by Melody Grace
“But aren’t you always telling me that whoever we choose as a partner, we’re bringing them into the family?” Cal must have heard the lecture a hundred times, from everyone from his grandmother down to distant cousins. A Prescott bride will have responsibilities, just like he had. They would need to be at ease with the social scene, act as hostess for business functions and charity events alike, and always, always respect the traditions of the family.
Cal hadn’t taken their advice too seriously, but it had always been in the back of his mind. Besides, the circles he moved in, he couldn’t help but meet likely candidates: cultured, sophisticated women from the right families who would fit perfectly into the Prescott world . . .
If he hadn’t kept getting bored after just a few dates.
Maybe that was why Eliza was such a breath of fresh air. She didn’t care about his family or status. If anything, they counted against him. For once, he was trying to prove he was more than just the Prescott name.
And he liked it.
“All I’m saying is a real partner isn’t just someone who can host a tea party,” Tish said. “What about this Eliza? Is she another of your future socialites?”
Cal snorted, trying to imagine Eliza in pearls serving tea and cucumber sandwiches. “Definitely not. She’s a journalist,” he added. “She’s the one who wrote that profile of Aunt Julie.”
Tish almost spit out her ice cream. “Are you serious? Oh my God, my dad wanted to sue. And you’re dating her?”
Cal smiled. “I couldn’t help it.”
“Well . . .” Tish gave him another look, but this one was almost impressed. “Good luck, I guess.”
Cal didn’t reply, but he couldn’t resist pulling out his phone. Feeling better? he texted to Eliza.
A moment later, a reply came. Finally. I’ve never been so glad to take a shower.
Cal was slammed with a vision of her, naked under the spray.
How did breathing work again?
“You OK?” Tish’s voice came from beside him. “You look . . . tense.”
That was one way of putting it.
“I’m fine,” Cal said quickly, and tapped out a response on his phone. Want company next time?
A bubble of speech appeared on his screen, then disappeared again. He wondered what Eliza was typing—and deleting.
Did she have a spark of adrenaline in her veins, like him? Was she trying to compose just the right flirtatious message?
Finally, her message popped up.
No comment.
Cal couldn’t hide his smile. He glanced up to find Tish watching him, looking amused. “What?”
“Nothing.” She grinned. “Just, this is going to be interesting.”
Cal sure hoped so.
11
Eliza had thought she was too old for this. Composing flirty texts, obsessively checking her phone . . . But now she felt like a teenager all over again, her stomach turning an excited flip every time she heard the telltale buzz of a new notification.
So when do we try round two?
What, chicken pox? she typed back.
I was thinking a bout of flu, but I’m a flexible guy.
Oh, really?
;-)
The messages flew back and forth all day long, while Eliza tried to pull herself together. Nothing had happened, she told herself. Not really. Nothing except one epic kiss, days ago, and a strange night together on the bathroom floor. It didn’t make sense that her heart was beating faster, and she felt a quicksilver anticipation just remembering the way he’d looked at her over the breakfast table . . .
Argh!
Eliza despaired. She’d meant to scratch the itch and get him out of her system for good, but now, she only wanted him more. Which was crazy. Cal Prescott was living on another planet, the kind inhabited by glossy blonde women with trust funds and ponies and perfectly plucked eyebrows—the last twenty-four hours had proven that in spades. It was dangerous to get caught up like this, when she knew it would never lead anywhere.
Except . . .
Cal wasn’t like that.
As much as she wished she could write him off as the arrogant playboy she’d thought he was, Eliza knew better now. Sure, he was a Prescott, and had grown up with all the wealth and privilege that that name meant, but there was more to him, too. The space his parents’ death had left, his sense of duty and obligation. His playful spirit, and that razor-sharp mind . . .
Eliza felt shivers all over again just replaying their whip-fast conversations. She couldn’t pick which turned her on more: that taut, toned body, or his wicked tongue. Together, they were a deadly combination.
Don’t forget the mayonnaise.
