by Lauren Layne
“So that’s your theory? You think I kissed it good night for three years?”
He wiggled his eyebrows. “You tell me.”
“All right,” she said, giving a little shake of her head. “I get it.”
“Get what?”
“Why you’re the family charmer. You’re pretty good at it when you’re not being an uptight bore.”
“Such sweet love words coming out of that pretty mouth.” He gave her that lady-killer smile that she was pretty sure had caused many a damp panty.
Not Ava’s though.
Well maybe hers. Just a little.
Ava inhaled, trying to remember all the reasons she hadn’t kissed him on the ferry the other night.
She couldn’t remember a damned one.
“Stop flirting,” she said, desperate to get them to safer ground. “You’ve been whining for two weeks about how I’m prying into your life. Here’s your chance to pry into mine.”
He dunked another piece of bread in the flavored oil as he considered. “Okay then. I do have a question that’s a little bit…prying.”
“Bring it,” she said, hoping he didn’t notice the way her shoulders hunched. She didn’t have any intention of letting him get too personal. She was much too skilled at evasions. But that didn’t mean she wasn’t a little worried about him getting beneath her skin.
“Well I’m just wondering…how short was that cheerleading skirt?”
Ava blinked a little in…disappointment?
Obviously Luc had every intention of keeping the evening flirty and superficial.
She should be grateful. Hell, hadn’t the thought just crossed her mind that she didn’t want him to get too close?
But if she was honest with herself—really good and honest with her apparently fickle brain—a little part of her wanted Luc to ask the hard questions.
To know more about the real Ava, not Ava Sims, journalist.
But it wasn’t her brain that wanted that.
And no way was she going to put her heart out there when the guy couldn’t even bother to ask.
Instead of letting on to her disappointment, she gave him a saucy wink. “It was as short as you’re hoping it was.”
“I knew it. You were my high school fantasy.”
But not your adult fantasy?
Ava was saved from having to follow that thought by the arrival of their entrées.
“A piece of your duck for a bite of my steak?” he said after gesturing for the server to bring them another round of wine.
She didn’t stop him.
Superficial conversation or not, having a long, lingering meal with a guy who was straight-up decent was too nice to pass up.
They exchanged bites of their entrées, and Ava didn’t protest when he snagged another bite of her truffled mashed potatoes as though it were his right. He didn’t even blink when she helped herself to a Brussels sprout on his plate that tasted way better than any cabbage had a right to taste.
They ate in companionable silence for a few moments until Ava felt his gaze on her. She looked up at him. “What?”
“Do you do this often?” he asked.
“Eat dinner?”
He smiled his slow, dangerous smile. “Don’t be a smart ass. I mean eat dinner with a man. Go on dates.”
Ava took a tiny sip of wine, trying to ignore the thrill that went through her. So maybe he did care about getting to know her after all. He hardly sounded jealous, but he did sound…interested.
“Not much recently,” she said. “I used to try a little harder to date. It’s what single twenty-something women in New York are supposed to do, but…”
“But?”
She gave him a toothy smile. “Men are shits.”
He laid a hand over his chest. “You wound me.”
“I didn’t say you were a shit.”
“But you sometimes think so. Admit it.”
“I may or may not be revising my opinion,” she said after taking a sip of wine.
“I knew it. You did keep that ticket as a memento of your feelings for me. How did your boyfriend feel about that?”
This time Ava’s smile was wide and genuine. “I give you a free pass to dig into my entire personal life, and you seem to be focusing only on my romantic endeavors, Officer Moretti. Why is that?”
She awaited the flirtatious banter that rolled off him so easily, but to her surprise, his expression went serious.
“I can venture into other topics if you want, but somehow I don’t think you’re going to like them.”
Ava’s smile slipped. “Meaning?”
He leaned forward, his expression more intense than before. “That first day in Captain Brinker’s office…I didn’t bother to hide the fact that I wanted no part in this damn news special. But my cop instincts were telling me that you didn’t want any part in it either. Explain that.”
The bite of duck Ava had just put in her mouth suddenly seemed to dry and swell up on her, and she forced herself to chew slowly and methodically as she reached for her water.
Finally the piece of meat went down, and she was able to respond.
Only to realize she had nothing to say.
Journalists were good at evasive bullshitting. Ava in particular was great at it; it was the only way to explain away why you were somewhere you shouldn’t be when researching a story, and the occasional white lie here and there wasn’t unheard of to get interview subjects to open up and spill their guts.
But she and Luc seemed past that somehow. And so she didn’t quite lie.
She did, however, evade.
“Maybe your cop instincts were wrong,” she said, forcing herself to meet his gaze with a steady, bland look of her own.
“They haven’t been yet.”
She leaned forward. “Oh, come on. You’re telling me you’ve never made a mistake.”
His eyes shadowed before he looked away and picked up his wine. “I didn’t say that. I said that my instincts were never wrong.”
Ava studied him. It was an interesting and precise evasion. If he admitted to mistakes but also stood by his claim that his instincts were never wrong, it meant that his mistakes must center around not acting on his instincts.
