by Cari Quinn
She’d waited two days for this night to come.
While Kiki put the finishing touches on her makeup—delicate sweeps of violet shadow, a hint of mascara, and just a bit of red gloss—she concentrated on her speech.
“I’ve been thinking, Vincent.” She cocked her head, pouting her lips to see where she needed more color. “We’ll need to celebrate finishing the book. My family’s Christmas party is coming up soon, and it’s really fun.”
Lies. All lies.
She dropped her tube into the sink with a frustrated hiss. Forget the speeches. She’d just play it by ear.
It wasn’t as if they were strangers, right? Somehow or another she’d figure out the right words to say to convince him he wanted to go with her to the party. And maybe possibly continue to see her afterward, both in and out of bed.
Hey, a girl could dream.
She expected him to honk, but her doorbell rang at exactly seven. Her thighs trembled with anticipation as she smoothed her hands down her serviceable black skirt and top. Then she rushed downstairs to open the door.
Nothing like a prompt man. Especially one who absolutely killed a pinstriped gray suit.
“Hey,” he said softly, holding out his offering.
Her heart raced. He hadn’t brought her a flower, or chocolates. No, Vincent had sprung for a giant candy cane, adorned with a floppy red bow.
“I know you like them,” he added when she only stared.
She let out a delighted laugh. “I do.”
At his sudden panicked expression, she lifted a brow quizzically. “Don’t believe me? I’ll dig in right now if you need convincing.”
“I believe you.” He stepped into her foyer, dominating the space completely with his tall frame. His cologne curled tendrils of heat and familiarity around her, warming her from her stiletto heels to the small of her bare back. “God, Kiki, you look amazing.”
His voice sounded husky. Needy. In other words, totally sexy.
She dragged her gaze up from the open collar of his white shirt, her lips all but tingling with the urge to kiss his neck, just below his Adam’s apple. That was as high as she could reach without his bending down, even with her heels. His sun-kissed skin and lean geek muscles always made her ache, and tonight was no exception.
She wanted him. Right here. Right now. Wall or floor, she wasn’t picky. But if he didn’t get inside her soon—
“We can’t.” He must’ve read her thoughts as she leaned in to meet his mouth because he ended the kiss with a laugh. “Reservation’s at seven.”
“Dammit.” But she accepted his hand as he led her outside and closed the door. “Where are we going?”
“You’ll see.”
Throughout the ride to the restaurant, conversation flowed smoothly between them. He laughed in all the appropriate places and touched her the same way he always did. It didn’t matter. Something was off. She knew it as surely as she knew she’d never get a chance to ask him to her parents’ party.
But she played her part. He’d gone to some trouble to secure their reservation, and dinner at Harvey’s wasn’t cheap. So she dutifully ate her share of their shrimp scampi appetizer and gorged herself on prime rib, garlic mashed potatoes, and winter vegetables. Her stomach started to swim as she sampled her crème brûlée, but not because she was full.
What was she doing? Hadn’t she learned this lesson a long time ago? Maybe she didn’t know what had happened to change things between them, but that didn’t mean she had to wait around until it was convenient for him to explain.
“Let’s dance,” she said suddenly, removing the fork from his hand just as he sank it into his cheesecake.
“Now?”
“Now.” She pulled him into the small crowd of dancers near the stage and slid her arms under his jacket, deliberately fitting her body to his. “This feels good,” she murmured, watching his expression from under her lowered lashes.
He nodded, though he tensed every time their bodies brushed. “Uh, yeah. It’s nice.”
“Nice?” She even surprised herself with her velvety laughter. No one would guess tiny fists of worry were kneading her belly. “I’d say this is much better than nice.”
“Kiki, we need to talk.”
She guided him around the floor, his shuffling half-steps as endearing to her as they’d been the night they’d danced on his front porch. Not that she wanted to be endeared. She didn’t want to feel anything soft and mushy toward him. “I’m impressed.”
He lifted a brow, glancing down at their feet. “With my dancing?”
