by Darcy Burke
“Of course. I watched it all the time when I was a kid. Then Deep Space Nine. But I still have an affinity for the original—it is the source, after all.”
She smiled at him. “I got to meet Leonard Nimoy once at an event. He was so kind and funny. Just a very genuine person.”
He gaped at her. “You didn’t.”
“I did.”
“I’m . . . wow . . . that’s . . . awesome.”
She laughed. “Totally. I love that you think it’s awesome.” She moved to the corkboard and studied it a moment. “Why do you want to keep all of this secret? What are you designing—something for your family’s company? You said something about using a fake name.”
He went to sit in his desk chair. Once he was seated, he glanced at the balance ball he also kept here and wondered if he ought to sit on that instead. Focus on the conversation, Evan. Sometimes it was so hard to tune out information and details, especially about his environment. “I applied to be the chief creative officer of Archer Enterprises using a consulting company I set up and a fake name.”
She turned from the bulletin board. “You said your family wouldn’t have hired you. How do you know that?”
He shrugged. “They think I’m good at computers. Alex was the creative one.”
“Did you always want Alex’s job?”
His gaze snapped to hers for a brief instant. He hadn’t thought of it like that. “I . . . maybe.”
“Do they have any idea that you have this creative, artistic side?” She held her hand up. “Wait, no, you said they didn’t. Why not?”
He shrugged again, growing uncomfortable. “I don’t know. Look, can we forget about this? You won’t tell anyone about this place or my job, will you?”
“Absolutely not.” She walked over to him and grazed her fingers against his temple, then pressed a soft, feather-light kiss just in front of his ear. “You can trust me. I’m trusting you to keep my presence here a secret, aren’t I? We’ve got a good thing going.” She chuckled. “After today, I’d say we have a great thing going.”
He pulled her onto his lap, and her weight, though not great, was an immediate balm to his senses. The conversation had started to work him up. He palmed the back of her head and kissed her long and deep.
When they parted, she rested her forehead against his. “I can’t wait for the do-over with the condom. What are you doing now?”
He laughed. “I was going to work. Maybe I’ll see you later for dinner or something.”
“That would be nice.” She smiled at him. “Way better than nice, actually.” Her fingers massaged the back of his neck with delicate strokes. “Can I ask you something?”
“Sure.”
“You mentioned not being very experienced. Can I ask what that means exactly? I don’t need number of partners, just curious . . . Seems like you were maybe just a late bloomer.”
He pressed his palm into the curve of her waist, loving the feel of her. He’d never been very touchy-feely, but he wanted to touch her as much as possible. “Yeah, that’s how my mom would phrase it. When I showed no interest in having a girlfriend in high school, my brothers would try to set me up. She told them to leave me alone, that I was a late bloomer.”
“So no girlfriends in high school at all?”
“Nope. I didn’t even go to prom.”
Her fingers stilled against his nape. “You didn’t? I’m surprised your siblings didn’t drag you along. I assume they went.”
He nodded. “They tried, but I wasn’t interested. In retrospect, I guess I wish I’d gone, but at the time, it wasn’t remotely important to me.” He moved his hand down to her hip and lightly stroked her through her jeans.
“And college? I presume you went to college, but maybe I shouldn’t. I didn’t.”
“I graduated from Williver, which is only about thirty minutes from here. I didn’t have a girlfriend, per se. Never wanted one.”
“Okay. Good to know.” She laughed. “It’s really good to know. I’d be a terrible girlfriend.”
He stopped kneading her hip. “Why?”
She stood up and ran her fingers through her long hair, pulling it back and then letting it fall. “Oh, you know, narcissistic movie star with a complicated high-profile life. Total nightmare.”
He inwardly flinched. “Sounds like it.”
“I was being sarcastic. Mostly. I do have a complicated high-profile life. Hopefully I’m not a total nightmare, though.”
“Complicated and high-profile are two things that would give me nightmares.” He couldn’t think of anything he would like less. “Do you want me to walk you back to the house?”
