After The Fire (One Pass Away Book 3)

by Mary J. Williams

  “You’re the second person to ask me that question.”

  “What’s the answer?”

  “I’m free as a bird. Unless this is about business. Then I’m busy. Booked solid.” Gaige knew that look. He could feel his hope for a quiet evening slipping away.

  “It’s business related.” Terrance smiled when Gaige groaned. “But there is a big spoonful of sugar to help the medicine go down.”

  “I’m listening,” Gaige said warily.

  “Dinner with a beautiful woman.”

  “I’m with you so far. Where does the business come in?”

  “She’s the ophthalmologist we’re trying to talk into joining the board. She flew in this afternoon. There’s a formal meeting set up for tomorrow.”

  “But you want me to soften her up tonight.” Gaige was fine with that. Up to a point. “How soft are we talking?”

  “Don’t worry, your virtue is safe. I’m not asking you to prostitute yourself for the cause. Besides, Dr. Reed doesn’t strike me as the type of woman who would be into that. Even from you.”

  “I wasn’t worried about my virtue,” Gaige laughed. “Wait. Did you say Dr. Reed?”

  In the middle of refilling his cup, Terrance didn’t see Gaige’s reaction. Disbelief, followed by shock. He held his breath, waiting for Terrance to respond. It had been sixteen years since he had heard that name except in his memories. Perhaps he had misunderstood.

  “That’s right. Dr. Violet Reed. I met with her in New York last week. What?” Terrance set his coffee on his desk. “From the expression on your face, I’d say you aren’t thrilled with my news. Do you know Dr. Reed?”

  “No, I don’t know her.” Not the woman she was today. “Where’s she staying?”

  Terrance mentioned a hotel near downtown. “But if you would like to meet her now, Calvin is introducing her around the offices.”

  “She’s here? Now?”

  Gaige sat up straight. He looked down, checking out what he was wearing. Casual but clean and neat. If he remembered correctly, it wasn’t very different than the kind of thing he wore sixteen years ago—not that it would matter to Violet. She hadn’t seen his clothing. Or his face.

  “Gaige?”

  He jumped at the touch of Terrance’s hand on his shoulder.

  “What is wrong with you?”

  “Nothing. May I use your bathroom?”

  “Sure. Aren’t you feeling well?”

  “I’m fine.”

  Gaige flipped on the light and closed the bathroom door. Was he fine? His hand trembled—not a lot. But enough for him to notice. Gripping the edge of the counter, he leaned close to the mirror. He looked at himself every day. When he shaved or brushed his teeth. He was a man who paid attention to his appearance. Took care of himself. He had to. His body was his livelihood.

  Gaige Benson—the face of Seattle football.

  His picture was everywhere. On billboards. On the side of buses. Banners. T-shirts. Coffee mugs. One couldn’t walk anywhere in the city without running into his picture. Then there were the national and international commercials. When he stopped to think about it, Gaige was sick of seeing himself. He couldn’t imagine why the rest of the world didn’t feel the same.

  But this was the first time he really stopped and assessed how he looked. As a thirty-eight-year-old man who was about to meet a woman he hadn’t seen for sixteen years.

  Had she looked him up online? God. Gaige couldn’t imagine the hodgepodge of articles and pictures she would have found. His football life was well documented. His high school stats. College. His career with the Knights. It was all there. Nothing to be ashamed of.

  Then there was his personal life. He was single. Never married—nor engaged. Not even close. But there had been women. Many, many women. Google his name and the digital scrapbook would dazzle the most casual observer. Models. Actresses. Politicians. Teachers. The job didn’t matter. As long as he found her attractive, Gaige was an equal opportunity dater.

  Fine lines surrounded his eyes. Not bad. He moisturized like any smart twenty-first-century male. His green eyes were bright and clear. Running his hand through his short blond hair, Gaige looked for gray hairs. None. Not a single one. Firm chin and jowls—no visible sagging. Not bad. His teammates might jokingly call him old man, but in his estimation, he didn’t look a day over thirty.

  And Violet didn’t look a day older than the first time he saw her. That slight figure he saved from sliding off her hospital bed.