“No. That you have the balls to spit out what’s on your mind without sleeping with me first.” She indicated the noticeable bulge in his pants with a jerk of her chin. “Admirable restraint you have, Buonfiglio.”
“Kiki.” He stopped in the middle of the dance floor. Couples swayed around them while he cupped her bare shoulders in his palms. “You know I don’t want to hurt you. God, I hate even the idea of it.”
“And he resorts to the usual lines. Too bad. You’d almost convinced me you weren’t the standard-issue male.” With a shrug, she turned toward their table and saw Brent and Lynsay a few feet away, their gazes locked over flickering candles and the plate of finger foods they were feeding each other.
Great. Abso-frigging-lutely the last thing she needed right now.
Her best friend glanced up and caught her eye. Smiled. “Hey, darlin’. You two looked great out there.” She circled a breaded something or other in the air. “Okay, I’m lying. You looked great. Mr. Two Left Feet looked a little seasick. Still does, actually.”
Drawing on every ounce of acting skill she possessed, Kiki let out a breezy laugh. “Probably just ate too much. Aren’t you guys cozy?”
“Aren’t we?” Brent agreed, never taking his eyes off Lynsay.
Kiki blinked hard, shifting her attention to the band. Apparently, some people weren’t having any trouble coupling up. As usual, she wasn’t one of them.
“How about you two? Having a good time?”
“Fabulous,” she answered when it became obvious Vincent wouldn’t.
“We should go.” As the silence stretched, Vincent wrapped a hand around Kiki’s elbow.
Her skin tingled under his fingers, but not from desire. She wanted to shake him off and just get the hell out of there before he said something she couldn’t stand to hear. But she wasn’t quick enough.
“Speaking of going, guess who agreed to go to Comtek’s Christmas shindig with me?” Lynsay asked, threading her fingers through Brent’s hair.
“I was an easy sell.”
“Oh, you’re easy pretty much all the time.” Lynsay laughed and picked up her champagne flute. “I’m assuming we’ll see you two there?”
As Kiki took a definite step away from Vincent, his hand fell limply off her arm. Figures. Why bother holding on? “Wouldn’t count on it,” Kiki said as brightly as she could manage. “My schedule’s booked.”
For eternity.
Before anyone could say anything more, Kiki waved and headed back to their table, her only objective to retrieve her purse and split. The cool leather dug into her fingers when she seized the strap and whirled around, nearly colliding with Vincent.
“Are you sure you don’t want to finish your dessert?”
“Yes. Thank you.” Her voice sounded stiff and formal, just like his. “Are you sure you don’t want to start yours?”
“No.” He withdrew his wallet from his pocket and threw a hundred-dollar bill on the table.
That had to be way over what they owed, but he looked as eager to get out of there as she did. He must be, if he was willing to overpay their bill by thirty percent. Normally, Vincent squeezed a penny until it shrieked.
“Dinner was lovely.” Kiki glanced up at him and fought the urge to touch his cheek. Her body hadn’t quite caught up to the reality of the situation yet.
“You didn’t finish yours.”
“What I ate was delicious, thanks.” M
anners might have required she thank him, but she hurt far too much to let him off so easily. “Very classy way to tell me you’re no longer interested.”
“Kiki.” His hand came dangerously close to her face, but he must’ve caught her expression and thought better of the gesture. “Can we go outside?”
She wanted to demand he say his piece right there. Unfortunately she’d exceeded her dramatic scene quotient years ago at Hendrix Chapel so she nodded and led the way out of the restaurant.
They got their coats without speaking. Once they emerged onto the snowy sidewalk, she strode a short distance from the door and cocked an eyebrow. “Well?”
He just stood there, his mouth a grim line and his eyes nothing but shadows behind his glasses.
“Don’t worry. I won’t cry.” She gripped her purse in both hands. A couple minutes more and she could escape. “I save my tears for what really matters.”
