Better Love

by Daisy Prescott

  “I’m so sorry.” I removed my hand from her breast.

  “Most guys wait until after dinner to try to get to second base.”

  “Most? Meaning you’re dating a lot of guys who try to manhandle you right at the beginning?”

  She gave me a small smile. “I’m guessing you’re not on Tinder or Bumble.”

  I’d heard of Tinder, but living on the island, I didn’t need or want to know who was lonely and looking for action in my area. “I’ve heard of them, but no, I’m not picking up women online.”

  Or anywhere.

  I wondered what her reaction would be if she knew I hadn’t had a relationship of any length or consequence since her.

  THE EDGEWATER HOTEL valets stood up a little straighter when I pulled up to the curb. As I took my ticket, I glowered at them, barely resisting the urge to ask for driving records and three references.

  Not an hour into being back in Seattle and my old self, aka my inner asshole, threatened to take over.

  Roslyn’s soft chuckle broke my stare as I watched the valet pull away.

  “What?”

  “Nothing.” Her smile said otherwise.

  “Spill.” I bumped her shoulder with mine before cupping her elbow to guide her into the lobby.

  “You know what I was thinking because you were thinking the same thing.” She slipped her arm away from me and I increased my stride to catch up with her.

  “That I didn’t appreciate the entitled UW student-slash-valet eyeing both my car and my date?”

  Her eyes widened and her lips parted. “What?”

  “Yeah, I saw his purple and gold rubber bracelet.” I could’ve been a spy. Or FBI. I’d been semi-recruited as a freshman to take an aptitude test for civil service. My twenty-year-old self had seriously considered it. I blamed James Bond and too many Tom Clancy novels.

  “He wasn’t checking me out.”

  “You’re blind. He ran into the side of the car after I handed him the key because he was focused on you.”

  She quickly shook her head, dismissing me.

  “We can wait for him to return and ask him. I’m sure he’d like another opportunity to check you out.” I chuckled as she waved me off.

  Inside, the hostess brought us to a table by the window. Across the sound, the Olympic mountains stabbed their sharp peaks into the evening sky. I preferred the water view from my own deck, but couldn’t deny this backdrop was spectacular.

  Silence blanketed the table as we studied the menu. Ros would probably order the salmon. It was her favorite.

  “Red or white?” I opened the wine menu.

  “Red.”

  “Aren’t you having the salmon?”

  “Yes, but the Willamette pinot noirs are lovely with it.”

  “Do you have a favorite?”

  She read the menu upside down across the table before she pointed to the one. “It’s reasonable, but delicious.”

  “I like that you’re not the kind of woman who has to have the most expensive thing because she assumes it’s the best. You’ve always known what you like and dislike.”

  “While I work with millionaires, I’m not one. This girl has to live on a budget.”

  “You must do all right. Nice car, downtown condo on a high floor . . .”

  “I work hard for every penny I make.”

  “And your clients don’t?”

  “Not all of them. Some are the luckiest bastards I’ve ever met. Some of the dumbest, too, but I would never say that on the record or in writing.”

  I chuckled and gestured for the waiter so I could order the lady her favorite wine.

  “Pardon me,” our waiter interrupted our meal, “a fellow patron would like you to have this bottle of Chateau Lafite Rothschild Pauillac Bourdeux as his compliment to the lady.”

  “Lady? Really?” Ros asked, sounding as surprised as I was.

  Only she seemed focused on the lady part while the nerve of some man sending my date a twenty-five-hundred-dollar bottle of wine was where I got stuck.

  “Patron?” I twisted in my seat to scan the restaurant.

  “The gentleman in the corner, sir.”

  Gentleman my ass. No gentleman would send over a bottle to a table of two. Unless he was an asshole.

  My gaze landed on the table in the far corner.

  “You know him?” My question was for Ros, but the waiter chose to answer.

  “Everyone knows Anderson McPhee. At least if you live in Seattle. Or Washington. Or the Pacific Northwest. Or follow football. I mean, he’s kind of a legend.”

