He grinned. “You bet.” Nick pulled a ball from his pocket then shoved it back in. He walked toward the net.
Curious, she met him. He stabbed a hand through his hair. “I am such a goof. I never found out your last name.”
Heat rose on her face. It was her fault for not mentioning it. She held out her hand. “Lisa Brightner, from Denver.”
He quirked a brow. “Not from Intrigue?”
“I’m taking a month hiatus while I search for a job.”
He leaned back and scanned her. “Let me guess. You’re an English professor.”
She laughed. “Hardly, a lawyer. I used to work for an environmental company, but they downsized and I was let go.”
“How did that make you feel?”
Maybe it was the author in him that made him so curious. “Is this what you do when you’re trying to write your characters? Do you keep asking them why, why, why until you understand them?”
His brows pinched. “That’s a very insightful question. I guess I do in a way. I can tell you’d make a good lawyer.”
Bull. “How?”
“Because you are very good at responding directly to my questions. You manage to stick one in on your own.”
Others had accused her of that. “It’s not on purpose.”
“Isn’t it? Are you sure you aren’t hiding something?”
She tossed him her cheekiest grin, trying not to offend. “Not any more than you.”
He pulled the ball from his pocket, bounced it once, and caught it. “Tell you what. I’ll tell you one of my secrets and you can tell me one of yours.”
Her stomach churned. She wasn’t sure she could trust him. And if she could, what would she confess? That she was attracted to him even though she adored two other men? “Fine, but you go first.”
“Fine. Nicolas Delacroix is my pseudonym. My real name is Mitch Dawes.”
That wasn’t much of a confession. The name Mitch sounded familiar, but perhaps Mandy or Candy had mentioned him somehow. “Okay. Here’s mine. I’m really confused right now.”
He leaned the racket against the net, and his demeanor turned serious as if he was really worried about her. “Want to talk about it?”
Yes and no, as there was something so endearing about this man. If she shut him out, she’d regret it. He was open like Dante yet appeared deep, and possibly troubled, like Trevor. “I’m uncertain of the direction in my life. I find Intrigue, well intriguing, yet I have a condo that I can’t sell without losing my life’s savings to cover the mortgage.”
“Ouch.”
His comment seemed to come from experience. “Were you ever poor?” She clamped a hand to her mouth. “Sorry. It’s none of my business.”
His shoulders relaxed. “It’s okay. If you’re talking about struggling to pay my rent or buy food, then the answer is no. I didn’t want for anything growing up, but once I went to school, I didn’t ask for anything either. I had two jobs during college to pay my bills, so I wasn’t one of those starving artists who was down to my last stamp and used it to send off my manuscript.” He picked up his racket. “Enough about me. I’m not very interesting.”
Like she was? She nodded to the ball in his hand. “Ready to show me what you got?”
“I’d love to.” He flipped his racket. “Up or down?”
“Up.”
The racket landed down. He winked. “I’ll serve. You pick the side.”
“I’m good.”
With a highly confident swagger, he returned to the line. He was tall, had wide shoulders that implied he could blister the ball, and was full of grace. She was in so much trouble. Nick, or rather Mitch, bounced the ball, and served sidearm, as if she was a kid.
The ball barely cleared the net, and while she raced toward it, the ball dropped a foot in front of her. “Good shot.”
“Sorry.”
Sorry? The point of the game was to win. “Don’t be.”
He held his racket out to the side and announced the score. “Fifteen–love.”
Lisa inched up, expecting him to try the same kind of shot. Instead, he lobbed the ball into the backcourt. She twisted around and raced to the line. Go out. Before she could get her racket on the ball, it bounced on the line. Damn. She spun around.
He pulled another ball from his pocket. “Thirty–love.” He winked.
