A Profiler's Case for Seduction

by Carla Cassidy

  Chapter 4

  She hadn’t been able to cancel the meal. Dora hadn’t seen Mark all week to get the opportunity to tell him that dinner out together wasn’t a good idea.

  To make matters worse, she’d arrived at Manetti’s fifteen minutes early, like a pathetic loser who was afraid she might be stood up or who feared that if she was a single minute late he wouldn’t wait for her.

  She sat in her car parked across from the popular restaurant and watched for Mark to arrive. Maybe he’d forgotten about tonight. He was a busy man with lots of things on his mind. The invitation had been three whole days ago. She imagined in Mark’s world three days could hold a lifetime of thoughts and actions, things that could drive a simple dinner invitation straight out of his mind.

  Dora’s life was far less complicated and the idea of dinner with Mark had filled her head for most of the past three days. She flipped down the rearview mirror and checked to make sure she didn’t have lipstick on her teeth or hadn’t gone too heavy with the mascara wand.

  It was ridiculous, the way she felt...the fluttering in her stomach, the sparking nerves in her veins. She wasn’t a young girl just beginning to experience the blossom of hormones; rather she was a forty-year-old woman on the verge of kissing her hormones goodbye.

  She had many regrets from her past, but the deepest regret she’d have for the rest of her life was that she’d had no children. It had been a selfless decision she’d made because she’d known that the last thing she wanted was to bring an innocent child into the mess of her life.

  In another year or two when she finally had her life perfect for bringing in a child, she’d be too old to parent, probably too old physically to have a baby the natural way. She’d long ago made peace with the fact that there would be no children for her, but that didn’t stop the wistful bittersweet pang that sometimes clutched at her when she thought about it.

  That’s why she’d spoken to Mark about his daughter and the importance of him being a part of her life. Children should be considered gifts to take care of, not inconveniences to beat and abuse.

  She sat up straighter in her seat as she saw a dark car pull into a parking space near the front of the restaurant. The car looked official and her heart danced as Mark stepped out of the driver side.

  He was dressed in a dark suit, white shirt and a black-and-gray tie at his neck. She was grateful that she’d opted to put on panty hose and a dress instead of the less casual slacks and blouse. It was obvious Mark had made an extra effort by wearing a tie for the night.

  Her dress was rust-colored, cinched at the waist and with a slightly flirty skirt. Although she was taller than most women to begin with, she wore black heels, knowing that Mark would be taller than her even with her high shoes. And there was nothing better for a woman’s confidence than a pair of heels that showcased the length and shapeliness of her legs.

  Still, the last thing Dora felt was confidence. The flutter of nerves inside her stomach turned into a full orchestra of drumbeats and a discordant brass section. She could always just drive away, stand him up. That would be the smart thing to do, but surely a simple dinner couldn’t be a stupid thing.

  Decision made, she got out of her car and headed for the entrance. Even outside the restaurant the evening air smelled of rich tomato sauce, of fresh garlic and spices, and her stomach rumbled shamefully because she’d been too nervous to eat anything all day.

  The minute she stepped inside and saw Mark standing in the waiting area, a pleased smile curving his lips at the sight of her, her nerves magically vanished.

  His smile was so sexy, so warm, and the light in his eyes as he swept her with his gaze from head to toe whispered of intense approval, of male interest.

  “I was beginning to wonder if maybe you were going to stand me up,” he said.

  “And why would I do that?” she countered lightly, shoving all her previous doubts about the night aside.

  “It seemed to be some sort of a rite of passage for girls when I was in high school.” Before he could say anything more the hostess motioned to them to follow her. She led them to an intimate table in the back of the busy restaurant. She handed them menus along with a bright smile and told them their waitress would be with them shortly.

  “Now, what’s this about high school and girls standing you up?” she asked as she shoved the menu aside and instead focused on his beautiful eyes shimmering in the light from the candle in the center of the table. “I thought you went to private schools.”

  “I did. Until I was a junior in high school and then I begged my parents to send me to public school. They finally relented and I began my junior year at Washington High School in Dallas.”

  He paused as the waitress arrived with a basket of freshly baked mini garlic loaf. He ordered lasagna and meatballs, she ordered chicken Alfredo. He asked for a glass of wine while she went for a diet cola. When the waitress departed he continued.

  “I was nerdier than the worst nerd. To be honest I was too smart for the classes, too stupid to try to fit in. So, I became the class joke without really understanding it.” He smiled at her ruefully. “Chemistry I did well, people I flunked. I made a total of five dates and was stood up all five times.”

  “That’s awful, they must have been the mean girls in the class.” Dora couldn’t imagine a hunk like him being stood up by anyone.

  He shrugged and reached for a piece of the garlic bread. “The good thing is after a semester of that I was ready to go back to my private school where the other students were more like me.” He cocked his head slightly, his gaze a bit more intense. “What about you? What were your high school days like?”

  “Definitely unmemorable.” The lie slid easily from her lips. It wasn’t really a big lie. She’d spent a lot of time trying to forget that time in her life.

