by Melody Grace
“I don’t think that would be a good idea,” she said finally, and his heart sank. “I have plans. And besides, we’re not . . . I mean, I don’t . . .” Eliza trailed off, looking uneasy, and Cal was suddenly reminded of his first week at prep school, when he’d stood in gym class for what seemed like forever, waiting for someone to pick him for a team.
“Of course,” he said, forcing a smile. “Forget I said anything.”
“I just mean . . . we’d probably end up throwing things before our food even arrived,” Eliza said with a wry smile. “And I don’t know about you, but a public disorder citation isn’t exactly going to help my CV.”
“Right.” He cleared his throat again. “Well, I’m sure I’ll see you around.”
He turned and walked briskly away, before he could embarrass himself even more. Clearly, Eliza hadn’t been replaying their kiss together like an old movie on the big screen. It was time he gave Declan that call and put Eliza Bennett out of his mind for good.
8
What did you do that for?” Brooke scolded her, when Eliza recounted the run-in with Cal. It was late, and she’d driven over to Brooke’s place after her shift at the restaurant to split a bottle of wine—and some of the leftover bourguignon from that night’s special.
“What do you mean?” Eliza spooned the broth out of its Tupperware container and added some crusty French bread she’d snagged from the stale pile.
“Cal!” Brooke exclaimed, pouring the wine. “You turned him down!”
“Yes,” Eliza said slowly. “Because I just explained all the reasons why he’s the most infuriating, arrogant man around.”
“Who you have long, lustful daydreams about,” Brooke added. She tasted the stew and made a blissful noise.
“Right?” Eliza agreed. “It’s a good thing I’m running around all the time on my shift, otherwise I’d be putting on so much leftovers weight.”
“Worth it,” Brooke declared. “Can you bring the wine glasses down?”
“As long as you promise not to bug me about Cal.”
Brooke grinned and kissed her on the cheek. “Now what kind of friend would I be to make a promise like that?”
She took their plates and danced outside before Eliza could protest. Eliza grabbed their glasses and joined her down in the small courtyard, where a little bistro table was set up among the tangle of potted plants and fruit trees. “I should ask your landlord to write a column,” she mused, looking around at the magical little space. “I need a new gardening expert.”
“I just hired a landscape design guy at the hotel,” Brooke suggested, tearing off a hunk of bread. “He’s young, and hot—in a kind of rugged, wind-beaten way. Maybe I’ll set you up if this thing with Cal doesn’t work out.”
“There is no thing!” Eliza protested. But this wasn’t her mom, and Brooke knew her too well to be fooled by the denials. Eliza gulped some wine. “OK, maybe there could be a thing,” she admitted. “But why even bother, when it’s doomed to fail? I mean, I can’t spend five minutes with the guy without starting a fight. He just brings out the worst in me.”
“Or, he’s getting under your skin because he’s the first guy you’ve really liked in a long time,” Brooke pointed out.
“I’ve liked guys!” Eliza said. “I dated that veterinarian, and that guy who traded bitcoin on the internet.”
“You texted begging for a fake emergency call,” Brooke corrected her. “And Clive, or whatever his name was? You went on like, three dates, and the best you could manage was that he was ‘nice enough.’ ”
“He was.”
“ ‘Nice enough’ is when you settle for leftovers because you’re hungry and forgot to plan lunch. It’s not a recipe for soul-shaking love until death do you part,” Brooke pointed out, smiling.
“If that’s the standard I’m holding my dates to, then I’m going to stay single a long time.” Eliza laughed.
“Unless you take a chance on someone who actually makes you feel something,” Brooke said meaningfully.
“Sure, like annoyed, irritated, aggravated . . .”
Brooke laughed. “I get it, Ms. Thesaurus. But I saw you and Cal together at the party last night. You guys have it.”
“Impetigo?”
“No,” Brooke laughed. “Sparks.”
