“Your end.”
Chapter Two
Steam swirled up from the pan, bringing with it the smell of onions and peppers. Daniel leaned over the cook top centered on his kitchen island. The spatula in his hand worked the contents of a sizzling pan. His dark hair was damp from a shower he must have taken while I was still sleeping. A few strands had fallen free to frame his forehead. The tune that had been playing during the first dance we’d shared the night before whistled from his lips.
“Something smells good,” I said.
Daniel looked up. “Mornin’ sugar,” he greeted me with a smile.
Standing in the bedroom doorway, I twisted a strand of tousled hair around my finger. Not brown, not blonde, but a tangled combination of both, my hair was equally undecided most days as to whether it wanted to be curly or straight. And with none of my usual hair products to tame its unruliness, today was no exception. But my concern for the state of my hair abruptly fell away as my stomach set up a leap of joy. Whether it was due to the pleasing aroma of breakfast or the sexy way Daniel called me sugar, I couldn’t tell for sure. I’d never found foreign accents or men in uniform attractive, but there sure was something intoxicating about a man with a smooth Southern drawl.
I returned the sentiment with a twinkle in my eye. “Morning.”
The t-shirt and pajama pants he’d loaned me hung long and loose over my five-foot-five frame and did little to shield me from the cool April morning. Crossing my arms over my chest, I rubbed a chill from my shoulders. “What’s for breakfast?”
“You do eat eggs, don’t you? Or are you one of those vegetarians?” he asked as if trying to recall whether or not we’d broached that subject last night during the hours we’d sat up talking.
A lazy grin split my lips. “No, I’m a strict carnivore,” I said, taking some tentative steps forward, my gaze turning about the room as if seeing it for the first time. In the brightness of the morning light, Daniel’s penthouse was as I’d remembered from the night before—chic, minimal, and masculine. “So, is this your secret hideaway? The place you bring all the damsels in distress you’ve rescued?”
“Is that what I did? Rescue you?” he said, dividing the eggs between two plates.
A tiny tremor of angst returned at the mere mention of last night’s occurrences. I shivered as the image of a walking corpse crossed my mind. My screaming had brought Daniel bursting out into the corridor where he’d caught me right as I’d passed out. My knight in shining armor.
“It felt that way to me.” I stole another glance at my rescuer. CEO of Cannon Records and a Tennessee State Senator, Daniel was a graduate of Vanderbilt Law School and a member of the medical school’s board of directors.
The Opry Land Hotel security had determined that I’d been the victim of a misguided prank, an actual cadaver meant to be a prop for one of the skits Daniel himself had had scratched from the program due to its morbid nature. And so, as it turned out, there’d been no need for me to be afraid.
Still, I wondered if I would ever shake the morbid feel of the cadaver’s words. There’d been a reason someone had said those things to me—a warning, but a warning about what?
I pulled my arms tighter around my shoulders. “So, about this place. Is it a secret hideaway?”
Daniel rotated his neck one turn. “Maybe this is where I live.” He must be feeling sore this morning after spending the night on his couch. The sleek lines and stiff leather had obviously not been designed for a good night’s sleep.
I gave the room another once over. “No, I don’t think so,” I disagreed. “It’s spotless with minimal furnishings that don’t show much wear, few books, although you claimed to be an avid reader, immaculate kitchen that doesn’t look used while your comfort and agility at the stove indicates that you cook regularly.”
I paused to glance over a grouping of framed photos arranged on the sofa table. A woman, long-legged and slender with curves in all the right places highlighted a few along with two boys at varying ages. The woman wasn’t in any that appeared to be recent. Something about her seemed familiar, but I moved past the frames of her and picked up one of the boys.
“One bedroom leaves nowhere for your boys to sleep. And don’t even try denying they’re yours. They have your smile.”
He gave the photo a doleful glance. “I guess I can’t argue with that,” he confirmed. “My primary residence is over in Green Hills. I use this place to sleep when I work late or have early meetings at the capital.” He filled two mugs with fresh coffee. “It also comes in handy when I need to meet discreetly with lobbyists or members of the opposing party.”
“And the women you date?”
