Real Men Will

by Victoria Dahl

  “Dad, no. Eric doesn’t want to go out with us. He was only—”

  “Of course he does,” her dad said, and now there was steel behind that smile.

  Eric swallowed. Loudly.

  “He wasn’t staying long!” she insisted.

  Her father frowned.

  Eric’s face blanched. “I think dessert would be wonderful,” he said in such a rush that she barely understood him.

  But her father must have understood perfectly, because his smile was suddenly natural again and he slapped Eric on the back. “Yes. Wonderful. Let me just call your mother and tell her it’ll be another hour before I leave.”

  “There’s a phone in the spare room!” Beth said as if there wasn’t a phone right next to the couch.

  Just an hour, Beth prayed. Please, just an hour. Not that it mattered. As soon as they were done, Eric would bolt into the night without looking back.

  Her father disappeared.

  “Ohmigod,” Beth whispered, grabbing Eric’s arm. “Why did you say yes?”

  “I had to! You said I wasn’t staying long, and I just… I had to say something!”

  “But not that!”

  “You basically told him I was here to have sex with you! What was I supposed to say?”

  “Are you kidding me? I was going to say you were picking up a CD.”

  “A CD? Who the hell even has CDs anymore?”

  “Eric!” She shook his arm hard. “Do you really think my dad knows that? He’s seventy-three!”

  “I panicked, all right? I wasn’t planning on meeting your family tonight.”

  Beth let go of him and covered her face with her hands. “Oh, God, I am so, so sorry. This is a disaster. Just…” She froze, then glanced toward the hallway. “Just go! Now! Before he—”

  Her father stepped into the hall, shooting his cuffs and straightening his tie. “Your mother’s been appeased. I promised to bring her a piece of pie. Is there a place with good pie around here? How about that place we had brunch, querida?”

  She gave one last, best effort. “I don’t think they’re open in the evenings, Daddy.”

  “Nonsense. I looked at the dinner menu when we were there. I thought I might take your mother back sometime. What was it called?”

  “Karen’s,” she murmured. The place was a fifteen-minute drive away, and her dad would want to linger.

  “That’s it! Let’s go. My treat.”

  Beth gave Eric one last, long, helpless look. He just cleared his throat, apparently unwilling to be rude and bow out. Admirable, she supposed, but she desperately wished he was a low-life bastard at that moment. “I’ll get a sweater,” she said, sighing. His gaze slid down to her breasts, then shifted away so suddenly that she thought she saw his eyes spin.

  She felt like a guilty kid as she walked to the closet to grab her most modest button-down sweater. But she always felt that way around her father. It was the one reason she let her mom talk her into keeping the White Orchid a secret. Because Beth would rather die than see heartbroken disappointment in her dad’s eyes again. That one time eighteen years ago had been the worst moment of her life. So she pulled on her sweater and pretended she’d been doing nothing wrong and she was still the nice girl she’d been before her father had found out she wasn’t.

  ERIC WAS DROWNING IN mortification. At some point during the evening, he just expected to keel over, stone-cold dead from guilt. The things he’d been thinking about doing to Beth. The things he’d meant to do as soon as he got her alone.

  But her father didn’t know that. He couldn’t even suspect it. Could he?

  At least Eric had gotten a free pass on the ride over. He’d stuttered something about taking his own car, just in case. Just in case of what, he had no idea, but he’d escaped. Admittedly, he’d had a brief impulse to simply drive home, but that would definitely be the last straw with Beth. And he really, really wanted to see her again. He just didn’t want to see her sitting next to her father.

  The man was just finishing up a story about living on a ranch in Argentina as a boy. “So your father was a rancher?” Eric asked Thomas politely. Eric immediately took another sip of his wine, hoping the bottle would be gone soon.

  “No, my father was an Englishman. A banker. He came to Argentina on business and fell in love with my mother. He never left.”

  “She must have been a beautiful woman.”

  “Oh, she was, Eric. In fact, my Beth looks just like her.”

  “Oh, Dad, that’s not true,” she said.