  “You mentioned you got married at eighteen. That’s really young.”

  “That was my first marriage,” she replied, and then blushed. He raised a dark eyebrow. “I’ve tried marriage twice and both were dismal failures.” The last attempt at a happily-ever-after had sent her descending into the very pits of hell.

  “You mentioned the other day that you married a man like your father.” He took a bite of the garlic bread and then washed it down with a sip of wine.

  “Billy Cook.” She carefully unfolded her napkin on her lap, refusing to look up as she continued. “I had just graduated from high school and I thought he was my escape from my father, from my life, but instead he was just more of the same abuse and misery. We divorced when I was twenty and then when I was thirty I decided to try the institute of marriage once again.”

  She paused and looked at him. “Surely I’m boring you.”

  “On the contrary, I find you and your life fascinating. Who was husband number two?”

  “Jimmy Martin. He worked at the bank in town, had an aura of respect and genuine politeness that was appealing to me. He’d come into the café almost every night and flirt shamelessly with me. One thing led to another and we got married. It lasted for two years before things fell apart and that’s when I decided romance and marriage just didn’t fit into my life.”

  Billy had been her need to escape, Jimmy had been her first real love and in the end he’d led to her near destruction.

  “I feel the same way,” Mark said, pulling her from her teetering on the edge of painful memories. “Been there, done that and made a mess of the whole thing. I wouldn’t be too eager to try the marriage scene again anytime soon.”

  His words put Dora at ease. Knowing that they were both on the same page and that this was just a meal between new friends, she felt her nervous tension ebb.

  By the time the waitress arrived with their meals, they were deep in a conversation about college football, the traditions of homecoming and the upcoming festivities.

  “Fr
iday night before the game on Saturday they always build a huge bonfire on the right quadrant of the campus. It draws a massive crowd and they burn an effigy of a football player from the other team,” she said as she dug into her chicken Alfredo.

  “Sounds barbaric,” he said drily.

  She laughed. “Oh, it is. One of the fraternities sponsors it and there are plenty of keg parties before and after. The college board turns a blind eye to all the shenanigans on that one night of the year.”

  The conversation remained light and easy as they ate. They both admitted that there were no traditions or rituals where they had grown up.

  “I guess the biggest tradition that occurred in my household was that each year at Thanksgiving time my mother would order a turkey already stuffed and cooked from the local butcher,” he said. “We didn’t actually sit down to eat it at any specific time. It was just left out on the counter for us to help ourselves throughout the day when we got hungry.”

  “Hello, salmonella,” Dora exclaimed, loving the sound of his laughter. “I always worked at my mother’s café on the holidays. There were no family gatherings for us, either.” Daisy, Dora’s mother, did have a tradition, but it was a daily event. She’d start each morning with a cup of coffee and the pronouncement that it was a new beginning. And each day by noon she’d be drinking gin and getting sloppy. Before night fell she would have lured at least one man into the back room for a tumble on the cot that was shoved against one corner.

  Once again Dora was relieved when the topic changed to favorite foods they shared, colors that attracted them, and they even learned each other’s astrological sign. He was Aquarius and she was Libra.

  “Compatible signs,” he exclaimed, and gave her a smile that threatened to melt everything inside her.

  They lingered over coffee and dessert, chatting about nothing and everything. Only once did he seem to disappear from the conversation, going deep into his head with that unfocused look that was slightly unsettling. She tapped his hand and he returned with a sheepish smile.

  “Sorry.” He shook his head. “I’m sorry.”

  “Stop apologizing,” she replied as she cut into the thick slice of cheesecake in front of her. “So, how is the investigation going? Anything new?”

  He cupped his big hands around his coffee mug as if seeking warmth from whatever visions had momentarily captured his focus. “Absolutely nothing. I feel like we’re all running around like Keystone Cops and the perp is someplace nearby laughing at all of us and the useless effort.” He lifted his cup to his lips and then set it back down in its saucer. His frustration was evident in the rigid set of his shoulders, in the dark smoldering of his eyes.

  “I just can’t buy into the theory that it was a gang of students who kidnapped Professor Grayson as a stupid stunt. If that were the case one of them would have talked by now. Somebody would drink too much beer and brag to a friend or tell somebody else, and that hasn’t been the case.”

  “But why else would anyone want to hurt her? I mean, what’s the motive for what happened to her?” Dora popped a bite of cheesecake into her mouth as she continued to gaze at him.

  “I have a feeling if we could figure out the answer to that then we’d be able to solve everything.” He smiled softly and reached across the table with his finger extended. She froze as he touched the side of her lips. “Cheesecake,” he murmured, and put his finger into his mouth.

  Dora was so entranced she didn’t move, could scarcely breathe, and then his words flittered through to her consciousness. “Solve everything? Surely you don’t think the kidnapping and the murders are related?”

  “Actually, I do. I don’t know how, but there’s no doubt in my mind that they are somehow related,” he replied.