  I turned to stare at Ros. “I meant personally.”

  She shrugged. “I know him professionally.”

  Our lingering waiter’s eyes bugged out before he regained his composure. “Would you like me to open the wine?”

  “Of course. Thank you,” Ros replied politely while staring at me. Her eyes said “behave” in a way that fell between begging and anger.

  “Please tell Mr. McPhee he has excellent taste.” I could’ve meant his choice in wine, but the underlying meaning, the one I hoped my eyes conveyed to Ros, was in women. I twisted in my seat again and gave a two finger salute to the corner. It took a lot of control to use more than one finger.

  Ros sipped the tasting pour and nodded. “It’s excellent.”

  After giving us both full pours, the waiter finally left.

  “Do you often have men sending you overpriced bottles of wine while you’re out on dates?” My voice sounded low and gravely with annoyance even to my own ears.

  Narrowing her eyes at me, she swirled the liquid in her glass. “Is that what this is about?”

  “An overpriced bottle of wine?” I played dumb although the restaurant markup made the price barely shy of obscene. “Do you think he told the waiter to send over the priciest bottle on the menu?”

  “Daniel.”

  I shrugged and took a sip. “It’s good, but is any beverage worth over five hundred dollars a glass?”

  Sighing, she set down her glass. “Is this a date?”

  How could she ask that? “I picked you up and made reservations.”

  “So this is a date?”

  “Would you be mad if I said it wasn’t?” I carefully studied her reaction.

  She blinked her eyes twice, her dark lashes fluttering. Her nostrils flared right before she pressed her lips together.

  Roslyn Porter was beautiful in an objective kind of way people agreed about the sublime greatness of the Mona Lisa or Cupid and Psyche in the Louvre. You didn’t need an art history degree to see their beauty the same way anyone with eyes in this restaurant could see Rosyln’s beauty. But nothing was more spectacular than Roslyn when her feelings came to the surface. For some stupid—and probably dangerous—reason, I loved the way her anger transformed her features. Fearless, strong, she rivaled the classic goddesses. I, a mere mortal, should’ve quaked and cowered in her presence. Instead, I wanted to kiss her.

  Once you’ve been scraped by her claws, you no longer fear poking the bear.

  “It’s a date in the true sense of the word.” I sipped my wine. “At least I hope it is.”

  Her beautiful eyes widened and her full lips opened. Perhaps in shock, but I hoped for desire.

  The scent of too much cologne assaulted our table. I broke away from staring at her face to take in the hulking body standing near Roslyn’s chair.

  “Are you enjoying my wine?” Mr. MVP asked.

  “Yes, it’s delightful,” I answered before she could. “Dry, with notes of cherry, greenbacks, and woodsmoke.”

  Dull brown eyes slid to the side to stare at me. “What?”

  “Anderson McPhee, this is my friend Daniel Ashland. He’s in the food and beverage industry and fancies himself a wine connoisseur.”

  “A part time oenophile.” I threw out the word to see if he knew it. His lack of response told me he didn’t.

  “Daniel has a pizza place on Whidbey.”

  “Yes, that too. I’m Da
n the Pizza Man.” I could play along with her game. “Just a simple pizza guy.”

  “Man, I love pizza, but my nutritionist wants me eating salmon and kale all the time.” He stroked his flat stomach. I waited for him to kiss both of his biceps that bulged beneath his suit jacket.

  Poor guy.

  “Wait, did you say Whidbey? I’m building a beach house there. Kind of a compound situation.”

  Of course he was. Still mostly undiscovered and underdeveloped, the island appealed to those who wanted privacy with a water view. I should know—I was one of those guys when I bought my land. His shiny Italian custom suit and diamond stud earrings would fit right in with the flannel, jeans, and work boots favored by most guys I knew on the island.

  “What a small world.” Roslyn gave me her “play nice” smile. “You’ll have to stop by Sal’s next time you’re over there.”