An emotion she couldn’t identify skipped across his face. It almost looked like pain, but that was ridiculous. Impossible. “I have feelings for you. Because you matter, I need to be straight with you. This isn’t going to work.”
“This? What’s this?”
“Us. I hate hurting you.” From the way he tightened his hands into fists before he shoved them into the pockets of his coat, she nearly believed him. “A man would have to be an idiot to destroy his chance with you.”
“Funny how it keeps happening then.” Boredom crept into her tone. “Look, it was good while it lasted. We got each other off and had some laughs. You got most of a book out of the deal.”
Thinking of the book made her voice stumble, but only for a second. She wouldn’t think of losing that, too, not yet. “We kept things loose so there wouldn’t be a messy ending, because neither of us wanted that. I’m not sure why you asked me out tonight, but maybe it’s better to end things on a high note.”
“I wasn’t planning on ending things. I wanted to go further. But I care enough for you to be upfront about who I am.” He expelled a short breath. “Dammit, Kiki, you know I’m no good for you. You’ve known it all along. I’m just a womanizer who keeps sex toys from his ex and balls his co-workers on the conference table at work. Not someone you could trust.” His jaw cracked. “Not someone you could love.”
Her throat tightened. How dare he tell her who she could love? He couldn’t decide that. Only her stupid heart could. Too damn bad it always made the wrong choice.
“That’s true. So why don’t you cut the crap and tell me why you never mentioned the Comtek party? I could see by your face you’re going.” When he fell silent, she bit the inside of her cheek to keep from screaming. Damn him. Damn him for making her care, when she’d sworn she wouldn’t. “Let me guess. I’m too good for you so you asked someone else.”
“That has nothing to do with us.”
She turned her face away before he could see the tears stinging her eyes. Another cheater. Worst of all, she’d known he was like Nico from day one, and she’d still let herself be suckered. “There is no us. Isn’t that your point? And I’m agreeing with you.”
“I never wanted to hurt you, Kiki,” he whispered.
“You didn’t.” She started down the winding path to the parking lot. Time to go. Any more of this, and she’d be tempted to slam her purse into his face. Maybe even smash his glasses under the heels of her boots. She shivered, imagining the satisfying crunch. “Your conscience is clear. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to get home.” And far, far away from you.
“Kiki, wait,” he called when she took off at a near run.
“I’m done waiting.” She bypassed his Jeep and kept going. Her house was less than a mile away. As mad as she was, she’d cover the distance in no time.
His shoes clomped in the snow as he hurried behind her. “Where the hell are you going? I’ll give you a ride. It’s twenty degrees out.”
“I’ll survive.” She tossed him a glance over her shoulder, smiling so hard her face hurt. “One thing I’ll always have to thank you for.”
“What about the book?”
How dare he sound so frantic? Did he honestly think he had a right to expect her to help tidy up his messes? “Good luck with it. Send me a signed copy after it’s published, would you? I’m curious to see how it turns out.”
She didn’t stick around long enough to hear his response.
Chapter Sixteen
He’d done the right thing.
Throughout his sleepless night—and the next, and the one after that—Vincent told himself that not only had he done the right thing, he’d done the only thing.
He wasn’t Brent Andrews, all but quivering with the urge to settle down. Brent hadn’t exactly gone for the surest pick in Lynsay, but Vincent had no doubt his friend wanted to start filing joint tax returns sooner rather than later. And why not? He’d grown up in an utterly normal family, with two living parents, two living sisters, and a cockapoo. Stability lurked around every corner of Brent’s life so naturally he wanted more of the same.
For Brent, falling in love made sense. Not for Vincent. He didn’t trust the emotion. Worse, he knew loving someone only made it that much harder to go on after they were gone.
He dragged a towel over his face to sop up the water from his shower. He’d taken a long, cold one to try to revive himself for the night of writing ahead, but it hadn’t helped.
Even exhausted, he wouldn’t be able to sleep if he went to bed. He didn’t want to do much of anything but mope with a beer in one hand and his remote in the other. Not good.