“You mean like—”
Ava broke off, suddenly unsure she wanted to go in this direction. Not when he’d just finally started to relax around her.
“Do I mean like what?” he asked, his voice sharp.
You mean like the Shayna Johnson case. The one where a little girl ended up dead. Where were your instincts then?
But she couldn’t ask him that. Not only because she wasn’t at all sure she’d get a straight answer, but because she knew very well what her bosses would say to that little development in her story: cut it.
There was no room for pesky things like kidnapping and police error and the truth in her line of work.
“Never mind,” she said, forcing a smile.
Luc had set his fork aside and continued to study her. “You’re hiding something, Sims. Holding back on me.”
“I am,” she said honestly. “Just like you’re holding back on me.”
He lifted his glass as though to toast her. “To secrets.”
She rolled her eyes, even as she mimicked his motion. “To secrets you get to keep for now.”
He was silent for a few moments longer before he seemed to shake off whatever dark cloud had hovered around him. “Okay, but at least tell me this, Sims.”
“What?” She was curious.
“This story wasn’t your idea, was it?”
She grimaced. “No. What gave me away?”
He shrugged. “It seemed too tame for you. Your clothes and plastic smile all said that you were merely a network lackey following through on your assignment,” he replied. “But your eyes said otherwise.”
Ava groaned. “Oh, come on, Moretti. I’m going to have to retract my statement about you being good with the ladies if you feed me some garbage about being able to ‘read
my eyes.’”
“Ah, Sims. Such a cynic.”
“Realist,” she said, tapping a fingernail on the table. “Facial expressions and tone might give things away, but eyes are eyes. They’re blue, they’re brown, they blink, but they don’t tell stories.”
“You’re wrong,” he said, so confidently that she almost believed him. Almost.
“So tell me, then, Officer. What was it you saw in my eyes that day?” She fluttered her eyelashes dramatically.
He cut a tidy piece of steak and surprised the hell out of her by offering her the bite on his fork as he held her gaze, and God help her, Ava actually found herself leaning forward and nipping the juicy piece of meat between her teeth.
Luc gave her a slow smile.
“Hunger.”
“I’m sorry?”
“Hunger was what I saw that day,” he said, helping himself to another bite of her mashed potatoes. “I couldn’t place it at first—”
“Because it wasn’t there shining in my eyes,” she interrupted.
“—But after you walked away I realized…you’re not the type of woman who wants a story that’s handed to her. You’re the type of woman who wants the story she has to chase.”
Ava blinked. The observation was so shrewd, so dead-on, that she nearly gave him a round of applause.
“You’re wrong,” she lied, sitting back and studying him.
He grinned. “Am I?”
Ava sucked the inside of her cheek between her teeth and considered her best move.
The woman in her was dying to tell him the truth…to tell him everything about her, the way she would if they were just Ava and Luc.
But they weren’t Ava and Luc. They were Ava Sims, reporting for CBC, and Officer Luc Moretti.
If she told him the truth—that she really did like a story she had to chase after—he’d run.
Because Ava would bet serious money that Luc was that story. And not in the way her bosses expected.
Still, she had to give him something. Wasn’t the entire point of this dinner to earn his trust?
To let him into her life a little so he’d let her into his?
The more she scraped beneath the gorgeous surface of Officer Moretti, the more she realized that he wasn’t the open book he pretended to be.
And if she wanted to find out what really happened to Shayna Johnson, she was going to have to put a little skin in the game.
“Okay,” she said, allowing only the smallest sigh. “You caught me. The truth is, these fluffy, shiny pieces…the three-hour scripted specials…I don’t love them.”
He sipped his wine and watched her. “Then why did you agree to it?”
She fiddled with her fork. “It’s a no-brainer. When your boss’s boss offers you a prime-time slot, you take it. Especially when…”
“Especially when…?” he prompted when she broke off.
“Especially when Gwen Garrison is getting ready to retire. And that’s confidential,” she said, jabbing a finger in his direction. “Don’t tell a soul.”
“Believe me, I won’t,” he said with a little laugh. “I don’t even know who Gwen Garrison is.”
A laugh bubbled out of Ava. A genuine one. He didn’t know who Gwen Garrison was. The most famous anchorwoman on television, and he didn’t know her.
It figured. Figured that she’d fall for the one guy who couldn’t care less how close she was to the big time. Didn’t even know what the big time was.
And she was falling for Luc. She couldn’t deny that now.
She idly scratched her temple. “Let’s just say that if all goes according to plan, I’ll be the next Gwen Garrison.”
“And that’s a good thing?”
“It’s a huge thing,” she replied.
Luc’s blue eyes held hers. “That’s not what I asked. I asked if it was a good thing.”
“Yeah,” she said, her voice tripping over the lie. “Of course.”
His eyes flickered with some emotion she didn’t yet recognize from him…disappointment?
But instead of pressing her, he merely picked up his fork and resumed eating. “Say what you want, Sims. I think we both know this whole thing is all because you’ve been pining for me for three long years since the parking ticket incident.”