  “I thought you said your name is Dan.” MVP McPhee appeared confused.

  “Sal’s is the name of my pizza place,” I explained.

  He studied me, letting his eyes sweep over my face, taking in my gray hair before moving down to my clothes. When he spotted my expensive watch he paused. “That’s cool. Good for you. Nothing wrong with working a job and making a living.”

  It’s possible he missed the bit about me owning the pizza place. Or maybe doing a day’s honest work made me a special snowflake in the world of million dollar salaries for playing with balls.

  I let it slide.

  For now.

  “Where are you building?” I asked to distract him from Roslyn’s cleavage.

  “Right on the water on Mutiny Bay. My manager found the property. Took some convincing the neighbors, but we tore down two shitty houses to increase my lot. Should be completed next spring.”

  I knew the lots he mentioned. One was an old fishing cottage overgrown with blackberry bushes and surrounded by weeds. The other was a decent house built in the eighties. He’d tried to buy a third property to knock down, but had been denied. The plans he’d submitted to the county had to be revised three times to comply with building codes and height restrictions. He was right about the compound.

  “Cool. Have you spent much time on the island?”

  “Not really. It’ll be more of an investment and a place to hang out in the off season when I’m not down in Florida.”

  His party palace would probably fit right in on a beach in Florida.

  “I’m considering opening up a restaurant myself. My manager thinks it’ll be a good investment.”

  I slid a questioning look at Roslyn, but she ignored me. I wondered who this manager with the brilliant business advice was.

  “Dan can tell you how much work goes into a successful restaurant business.”

  “Oh, I’m not going to run it. Who’s got time for that?”

  If I were him, I would’ve been checking my bank balances and making sure his so-called manager wasn’t skimming money off the top. I learned the hard way that when you had money, people wanted to help you spend it while making money off of your money. The buzzards and hyenas came out when they smelled fresh meat.

  “You have the best publicist in the business on your team.”

  “Roslyn is amazing.” He gazed at her with more than professional admiration. “My one complaint is she won’t go out with me. I told her I’d fire her and ask her out, but she told me that would be stupid.”

  “I wasn’t kidding.” She turned to face the window and hid her eye roll from Anderson.

  I took a sip of wine to hide my amusement.

  Our main courses arrived and Mr. MVP finally excused himself to return to his posse in the corner.

  “How old is he?” I took a bite of my salmon.

  “Twenty-six.”

  “Cradle robber.” I grinned at her. I’d been called the same thing when we were together. The age difference was about the same.

  “I’m not going out with him. I never date my clients.”

  Once upon a time she had. She dated me.

  As if reading my mind, she added, “Anymore.”

  “Mixing business and love is never a good idea.”

  “Hence my number one rule.”

  “I bet over half your clients have crushes on you. It must be torture for them.” Twisting in my seat, I lifted my glass of expensive wine in a toast to the man who thought he could buy her with expensive, but hollow gestures. Not smiling, McPhee caught the gesture and raised his own glass. Poor man probably wasn’t used to losing, but this was a game he wouldn’t win.

  MR. MVP STOOD in the valet line ahead of us. If I were a fighting man, a younger man, or a stupid man, I might have walked over to him and physically tried to wipe the smug smirk off of his cocky face.

  But I wasn’t a stupid man and I certainly wasn’t a young man. Nor was I a fighter.

  However, I was a smart man.

  From his expression, he wanted what he considered mine.

  I had a simple way to remind him of my alpha status.

  Roslyn fidgeted on her heels next to me, but stilled when I rested my palm on her lower back.

  A quick glance told me we still had our audience.

  Perfect.

  “Roslyn,” I said softly.

  She turned and I wrapped my arm around her back.

  “Yes?” Her eyes met mine.

  I dipped her slightly and leaned close. Her pupils widened and her lips parted right before I kissed her. Not only did I kiss her, I dipped her, supporting her with one hand on her lower back and the other tangled in her hair. What started as a juvenile need to prove myself alpha morphed into a passionate kiss, unleashing a torrent of pent up lust in my veins.