She picked up her coat and shrugged it on. “No, you work. I can find my way.” She smiled, her face softening, and he realized it wasn’t like the smile he saw on screen. This one was warmer, more real. “You’re a dangerous man, Evan Archer. I could get used to the idea of uncomplicated and low-profile.”
“That’s me exactly.”
“I see that. Careful, I might just fall in love with the idea of you.”
That sounded nice, but it was, after all, just an idea. And Evan knew from experience that most ideas went absolutely nowhere.
Chapter Eight
LATER THAT EVENING, Alaina checked on the chili she’d thrown together after her tryst with Evan. She’d texted him and invited him to come for dinner—and hopefully dessert—but he hadn’t yet responded. She tried not to read too much into that. He was different from any man she’d ever known, and they’d practically just met.
Furthermore, they’d agreed to keep things casual. Okay, maybe that was overstating things a bit. She’d said she’d make a terrible girlfriend, and he’d all but agreed. But that was fine, wasn’t it? She really would make an awful girlfriend, especially since she was actively planning to start a family.
Her phone chimed on the counter, and she rushed to pick it up, a half-smile already curving her lips as she anticipated Evan’s response.
But it was Crystal.
The doctor called me. Said he couldn’t get a hold of you.
“The doctor” had to mean Dr. Fields, the fertility specialist she’d seen at the clinic. The man who was going to give her what she wanted most and what took her out of the girlfriend contest—a baby. Tensing for the worst, Alaina brought up Crystal’s number and called her.
“Hey,” Crystal said. “How’s it going?”
“What do you mean? You just sent a text that’s freaking me out. What’s going on with Fields?”
“Nothing. He just wanted to assure you that none of his staff are talking to the press, despite their repeated attempts to obtain information.”
Alaina exhaled as her muscles relaxed. She’d immediately thought his calling would be to tell her that someone on staff had blabbed her story. “That’s good to hear.”
“How’s it going?” Crystal asked again.
“Fine. Relaxing.” Especially with Evan to occupy her mind and body.
“Are you sure? You sounded upset at first.”
Alaina went around the bar and perched on one of the stools. “Because I thought there was something wrong.”
“Because you immediately jumped to that conclusion. You need to do more yoga.”
“Or I could just move to Ribbon Ridge. It’s gorgeous here. And quiet. And relaxing. Did I already say that?”
“You did. What’s really going on? What aren’t you telling me?”
That I met a guy. Why wasn’t she telling Crystal? They shared everything. “I’m just having a nice time. The family I’m staying with—Sean’s in-laws—are really cool. They have a family dinner every Sunday. It’s so . . . normal.”
“That has to be culture shock for you.”
“Obviously. The only pleasant family memories I have are with yours.” Alaina had gone on vacation with Crystal’s family a few times, and those were by far the best parts of her adolescence.
“I know. You should call my mom soon. She misses talking to you.�
�
Maureen Donovan was a lovely woman and the closest thing Alaina had to a real mother. In her Oscar acceptance speech, she’d mentioned Maureen before her own mother—a fact Mama never let her forget.
“I’ll do that. Have you been to my house or talked to Monroe? How’s it going over there?”
“Calmer, but the stalwarts refuse to leave, despite my telling them you aren’t coming out.”
“But they’re convinced I’m still there?”
“So far.”
Wow, they’d managed to pull off her escape without anyone realizing it. Occasionally they got lucky. “I really appreciate all you’re doing.”
“I know. Listen, Isaac called a bit ago. He’s expecting to hear about the Oscar ceremony tomorrow morning.”
Alaina had totally forgotten about that. “When would I have to come back again?”
“I think the rehearsal is Friday. We’ll have to get you a dress and everything.”
Ugh, she didn’t want to leave. She wanted to spend time with Evan. Valuable, exciting, condom-possessing time. And she wanted to go on a picnic to the cemetery he’d mentioned. And talk to him about the historic farmhouse she’d walked through today, as well as his office cabin that looked like it probably predated the farmhouse.
