Rowan made a reasonable profit. Even better, having chef/owner Lanny Raye as a friend meant she could get an in-demand table anytime she wanted.
"Wait," Nick said when Rowan tried to leave the SUV.
Jumping to the ground, Nick's long legs carried him around the vehicle while Rowan did as he asked, feeling a bit bemused. She could never remember a date opening the car door for her. The gesture was a little old-fashioned. Something Cary Grant would do for Grace Kelly in an old movie.
The perfectly tailored suit in the color of a moonless midnight sky didn't hurt. However, that certain undefinable something radiated from Nick twenty-four hours a day.
While how he dressed accentuated the moment, Rowen knew Nick could pull off the move with a smooth confidence wearing jeans and a faded t-shirt.
Nick came across as a completely modern man. Yet, he managed to help her from her seat with the suave aplomb of another era.
"Careful," Rowan warned, tucking her hand into the crook of his proffered arm. "Behavior like this might spoil me for other men."
Rowan used a light tone, an accompanying smile on her lips. The way Nick looked at her made her heart skip a beat.
"I was thinking the same about you and other women."
All Rowan could think was, I don't know if that's a line he uses all the time. And if it is, right now, I couldn't care less.
Then, to top things off, Nick raised her hand for a warm kiss.
Dangerous, Rowan sighed to herself. That's what he was.
Like the parking lot, the restaurant was full. Designed with such a contingency in mind, the building's acoustics muffled most of the noise. Dimly lit, the main room provided a warm, intimate dining experience with a panoramic view of Jasper and the ocean just beyond.
"Hello, Rowan." A tall, thin man with a mop of bright red hair and a brighter smile greeted her, ignoring the other people waiting to be seated. "I saw your name in the book."
"Hi, Dwayne." Rowan returned his friendly hug. "Lanny was kind enough to fit us in."
"She made me promise to tell her when you arrived. Something about a new man in your life." Dwayne gave Nick a long, speculative look. "You dating is news enough. Lanny didn't mention he was such a tall, yummy drink of water."
Rowan was used to Dwayne hitting on every man he met, but she wasn't certain how Nick would take her friend's mostly teasing perusal.
Adding to his ever-growing list of sigh-worthy qualities, Nick sent Dwayne an easy smile, holding out his hand.
"Nick Sanders."
"Dwayne Plank. Welcome to Jasper." Dwayne sighed. "Why are all the good ones either married or straight?"
"You do all right."
Better than all right. Dwayne was notorious for his coterie of boyfriends. With his job running the business side of a very successful restaurant, Rowan didn't know where he found the time.
"Yes, I do," Dwayne said with a self-satisfied smirk. "However, that doesn't stop me from coveting what I can't have."
"We covet a table," Rowan reminded Dwayne why they were there.
"Come on then," Dwayne chuckled, his laughter directed at himself.
The restaurant was designed so patrons could circle around the main floor without disturbing other diners. However, that didn't stop them from turning heads as Dwayne led Rowan and Nick to a table by the window.
"The stars are out. Perfect for enjoying the view." Dwayne commented, seating them with his usual flair. "We have a set menu on Friday nights. However, if you would like something a little less adventurous, I'm sure Lanny could accommodate you."
Rowan was an adventurous eater, open to almost any culinary concoction. She turned to Nick. "Any allergies or dietary restrictions?"
"Snails." Nick's face mirrored the distaste in his tone. "I'm not thrilled about eating anything that leaves a trail of slime. And please. No internal organs. Or testicles."
"Free-range chicken," Dwayne assured him. "You can push its feet to the side if they don't appeal."
"Chicken feet? Is he joking?" Nick asked after they were alone.
"You never know." Rowan laughed when Nick grimaced. "Relax. Lanny believes in using every part of the animal. But rarely during the same meal."
"Once I would have eaten the sole from a dirty shoe and been grateful. Thankfully, those days are long gone."
Rowan understood that Nick wasn't seeking her sympathy. The fact that he could speak of going hungry in such an off-hand manner amazed her. The combination of money and, most of all, the passing of time helped, she supposed.