Eliza stopped, confused, before she checked the message sender. It was her mother. Linda had thankfully been out at the library when Eliza finally arrived home in all her disheveled glory, and she’d rushed out again straight after cleaning up to avoid any interrogation. But she couldn’t hide out in the Caller office forever, so Eliza braced herself and headed home.
To find a very familiar sedan parked out front.
Cal’s.
Her heart did that inconvenient skip again. “Hello?” Eliza tried to sound casual as she ventured into the house.
“We’re back here!” her mom’s voice came.
Eliza paused a moment in the hallway to check her reflection. Clean hair, cute shirt . . . Compared to last night, she could be wearing a fresh burlap sack and she’d still make a better impression, but she still felt a flicker of nervous anticipation as she headed through to the back porch, where Cal and her mom were sitting in the evening sun.
“Eliza, sweetie, there you are. I was getting ready to send out a search party.” Linda beamed at her, looking like the cat who got the cream. Or rather, the mother who had the most eligible bachelor in town held captive with a cup of tea.
“Sorry, I didn’t realize we had company.” Eliza shot Cal an apologetic look. “Have you been waiting long?”
“Just a half hour or so.” Cal smiled at her. He was looking effortless and handsome again, in jeans and one of those button-down shirts. He’d always looked good, but now that she’d caught a glimpse of what was underneath that cotton—
Nope. She wasn’t thinking about that—especially not with her mother sitting right there.
“I was just telling Calvin about your very first newspaper gig,” Linda said proudly. “When you were ten.”
Eliza groaned. “You didn’t!”
“What? It was so charming,” Linda continued, giving Cal a doting smile. “She wrote up reports on the neighborhood pets, with news on the anti-littering campaign.”
“A Pulitzer prize-winner in the making.” Cal’s eyes were teasing.
“You know, Calvin here has all kinds of connections in the media,” Linda continued. “I’m sure he would be able to introduce you to some people if you asked. Eliza is between jobs,” she continued, oblivious about their history. “But someone would be lucky to snap her up. She’s hard-working, smart, beautiful . . .”
“Are you trying to get me hired or pimp me out?” Eliza couldn’t help asking.
Her mom gave her a look. “Eliza!”
“Sorry.” She took a deep breath and tried to relax. “Why don’t you put another pot of tea on, Mom? So I can see what Cal wants. Alone.” She gave her mom a meaningful look. Linda leapt to her feet.
“Of course! You know, I owe Debra a call . . .”
“It was lovely chatting with you, Mrs. Bennett,” Cal said smoothly, getting to his feet.
She blushed. “Oh, call me Linda, please!” She hovered a moment longer. Eliza nodded to the door, and finally her mom disappeared into the house.
Eliza exhaled. “I’m so, so sorry. Let me guess, she quizzed you about your prospects and intentions?”
Cal grinned. “Don’t worry, I passed with flying colors.”
“It’s not you I’m worried about.” Eliza took a seat and scoped out the tea table. “Wow, you really are her new favorite person. S
he keeps these fancy biscuits under lock and key.”
“See, there are perks to dating me.” Cal offered her the plate, but Eliza hesitated.
“Is that what I’m doing?”
“If I have my way with you, yes.”
Their eyes caught, and a surge of heat rolled through Eliza, slow as golden molasses. She flushed. “Here on the porch?” she quipped, looking away. “My mom might have a few things to say about that.”
Cal laughed. “Well, then for your mother’s sake, I can wait.”
Eliza took a cookie and tried to think of normal conversation that didn’t involve tearing each other’s clothes off. “Your cousin seems nice.”
“She is.” Cal’s expression relaxed.
“Is she staying with you long?”
He laughed. “No. Tish’s style is more room service and 24-hour concierge. She’s at a hotel just up the coast. The Sandy Lane hotel?”
“I know it.” Eliza nodded. “My friend, Brooke, is the manager.”
There was a pause. She glanced up and caught his gaze again. They both laughed, almost awkward. At least she wasn’t the only one feeling self-conscious after the other night.
“I believe I owe you a date,” Cal said smoothly. “One that doesn’t end in total disaster. When are you free?”
“How about now?”