Frustration bit at her. Mitch must have felt sorry for her because he served a soft overhand that landed halfway back on her forearm side. Lisa positioned herself and blistered the ball over the net. The ball hit the net and dribbled over, though that shot was not by design. She sagged in relief at finally earning a point, mentally saying the new score in her head. Out of nowhere, Mitch sprinted, reached out his racket and somehow managed to pooch it over the net. It dropped before she could respond.
“Holy smokes. That was amazing.”
He grinned. “Not bad for an old fart.”
“You’re hardly old.”
Since all of the balls were now on her side, she retrieved them and popped them back over the net. If she wasn’t a decent player, she might have been upset. Mitch had yet to use any power and yet she was down 40–love.
Concentrate.
He held up the ball. “Ready?”
“Yes.” She shifted from side to side, her body tensed and poised.
This time he served overhand. He hit the ball but it went wide. Yes!
He called, “40–15.”
The next serve shot to her backhand, right in midcourt. Either he was taking it easy on her or he felt sorry for her. The latter thought pissed her off and she returned a strong shot to his backhand. With ease, he returned the ball, but once more he played it safe, and she was able to return it deep to the back corner. Mitch ran back and then stalled as if he didn’t want to win this way. He let the ball sail on by.
He returned to the line. “Great shot.”
She nodded. He could have gotten it if he’d tried, so what was his strategy? The next serve was a line drive, deep to her backhand. While she managed to chase it down, her return was a lob, which he easily put away to her forehand.
“That’s game.” He didn’t sound overjoyed.
She walked back to the net and shook his hand. “Nice job.”
The wind picked up and brought with it a few drops. “Damn.” Mitch glanced to the sky. “Looks like it’s heading this way.”
She had to agree. She so wanted a rematch to judge his true skill level.
He reached across the net and lifted her chin. “Hey. I enjoyed our game.” He lowered his arm. “I wasn’t very forthcoming.”
Once more he fascinated her. “How so?”
“I kind of have a tennis court at my house.”
She stepped back. “You set me up.”
He laughed. “Hardly. You’re a good player. I wanted to see if you were serious about playing, which clearly you are. Would you consider a rematch tomorrow?”
“Sure.” She blurted out her response without really thinking.
The rain rushed in and they both scurried to the covered area, which was meant for a few spectators.
He pulled another business card out of his bag, wrote down his address on the back, and handed it to her. “How about two o’clock again?”
She saw no reason not to go. She wouldn’t beat him, but she might be able to give him a good workout. “Sure.”
“Bring a suit for afterwards. You’ll like my pool.” He winked. “My car’s parked right over there.” He nodded to an old Chevy about fifty feet away. “I can drive you to your car.”
That brought out a smile. “Thanks. For a famous writer, you’re okay.”
“For an out of work lawyer, you’re fantastic.”
Once more heat, as well as an unwelcomed shot of excitement, filled her. “Thanks.”
Mitch wrapped an arm around her waist, and even though she held her bag over her head, she was drenched by the time she reached his car. She jumped into it and was thankful he had cloth seats inste
ad of leather. While his car was clean, it had to be a good ten years old. There was no doubt that Mitch Dawes was one interesting and highly intriguing man.
Chapter Ten
“You met a man and are going over to his house to play tennis?” While Mandy was one of the more accepting friends she had, Lisa could sense an underlying layer of disapproval.
“He’s a famous author.”
“So? Has he asked to see your manuscript or volunteered to help you with it?”
“No. We’ve only met.” She then confessed everything.
Josh, who’d been sleeping peacefully in Mandy’s arms, woke and began to fuss. Cam, one of her husbands, happened to be walking through the living room on his way to the kitchen, leaned over, and rescued his son. “I’ll take care of him. Looks like you and Lisa are in a deep conversation.”
She smiled up at him so sweetly. “Thanks. Love you.”
“Love you back.”
Lisa’s heart swelled. Mitch should see Mandy with her men. Maybe then he wouldn’t tell her that people didn’t have happily ever afters.
Mandy crossed her arms. “What are you going to do?”