“If they want me, find out the absolute latest I can come back.”
“So you like Ribbon Ridge?” Crystal asked.
Alaina traced her fingertip along a vein in the granite countertop. “It’s a refreshing change of . . . everything.”
“Maybe I should join you.” She exhaled into the phone. “I think I might finally need a break, Lainie.”
Crystal didn’t call her Lainie very often. When had that stopped? When they were younger, that had been her name. Everyone had called her that. “I’m sorry, Crys. What can I do?”
Crystal sighed. “I don’t know. You can’t give me a raise. I’m already the highest-paid assistant by a shit-ton.”
Alaina wouldn’t have it any other way. Crystal worked her ass off, besides being Alaina’s closest friend. “A break is coming soon. Once I’m knocked up, we’ll both be taking it easy for a nice, long while. But for now, if the Oscars fall through and I end up staying here longer, you should totally come up.”
Wait, what? Had she really said that out loud? If Crystal came up here, Alaina wouldn’t be alone with Evan anymore. She wasn’t sure how he’d react to that. She had the sense that he preferred smaller interactions. He hadn’t been uncomfortable at dinner last night, but he also hadn’t seemed as at ease as he’d been with her alone. Or maybe she was fooling herself. Or maybe her head was still too wrapped up in his lovemaking. Which had been absolutely mind-blowing.
“Really?” Crystal asked, breaking into Alaina’s thoughts before they took a completely lurid turn. “That would be great.”
Alaina’s phone buzzed next to her ear from a text. “Hey, I’m going to eat dinner now. I really appreciate everything, Crys. Really. I couldn’t survive without you.”
“You could. It would just be really shitty. Smooches.” She ended the call, and Alaina pulled the phone from her head to read the screen.
Sean: We’re bringing sushi up to the house if you want to join us. Be there in five.
A mini adrenaline dump left her feeling like a limp rag. She’d been hoping it was Evan. And had been abnormally disappointed when it wasn’t. Get a grip, Lainie, and stop getting excited about this guy. Aren’t you the one who said complication was bad?
She took a deep breath and blew it out before she texted Sean back.
I made some chili, but thanks.
Whether she wanted to be excited about Evan or not, she still held out hope he’d come by. They had unfinished business.
Sean: If you change your mind, come on over!
She dropped her phone to the counter and stared at it. Should she text Evan again? Normally, she’d say no. Men hated nags. But Evan wasn’t like any other man she’d known. He’d told her to be explicit. She picked the phone back up and typed.
Chili’s ready when you are.
She deleted that.
Don’t know if you saw my other text, but I’d love for you to join me for dinner. Chili’s ready!
She deleted that, too.
She looked up at the ceiling. Don’t overthink this.
I made chili if you want to join me. Hope to see you later.
She hit send before she could change her mind.
And then she pulled on her big girl pants—metaphorically speaking—and dished up her chili. Alone.
THE VIBRATING OF Alaina’s phone on the nightstand woke her from a deep sleep. Disoriented, she squinted at the clock. Nearly one in the morning. Who the hell was texting her at this hour? It better not be Crystal or Monroe to tell her some asshat was trespassing on her property.
She picked up the phone and blinked.
Evan: I just got your text. Do you still have chili?
What the hell?
She texted him back.
I’m sleeping.
Evan: Clearly you’re not.
She smiled in spite of her irritation.
Fair enough. But I WAS sleeping and would like to get back to it.
Evan: Okay. See you tomorrow.
What did that mean? Tomorrow when? For what? Or was that just a maybe they’d see each other?
Argh.
She’d spent some time tonight reading more about Asperger’s. It turned out it wasn’t even called Asperger’s anymore. According to the fifth edition of The Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders, Asperger’s syndrome was now part of autism spectrum disorder. It didn’t change anything except the label. Alaina hated labels. She didn’t care what he’d been diagnosed. She only wanted to understand him.