He’d started work again on Monday, and in his absence, Comtek had secured a big client they’d been trying to hook for a year. He’d have more work than he could handle in the coming weeks, and it was time he get his head back in the game.
And, oh yeah, he had a book to finish, too. A book about sex and romance and the giddy joys of falling in love.
Hell, he knew all about them. He doubted he could he get any more giddy without doing himself serious harm.
He threw his towel into the tub. Fuck.
All his life he’d prided himself on being a man who appreciated cold, hard facts. He might enjoy writing romance, but he didn’t think he was prone to fanciful turns of mind. There was only one reason he could be this miserable, and it wasn’t due to his guilty conscience.
He loved her. Still. Their breakup hadn’t diminished his feelings. If anything, they had grown in the days they’d been apart.
The knock on his door came just as he was struggling into a shirt. His left shoulder still twinged pretty often, but he’d grown used to the pain. Even the persistent throb as he strode down the hall to open the door barely registered. All he could think about was Kiki. Could that be her? Maybe she’d realized he was a babbling moron and had come back to give him another chance—
He opened the door to Brent, who only shook his head at the sight of him. “Man, you look like hell.”
Vincent didn’t reply. Nor did he invite his friend inside. “Do you actually need something, or are you just here to comment on my appearance?”
“A little of both.” Brent gave him a toothy smile. “Had a rough night? Maybe a couple rough nights?”
“Listen, I’m kinda busy.”
His friend’s lopsided grin vanished. “Are you alone?”
“Yeah. Why?”
“Just curious if the rumors were true.”
Vincent’s hand clenched around the doorframe. “What rumors?”
“What do you care? Hey, I came by to ask for a favor. The house on Willow. I know we’re getting close to being done, and if you don’t have any immediate plans for it, I was wondering, you know, with the hot tub and all….”
“Want to spend a romantic night with Lynsay, huh?”
Brent didn’t blush—thank God—but his ears definitely pinkened under his mop of brown hair. “That obvious?”
“Yeah. Go ahead. You did as much work on that place as I did.”
“More.” Brent grinned and clapp
ed his right shoulder. “Thanks, man. I owe you. We’ll be going over after the Comtek party. Just one night.”
“Whatever. It’s not like I’ll be using the place.”
Brent leaned against the jamb, apparently not put out at not being invited inside. “Are you still planning on moving in sometime in the next few months?”
Vincent lifted a shoulder. “Guess so.” At the moment, he didn’t care about moving into the house he’d been fixing up for the last year any more than he cared about finishing his book. All of a sudden, the house they were rehabbing seemed big and empty rather than spacious. “With Gran getting married, I’m thinking of offering her this place as a wedding present.” He grinned. “Let her deal with you paying your rent late every month.”
“She loves me, pal. Just yesterday she said I was like her second grandson.”
“Great. Then why don’t you start attending all the events with Alistair’s family in my place?” Vincent suggested, turning to stroll into his living room.
Brent followed. “Still not enjoying bonding with the McGuires?”
Vincent dropped onto the sofa. “Even that word scares me.”
Laughing, Brent took the leather recliner. “Which one? Bonding or McGuires?”
“Both.”
Vincent kicked up his feet on the coffee table, already debating with himself. He should let it go. It was a moot point. But he’d never been good at letting go, despite what everyone thought. In fact, he was so not good at it that he avoided most opportunities to get involved to spare himself from the eventual ending down the line. As if anyone would even believe him if he told them that at this point.
He’d been labeled a womanizer, a cheater, a liar, and who knew what else. But he still had to know.
“So are you going to tell me?”
“Tell you what?”
“What she’s been saying about me?”
“Oh, the infamous she. I’m assuming we’re talking about Kiki since you won’t use her name.”
Vincent didn’t reply.
“She’s said nothing. Not in front of me, and not to Lynsay, either. In fact, she’s commented on everything else in the free world to avoid mentioning you.” When Bathsheba wandered over to sniff his boots, Brent rubbed her head. “Funny how alike you two are.”
