I sigh and look at my phone. My heart tries to lurch out of my chest in sudden panic. I have only two hours to go! As if on cue, my phone rings with a Boston number. I answer, breath choking in my throat. "Hello?"
"Ms. Cole?" It's almost weird to hear Alexander's voice after researching him all day. I feel vaguely like a stalker.
"Mr. Adams. You called."
"Are you still available tonight for dinner?" Ooh, his voice. I cross my legs and squeeze.
"I am."
"Wonderful. How does Dorsia sound, at eight?"
"Dorsia? Wonderful. Great! I'll see you there." Dorsia. That's the most exclusive restaurant in Boston right now. I know about it in much the same way people know about insanely gorgeous hotels in the Maldives.
"I'm looking forward to it, Ms. Cole. Goodbye." And the line goes dead.
I feel wrung out. Dorsia! Alexander Cole! Two hours? I leap to my feet, grab my purse and notebook, and literally run out of the library toward the subway.
Again I'm dropped off by a cab, and while I'm wearing last night's fabulous overcoat, this time around I'm wearing a beige sweater over a pair of black slacks. I've also opted for flats; I don't trust myself in heels around Mr. Adams. I hop out of the car, pay the fare, then turn to Dorsia. It's downtown, windows lit up with gold light that shows every table occupied, a flotilla of waiters weaving amongst them, carrying dishes and bottles of wine. I stride up to the front door, slip gratefully into the warmth within, and step up to the concierge.
"Table for two. Under Mr. Adams?"
The man's eyes actually go wide, and then he almost bows and gestures that I should follow him. We head to the back of the restaurant, and I immediately spot Alexander as he rises to greet me. Some part of me, the cynical side that's grown used to dealing with self-important men, expected him to be half an hour late. The fact that he's already here is impressive.
"Ms. Cole. Thank you for joining me." His voice. I need to record it and then play it for hours on end so that I can get over its effect on me. I need immunity. 'Cause right now I feel like melting into a simpering puddle. How can it be so rich and deep and masculine?
He helps me slip out of my overcoat, and I enjoy the sensation of having a gorgeous man being so courteous, his fingertips brushing my shoulders as I step free. "Actually, I believe I should be thanking you," I say as he pulls out my seat. I lower into it, and then smile up at him. "After all, I was the one who requested this interview."
Alexander sits across from me, and I have a long, aching moment to drink him in by candlelight. His gold hair glints and gleams as if it's burnished, and his blue eyes seem to devour me. My mouth goes dry and my pulse begins to race. His eyes are inhumanly gorgeous, a rich cobalt blue that speaks of intelligence, passion, and hunger. His mouth is wide and sensitive, and I almost imagine I can see a corona of light glowing behind his head. How the heck am I supposed to write an unbiased profile on him?
"I'm your willing prey, then."
Something about him loosens my tongue and makes me bold. "You're not afraid of my claws, then?"
"Afraid?" He leans back as the waiter approaches and presents him with the wine list. "Should I be, Ms. Cole?"
Shivers run down my spine at hearing my name come from his lips. I watch him as he points out a bottle to the waiter and turns back to me. "I'm a reporter, Mr. Adams. You're safe as long as you're not hiding anything... salacious."
"Salacious?" He leans forward. The air between us is crackling. I've never felt this kind of chemistry with a man so quickly. It's as if the candle at the center of the table is burning up all the oxygen. I feel lightheaded. God knows what the wine is going to do to me. "I'm a mayoral candidate, Ms. Cole. I'm a clean, sober, principled man. I'm afraid you'll find me very boring."
"Hardly," I say before I can stop myself. The waiter steps up, preventing me from just telling him outright how hot he is. The bottle is presented, then the cork, then the wine is poured into the glass. The few men I've been on dates with - is this a date? - usually make wry faces, as if they're amused by this old tradition, but Alexander handles himself with dignity as he inhales the bouquet and then nods appreciatively to the waiter. A dark red wine is poured into my voluminous glass, and the bottle set to one side. I pick up the glass and inhale. Ah, divine. Raspberries, old leather, a hint of dark chocolate. I glance at the bottle. A pinot noir.