Cal looked surprised, and Eliza remembered too late that she was supposed to be playing it cool, or hard to get, or any of the other things to disguise her real feelings. But she’d never been one for games. Somehow, they’d arrived at this strange, delicious connection, and she didn’t want to let it slip away.
“But we do this my way,” she added quickly, thinking of another stuffy restaurant. “No more Michelin stars.”
Cal smiled. “I can live with that.”
“OK.” Eliza’s pulse skipped, and she got to her feet. “I’ll be right down.”
She hightailed it up to her room and quickly changed her clothes. This time, she took her sister’s advice, and pulled on a pretty set of matching lingerie in peach silk before yanking a loose sweater dress over her head. She shoved a light jacket in her bag, then she paused, before adding a fresh pair of underwear, deodorant, and a toothbrush.
Maybe she was planning too far, but this time, she would be prepared. And if one thing led to another . . . ?
At least she would be fresh and fragrant come morning!
* * *
They took Eliza’s car, and even though it wasn’t as luxurious as Cal’s, she felt a shot of confidence taking her seat behind the wheel. This time, she was literally in the driver’s seat. No feeling out of her depth, or over her head, or any of the other dozen metaphors she could use to describe the off-kilter sensation she got around him.
“So, where to?” Cal asked, sounding amused, and Eliza realized she hadn’t even turned on the engine yet.
She flushed, and turned the key in the ignition. “I figured I’d give you a tour of some of my favorite local spots,” she said, backing up and driving up the bumpy lane. “Lobster rolls at Pete’s, drinks at the Shipwreck, and then the bakery for dessert. Summer does a mean mud pie.”
“You got your appetite back, then?” Cal laughed.
“You can’t keep me down long.”
Eliza turned on the old AM radio, and found her favorite station of country classics. It was clouding over, that crackle in the air that spelled a storm, and as she breathed in the salty air, she felt the anticipation, just as electric in her veins.
“This is a great car,” Cal remarked, relaxing back in his seat. “A classic.”
“If by that, you mean old and temperamental, then sure.” Eliza patted the cherry-red frame affectionately. “I worked three summers slinging popcorn at the local movie theater saving up for her. Mom threw a fit, of course, but me and my dad fixed her up ourselves. He always joked that this way, everyone would see me coming.”
“I didn’t.”
Eliza turned and caught a heavy-lidded gaze from Cal. Wow. She blushed again, and fixed her focus on the road.
“He was a professor, wasn’t he? Your father.”
She nodded. “He taught history. He had a thing for nineteenth-century botanists.”
“Really? That’s . . . specific.”
Eliza grinned. “I know. I always figured he was born in the wrong era. He was one of those gentleman scholars, spectacles and tweed. He loved hiding away with his books, or in the greenhouse. God, that greenhouse.” She smiled at the memory. “He built the whole thing from scratch in our backyard. It drove Mom crazy. She always complained that if there was a fire, he’d save his notebooks first, then the seeds, then her.”
“What about you and your sister?”
Eliza laughed. “Dad always figured we were smart enough to take care of ourselves.”
“He sounds like a great guy.”
“He was.” Eliza swallowed back the well of sadness in her throat. “He’d like you.”
“He would?” Cal seemed surprised.
“I think so.” Eliza could just imagine them, sitting around, talking about some obscure Victorian botanist. “Or you’d argue in circles, but he liked that too.”
“So that’s where you get it from.”
“Hey!” Eliza laughed. “You can talk. You love arguing. And I’m probably the only one who gives you a hard time.”
“You’re right about that.” Cal paused, almost rueful. “I tell everyone to be straight with me, but, well . . .”
“Nobody’s going to point out when you’re crazy if you’re the boss,” Eliza finished for him.
“Exactly.”
She turned down the winding, leafy road that led to Pete’s: a bare-bones shack overlooking the water, set beside the mini-golf course. “Don’t be fooled by the paper plates,” she told Cal, pulling up in the already packed parking spot. “Pete serves the best lobster rolls in town.”