  “It is true,” he insisted, covering her hand with his. “You’re a beautiful woman. But you know, your grandmother had six kids at your age.”

  She sighed as if they’d had this conversation many times. “I’m not going to have six kids.”

  “No, but one or two…” His eyes slid to Eric. “With a very lucky man.”

  “Eric is just a friend,” Beth jumped in.

  “Come, querida. You don’t dress that way for a friend.”

  Beth pulled her sweater tighter and cleared her throat. “I’m very busy with work,” she said, but her normally confident posture had lost a little of its strength.

  Her dad shook his head. “Selling ladies’ foundation garments. With a college degree.”

  Eric was slightly confused by that description, but he was more confused by Beth’s reaction. She met his gaze, her eyes widening as she gave the faintest shake of her head. “I’m not a salesperson,” she said as she turned back to her dad. “I’m the manager.”

  He waved a dismissive hand. “Working in a store like that, it’s no wonder you haven’t met a gentleman yet. It’s nothing but women all day!”

  She shook her head, but her dad turned to Eric.

  “Why do you think my Beth hasn’t settled down?”

  Eric pictured Beth standing in her store, surrounded by lingerie and vibrators and little trays of jewelry that looked suspiciously like nipple rings. He pictured her giving classes on sex and dating men with piercings that marked their bodies like damned picture books. He swallowed hard and looked at her in desperation. Why hadn’t she settled down? Didn’t her father know anything about her?

  Judging by the way she shook her head again, he didn’t.

  Eric must have looked completely frozen, because Beth spoke for him. “People marry later these days. I’m not in a rush.”

  “All your old friends in Hillstone have gotten married and had children.”

  Eric watched her face stiffen. She looked…angry. “All right. People who aren’t in Hillstone marry later. None of my friends are married,” she said. “And I won’t be getting married anytime soon. Jeez, I swear, you’re getting worse than Mom.”

  “I want to be a grandfather before I die.” Without missing a beat, he turned his smile on Eric. “So, tell me about your family.”

  Here was a subject Eric could handle. He gave her dad the abbreviated version of his family story, but Eric was focused on Beth the whole time. She looked younger and softer. And maybe a little lost. Her dad kept a loose hold on her hand as the waiter came to take their plates away. Her father had ordered a cheese course with wine. Beth had eaten only half a cracker.

  “Sounds like you’re an enterprising young man,” her dad said.

  Eric didn’t know about the young part. Though he felt a bit like a teenager tonight, caught between the girl he wanted to feel up and her eagle-eyed father.

  “You must be a very special man to have taken all that on at such a young age,” her dad continued, raising his eyebrows.

  “I just did what had to be done,” Eric said. “And there are plenty of men who have jobs and families at twenty-four. It’s nothing special.”

  Her dad slid his eyes toward Beth. “He’s a good one.”

  “Dad,” she said flatly, a pink flush spreading over her cheekbones.

  “Do you like my daughter, Eric?”

  Oh, Jesus. Eric snatched up his glass of wine to buy a moment. Did he like her? More like he wanted to
drive her straight home and carry her into his house and straight to his bed. So far his relationship with Beth Cantrell had been about fifty percent lust and fifty percent guilt, but tonight was tipping it out of balance.

  “Of course, Mr. Cantrell,” he finally said. “She’s a wonderful woman.” He added, “Everybody likes her,” trying for a compliment, but it ended up sounding suspiciously like a cop-out.

  The server came to offer the dessert menu again, and Eric and Beth stared at each other while her father discussed pie with the waitress. “And what about you two? Would you like something?”

  “No!” they both said.

  Beth squeezed her dad’s hand. “You need to get home, Dad. It’s late. If you get into an accident, Mom will never forgive you.”

  “That’s true,” he conceded. “Especially if I spill the pie.”

  Beth nodded solemnly while Eric said a quick prayer that this was almost over. It was still sinking in. His stomach still felt high in his throat from the moment he’d looked up and seen her standing there with a dapper older gentleman. Not what he’d expected from the evening. Not at all.