“Sparks cause fires. Fires burn things down.” Eliza refilled her wineglass. She didn’t know why Brooke was being so insistent about this. Surely everyone could see what a spectacularly bad match she and Cal would be? “I know his type. Believe me, I dated his type—back in college, before I knew better.”
“Sometimes people surprise you.” Brooke gave a little smile. “I had Riley written off as an irredeemable playboy. But . . .”
“He’s different.”
“I didn’t know that at the time.” Brooke shrugged. “But I got to know him, and I saw there was another side to him, too.”
Eliza paused. She’d glimpsed more to Cal the other night, hadn’t she? Walking on the beach, talking like old friends. Connecting.
“So, what’s the hot new trend for spring weddings?” she asked, changing the subject. “Still setting Instagram on fire?”
“I get the hint.” Brooke grinned. “And it’s vertical florals, not that you really care.”
“Vertical what now?” Eliza asked, confused.
“Flower walls,” Brooke explained. “Turns out, brides go crazy for a photo backdrop. Throw in some neon signs, and they’re posting all over social media.”
“To Instagram.” Eliza raised her glass in a toast. “Cheers.”
* * *
It was midnight before Eliza climbed back behind the wheel—with a tupperware container of wedding cake samples—and headed for home. It was a cool night, but she rolled the windows down and let the wind whip around her, needing to clear her head.
Was Brooke right, was she pushing Cal away because she felt so off balance around him? The bickering, the banter . . . He was arrogant and infuriating, sure, but she couldn’t deny the heat between them, too.
The smoldering, tear-your-clothes-off heat that flared to life whenever they spent any time together at all.
Her solution to that particular problem was vowing to stay away, but what if it was a sign to move in closer instead, and actually explore why this man seemed to drive her so crazy?
Eliza sighed, idly tapping the wheel as her headlights cut through the dark. Her romantic history the past few years hadn’t been the best. She went on plenty of dates, but somehow, nothing ever sparked. They guys were nice enough, and with her journalist experience, she always found a way to keep a conversation going, but after they parted ways—with an awkward hug, or a sloppy kiss—the guys always seemed to fade into the background. She couldn’t understand it. When it came to her job, she had passion to spare, but Random Tinder Date #17? Not so much.
Sparked. There that word was again. She rolled it over in her mind. A flicker of electricity that hinted at so much more.
She wanted sparks, didn’t she? Wild passion, something real and raw. But was it worth burning her whole world down? She couldn’t spend five minutes with Cal without wanting to scream—and not even in an “oh, yes, more!” kind of way.
He got to her. Itching beneath the surface, always needing to get the last word. She couldn’t remember getting riled up by a man like this in . . . forever. It made her wonder what it would be like with him, turning their fights into something more, well, naked.
Eliza’s mind drifted, back to that kiss. The rush. The heat. The nerve of him! It was arrogant, and way over the line . . .
And the hottest ten seconds of her life, so far.
She was so wrapped up in remembering the feel of his body, crushed against her, that she almost missed the turn from the highway. She pulled down the road just in time, bumping over the sandy potholes until she reached the beach house. Eliza shut off the engine and sat there a moment in the dark.
No matter how hard she tried to deny it, she wanted more.
Much more. But no kiss could really have been that epic; she was building it up in her mind. And trying not to want Cal only made her think about him more.
So, maybe she’d been coming at this all wrong. Avoiding Cal only made it worse; perhaps the only way to get out of this, was through it. Exposure therapy, that was a thing, right? An hour or two in his presence, and she’d know for sure what a terrible match they would be. And a few more kisses . . . Well, the novelty would wear off, and he would become just as forgettable as all the other guys.
For the sake of her sanity, she was going to have to date the man.
Eliza pulled out her cellphone. She knew she had Cal’s number somewhere, and sure enough, it was buried in the email signature of one of those bland “Welcome to the Prescott Group” messages they’d sent after the takeover, along with some corporate waffle about accessibility and open-door management.
She took a deep breath and dialed.
“Hello?”
