Soul to Soul (RUSH, Inc. Book 2)

by Carol Caiton

  * * *

  "Do you think she's safe with him, Wayne?"

  Jill waited to hear her father's response, a little surprised by the complacent smile he wore.

  "Honey, that young man wouldn't let a tornado get near her."

  Jill had a feeling that that wasn't quite what her mother meant, but she had to agree with her father. Rachel had just met Michael Vassek a few hours ago, but in that short span of time, he'd apparently decided she was his. And that nasty cut beneath his eye said he wasn't afraid to do whatever was necessary to take care of what belonged to him.

  But another, different face flashed in Jill's mind. It was the face of someone else who wanted to take care of Rachel, someone who had loved her for years. He'd waited so long, and Jill's heart ached for him. Maybe if he'd said something before now—years ago in fact . . . . But Nathan had kept his feelings to himself and Jill's instincts told her the chance he'd been waiting for had quietly died.

  CHAPTER 7

  Michael opened the passenger door for Rachel but she paused and looked up at him. "You look very nice tonight."

  He did a quick glance down at his shirt and tie, black dress slacks and buffed shoes. He should have been the one telling her how great she looked. If he didn't get his shit together real fast, she was gonna make this a one-date deal. "Yeah, I clean up okay when I want to. Just don't tell Mason or they won't let me show up at work in jeans anymore."

  She smiled and some more of the apprehension that had a hold on him eased off. "Didn't you bring a coat?" she asked.

  "Yeah. It's in the back."

  "Oh, okay."

  She lowered herself into his new Lotus and he waited until she fastened her seatbelt before closing the door.

  "You didn't tell me to expect a twin sister," he said, folding in behind the wheel.

  "I didn't think of it."

  He gave a disbelieving look.

  "Well, I didn't. Jill stopped by while I was getting dressed. She's engaged to Mason's brother and she lives with him now."

  "Luke?"

  "Yes." She adjusted her coat to cover her knees. "Do you know Luke?"

  "We've met a couple of times. But he's not part of RUSH."

  "Yes, I know. So where are we going?"

  "A new place. It's called Thilbeau's. Have you heard of it?"

  "Oh, my, yes." She smiled over at him. "Thank you in advance. The only French restaurant I've eaten at is in Epcot and the food was wonderful."

  "You're welcome in advance." He grinned. Fuck, he could feel himself getting into trouble here and he just wanted to dig in deeper.

  "I like your car. What is it?" She ran her fingers along the seat upholstery.

  "A Lotus."

  She looked up again. "Really? A Lotus? How fast will she go?"

  Both of his brows shot up. She? Oh, honey . . . .

  "Zero to sixty in something like four and a half seconds." He slanted her a sideways glance. "You into speed?"

  She smiled brightly. "Yes, actually, I am."

  She said it so damned prim and proper, he grinned right back at her. "So what do you drive?"

  "Well, I'm saving for a Fiat Spider. It's not as fast as your Lotus, but I have to be careful."

  He laughed. "You call zero to sixty in about six and a half seconds being careful?"

  She turned in her seat to face him. "It's not much of a concession but— You're familiar with the Spider? Have you ever driven one?"

  Again he chuckled. "Yeah, I have. I like it." But it sure wasn't what he'd call sluggish.

  "So do I. I took one out for a test drive." She squared her shoulders and he caught sight of that pert little grin again. "It handled beautifully. Great turning radius, held the road on every curve . . . . It was a fun ride."

  By the time they reached Thilbeau's the little porcelain doll in his passenger seat had been talking cars and horsepower with him for fifteen minutes. Yep, he was in there about hip deep now.

  He eased the Lotus into a parking slot as close to the entrance as he could find, but it was still a good distance away. The place was packed. He'd figured it was gonna be when he called for a reservation and was told they were booked three weeks into January. The only reason he got his name on the list was because someone phoned in a cancellation while he was trying to sweet-talk the hostess.