Alexander is watching me as I sip the wine. I suddenly feel like I'm being judged. The wine slips over my tongue, and I can't help it, I let out a small, appreciative moan. Alexander's eyes narrow a fraction, and a predatory glint enters his eyes. Did my moan turn him on just a little? This wine is several grades above my usual quality. It's amazing. If I could afford this kind of wine, I'd have it for breakfast, lunch and dinner.
"That," I say, setting the glass down, "is special."
Alexander takes a sip of his own wine, still watching me, then sets his glass down as well. "Agreed. Tell me about yourself, Ms. Cole. How long have you been with the Globe?"
I smile and lean forward. "Not so fast. You're the subject of the interview. I am completely and utterly unimportant."
Alexander's smile matches my own. "I disagree. Why should I spill my darkest secrets to someone I don't know or trust?"
"So you do have dark secrets?" My smile widens.
"Oh, yes," he says, voice as soft as suede. "Like you wouldn't believe. But you're going to have to work hard to get them out of me."
"I'm not afraid of hard work," I say, heart starting to race again. This conversation is pushing the very limits of being professional. "What do I have to do?"
Alexander cants his head to one side. His smile becomes subtle and inscrutable. "Just how far are you willing to go for a good story?"
"All the way," I say, and then realize the unintended double entendre and blush. "There's nothing I won't do to get at the truth."
"I'm impressed. Such conviction. I believe you."
The waiter places menus before us, and again I'm given reprieve from the intensity of his gaze. Never has a conversation felt so dangerous, as if what's really at stake has nothing to do with what we're actually discussing.
I know I should behave and order a salad, but the maple mustard glazed salmon looks divine. Alexander orders slow roast boneless pork chops, and then it's just the two of us again with only a candle separating us.
Alexander raises his glass to his lips. "How about this, to keep things fair. For every question I answer, you will answer one of my own."
"Unorthodox, but sure." I sip my own wine. As I predicted, it's going right to my head. I feel alive, vivacious, and very much aroused.
"Should you prove unwilling to answer any of my questions," says Alexander, setting the glass down, "then the interview is over."
I quirk an eyebrow. "Are we going to keep this PG-13?"
Alexander shrugs one broad shoulder. "We'll see."
"Then I'll begin." Reckless, I ask the incredibly unprofessional question that's burning at the forefront of my mind. "Are you seeing anybody?"
Alexander grins and raises an eyebrow. "And if I was?"
"Whole nations would wail and plunge into the ocean." I try to sound as flippant as I can, but my stomach twists at the prospect. Is he? Erin said he was single. Was she wrong?
"In that case, so as to spare the world, I'll admit that I'm not seeing anybody. My turn. Are you?"
"Oh, yes," I say, taking up my wine. "I have quite a serious relationship going on."
"You do?"
Is he looking skeptical? Wait. My joke revolved around Mr. Rocky Road. What am I thinking? How am I going to tell him I'm dating a tub of ice cream? Suddenly mortified, I think as quickly as I can. "Of course. I'm having a very, very serious affair with my job. Some might say it's a lifelong passion, but it leaves precious little room for anybody else." Phew.
"That's too bad." Did he really just say that? I blink rapidly, but he continues. "Your turn."
I swallow. I know I should be a
sking serious questions, but I don't want to be professional. I want to get to know him better as a person. "Favorite movie?"
"Hmm." He thinks. "Tough one. I'd have to say Groundhog Day."
"Bill Murray?" I almost laugh. "I thought you'd say something like Selma."
"Great movie, but I love the idea behind Groundhog Day. That we can work endlessly at improving ourselves. That, and Bill Murray is a genius."
"Fair enough," I say.
"And you? Favorite movie?"
"Got an hour? Let's settle for TV shows. I'm currently catching up on Downton Abbey, and - well, I have a thing for zombies, so... The Walking Dead?"
He grins. "Romantic."
"I know, I'm crazy romantic. Show up in a zombie outfit with a rose clutched between your teeth, and I'm all yours."
Alexander leans forward in a way that makes me a little lightheaded. "Good to know. I may use that information against you."