Eliza almost dropped the phone. It was late, and she’d been expecting his voicemail, but Cal’s voice came clear down the line. Sleepy and deep, just the sound made her stomach flip over—and her brain catch up long enough to wonder what she was doing.
“Is anyone there?” Cal asked again, and Eliza coughed.
“It’s me. Eliza. Sorry, it’s late. I shouldn’t have called.”
“No, that’s OK.” Cal’s voice was cautious. “Is everything alright?”
“Fine!” Eliza gulped. “I was just . . . Yes,” she said abruptly. “Let’s have dinner.”
“Oh.”
There was a long pause, and Eliza slowly hit her head against the steering wheel. What was she doing?
“When were you thinking?” Cal finally spoke.
“I’m off from the restaurant tomorrow.”
Thud. Thud.
“What’s that noise?” Cal asked, and Eliza stopped hitting her head.
“Hmm? I don’t hear a noise. So, dinner?”
“Sure, why not?” Cal said. “I’ll pick you up at seven?”
“See you then!” She hung up before she could take it back.
At least she had a plan now, she reassured herself as she climbed out of the car and circled around to the porch. Dinner, conversation, a little light make-out action. With any luck, Cal would be his arrogant, infuriating self, and any lingering sparks between them would be well and truly extinguished before they even got to dessert.
And then maybe, just maybe, she’d be able to get a good night’s sleep without picturing that handsome face . . . and that body . . . and his wicked, wicked mouth . . .
She couldn’t wait.
* * *
“You’re wearing that? On your big date?”
Eliza had just finished dressing the next evening when Paige appeared in her doorway, lugging an overnight bag. “You’re back!” Eliza threw her arms around her sister in a hug. “Thank you, thank you! Please, go run interference with Mom. Take her to get ice cream or something.”
“Are you kidding?” Paige smirked. “She’s camped out in the chair by the window, wearing her best pearls. She’s not leaving until she gets to deliver you into those eligible Prescott arms.”
Eliza groaned. “Oh God. I should call, have him meet me in town.”
“And break her poor, widowed heart?”
“Don’t!” Eliza shoved her playfully. “I should never have told her about dinner. She’s been bugging me all day about outfits and my hair.”
“And clearly, you didn’t listen to a word.” Paige surveyed her, looking quizzical. “This is a date, right?”
“Technically.” Eliza straightened her T-shirt and buttoned up her cut-off shorts. “But we’re just grabbing dinner.”
“Yeah, nope.” Paige dumped her bag and went to Eliza’s closet. “I’m all for being comfortable, but those are barely one step up from pajamas. Wear this.” She thrust a navy dress at her. Eliza thrust it back.
“That’s for job interviews!”
“Fine, then the black.” Paige picked another. “You can’t go wrong in a little black dress.”
Eliza shook her head. “I wore that to the funeral.”
Paige paused. “And you kept it?” She tossed it to the floor. “I burned mine.”
“You didn’t.”
“OK, I donated it,” Paige admitted. “Same thing. But I’m serious, why do you look like you just rolled in from a day at the beach? Don’t you like this guy?”
“Not really.” Eliza turned to the mirror and ran her fingers through her hair. She should really have washed it, but somehow, even that felt like making too much effort. She pushed it back behind her ears instead, and she slicked on some lip balm. When she turned back, Paige looked even more confused.
“Look, this is just a casual thing,” Eliza reassured her. “It’s the Cape! Nobody does fancy here. We’ll be eating fried oysters at a road-side shack.”
“Your shirt has a stain on it.”
“Fine, clean shirt!” Eliza grabbed a peasant-style blouse and quickly changed. “Happy now?”
Paige sighed. “Just tell me you’re wearing decent underwear.”
Eliza checked. “They have Mickey Mouse on them?”
Paige threw up her hands. “Have I taught you nothing?”
“Sorry.” Eliza kissed her cheek. “But all that silk and lace would be a waste. Believe me, these are staying buttoned tonight!”
The doorbell sounded, and Paige grinned. “Showtime.”