  How did he know? Because like his life, Violet’s was right there for him to see—documented in vivid color.

  There were times when Gaige cursed the internet. He wasn’t allowed to speak with her. Or touch her. But he could see her anytime his heart desired. Pleasure and pain.

  Violet’s eyes were blue. And her smile hadn’t changed. That beautiful smile that haunted his dreams.

  Gaige scrubbed a hand over his face. Damn it. He felt like an untried kid—hesitant and unsure of his next move. Fuck that. He straightened, shoulders back. She had come to him. Her choice.

  Her choice. It always had been. After all this time, Violet had chosen to visit him on his turf. He didn’t know why she was here, or what she wanted. But he sure as hell would find out.

  “I EXPECTED RAIN.” Violet followed her guide down the hall. “When I stepped out of the airport, I was greeted with bright sunshine.”

  Calvin Peterson nodded. “Seattle will do that to you. She likes to put her best foot forward, lulling you into a false sense of security. Then, boom. Two straight weeks of drizzle. But that’s fall and winter. And spring. Summer is gorgeous.”

  “You sound like you love it here.”

  “When I was eighteen, I moved here from Arizona. I had a scholarship to the University of Washington. I grew up surrounded by desert. I was here less than a week, and I knew I would spend the rest of my life by the water.”

  “What a lovely way of putting it.”

  “Calvin has the soul of a poet, Dr. Reed. And the taste buds of a five-year-old.” A smartly dressed redhead held out her hand. “I’m Marsha Weinstein. I’m the numbers cruncher.”

  Violet shook the woman’s hand. Marsha was pretty, with wide-set brown eyes and a friendly smile. She guessed they were close to the same age.

  “Then you’re the real brains of the operation.”

  “Oh, I like you,” Marsha laughed.

  “Big man in the building,” an excited disembodied voice called out from inside one of the open office doors.

  “Get over it, Link,” Calvin called out. He turned to Violet. “Link has worked here for three years, yet he acts like a kid when Gaige is around.”

  Violet knew this moment would come. But she hadn’t expected it quite yet. They were supposed to meet at dinner. She planned on taking a long shower and spending time getting her makeup just right. She had imagined Gaige’s reaction when he saw her in the new dress she carefully hung in her hotel room closet. Blue. It brought out the color of her eyes.

  She desperately wanted him to notice her eyes.

  “Don’t be nervous.” Marsha noticed the way Violet’s hands clutched her purse. “Gaige Benson might look like he stepped from the heavens, but he’s a sweetheart.”

  “Now who’s the poet,” Calvin snorted. “Stepped from the heavens. Gaige will love that one.”

  “Tell him and I’ll leak that you sleep under Seattle Knight sheets. And matching blankie.”

  “If you do, I’ll spill the beans on how you found out.”

  That shut Marsha up. When she glared at Calvin, his neck turned red, the color spreading up and over his face.

  “I’m sorry, Marsha.”

  “I’m sorry.” Marsha didn’t direct the apology toward Calvin. “Dr. Reed, you must think you’re dealing with a bunch of high schoolers. I assure you, most of the time we conduct ourselves with the utmost professionalism. Gaige wouldn’t have it any other way.”

  Violet swallowed her nerves long enough to reassure Marsha.r />
  “I work in a hospital. The things that go on there would make the doctors on Grey’s Anatomy blush.”

  “Really?” Marsha’s eyes sparked with interest. “Like what?”

  “Marsha!” Calvin gave her a long, meaningful look.

  “Oops. Sorry again.”

  Violet gave Marsha a vague smile, her thoughts on her imminent meeting with Gaige. Stay or run? Would a few hours make that much difference? She looked down at her casual flats and neat but unexciting beige linen pants and dark brown jacket. Vanity—and a major case of nerves—won out

  “Would you mind if I cut this short? I have a bit of a headache.” The oldest excuse in the book. Violet hated using it, but desperate times and all that.

  “I’m sorry.” Marsha looked genuinely concerned. “Would you like me to tell Gaige you can’t make it tonight?

  “No!” Did that sound as desperate as she thought? Violet took a deep breath and toned it down. “I’ll take a few aspirin and a hot shower. By seven o’clock I’ll be good to go.”