"You're welcome to," I say, and then want to pinch myself. What am I doing? This is an interview, not a date. I cough and make a serious face. "Ahem. I think we've strayed a little off-topic."
Alexander sits back, and I almost sigh with disappointment. "I think we have, but I don't mind. Do you?"
"No," I sigh. "But I have to justify my paycheck somehow. Mind if I ask you some work-related questions?"
He hesitates, then grins and sips from his wine. "If you must."
"All right. Here goes." No more beating around the bush, so I plunge right into the heart of his mysterious background. "Tell me about Honeycomb Falls."
Alexander gaze becomes cold. My smile wilts on my face. I didn't expect him to have such an intense reaction. "Honeycomb Falls?" His voice is stilted. "Where did you hear that name?"
"Didn't - isn't that where you're from?"
He nods. "It is. But I don't see why my childhood has anything to do with my mayoral run."
"Well, your whole life is of interest," I say, suddenly wishing I could keep this dinner informal, could just forget about my assignment and enjoy this gorgeous man's company, the wine, the banter. But I have a job to do. And nothing will keep me from my work, not even if it sours the evening. "Are your parents still there?"
"I'm sorry, but I don't talk about my childhood or my family," he says, voice flat.
"Oh." It's such a point-blank refusal that for a moment I'm completely thrown off balance. "Um... You know that people are going to want to know?"
Alexander struggles for a moment, then sighs. "Fine. My father is alive, but we're not close. My mother passed when I was young. These memories are painful. I don't like to discuss them."
I lean forward. "Alexander, people are going to dig up these issues. You can't hide them if you're going to go so public."
His scowl almost makes me scoot back in my seat. "My qualifications for the position have nothing to do with my childhood. I'm happy to talk about anything that's occurred since I graduated from college."
Wow. I've never been so torn. The reporter in me senses a story. What happened that's got this sophisticated man so torn up? I need to ask questions. I need to pry. It's what I do. Mercia asked me to get a story, and this is it. Everything else is already pretty much public knowledge. Yet the part of me that's a woman, that wants to cuddle up in Alexander's lap and lose myself in his eyes wants to stop challenging him, stop pressing his buttons. I haven't been on a date in who knows how long. I've never flirted with a man this wonderful and hot, period. Do I have to ruin it?
I know the answer. Of course I'm going to ruin it. Alexander forfeited the right to that kind of privacy when he decided to run for mayor. If he didn't want his background explored, he should have avoided this kind of high-profile public service.
"I warned you about my claws," I say sorrowfully.
"I should have listened more carefully," says Alexander, face grave. "To both you and my campaign manager. I'm sorry to have wasted your time, Ms. Cole."
His gaze is as cold and unyielding as stone. The thought of eating dinner across from him with him looking at me like that is unbearable. Part of me wants to cry, It's not fair! Why can't I meet a wonderful man outside of work?
"Then why did you agree to this interview, Mr. Adams?"
He smiles, a rueful smile that almost hurts. "I don't know. For a moment I thought - but it doesn't matter. You've represented yourself honestly from the beginning. I was the fool who thought things could be otherwise. My apologies, Ms. Cole."
This dinner is crashing and burning before my eyes. "Is the interview over, then?"
Alexander nods his head. "If you refuse to leave my childhood alone, I'm afraid it has to be."
My heart sinks. I feel awkward and out of place. An imposter in truth. How could such a wonderful evening have gone south so quickly? I know I should be professional and brush his childhood aside, focus on what he's willing to talk about, smile even if I don't feel like it. And yet I can't. Something about our interaction has made it impossible for me to proceed as I normally might. I realize with a curse that I've allowed myself to get personally involved with Alexander. I'm no longer impartial. I can't fake being pleasant for a whole hour with him, knowing that I'm going to try to uncover his childhood against his will.
I stand, my stomach a tight knot. "Well. Thank you for the wine, Mr. Adams."
He stands, looking abashed, regretful, but still determined. "I'm the one who should apologize. It was a serious lapse in judgment. Please forgive me."
I give Alexander a brittle smile and pick up my overcoat. "Not at all. Good evening, Mr. Adams."