What she’d read had told her that she needed to not make assumptions about anything he said or did. There was every chance—way more than most men—that he had no idea how he came off and meant none of the irrational things her overly hormonal mind could dream up. That didn’t mean it was okay to blow her off twice in two days. But that was who he was, and she had to decide if that was acceptable.
And she couldn’t decide that alone in bed.
She picked up her phone and texted him again.
I’ll bring you some chili. Meet you in the kitchen at the house.
She pushed the covers back and shivered as cold night air rushed over her sleep-warmed body. She considered whether to get dressed or just put on a sweater and grab her coat. Her phone vibrated on the nightstand. She picked it up and frowned.
Never mind. I heated up a burrito.
Was Fate trying to tell her to give up? Screw Fate. She’d never done what was easy or expected.
She pulled her favorite sweatshirt on over her pajama top and thrust her sock-clad feet into a pair of Uggs. After a quick stop in the bathroom to brush her teeth, she grabbed her coat and left the apartment.
It was freezing outside—literally. Sunny days in February meant no clouds to keep in any heat. But wow, it was beautiful. She stopped and stared at the ink-black sky. She hadn’t seen that many stars since she’d left Blueville. She’d forgotten how much you could see, how easy it was to let your imagination—and your worries—take flight.
A breeze stirred her hair, and she shivered. Hunching her shoulders, she hurried to the house. She briefly worried the door might be locked, but it wasn’t. Why would there be a need? They lived in a gated compound in the middle of blessed nowhere.
Heaven.
She went into the kitchen just as he was setting his plate in the sink. “You’re done already?” she blurted.
He turned his body toward her, but as usual, his gaze didn’t find hers. “Yeah. You want a beer?”
She saw that he had a half-full pint on the other side of the bar where he must’ve sat to eat his dinner. Or was it a midnight snack?
She didn’t move, just stared at him, especially the sexy, dark stubble cloaking his jaw. “What happened to you tonight
?”
“I was working. Writing, actually. I’m sorry I missed your text.”
He said the words, but she wasn’t sure he was really sorry. Did that matter? No, she realized.
“I’m glad you texted. Eventually.” She took off her coat and hung it on the back of one of the stools. “Sure, I’ll take a beer.”
He went to the tap, and she watched him move, appreciating the way the athletic pants rode low on his hips and the pull of the cotton Henley across his chest. That afternoon, she’d wanted to lick every spectacular muscled inch of him. He was almost Photoshopped sexy with his cut abs and the perfect angles of his hip bones. She pulled herself out of the lust-addled memory and went to the bar, where he was drawing her beer from the tap.
“What kind is it?” she asked, hoping he’d attribute the rasp in her voice to the fact that she’d just woken up and not that she wanted to screw him senseless. She didn’t remember the last time she’d wanted someone so ferociously and so . . . often. God, was it the fertility drugs making her horny? She followed him to the beer counter and stood on the opposite side from him.
“Dad just changed the keg this morning. It’s red ale. He tinkers in his brewing room downstairs. This isn’t anything you can find at an Archer pub. At least not yet. Sometimes he shares them with the world, but just as often he keeps special recipes just for us.”
She didn’t often hear a lot of inflection in his tone, but right now she picked up a sense of affection in his voice. “Your family is really important to you.”
“The most important thing. Is yours?”
She picked up the glass and took a swig of the beer. “My family is less than important to me.”
“That doesn’t sound good.”
She peered at him over the rim of her pint glass. “I have a judgmental prick of a grandfather and an obnoxious, needy, sometimes-offensive mother. Does that answer your question?”
He went and grabbed his beer before moving back behind the tap. “Uh, sure. What about your dad?”
“Dead. He overdosed when I was seven. Or eight. No, seven. He’d been in and out of jail since before I was born. My mom was a total enabler, and he was a freeloader. End of story.”