  At least Violet hoped she would be ready. She knew how she wanted to look. Knew exactly what she wanted to say. She had rehearsed it in her head a thousand times. Her first meeting with Gaige. The first time she would look into his eyes.

  Would she know right away? Her feelings were a jumble. Would Gaige’s expression tell her anything about his? Violet knew it was crazy to pin her hopes on one moment. She had so much more information than Gaige did. It wasn’t fair to expect anything from him—not right away. But please, Violet mentally crossed her fingers, she dreaded the idea of seeing indifference in his gaze. Anger she could deal with. A spark of interest would quiet the butterflies in her stomach.

  But if he simply didn’t care? That would be the cruelest blow of all.

  “IS DR. REED on her way?”

  “She left.”

  “Seattle?” Gaige looked at his watch. How long was he in the bathroom?

  “What?” Terrance gave him a strange look. “Of course not. According to Wendy, Dr. Reed had a slight headache and went back to her hotel room.”

  Gaige felt a wave of dueling emotions. Relief and disappointment. Then a touch of anger. Was she playing with him?

  “Did she know I was in the building?”

  “I don’t know. Does it matter?”

  “Maybe. I don’t know yet.”

  “What the hell is going on, Gaige?” Terrance crossed his arms. He waited, his silence a tool to draw out the truth. It had worked on more than one occasion, but not today.

  “Is dinner still on?”

  Terrance’s eyes narrowed, but when Gaige didn’t budge, he sighed, relaxing his stance.

  “I told her you would meet her at the hotel bar. Seven sharp. And Gaige,” Terrance added as he was walking out of the office.

  “Yes?”

  “Whatever your problem is with Dr. Reed? Keep it to yourself. We want her to accept our offer. Don’t scare her off.” For good measure, he added, “And for Christ’s sake, don’t sleep with her.”

  Gaige took the elevator to the lobby. Scare Violet off? He was the one with jittery hands. He used the remote to unlock his car, then sat staring sightlessly out the window.

  Don’t sleep with her.

  Gaige groaned. He wasn’t used to self-denial. If he wanted a woman—and the feeling was mutual—he acted on his desire. The last time he hadn’t was with Violet. They held hands—that was it. Not even a kiss. It was doubtful that would change.

  In all likelihood, Violet was in Seattle because she was intrigued by Terrance’s offer. She was a highly respected doctor. From what he read, she was dedicated to her work. Only a fool would let a blip from the past get in the way of such an amazing opportunity. His foundation was willing to write her what amounted to a blank check. Stem cell research was still in its infancy, and they were offering her a chance to be at the forefront of pushing it to the next level—and beyond.

  They would meet for dinner. Spend a few minutes clearing the air, and move on. He would move on. It was clear that Violet had a long time ago.

  If—for old time’s sake—she asked him to sleep with her? If she wanted to take care of an old itch—just once? Would he do it? Gaige wasn’t proud of the answer, but he knew himself too well. Sex with Violet Reed? Hell yes. He had fantasized about it for years. Only a fool would turn down the chance to be with the one woman he had never been able to forget.

  Gaige was many things—not all of them good. But he was not now, nor had he ever been, a fool.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  “WHITE WINE, PLEASE. Something dry.”

  Violet smiled at the bartender. The crowd was small. In truth, calling it a crowd would be an exaggeration. Half a dozen people nursing their drinks on a Monday evening. The woman behind the bar—Karla, according to her nametag—was quick and efficient. And if Violet wasn’t mistaken, bored out of her mind.

  “This is a local Sauvignon Blanc.” Karla set the glass in front of Violet. “It’s new, at least here at the bar. I would love to know what you think.”

  Taking a sip, Violet let the liquid rest on her tongue before swirling around her mouth. Her ex-husband had been a wine snob, insisting that Violet learn the proper way to appreciate what she was drinking. The marriage hadn’t lasted, but Monty had made one lasting contribution to her life. She knew when a vintage was good, bad, or in this case, fantastic.

  “It’s wonderful.” Violet took another sip, savoring the crisp, fruity flavor. “You say it’s made by a local winery?”