  He shut off the engine, released his seat belt, and turned to look at Rachel. "So why do you have to be careful—the Spider thing?" he asked.

  "Because I'm reaching my speeding ticket quota."

  He laughed outright this time. "You have a speeding ticket quota?"

  She grimaced, but he could tell it was only half-hearted. "It's sort of an ongoing thing," she admitted. "I have to keep an eye on the points I accumulate and the dates of my tickets." She scowled. "Did you know they add them together and stretch them out over a three-year period?"

  He couldn't be hearing right. "What the hell do you drive?"

  That's when her whole face lit up. "A Bugatti."

  He stared. And she looked right back at him, eyes all sparkly, her face alive with happiness.

  His insides twisted. Again. Whoa, baby. Definitely time to step back.

  But stupid fuck that he was, he went forward.

  "How fast will she go?" he murmured, repeating her earlier question. But he already had a general idea 'cause he used to have a Bugatti himself. Right now he was focused on something else altogether. There was a whole lot more going on here than cars and speed and a gorgeous female sitting beside him in his car. And she must have felt it just like he did, or maybe she saw it in his expression. Because all at once it was there in her eyes too, clear and a little confused. Her smile started to waver and she searched his face. Then her breathing got a little shallow.

  He sucked in a slow, deep breath and watched her, watched as awareness entered her eyes.

  "Rachel," he said, picking his way carefully. "There's some stuff going on here and I need you to tell me how fast I can go. I need some kinda rule book, princess 'cause I don't wanna make a wrong move."

  Her lips drifted apart. Oh, man. He dropped his gaze to her mouth and his heart started thumping.

  "I . . . I don't know how fast," she whispered on a little catch of breath. "I've never . . . ."

  Holy hell. Holy frigging hell. He dragged his eyes back up to hers.

  "I can hardly breathe," she said.

  Yeah, he was having some trouble with that himself.

  "I'll wait for you to tell me," he reassured her, gripping the steering wheel. 'Cause what other choice did he have?

  He figured that would diffuse the situation so they could both start breathing easier. Only she wasn't following standard procedure here. She was curious. It was in her eyes. Even in the dim light of the parking lot he saw it—the wondering. She might be too inexperienced to hide it, might not even know it for what it was, but he sure as hell did. And forcing himself to back off was one of the hardest things he'd done in a while.

  "Let's go get some food," he said.

  She blinked. Then she blinked again and turned away to reach for her seatbelt. "Should I let myself out?" she asked.

  She looked over at him again and something inside him went all soft. "No, baby," he told her. "I'll come around."

  He opened the driver's door and climbed out. Then he reached behind the seat for his overcoat. But he took an extra few seconds to put it on, to breathe the cold night air and clear his head.

  Man, he'd never been this attracted to someone. Even as he stood sliding his arms into the sleeves of his coat he was eager to walk around the car and open the passenger door so he could be with her again.

  But he took his time fastening the buttons then straightening the collar. He was getting tangled up in something—something he had to put a stop to. But he felt a little out of control . . . like it was carrying him along for the ride. And knowing that, he still wanted to hurry around and open her door.

  He should back way the hell off. And he would, he assur
ed himself. Soon. But he'd only met her a few hours ago and he hadn't gotten enough of her yet. Just a little longer.

  Making his way around the back of the car, he decided to give himself this one night. Hell, it wasn't gonna go anywhere. It couldn't. She couldn't even bear to be touched. So it was a one-date deal.

  He opened her door, held out his hand, and was surprised when she slipped her fingers right into his. He tightened his hold just enough to take in the feel of her before he'd have to let her go.

  "You were right," she said, smiling up at him. "It's cold out."

  "Yeah. You shoulda picked a warmer coat." He shut the door and released her hand.

  "I don't own a warmer coat."

  He snorted and gave her a skeptical look. "You drive a car that costs half a house but you don't own a warm coat?"

