesting person on the planet. Or in the restaurant, at least. When he was looking at her like this he seemed to forget to be on edge.

  “Most people think I’m scared to leave my apartment.”

  She gave a little snort of disbelief and then took a quick sip of wine to cover it up. Snorting in restaurants wasn’t considered elegant and she was striving to be the kind of date Eve would be. She was failing miserably, but she was trying. She’d already royally screwed it up by inhaling her pasta and then by asking him rude questions, but the least she could do was refrain from making snorting sounds. “Why do they think you’re scared?”

  He shrugged. “I think people assume that I worry about being judged or not fitting in….” His voice trailed off as though he too was trying to figure out what they thought he might be afraid of. Then it clicked for her. Her gaze dropped down to his wheelchair. “Oh, do they think that because you’re…uh, because you…”

  His lips pulled to the side in a barely concealed smirk as she, the
queen of the tactless, put her foot in her mouth trying to state the obvious. His amusement seemed to grow with every passing second of awkward silence. Finally, he whispered, “Because I’m in a wheelchair?”

  She could feel her cheeks burning up as he openly laughed at her. Then he added, “You do know that it’s not a secret, right? I’m well aware that I’m crippled.”

  She stuck her tongue out at him in a temporary fit of childishness. “Sue me, I didn’t know how to put it tactfully.”

  He laughed even harder. “Just speak the truth, Holly. It suits you.”

  She forgot her embarrassment as that compliment registered. She’d been called awkward more times than she could count, and had often been accused of being brash, thoughtless, tactless, and harsh. All thanks to her inability to lie or pretend. Now, for the first time ever, someone had found it suited her. She allowed herself a moment to wallow in that before reminding herself that her sole purpose of having dinner with this man was to play a role for him…the one man who liked it when she was herself.

  Was that irony or just bad luck? She’d never fully been able to grasp that concept and Alanis Morisette’s song had only confused her understanding even further.

  Spencer’s voice interrupted the great internal struggle over the meaning of irony. “How are you so certain I’m not?”

  “Not what?”

  His smile made his eyes crinkle up in the way that made her feel lightheaded. “You seemed positive that I’m not scared. How do you know?”

  She tilted her head to the side to study him. “Because you don’t strike me as someone who cares what anyone thinks or worries about how the world sees him.”

  There was silence for a moment as he studied her. Finally, he said, “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “And you’re right,” he said, without a touch of conceit.

  “I know.” She grinned. Then she took a deep breath. “So….”

  One side of his mouth hitched up in a lopsided smile that made her breath catch. “So?” he repeated. She had a feeling he knew exactly where she was going with this.