“Yes, that’s definitely it,” she said, knowing he was letting her off the hook. “I spent three years in the prime of my life lusting after a traffic patrol officer who gave my news van a parking ticket, and decided that rather than just call him up and ask him out on a date, I’d mastermind a national television series on him.”
Luc nodded. “I like a woman that goes after what she wants. As long as she’s gorgeous and what she wants is me.”
Ava refused to let herself blush because he called her gorgeous. It was just a line. She knew it was a line. And yet…
“I never said I want you,” she said.
“You didn’t have to, Sims.” He winked. “It’s all right there in your eyes, baby. All in the eyes.”
Ava took a bite of duck and shook her head. “You’re a piece of work, Officer.”
And I like you, she added silently. Very much.
After dinner, Ava let him walk her home. And by let, she actually crossed her fingers in hopes that he would offer.
He did.
“I still can’t believe you paid for dinner,” Ava said, giving him a chiding look as they strolled in the general direction of her apartment.
He glanced down at her. “Let a woman pay on the first date? Never.”
“I told you, the station would pay,” she said. “And the fact that my employer would foot the bill should make it rather clear that it wasn’t a date.”
He smiled and held her elbow as they crossed an uneven part of the sidewalk so she wouldn’t teeter in her high heels. “You keep telling yourself that, Sims.”
She huffed out a breath.
He really was cocky as all hell. He’d slipped the server his credit card while she was checking her phone. It wouldn’t have bothered her if she hadn’t known that his cop salary likely didn’t have room for trendy dinners. Especially when it had been her idea.
But he was right about one thing…
It had felt a bit like a date. Even more so now that he was walking her home on a warm spring evening.
“So you never answered my question,” Luc said as they wove around a group of drunken businessmen. “Why did you trick us into this story?”
She glanced up at him, making her eyes go wide. “It isn’t all written right here, in my eyes?”
He gave a half smile. “That only gives me the highlights. I want the full version. The what-makes-Ava-tick account.”
She looked away. “I don’t know how to explain it without sounding…driven. Ambitious. Aggressive.”
“Well good news, Sims, the cat’s already out of the bag on all those traits.”
His tone was teasing, but her smile slipped a little all the same.
It was true…she was driven in her desire to succeed in her career. And that trait had never bothered her before.
If anything, she’d been proud of being a modern woman, or whatever.
But tonight, she was seeing herself through Luc Moretti’s eyes. And Ava wasn’t entirely sure she liked what she saw.
Still, she had promised him the truth, so…
“I want to be anchorwoman,” she said, stopping when she realized they were outside her apartment building.
He stopped and turned to face her. “Sounds like a reasonable goal for a TV reporter.”
Ava shrugged, feeling oddly restless. “Yeah. But it’s competitive and political, and I’m worried by the time something opens up, I’ll be too old.”
Luc’s eyebrows lifted. “Old? You’re what, twenty-five?”
“Twenty-eight. And don’t start in on me about how I’m a spring chicken with my whole life ahead of me, because time and age work differently in TV.”
“If I look like the type of guy that would use th
e phrase ‘spring chicken,’ I need to do some serious reevaluating of my manliness.”
Trust me. Your manliness is just fine.
Two women came out of Ava’s apartment building, and she gave them a little smile and wave. Like most New Yorkers, she wasn’t necessarily buddy-buddy with her neighbors, but you never knew when you’d need someone to pick up your mail or loan you coffee.
One of them gave Ava a little wave, but the other was too busy checking out Luc, and curse the man, he wasn’t exactly oblivious to the attention. He stuck his hands in the back pocket of his jeans and smiled, looking very much like a gorgeous single guy and less like the superstar cop.
“Did you just wink at that girl?” Ava asked incredulously after the two women were out of earshot.
“What’s it to you if I did, Sims?”
“Nothing.” She pursed her lips. “For a self-proclaimed ladies’ man, I thought you’d have smoother moves.”
“Could be that my moves are so smooth you don’t even know they’re moves.”
“Doubtful, Lothario. Most women over the age of fourteen know when a guy’s into them.”
He gave her a crooked smile. “Do they?”
For a second her breath caught, and she might as well be back in tenth grade because she really, really wanted to ask if he was implying what she thought he might be implying…that he was into her.
But before she could get up the courage to ask, he poured ice water all over the moment. “So you never really answered the question…am I your ticket to the anchor seat?”
Right. Right. Because ultimately this evening wasn’t about winning over Luc, it was about gaining Officer Moretti’s trust. And to do that, she needed to lay all her cards on the table.
Almost all her cards.
“Yes,” she said succinctly. “I heard about your hero antics, saw the videos, and followed my instincts that it could make for a career-changing story.”
Luc studied her as he rocked back a little on his heels. “The thing is, Sims, I’m not sure you’re right about that. At the end of the day, I’m just a man in a uniform, you know?”
His expression was so open and honest that her heart melted.
Just a little.
Sometimes Ava felt like she had a little wall of ice around her emotions. Not because of any traumatic breakup, or angsty romantic past, but just like she was sort of born without that softness that most of her girlfriends seemed to have.