The raw pain in Nick's eyes when he spoke of his childhood was burned into Rowan's memory. The wounds had healed. But the scars would never completely fade.
"I saw Leo this afternoon."
Rowan wanted to be as upfront with Nick as possible. If for some reason he found out about the meeting, she didn't want him to get the wrong idea.
"He's your stepfather," Nick's expressive eyes shuttered—just a bit. "I imagine you see quite a bit of him."
"Not really. And I wouldn't have today if he hadn't asked me to stop by."
"A little fact-finding mission?"
Rowan couldn't tell what Nick was thinking. However, in his place, she… Honestly, she had no idea. She couldn't imagine what she would be feeling.
"Yes."
"And? What did you tell him?"
"About you? Nothing."
Nick stared at her. Hard. Disconcerting. Knowing the knowledge wouldn't be welcome, Rowan didn't tell him that only a few hours earlier, Leo had looked at her the same way. Waiting.
Unlike Leo, Nick didn't wait for her to crack, expecting his will to crush her own.
"Okay," he said.
"That's all? Okay?"
"Unless you lied? Did you tell what you know about me?"
Rowan shook her head.
"Then, yes. That's all." Nick picked up the wine menu. "Would you like something to drink?"
"Nick—"
"Not tonight, Rowan." Laying his hand over hers, Nick's eyes pleaded. "Tomorrow, I'll have a dozen questions. Followed by at least a dozen more. But right now, let's enjoy each other's company, a spectacular view, and what I hope will be a great meal. Can we do that?"
Turning her hand, Rowan squeezed Nick's fingers.
"Yes. We can do that. And yes, I would love a glass of wine."
The waitress was across the room, delivering an order of drinks. Nick would have called the way the woman miraculously looked his way the second he smiled a coincidence. Rowan would have agreed. Until she noticed the way the young woman hustled, weaving her way around tables. When she arrived, her eager-to-please smile was all for Nick.
"What can I get for you?" she asked in a breathless voice.
Though the question was directed at him, Nick sent an inquiring glance Rowan's way. When he winked, she had to smile.
"I'll have the house Chardonnay."
"And a beer for me."
"Any particular kind?"
Nick mentioned a brand new to Rowan, but the waitress simply nodded.
"I'll be right back with your drink."
"Drinks," Nick reminded her.
"Oh," the young woman frowned as if noticing Rowan for the first time. "Right. Chablis?"
"Chardonnay."
Alone again, Rowan laughed, shaking her head. She wondered how Nick felt knowing he could turn a woman's brain to mush with little more than a casual smile?
"What would I get if I googled you?"
Nick seemed surprised by her question.
"I assumed you already had."
"Until this moment, the idea never occurred to me." Rowan frowned. "Not smart, but there you go. Want to give me the highlights? Or maybe the lowlights?"
"I'm not a saint," Nick told her. "But my sins haven't been bad enough to shake the world."
"Models? Actresses?"
Rowan wasn't a big believer in fairy tales. And she certainly wasn't in the
market for a prince. But the way Nick hesitated, a frown marring his forehead, she had to wonder if this was where he morphed from a charming man into a wart-riddled frog.
"In my earlier days, I was involved in a bar fight—once. My face gets in the gossip columns from time to time because of me or who I took out to dinner. I had a stalker—not a pleasant experience. So, yes," Nick said with a glint of what will be, will be in his eyes. "You can google me. You'll see my follies and a few of my triumphs."
"Have you killed anyone? Kicked a dog?"
"No and no."
Rowan smiled. She hadn't been holding her breath—exactly. But hearing Nick confirm what she already believed in her heart didn't hurt.
"Then, I would rather form my own opinions about the man in front of me. I don't care about the famous baseball player. Or what you did as a hotheaded kid. Tell me about Nick Sanders."
"I can do that."
Waiting patiently as their server delivered their drinks, her eyelashes batting with such force Nick had to feel a breeze, a thought crossed Rowan's mind.
"Did you google me?" she asked.