  Karla showed her the bottle. “Full disclosure? My boyfriend owns Stellar Farms. He’s been at it ten years. His product has always been good, but this one is his pride and joy.”

  “I can see why. I would love to buy a few cases. Some for myself and some to give as gifts.”

  “I just happen to keep his card handy.” Laughing, Karla handed it to Violet.

  “As any good girlfriend should.” Violet tucked it into her wallet. Since Karla seemed inclined to talk, she asked, “Are you from the area?”

  “Born and raised. Though I originated on the other side of the state. I moved to Seattle about five years ago.”

  “To be near your boyfriend?”

  Karla nodded. The slender blonde appeared to be in her late twenties. Her dark eyes were expressive. At the moment, they were filled with self-deprecating humor. “I’m the cliché that proves the rule—or something like that. I met Dale at a weekend wedding in Spokane. On Monday, I was in the passenger seat of his old Ford pickup. Crazy, huh?”

  “A little. But also incredibly brave. You took a chance. It’s been five years, so it must have been the right decision.”

  “Sometimes he drives me crazy, but he’s the love of my life. I can’t imagine my life without him.”

  Violet wondered what that was like—to feel so strongly about another person. She hadn’t loved Monty. She married him because they had similar interests and because her mother kept going on and on about what a good match he was. Violet sometimes wondered if she said yes just to get her mother off her back.

  It hadn’t been a solid reason. The marriage lasted three drawn-out years. Violet had known before the honeymoon was over that she made a mistake. But it was easier to stay married—at least at first. Monty was busy. She was busier. They rarely saw each other. If he hadn’t decided to screw his secretary—and get caught doing it by a big-mouth associate—she might still be in the dead-end relationship. It spoke volumes when her reaction to her husband’s infidelity wasn’t anger or sorrow, but extreme relief.

  “Listen to me. I’m the bartender. It’s my job to ask you questions, not the other way around.” Karla’s smile widened. “Are you in town for business or pleasure?”

  “Good question.” When Karla raised a questioning eyebrow, Violet shrugged. “It’s a long story. And I know everyone says that, but trust me, this one really is. Let’s leave it at I’m here on business, the rest is up in the air.”

  “Fair enough.” Karla
let out a low wolf whistle. “If I were to ever to cheat on Dale—and trust me, I wouldn’t. But there is the man who would make it damn hard to say no.”

  Violet swiveled her barstool to face in the direction of Karla’s gaze. She wasn’t surprised to see Gaige standing at the entrance.

  “Gaige Benson. Sex on a tall, gorgeous stick. Dale might understand if that guy lured me off the rails. My fella has a major man-crush.” Karla sighed. “Can you blame him?”

  Violet had no arguments. Or words.

  She had returned to the hotel, tail tucked firmly between her legs. She felt like an idiot for running, but there it was. Rather than brood about her cowardice, she spent her time wisely—getting ready for her dinner with Gaige.

  The hotel was luxurious, filled with every amenity imaginable—a fact of which Violet took full advantage. She had booked a massage as soon as she checked in, and was grateful for the forethought. Her masseuse knew exactly how to work the tight muscles, working closely on her shoulders. Magic fingers. By the end of the hour, Violet felt loose and relaxed.

  A long, hot shower followed by an hour of pampering herself. Lightly scented lotion smoothed over her skin, a routine she followed daily. But she didn’t usually spend as much time on her hair and makeup.

  Violet’s days were filled with consultations and hospital rounds. Looking like she had stepped off the cover of Vogue wasn’t a priority. Neat and professional. That was her goal. If her lipstick was eaten off by eight o’clock, so be it. Her patients wanted a competent doctor—not a fashion model.

  Tonight was different—to put it mildly. For the first time in a long time, Violet wanted to knock a man’s socks off. She knew what she had to work with, and—ego aside—it was pretty damn good. Nice face. Good figure. A little color added to her cheeks and eyes. And a dress that enticingly hugged her curves. She felt confident. Sexy. And ready to take on Gaige Benson.

  Then she saw him. Not a picture on the internet or an image on the television. In the flesh. The speech she had so carefully rehearsed flew from her head. That is the most beautiful man I have ever seen.