  And yet, it was fascinating to watch Beth be someone else. Not the sexy, confident, unflappable woman from the White Orchid, but the daughter of this man who was obviously a big believer in old-fashioned values. She crossed her legs and slumped a little in her chair, her eyes on her father’s hand as she tapped her thumb against his.

  When she looked up and caught Eric’s gaze, she mouthed, I’m sorry, and suddenly all this was hilarious. Absurd. How the hell had a no-strings-attached night of sex ended with him meeting Beth’s father and answering pointed questions about family and values?

  Eric suddenly couldn’t stop a smile. Beth looked away, but he saw her mouth tighten at the edges.

  “Well, it’s been a pleasure,” her dad said as he stood, setting his hat on his head with a flourish.

  Beth stood. “Where are you going?”

  He gestured toward the waitress, who approached with a box that clearly held a whole pie. “I’ve got to get this home to your mother. But you two stay and enjoy. I ordered you apple pie à la mode. To share.”

  “Dad—”

  “Nonsense. Eric will see you safely home, won’t you, Eric?”

  “Of course,” Eric said, standing, as well.

  Her dad signed the check and shrugged his coat on.

  “Thank you for the wine, sir,” Eric said, putting a lot of thought into the right pressure of his handshake, which was strange. What could it matter what kind of impression he made on Beth’s dad?

  He was still mulling that over as Beth finished hugging her father. Their pie arrived, vanilla ice cream pooling in the plate as it melted.

  “Oh. My. God,” Beth groaned as she collapsed into her chair. “I can’t…I don’t even know what to say. I’m…horrified, to say the least.”

  “It’s all right,” he said, as if it were.

  “Eric. God.”

  “He’s very nice.”

  Beth stared at him as if he’d lost his mind. Maybe he had. Eric took a bite of pie.

  “How can you eat?”

  He set down the fork when he saw the slight green tinge to her face. “So, your parents don’t know?”

  “Know what?”

  “About the White Orchid?”

  She covered her pale face with her hands and took a deep breath. “My mom knows. But not my dad.”

  Eric thought of the man’s perfect posture and elegant suit. The jaunty hat and manicured fingernails. “I think that’s probably a good thing.”

  She dropped her hands, her eyes wide with surprise. “Do you?”

  “I’m not saying you should hide it, but I can understand why it seems like a good idea.”

  “You don’t think I’m a horrible person?”

  “Do you think he’d want to know?”

  “No,” she said quickly. “I don’t. But I can’t honestly say I’ve lied for his sake. My mom doesn’t think I should tell him, but I feel so guilty.”

  “And relieved?” he prompted, understanding perfectly.

  “Yes.” Her shoulders slumped. “And relieved that I can say it’s my mom’s idea.”

  “Come on. Eat your pie. The ice cream is melting.”

  Beth didn’t reach for the pie, she just set her hands on the table and looked at him. “You’re really nice, you know that?”

  Eric cleared his throat and picked up his fork. He wasn’t nice at all. Sure, he almost always did the right thing, but it was rarely because he wanted to. It was because he felt he should. And he was still haunted by what his sister had told him a few months ago.

  When she was fourteen, only weeks into mourning her parents’ deaths, she’d come downstairs to find Eric sharing a beer with a friend. And Eric had said something horrible. And she’d overheard it and never said a word. Of course, I’d walk away if I could. But I don’t have a choice.

  He wanted to put his fist through a wall every time he thought of it. Such a small thing to say. And so cruel. And the worst part of it was that he’d meant every word. Tessa had recognized the truth in his voice and lived each day with the fear that he might leave. If things got too tough. If she got bad grades. If Jamie pissed him off. She’d honestly thought that Eric might pick up and run. And sometimes he’d damn well wanted to.

  So, no, he wasn’t a nice guy. He was just a guy trying desperately to be as good as the man who’d adopted him and given him the Donovan name. Eric had hoped he’d grown into Michael Donovan’s shoes, but he’d long ago realized he never would.