I can see indecision flash across his face. Then his expression becomes neutral, and he bends slightly at the waist. "Good evening, Ms. Cole."
I turn and walk out, feeling numb. As I step out into the cold, I work on hardening my own resolve. I'm a professional reporter. This is my job. The public deserves to know the truth about Mr. Adams, so that they can best judge if he's the right man to be their mayor. If revealing that truth earns the ire of the man in question, then so be it. I've made greater sacrifices before.
Still, I can't help but feel sad, almost crushed, as I get into the cab. It was a dream, I tell myself sternly. What, did you think something could have developed between you and him? Never. A sweet, brief dream. But now you're awake. And on the hunt.
I will have that story. I will.
Chapter 4
I wrestle with my anger as I drive home. It's alive, roaring within me, seeking release. I will not give in. I will not lash out. Instead, I clench my steering wheel so hard my knuckles whiten. I deliberately do not speed. I do none of the things that I wish I could.
Control. It's something I've practiced for so long that normally it's second nature to be calm.
But moments like these, when I feel my past reach out to ruin my present, I can barely keep my cool. I've fought so hard to leave Honeycomb Falls behind. To erase it from my life. To make it irrelevant to who I am as a man. Tonight, however, I realized how foolish I'd been to think I could walk away from it. Myra Cole is only the first person to start asking questions. More will come. I know they will. And next time, I'm going to have to have better answers.
My phone rings. It's Eric, my aide. I sigh. I know what's coming. And while I'm not in the mood, I fight every day to stay open to advice. Especially when it comes from somebody as whip-smart as Eric.
"Hey." I use my Bluetooth so that I don't have to hold my phone to my ear.
"Hey, boss. So. How'd it go?"
Eric's gifted at maneuvering the dangerous world of politics. He's got an ear for sound bites, an eye for opportunities, and a sixth sense for dangers that I don't even sense coming. He told me to steer clear of Myra Cole, but I ignored his advice. Each time I've done so, I've come to regret it.
I sigh. "It started well. Then we took a left turn and drove off a cliff."
I think about the delectable Ms. Cole. Of the swell of her breasts beneath her beige sweater. The sparkle in her eyes, her oh-so-kissable lips.
"Well, we left ten minutes after we sat down."
"Ouch." Eric pauses as he considers the situation. "She asked about your childhood?"
I nod, and of course I realize immediately that Eric can't see that. "Yeah. Her first question, actually."
"Huh. She's got good instincts, I'll give her that. How - uh - smooth were you about diffusing the topic?"
I laugh darkly. "You know me, Eric."
"Yeah. Well, you realize your flat denials will only arouse her curiosity further?"
Her hair was so dark it had blue tints to it. A curly mass I wanted to press my face into. She smelled divine, a subtle scent that provoked me. Made me want to growl and pull her toward me.
"Alex?"
I blink and realize I didn't answer. "I'm here. And yes, you're right. You're always right. What do you think her next move will be?"
"Well, if she's any good, she'll drive the three hours to Honeycomb Falls first thing tomorrow morning and start asking around if anybody knows you."
"Damn." I bite my lower lip and then blow out a sigh. "I feel like a naive fool."
"Well, this had to happen sooner or later. At least this is the Globe we're talking about, and not some scandalous trashy magazine. This Ms. Cole should keep her story professional." There's a delicate pause. "What's she likely to uncover by asking around town?"
I think of her wrestling with the fern, and then her impertinent, devilishly funny comments. Her sharp wit. Her provocative yet strangely innocent manner. "I don't know. I haven't been back in seventeen years. If she digs deep enough, she'll come up with the truth, though."
Again there's silence as Eric digests this. I drive on, weaving slowly through the night traffic. I'm hungry, depressed, and frustrated. I should be sitting across from the vivacious Ms. Cole right now, enjoying some dessert. Enjoying the sight of her lips pressing against the edge of her glass of wine. And that low moan of appreciation she made - damn. It was all too easy to imagine her moaning like that while I cupped her breasts and took one of her nipples in my mouth. Parted her legs. Reached down to -
A Lion After My Own Heart: (BBW Paranormal Shape Shifter Romance) (Honeycomb Falls Book 5) Page 3