"Once. Indirectly. I had to find out if you were Leonard Cartwright's biological daughter."
"Very important information," Rowan agreed.
"Vital."
"I think we should have sex. Tonight."
Nick, in the middle of taking a drink of beer, sputtered, sending a spray of foam across the table. Luckily, the force only carried the liquid to the edge of the tablecloth, missing Rowan altogether.
"Tonight?" Nick wiped his mouth. And chin.
"What's the matter?" Rowan teased, enjoying the oddly endearing look of surprised panic on Nick's face. "Do you have other plans?"
Nick made a fast recovery, his sexy smile causing Rowan's breath to catch in her throat.
"Nothing I can't cancel."
Enjoying their banter—and unwilling to let his initial reaction pass without one more little jab at his ego—Rowan leaned forward, lowering her voice.
"There's no shame in admitting to a bit of performance anxiety. Happens to every man now and then. Or so I understand."
"Rest assured. My performance never fails me." Nick's dark eyes seemed to spark with gold fire. "If we were alone, I would be happy to demonstrate."
Catching Nick's meaning, Rowan's gaze dropped. She couldn't see what was going on under the table, but she could imagine.
"Right now?" she asked.
"What do you expect? You say we should have sex. My hormones spring to attention—so to speak. Thank God for a long tablecloth."
"I'm sorry," Rowan apologized, not sounding a bit contrite. "That must be… hard."
"Funny," Nick shook his head as Rowan snickered. "I'll be fine. As long as I don't have to stand in the next five to ten minutes."
Rowan knew how the human body worked. Involuntary blood flow, and all that. But nature aside, she couldn't help the thrill that raced through her knowing the effect she had on Nick.
Dinner turned out to be delicious. Nothing too odd for Nick's taste, with plenty of spice for Rowan's
As the meal progressed, Rowan discovered Nick to be a gifted storyteller. He regaled her with his early days in the minor leagues. And she learned more about the game of baseball. He started with a single A club. The Tallahassee Tornadoes were an off-shoot of the Cyclones, pretty much as low on the ladder as a young second baseman could start.
"I was full of piss and vinegar in those days. We all were. Knowing we had the talent to get to the big club was one thing. Proving we weren't just a flash in the pan was another."
"The odds must be astronomically against getting to the top."
"There are thirty major-league teams. Twenty-five players on each. Take away the pitchers, which leaves somewhere between seventeen to eighteen spots for the guys who go out on the field every day."
Rowan didn't need to do the math. In many ways, Nick was a miracle. Fulfilling a dream that so few ever achieved took more than talent. He needed dedication and determination. And yes, a bit of good old-fashioned luck.
"I know men who were happy just to have a cup of coffee in the majors."
"A cup of coffee?" Rowan had never heard the term.
"A week or so with the big club. Usually when an everyday player has a minor injury or a brief illness, the team brings up a temporary filler. Sometimes, if he's lucky, he'll dazzle management. Usually, he's sent back down, never to make the jump again."
"That sounds brutal."
"That's baseball."
Nick seemed philosophical. And Rowan supposed he was right. But to make it—ever so briefly—and know that one moment was probably all you would get? She couldn't imagine.
"Did you have a contingency plan? Just in case?"
Nick's gaze didn't waver. "Failure was never an option."
"Do you always get what you want?"
"Yes." His smile was slow to form, giving Rowan's heart rate time to accelerate accordingly. "Every time."
"I see you enjoyed the chicken."
The heat between Rowan and Nick had risen to a dangerous level. Dwayne's arrival tempered things down to an acceptable level for a public venue.
"Give the chef my compliments." Nick placed his fork on his empty plate. "I can't remember the last time I enjoyed a meal as much."
"Lanny wanted to stop by to say hello, but she's swamped tonight. Her sous chef called in sick at the last minute. But she took a peek."
"And," Nick asked. "Did I pass muster?"
"Lanny's response—and this is a direct quote. Holy crap." Dwayne let out a delighted chortle. "Short and highly accurate."
Nick looked amused.