  Beth finally picked up her fork and took a small bite of pie. Then another. Eric was distracted from his brooding by the memory of the last time they’d shared a dessert. She’d seemed unattainable then. A dark beauty whose sexual promise surrounded her like an aura. He’d watched her eat just as she was doing now. Delicate bites. The flash of a tongue. The fantasy of that mouth.

  She wasn’t unattainable now. Now he knew how to make her come. With his hands. And his mouth. And his cock.

  But it wasn’t just that. He’d cracked a little of her mystery tonight. She wasn’t a sexual goddess sprung whole from Zeus’s head. Tonight, Eric had gotten a glimpse of the girl she’d once been, and a hint at the woman she was now.

  “So you haven’t taken any men home to meet your parents?” he asked.

  Beth’s fork froze halfway to the pie. “No.”

  “Nothing serious?”

  “Not really. And I don’t usually—” She looked startled by her own words and bit them off.

  “Don’t usually what?”

  She cleared her throat. “We talked about this at the hotel. I don’t usually date men like you.”

  “What kind of men do you usually date?”

  Beth took another bite and shrugged.

  Eric pushed harder, not quite knowing why. “What about the guy you went out with last night? What’s he like?”

  She chewed her pie very thoroughly, clearly buying time. Took a sip of water. “He’s an artist. And a musician.” Her lips curved in a small smile. “His name is Davis, after Miles Davis.”

  “Ah, I see.” And he did see. Artists. Musicians. Guys with interesting lives and jobs that weren’t nine-to-five. Men who were pierced, if her column was any indication. She’d joked once that being seen with Eric would hurt her reputation.

  Still, she’d chosen him. Eric tried to appease the jealousy that rose up over these men who were cooler and younger and got to hang around Beth twenty-four hours a day.

  “What about you?” she asked. “What kind of girls do you normally date?”

  “I don’t date much. When my brother and sister were younger, it was complicated.”

  “You really raised them by yourself?”

  “Well, they weren’t little kids. Tessa was fourteen when our parents died. Jamie was sixteen. But I couldn’t close down bars and have women over. So mostly it was just…” He didn’t know how to say it. “Occasional hookups.�
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  “Like this?”

  “No.” He watched her lick ice cream from her fork. “Not like this.”

  Their eyes met, and there was that thing between them again, that flash of lust that pierced through all his guilt and responsibilities. He wanted her. Now.

  “Are you ready?” he asked.

  Beth looked nearly as affected as he was. She nodded and pushed her chair back, rising to her feet even before he stood. Eric took her hand and led her out to his car. He pulled out of the lot and drove toward Boulder, his eyes focused on the road ahead.

  “Your place?” he asked quietly.

  “Yes.”

  And not another word passed between them. They didn’t touch. Not even as he parked and opened her door. Not as they rushed up the stairs to her apartment. They slipped inside and she locked the door and then they were kissing.

  Hard to believe it could be better this time, but there was something pushing his need to a new intensity. Frustration or jealousy. Something harsh. He fisted his hand in her skirt and pulled it up, sliding his leg between her knees as she backed into the wall.

  Her hips tilted and the heat of her sex was pressed to his thigh.

  Eric was already hard, his dick straining and heavy. He pulled back to unbutton her sweater. Beth reached for his belt.

  As soon as her sweater was open, he shoved it down her arms then pushed the soft fabric of the dress down, too. She was trapped, held against the wall, and Eric slid her bra strap down and freed one of her gorgeous breasts.

  When he ducked down to close his mouth over her nipple, Beth gasped, and the desperation in that sound made him even rougher. He bit her, scraping his teeth over her nipple as he sucked, and she cried out with a sound between pleasure and pain. He licked gently to soothe her, then bit again, loving the way his name broke in her throat. Going to his knees, he exposed her other breast as well, and gave it the same attention until she sobbed his name. When he finally tugged her dress all the way down, Beth freed her hands and twisted them in his hair, sliding down for a wet, deep kiss that left them both on their knees.

  Impatient, she pushed him until he sat back, then she took off her bra and shoved her dress totally off. “Take off your shirt,” she said.