“Don’t let Declan hear you say that,” he teased, getting out of the car. Eliza joined him, and they took a place in line along with the other locals, and a few early-season tourists in the know.
She snorted. “Are you kidding? The guy thrives on competition. I told him his coq au vin was almost the best I’d tasted, and he spent the rest of the afternoon locked in the kitchen, working on more.”
“I’ll have to remember that move,” Cal said. “Maybe if I remind him Bobby Flay has a dozen restaurants, he’ll finally agree to expand our empire.”
She turned, surprised. “You’re an investor?”
“Just for fun,” Cal replied, casually. “He was always going on about the kind of place he’d open, so I told him to put my money where his mouth was.”
“Oh.” Eliza blinked. She didn’t know much about the restaurant trade, but she had an idea how much investment it took to get somewhere like Sage open—and how risky the whole endeavor was. Cal was talking about it like he’d wagered five bucks on a bet, not six figures.
“Uh-oh,” Cal said suddenly. “You’ve got that look again.”
“What look?”
“The one like you’ve just remembered I’m a rich asshole.” He grinned, looking so sunny and un-self-conscious that Eliza had to laugh.
“No,” she protested. “Well, OK. Kind of. I just forget sometimes, how different we are.”
Cal held her gaze. “No,” he said, with an unreadable expression on his face. “We’re the same, you and me. That’s why we can’t stay away from each other.”
And then he leaned in and kissed her, right there in the line, sandwiched between a screaming toddler and a couple of high-schoolers, with the scent of fried food wafting in the breeze.
Hot, and swift, and right.
His lips only brushed hers for a moment, but it was enough to send her world spinning off its axis all over again.
“Next!”
A yell broke through her daze, and Eliza stumbled back to find the guy at the counter waiting—and the line rumbling behind them.
Cal looked around and chuckl
ed. “To be continued,” he murmured before stepping up to the window. Eliza flushed and tried to focus, but the last thing she cared about was food.
Would it be rude to drag Cal back to the car right now and find a quiet spot to park?
Down, girl, she warned herself. She was trying to get to know the man, not just ravish him. Even if his kisses left her reeling, she could pull it together long enough to have a conversation.
Besides, it wasn’t just food—it was fuel. For what hopefully was a long night ahead.
Eliza stifled a smile at the thought as they carried their trays over to a picnic table overlooking the shoreline. Between them, they had quite a spread, with lobster rolls, fries, and cups of the corn chowder she could never resist.
On a meal like this, they could last all night.
“Do I even want to know what that smile is about?” Cal asked, nudging her shoulder as they sat side by side.
“That depends.” Eliza grinned. She felt like a kid on Christmas Eve, full of delicious anticipation for the fun to come. “Play your cards right, and maybe you’ll find out.”
“Now those are fighting words,” Cal chuckled, giving her a wolfish look. “Because you should know, I never back down from a challenge.”
“Oh really?” Eliza said, dunking a fry in the cup of ketchup. She took a bite, savoring the crisp, hot taste. “How’s your mini-golf game?”
“A little rusty, but I can bring it.” Cal smiled. They were right beside the course, complete with faded windmill and a pair of devilish clown obstacles. Eliza had played every summer, going back as far as she could remember.
“Want to bet on that?” she asked, casual, as if she didn’t know every play by heart. “Winner takes all.”
“Done.” Cal grinned. “You need to work on your poker face,” he added, leaning over to steal a fry from her. “You’ve got ‘hustler’ written all over it.”
“Have not!” Eliza protested.
“I don’t mind.” Cal gave her a look. “Something tells me losing to you might be the most fun I’ve had for ages.”
12
Cal was going crazy.
Confident, argumentative Eliza already sent his blood boiling with red-hot lust, but this Eliza—flirty and bold, full of teasing half-glances and lingering touches—had just about robbed him of coherent thought. She tormented him all through the game of mini-golf: brushing casually against him and leaning over to make her shot. She’d won easily, of course, and it had nothing to do with his game. It was all he could do to keep stringing two words together, trying his hardest to block the X-rated thoughts that flooded his treacherous mind.