  “You can’t think that Melind...Professor Grayson had anything to do with those men’s deaths, do you?” She looked at him, horrified by the very thought.

  He studied her for several long moments; once again his piercing gaze seeming to see inside her to her very soul. “We’re looking at all possibilities,” he answered after a long pause. “Now, take that little frown off your forehead. We’ll eventually figure it out and I’d much rather look at your beautiful smile.”

  “Why, Agent Flynn, are you flirting with me?” she asked with a forced lightness.

  He looked at her seriously and a slow grin spread across his lips. “Yes...yes, I believe I am.” He appeared exceedingly proud of himself as he tossed a hand through his hair, ruffling the muss into a new style of disarray.

  Her fingers tingled with the desire to linger in the silky strands, to make order in the chaos, but she clenched her fork tightly instead. “Harmless flirting,” she said, and wondered if she was reminding him or warning herself not to take him too seriously.

  “That’s the only kind there can be, right? I’m here to solve crimes and you’re here to get a degree.”

  “And neither of us is interested in pursuing anything but a friendship,” she added.

  “Neither of us is looking for a long-term relationship,” he countered, and something in the depths of his eyes made her think of the minty soap fragrance of him, of tangled sheets and soft, low moans. Temporary liaisons, that’s what he made her think about, and she didn’t want to go there.

  “It would be foolish to start anything,” she said, gazing down at the last of her cheesecake as her cheeks filled with warmth.

  “I’m sure you’re right,” he agreed easily.

  Within minutes their check had arrived and she insisted on going Dutch, telling herself that if she paid her own way then this hadn’t been anything like a date at all.

  “I’ll walk you to your car,” he said as they left the restaurant. His voice held a slight edge that made her think he believed she’d refuse his offer.

  It had been such a nice evening and she didn’t want to ruin it by something so simple. Besides, he was just being a gentleman and what difference did it make if he saw her beat-up old vehicle?

  He fell into step beside her. “I’ve enjoyed the night.”

  She smiled up at him. “Me, too. I can’t remember when I last took the time to eat out other than the vending machines in the student lounge.”

  “This was definitely better than a cold burger or pizza in the war room,” he agreed as they reached the driver side of her car.

  “Thank you for the wonderful time,” she said.

  He nodded and moved close...closer still, making it impossible for her to open her car door and escape from his heady scent, the inviting shine in his eyes. She saw the kiss coming in the dip of his head, in the slight lean of his body toward hers.

  She told herself she was trapped, caught between him and the door of her car, but the truth was she had no desire to escape. As his head bent, she raised hers, her lips already open to welcome him.

  Mark Flynn might have been a nerdy kid in high school and he might be a man who easily got lost in his own head, but he definitely knew how to kiss.

  His lips were warm and feathery soft as they played against hers. There was no other contact between them. He didn’t wrap her in his arms and pull her close or lean against her to make their bodies touch.

  It was over almost as quickly as it had begun, leaving her wanting more. She cleared her throat and leaned backward to steady herself against the car door. “I thought we agreed that we weren’t going to start anything,” she said, her voice huskier than usual.

  “That was just the perfect finish to a perfect evening,” he replied. “Good night, Dora. Safe travel home.”

  She watched, weak-kneed, while he turned on his heels and headed to his own car. Her trembling fingers punched the remote to unlock the door.

  Oh, the man was dangerous. FBI agent Mark Flynn, with his sexy smile and soft lips, with his bedroom eyes and the ability to pull forth a desire inside her that sh
e’d never felt before.

  That desire rode with her all the way home from the restaurant. She’d wanted more. She’d wanted his strong arms wrapped tightly around her as he pulled her against his broad chest. She’d wanted him to plunder her mouth until she couldn’t breathe, until she couldn’t think. She wanted what she shouldn’t have.

  She tightened her hands on the steering wheel and told herself that as long as she kept control of her emotions, of her desires, then she’d be fine.

  Besides, they’d both made it clear to each other that it would be foolish to pursue anything meaningful. It had been a simple kiss and she needed to stop overthinking things.

  She pulled into the driveway of her house and got out of her car. The night air smelled like autumn leaves and a hint of wood smoke. As she walked to her porch, she caught a movement out of the corner of her eye.

  She froze with her house key in her hand, poised to unlock the front door. She gazed over to the neighbor’s yard. With her porch light shining a halo of light, it was difficult to discern much of anything about the neighbor’s place except for the gigantic tree in their front yard.

  Was somebody there? Behind the tree?

  Hiding?

  Watching her?

  With her heart’s frantic beat echoing in her ears, she fumbled the key into the lock and quickly stepped into her hallway. She slammed the door behind her, immediately relocked it and then hurried to the front window to peer out the venetian blinds in the living room.

  There was nothing to see in her front yard, but she could have sworn that the movement that had caught her eye was a person running from view...a person who at this moment was possibly hiding behind the thick trunk of the tree next door.

  Fear torched through her. This was the second time she thought she’d been followed...watched. Was she being stalked?