  "My car was used when I bought it. Three times over. And this coat is usually enough." She pushed her hands into her pockets.

  "It's a thin trench coat."

  "It's three-quarter length and this is Florida."

  "It's still not warm enough."

  "I know."

  He shook his head. "Tell you what." He started unbuttoning his own coat. "I'm gonna share some of my warm one while we walk across the parking lot. If it gets to be too much, just go ahead and pull away. Okay?"

  "I . . . okay. Yes, okay."

  But she took a deep breath, like she had to brace herself.

  He paused, fingers on the last button. "Rachel?"

  She looked up.

  "You come to me," he said. Then he finished and opened the front of his coat to her. "You decide how close you wanna get, okay?"

  She looked a little startled. Then she lowered her eyes to his chest. After a couple of seconds she stepped close, then some more until the whole side of her was right up against the side of him. And goddamn if he didn't go hard just feeling her there.

  She slid her arm around his waist beneath the coat and it was his turn to take a bracing breath. She felt good there. Real good.

  He held the coat around her and guided her away from the Lotus. "I know someone with a private racetrack," he told her.

  She looked up. "As in Daytona?"

  "Yeah. Well, almost. Two miles around. So, you wanna see what that Bugatti of yours can do?"

  He should be kicking himself in the ass for asking, but hell, the way her face lit up when she told him what kind of car she drove . . . .

  She stopped walking, so he did too. He expected her to step away, but she stayed inside his coat, inside the circle of his arm, and he was pretty sure she forgot she was supposed to be uncomfortable.

  "You're serious."

  "Sure I am."

  Her expression changed to a mix of bewilderment, hope, and then excitement. "When?" she wanted to know.

  He chuckled. "Let me set it up and I'll get back to you." Damn, she made him feel good and the smile she gave him was radiant.

  With her arm still around his waist, he started to lower his head then realized what he was about to do and pulled up short. "C'mon, let's go eat."

  He steered her toward the restaurant again and they made it almost all the way across the parking lot before she let go of his waist. Immediately he took his arm away and she put about three feet between them.

  He stopped walking because she did. But she stared up at him with a funny expression in her eyes.

  "Okay?" he asked.

  "I . . . yes."

  He wasn't gonna let on that he'd watched her session with Dalton, but he wanted to know the longest she could go without pulling away.

  "Is a minute and a half your usual limit?" he asked.

  She gave him an odd smile and opened her mouth to answer, but that confused expression came back. "My usual limit is fewer than ten seconds." She turned to look back across the parking lot toward the Lotus, then faced him again. "A minute and a half?"

  "Give or take a few seconds."

  A cold breeze blew her hair in front of her face. She gathered the length of all those curls in her hands and laughed a little shakily. "Give or take a few seconds," she repeated. Then she laughed again, stronger this time.

  So she'd done good. Better than good, he guessed. On the other hand, it wasn't like she was ready to hop into bed with him.

  "Wanna try it again?" he asked.

  "Yes. Yes, I do."

  She held her hair in one hand and stepped close to him again, sliding her arm back around his waist.

  He stood there with her, waiting to see if she'd pull away now that she was paying attention, but she stayed right where she was.

  "Michael?" Those sky-blue eyes looked up at him. "Can we just stand here for a minute? Just for a minute?"

  "Yeah, we can do that." It didn't occur to him that this was some sort of milestone for her until the fingers at his waist twitched a little, then smoothed slowly up the side of his body and over his ribs. He realized then that she was exploring, that she'd probably never touched a man before—not like this.

  He sucked in a breath. Goddamn. The innocence in those fingers, the knowledge that he was giving her something she'd never had, made him feel all kinds of weird shit inside. When she started trembling though, then caught her breath, he refocused. He couldn't let this go any further.

  "C'mon, baby," he said quietly. "Let's go eat."

  Her hand drifted back to his waist and they walked the rest of the way to the entrance in silence.