Lisa glanced out the window. The sun was setting and the storm had yet to dissipate. “Go over to his house.” She twisted in her seat to face Mandy. “Look. Until Trevor shows some indication that he’s interested in making a go of our relationship, I’m not going to tie myself down, waiting for him to come to his senses.” Yes, she would wait for him, but she didn’t think it was wise to admit that.
Mandy’s brows pinched. “What if you fall for Mitch?”
She wasn’t ready to address that question, so she tossed back a snarky answer. “Ask if he’s willing to share with Dante and Trevor.” She chuckled. “Only kidding. I can’t even handle two men, let alone three.” Lisa ran a hand down Mandy’s arm. “If our positions were switched, I’d be worried about you, too, but don’t worry. I’m not going to sleep with Mitch Dawes.”
She smiled. “I’m glad to hear it. I know Dante really cares about you. From what Vince says, Trevor is scared that if he falls in love again, he’ll be permanently damaged.”
Lisa straightened. “What do you mean if Trevor falls in love again?”
Mandy shifted her gaze. “I probably shouldn’t have said anything.”
“Oh, no, you don’t. You’ve got to tell me.”
She blew out a breath. “Okay, but not a word to Dante or Trevor. Promise?”
Like she did in grade school, she crossed her heart and held up her palm, mostly to cut the tension. “I so solemnly swear.”
“I know only bits and pieces, but apparently, Trevor was in a ménage relationship with some friend he’d known from high school and a woman named Sabrina.”
“Does she live in town?”
Mandy shook her head. “She moved away, but I don’t know where.”
“Go on.”
“Trevor and his friend both fell in love with this woman. I think it was before he went to med school. Anyway, the M word was brought up, and Sabrina decided she wasn’t ready to marry two men. So she picked the friend instead.”
“Ouch.”
“I know. I believe not long after the ceremony, she dumped the friend, too, but Trevor and this guy never repaired their friendship.”
Poor Trevor. “Basically, he lost two people he cared about.” That really sucked. “I’m surprised he was willing to share again.”
“I asked Vince that same question, but he didn’t have an answer. Trevor is a busy man and likes that Dante finds the women. I believe he and Dante went to high school together.”
That didn’t bode well for her, not that she’d be around long enough for their relationship to get that far. Maybe Mitch would be a better fit as he could drive anywhere and write. Don’t even think that. She really had told the truth to Mitch when she said she was confused. Now she had to come clean with her other two men.
* * * *
All the way to Mitch’s house, she’d debated turning around.
You’ve done nothing wrong. Agreeing to play tennis with an amazing player is a totally acceptable thing to do.
Then why did she feel guilty? Maybe there was something wrong with her. In Denver, rarely did a man turn her head. Now she had three? What was going on? Perhaps she was starstruck by power and success. Trevor Callen was not only handsome, but he was charming—when he wasn’t walking out of the bedroom after incredible sex—and smart and loved kids. What was not to love? She needed no logic for Dante Williams. His charm, kindness, and plain wonderfulness spoke for itself.
Lisa had wanted to be an author for as long as she could remember, dreaming of penning her tales and then being hailed as a literary genius, so being attracted to Mitch made sense, too.
See? She was delusional. Mitch Dawes, aka Nicolas Delacroix, fed her dream. She wasn’t attracted to the way he moved or how he seemed so damned interested in finding out her innermost motivations, but rather, she was attracted to what he did as a living. Right?
Feeling better, she finally glanced down at her GPS that indicated the turn to his home was coming up. She turned left on Lander’s Way, and the screen showed his street was the next one on the right. She wasn’t sure what to expect. His car wasn’t new and his racket even older. The mailbox at the end of the road was of a typewriter. Was that cute or what? She wouldn’t have thought Mitch would have had something like that made. Since it was steel perhaps Trevor’s cousin, Jade Callen, had been commissioned to make the piece.
Inhaling to calm herself, she eased her way down the dirt drive. Tall pines blocked her view of the house until she rounded a bend. “Holy moly.”