"I'll take that as a compliment. Dessert?" he asked Rowan.
"Cheesecake," Dwayne answered for her. "The day Rowan orders anything else I'll eat my Italian leather loafers."
"A feat I would love to witness. But not tonight."
Lanny made the best cheesecake Rowan had ever tasted. Considering she ordered the dessert whenever she found it on a menu, the praise was well-earned.
"Not to put a damper on your evening," Dwayne's smile disappeared. "I had hoped you would be gone before his party arrived. But…"
For an instant, Rowan thought Dwayne was talking about Leo. Seeing the flash in Nick's eyes, he must have jumped to the same conclusion. But she quickly realized her mistake. She left her stepfather and mother about to sit down for a quiet dinner at home.
"Who do you mean?" Rowan asked, giving Nick a look that told him to relax.
"Wilton Jacobs IV." Dwayne raised his nose several inches, looking at Rowan down the newly formed slope. "He just arrived. I won't say his date has her plastic surgeon on speed dial. But that girl is a walking Barbie doll. God never made boobs that big and perky."
Rowan sighed. She thought she had moved past trying to convince people that she didn't care what—or who—her ex-fiancé did.
"What is a Wilton Jacobs IV?" Nick asked.
"Scum. Pretty in a capped-teeth kind of way. But that boy oozes fake charm like a leaky septic tank."
Nick glanced at Rowan, a question in his eyes.
"Consider the nail hit firmly on the head," she laughed. "Wilton and I were engaged in what I call my delusional period."
"You wised up?"
"She caught him slipping his secretary his Vienna sausage." Dwayne raised his hand, showing about an inch of space between his thumb and forefinger. "And that's generous."
"Dwayne." Rowan rolled her eyes.
"Honestly. We go to the same gym."
"Well?" Nick asked.
"No comment." Rowan couldn't believe they were discussing the size of her ex's penis.
"Mr. Gherkin is headed this way," Dwayne sang out. "I'll send over your cheesecake."
"You're over this jerk?"
Nick could have been asking Rowan the time of day. Except for the glint in his eyes as he looked over her shoulder.
The smart thing for Wilton to do would consist of taking a wide berth around Rowan's table. Smart. Gentlemanly. Considerate. However, Wilton had political aspirations. With his eye firmly on the state Senate and beyond, he treated every situation with the mentality of a natural vote whore.
Wilton had the process down to a science. From his not too firm, dry-as-a-bone handshake to the smarmy, hold onto your wallet smile.
For the gazillionth time, Rowan asked herself. What did I ever see in this man?
"Rowan." Wisely, Wilton neither held out his hand, not tried to brush a friendly kiss across her cheek. "What a pleasant surprise."
Pleasant wasn't the word Rowan would have chosen. But what the heck.
"Friday night in Jasper," she shrugged.
"Exactly." Wilton's ever-alert gaze shifted to Nick. He held out his hand. "Wilton Jacobs."
"Nick Sanders."
"Right. The baseball player. I heard you were in town."
Wilton was blessed with what Rowan's mother called Ivy League good looks. Average height. Slender build. Blond. Blue eyes. On his own, Wilton was just fine. Compared to Nick? Well, what was the point?
Like plain, lukewarm oatmeal, Wilton represented—in theory—what her family thought would be good for her. But he turned out to be a cheating bowl of unbelievable blandness. Rowan needed spice in her life. Heat. Variety. Someone who would make each day different and exciting.
Rowan needed…
"Nick."
Realizing she spoke his name, Rowan tried to cover. "Nick is only in town for a few days."
"Not a resident of our fair state?"
"No."
"Ah." Wilton's interest quickly dimmed. "Have a good evening, Rowan. Nick."
"You don't have a vote, so you aren't worth his time," Rowan explained as Wilton glad-handed his way across the room to the table where his date waited patiently.
Nick rubbed the back of his neck, giving Rowan a crooked smile.
"Your taste in men…"
"Has improved. Greatly."
"At the risk of sounding egotistical, I have to agree."
For Another Day (One Strike Away Book 2) Page 8