Eliza thundered down the stairs and stopped dead at the bottom. Cal was standing in the hallway, holding a bouquet of fresh-cut daisies. He was clean-shaven, sharply dressed, and delicious.
“Hi.” He stepped forward and kissed her lightly on the cheek. She caught a whiff of aftershave, something cool and fresh that went right to her head, before he stepped back.
Eliza tried to collect herself. Just because he was on her doorstep, looking like something out of an expensive photo shoot, it didn’t mean she had to swoon at his feet.
“You brought me flowers? Um, thanks.”
“They’re not for you,” Cal replied. “They’re for you,” he said, turning to her mother. Linda’s eyes just about bugged out of her head.
“Oh, they’re lovely! Aren’t you sweet? I’ll go put them in water.” She bustled off to the kitchen.
“Suck-up,” Eliza whispered.
Cal grinned. “Ready to go?”
“Sure, I’ll just grab my sweater.”
For a moment, Eliza was tempted to race back up the stairs and put on a different outfit. A pretty dress, like Paige had urged. Hell, even a coat of mascara. Cal looked thigh-clenchingly good, in a white button-down, open at his neck, and tailored navy pants. She’d never had a thing for guys in suits before, but he looked so casually commanding, she suddenly got the appeal.
She stopped herself. This wasn’t a real date. She was scratching the itch, that’s all.
Eliza retrieved her bag and followed him to the door. “Are you going already?” Her mom appeared in the hallway again, looking disappointed.
“I’m sorry, we have reservations.” Cal remained every inch the gentleman.
“Of course, silly me. Have fun,” her mom called, beaming, as Eliza hustled him out the door. “Don’t stay out too late!”
They stepped outside, and Eliza kept moving fast. “Never linger,” she told him, practically dragging him to the car. “She’ll have the baby photos out before you know it.”
He chuckled. “I could always call and move the table later . . .”
“Please, God, no.” Eliza reached for the passenger handle, but Cal got there first. He opened the door for her. “Thanks,” Eliza said, thrown, and got inside.
Cal circled around, and then took a seat behind the wheel. She watched as he rolled his shirt-sleeves up and expertly started the engine, turning on the radio and adjusting the mirror with assured movements before backing out of the drive.
The man even drove sexy.
“So how was
your day?” Cal asked as they pulled onto the highway. Eliza tried to get comfortable, but the leather seats and plush interior felt strange compared to her decades-old convertible.
“It was OK.” She sat back and awkwardly crossed her bare legs. “We don’t have to do all of this.”
“All of what?” Cal glanced over.
“This. Small talk. Appropriate date conversation.”
He seemed amused. “So what do you suggest we do instead?”
Eliza had plenty of ideas, but she wasn’t about to say them out loud. “I don’t know, just relax?”
“Because you look especially relaxed.” Cal’s lips quirked in amusement again.
“I’m fine,” Eliza lied, and she re-crossed her legs. “Completely comfortable.”
Cal exhaled in a long breath. “Look, I know we don’t always see eye to eye—”
“Understatement.”
“But tonight will probably go more smoothly if you stop taking everything I say as an insult.”
“I don’t!” Eliza protested.
Cal gave her a look. “Or a challenge.”
Eliza opened her mouth, and then closed it again. He had a point. “I’m not trying to be difficult,” she said. “But you have to admit, we don’t exactly have the best track record.”
“Which part?” Cal smiled. “The petty vandalism, the arguments, or the kiss?”
“The kissing was just fine,” Eliza muttered before she could stop herself. “It’s everything else you do that drives me crazy.”
“That kiss didn’t drive you crazy?” Cal stopped at a light, and when she glanced up, he was looking straight at her, his blue eyes full of intensity. “I’ll have to do better next time.”
Eliza’s stomach turned a slow pirouette.
Wow.
Cal turned back to the road and drove on, apparently oblivious to the heat suddenly rolling through Eliza’s body, circling lower. She felt flushed and off balance, her brain scrambling to find something witty to say next. But for the first time in her life, she was coming up blank.