Sure, she’d assumed he was wealthy, but this looked like Vince Callen’s parents’ house. The log cabin style home was one-story and rather vast. If she had to guess, it would be in the neighborhood of seven thousand square feet. Hedges, along with brilliant flowers, bordered the front. She parked, grabbed her gym bag, and stepped onto the slate path that led to the columned entryway. A large metal knocker graced the front door.
Mr. Eastman, the CEO of her company, lived in a mansion in Denver, so she was used to opulence, but Mitch’s home rivaled his. She lifted the metal loop and let it drop. Seconds later, Mitch pulled back the door and grinned.
“Hey, you found it.”
“Got GPS, so it was easy.” A snarky comment seemed to slip from her lips when she was nervous.
“Come in.”
He placed a platonic peck on her cheek and walked her into a large entranceway that didn’t seem to have any purpose whatsoever, other than to house a piano and two different seating areas, which were sparsely decorated at best. Had anything adorned the walls, she would have been more impressed.
Mitch had a towel in his hand. He mopped his brow and placed a hand on her back. “I need to get a drink. Follow me.”
The kitchen was huge and was updated in a contemporary style rather than favoring country. Behind the kitchen was what she would call a family room. Even then, he only had one sofa and a large TV.
“Go ahead and ask.” He opened a cabinet and retrieved a glass, but not before she could see the cabinet was practically empty.
She smiled sweetly. “Ask what?”
He filled the glass with cold water from the fridge dispenser. “Where are my manners? You want some water?”
“Sure.” Holding a glass would give her something to do. She slid onto the bar stool at the counter.
“You’re wondering why my huge home isn’t exactly furnished, and that what is here, is rather, shall we say, eclectic.”
She laughed. His self-deprecating nature was refreshing. He handed her a drink. “Okay. Yes.”
“I like you, and I don’t believe in secrets. It can lead to deception and disappointment.” The bitterness in his voice stunned her. His whole demeanor had been either curious and casual or intensive and focused, but he never sounded as callous as he did now.
“I like honesty.” For the most part. Whethe
r she could be so noble was anyone’s guess. “So how did you end up here?”
“My wife wanted a home befitting her.” He wiggled his ring finger. “She’s long gone. Anyway, I’d sold my first book and she was convinced I’d be this overnight success.”
“But you are a success.” Something seemed missing from the story.
“At the time, I wasn’t. I had a trust fund that she insisted I use to build her this home in all its glory.” Once more the bitterness returned.
“If it holds bad memories, why live here?”
He walked closer to the counter and leaned on the granite, close enough for her to touch his smooth face. Whoops. She’d been so interested in his home that she hadn’t noticed he’d shaven. He looked younger without the stubble.
“Why live here? Good question. Maybe I’m too lazy to move or else I don’t think I could sell this behemoth without losing a lot of money.” He lifted his glass. “Contrary to the pervading opinion that all writers are rich, I am doing well, but I don’t have money to burn.”
“But the movie.”
“Ah, yes. The movie. I was dumb and naïve, as was my agent. I didn’t get what I should have. But you didn’t come here to see me cry in my beer, right?” He grinned and his old charm returned. “You’re burning for a rematch, remember?”
She did want to bring her A-game to the court this time. “Totally.”
He winked and set down his now empty glass. “Come on. I’ll show you to the stadium.”
Stadium?
Mitch led her outside. The deck with the incredible pool blew her away. “This is amazing.”
“My wife loved to swim. The tall waterfall with the inside cave was her idea. I do rather like it, though, and manage quite a few laps in it every day. It’s heated by solar panels so I can swim longer in the year.”
She furrowed her brows. “You don’t swim in the winter, do you?”
“If I do, I wear a wet suit.” He pounded his chest. “Gotta keep the body fit so my mind is sharp.”
She laughed, which she was sure was his intention.
Competing for Lisa [The Callens 11] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting) Page 9