  Two uniformed doormen stood just inside the pair of double doors, opening them simultaneously as he guided her along the carpeted walkway. Then he released her, gave his name to the maitre d', and checked their coats.

  About fifteen seconds after that he knew he'd never come back here again. Following behind Rachel, they were led through a series of small, semi-private dining rooms. Each held four individual booths, arranged so that none of the occupants had a visual of the other booths. The aisles were close, the lighting was dim, and there were no windows. It was the no windows that closed the deal.

  A film of perspiration rose on the back of his neck. When they reached the third dining room, the maitre d' stopped beside one of the secluded booths. Michael scanned the small room, waited for Rachel to sit down, then he slid in the other side. He'd make it through the meal okay. He wouldn't embarrass her. But he'd be ready to leave as soon as she put her fork down. He was ready to leave now.

  Rachel smiled and opened her menu, but she was distracted too. He could tell because she wasn't reading it. Instead, she had a kind of dazed expression in her eyes, like she was trying to figure something out.

  He breathed in and looked at the dark blue leather seat with its deep-set buttons. The surrounding wallpaper had narrow gray pinstripes on a dark blue background and closed the space in even more. Most people probably thought it made for a nice intimate setting. He thought it was shit.

  He opened his own menu, concentrated on it, and picked out the first thing that looked good.

  "What did you decide on?" he asked when she closed hers and put it down.

  She told him and he forced himself to pay attention. She didn't want a glass of wine or anything alcoholic and neither did he. When their waiter appeared, he ordered for them both, then focused on her to distract himself.

  "So what was it like to grow up with a twin sister?"

  She took a sip of her ice water, then put the glass down. "Do you have any brothers or sisters?" she asked.

  "Nope. It's just me."

  "I guess it was a lot like what you read about twins," she said. "When Jill and I were children there was always someone to play with and we liked doing the same things. Sometimes we knew—and still know—what the other is thinking without having to talk." She shrugged. "My mother says it's uncanny, but Jill and I think it's because we know one another so well. We connect, but we're actually very different."

  "Different how?"

  "I'm an introvert." She unfolded her dinner napkin and spread it on her lap. "And Jill's an extrovert." Again she shrug
ged. "Jill has always been eager to try something new." She smiled. "And sometimes I ended up in trouble for things I didn't do."

  "Could you fool your parents?"

  "No. And it's a good thing because it saved me from a lot more trouble."

  "Hmm. I figured it would have been all fun and games, but I guess maybe not."

  "Mostly it was."

  "So how do you connect?"

  She tilted her head to the side and said, "We go through a lot of the same things at the same time, which is uncanny because we lead different lives. I guess the most significant example of that was after I was attacked. I, um, didn't talk for a while. A long while. Jill said I went away. That I left her. I once heard my father say she cried as though she was mourning me, as though I'd died. And then, for about three weeks, Jill stopped talking too."

  "Does she have trouble being touched?"

  Rachel smiled and said, "No. That one didn't carry over."

  He didn't ask any questions about why she and her sister had been unable to talk. He didn't have to. A couple of years ago he'd done some reading—a lot of reading—to try and figure out his own problem.

  "So," he said, "is there anything else I should know about? Stuff I should be careful of?"

  "Only if you're planning to surprise me. I don't like surprises."

  "Okay, I'll keep that in mind. Anything else?"

  "Nothing you need to be careful about."

  "Like what?"

  She arranged her silverware so it was perfectly straight. "Just that once in a while I need more time than most people to process things —like my session at RUSH with your instructor. I had to leave before it was half over because of the overload." She made a gesture with her hand. "I needed time to process."

  He thought about that for a minute. He remembered the way Dalton had touched her and shifted in his seat. That was something he'd have to consider. If he was thinking about investing himself—and yeah, maybe he was—that didn't mesh real well with another man putting his hands on the woman he was investing in. She wasn't part of RUSH. Not like a link. She was separate and he liked it that way.