  At first she’d gasped and frozen, but I swore as I pressed my lips against hers again and again, she returned every kiss with the same passion I felt. She opened for me, inviting me inside with a lick of her tongue against mine.

  I pulled her up from the dip and thought about walking her backward until her body met the hard surface of the wall. It seemed like a smart idea. That way I could hook her leg over my hip and meld our bodies together.

  I took a step closer to her, hoping she’d read my mind.

  “Get a room upstairs, old man,” a young male voice called out.

  My head whipped up and sure enough the source was the punk with the UW bracelet from earlier.

  He gave me a thumbs up.

  “That little prick,” I mumbled, rolling my shoulders back like I was going to fight him.

  “What the hell was that?” Roslyn whispered before taking a step away. She couldn’t get far because my arms still caged her against me.

  A quick glance around the hotel entrance confirmed MVP had departed. My car waited for us at the front of the line of valeted cars.

  “Must have been the oysters.” I released her, but kept one hand on her lower back to guide her to the car.

  “You didn’t have any oysters.” She paused before sitting in the passenger seat.

  I could still taste her as I ran my tongue along the inside of my bottom lip. “Perhaps the overpriced wine had some affect on me.”

  “I see.” She sat down and I closed her door.

  “You see what?” I asked after fastening my seat belt.

  “McPhee threatened you with his bottle of wine.”

  My laugh came out harsh, more a bark than amusement. “It was an asshole move.”

  “Which one? Sending over a nice bottle of wine? Or kissing me to mark your territory? At least you didn’t pee on me. Thanks for that.”

  “I—” I didn’t have a comeback. She’d nailed me on my motivation. I shifted into gear and sped out of the hotel entrance, heading south along the water.

  “You’re going the wrong way,” she said as I wove through traffic.

  “We’re taking the long way around.”

  “Okay, then. As long as kidnapping isn’t in your plans for the rest of the evening. I need to go into the office tomorrow.”

  When I glanced at
her from the corner of my eye, she was staring out her window and smiling.

  “Why are you smiling?”

  “Because of you.” Her breath fogged the glass before disappearing.

  “I thought you were mad at me for what I did back there.”

  “Oh, I am. It was a jerky thing to do.”

  “Then why the happy face?” I took my eyes off the road to stare at her for a second.

  “A hot man swept me into his arms and made out with me tonight.”

  “I thought that was the jerky thing.” I was at that point, completely confused.

  “Both are true, but I’m smiling because you were jealous.” She tugged at her cuff.

  “Hmm. Was I?” I asked myself out loud.

  “Mmm hmm.” Her smile morphed into smugness. “I didn’t think you still could conjure up the old you.”

  “Had I been jealous back then?” I checked my mirrors before changing lanes.

  Her smile dropped as her mouth opened. “Are you kidding?”

  “I’m not.” I let my eyes flick to hers.

  “You were jealous over everything. Time I spent on my career most of all.”

  I passed the Seattle ferry docks and thought about taking the next boat to Bainbridge. I wanted to continue driving to keep her talking.

  “You didn’t need to keep working. I had all the money either of us could spend in two lifetimes. I didn’t understand why you chose your career over me.” The words flowed unexpectedly and I regretted releasing them as soon as they escaped. I sounded pitiful, small, and desperate. I hadn’t felt those emotions since our fight that ended everything.

  “I shouldn’t have been asked to chose. Plus, need and want are very different beasts. You should know this by now, Pizza Man.”

  She had me. Often I worked six days a week running a business I didn’t need to survive. When I’d opened Sal’s, it was supposed to be a temporary side project to keep my mind occupied—mostly to stop me from pining over the woman beside me. However, because I didn’t worry about money, I loved my work.

  “That wasn’t fair of me.”

  “If you’re apologizing for your behavior half a decade ago, you don’t need to. I’m over it.”

  I heard I’m over you. “It was a long time ago.”