He slopped hot coffee onto the counter. “Yes, on occasion,” he stammered. “I don’t bring a woman I’m dating around the boys unless I’m serious about her.”
“And, so how many have the boys met?” I asked without reservation.
The forks Daniel was lifting from the drawer slipped from his hand with a clatter. He steadied the silver between his fingers and looked over the granite island at me. I raised an inquisitive eyebrow in return.
“You’re somethin’ else, aren’t you? I don’t think I’ve ever known a woman so outright with her inquiries—no subtle questions with double meanings or coy attempts at obtainin’ information. Just come right out with it,” he said.
I responded with a that-didn’t-answer-my-question look.
Holding back a smile, he gave his head a single shake. “Not one.”
Joining him on the other side of the island, I fanned the plates out in one hand. “How long ago did your wife pass away?” I asked, linking the two coffee mugs between the fingers of the other.
He gave my balancing act a quizzical look as I effortlessly carried our breakfast from the kitchen to the small breakfast nook. Like an instinctual reflex, hot plates of food along with full mugs of coffee and my college years as a waitress automatically take over.
“How do you know she’s gone?” was his response as he tracked me with his eyes.
I set a plate and mug each on opposite sides of the glass-topped tables. “Well, you have pictures of the two of you together and smiling. The changing hairstyles indicate they were taken over the years, but there aren’t any recent ones of either of you, just the boys.”
Another glance at the woman in the pictures ignited little sparks of recollection, but I couldn’t piece the images into a complete memory.
“You hardly seem like the kind of man who would pine pathetically for a woman who didn’t want you anymore, and if you’d left her for another woman you wouldn’t want reminders of the life you obviously ruined.” I gave him a keen look. “Hence, you’re not divorced. I would find that scenario unlikely anyway. You seem too loyal to cheat on your wife, or turn your back on your family.”
“Impressive,” he said with a chuckle. “Your powers of discernment are among the best I’ve seen. You should consider a career in politics. Your skills for readin’ people could prove very valuable to someone like me.”
The toaster popped up four hot slices of bread. He transferred the toast to a plate, and then carried it along with the butter and preserves over to the table. “She’s been gone three years now.” He sat the toast down and returned to the kitchen for the cream and sugar.
I took the seat facing the large picture window. “I’m sorry for your loss,” I said, as the fussy snippets of detail I’d been trying to evoke settled close enough for me to recall a few years back when Anna-Beth had told me about her cousin’s wife and how she’d died tragically in a car accident. If I remembered correctly, there’d been allegations of charitable donations gone missing, drugs, and an affair. Prior to the last few months of her life, she’d been a pillar of her community.
He slid into the chair with his back to the window. The morning sun warmed the ashen color of his cheeks. “Thank you,” he said with a plaintive glance to the side that had my curiosity leaping from the starting gate before I could conta
in it, intrigue running a close second.
If those allegations were true, why did Daniel look heartbroken and not uncomfortable at the mention of his late wife? And why would he keep pictures of her if she were a thieving philanderer? Unless she wasn’t? Or, maybe his love for her transcended any possible indiscretions? I wanted to ask, to pry into matters that didn’t concern me, but then the contrite look in his eyes had my thoughts quickly shifting to Finn and some of my own regrets. I knew firsthand that some things—some heartaches—were better left unsaid.
Lifting the lid from the sugar, I transferred spoonsful into my coffee. “You’re lucky to have your sons and the knowledge that she will live on in them,” I said and for reasons unknown, added, “I can’t have kids,” as I relieved the sugar bowl of one more spoonful.
Daniel’s gaze alternated between my coffee cup and my moistening eyes, looking conflicted as to which alarmed him more—my revelation or the amount of sugar I was about to consume.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
Taking a sip, I set the cup down without even a wince. All this talk of loss had my sweet tooth on overdrive while my lack of restraint had me wishing I could sprinkle something sweet on the last words I’d let slip unabated from my perfunctory mouth.
“No, it’s me who should apologize. I don’t know why I told you that.” I forced a smile through glassy eyes. “It’s been the deal breaker in all my relationships.”
“How so?”
Reaching over the table, I pulled the Montblanc pen from the front pocket of his dress shirt, twisted my hair into a knot at the back of my head, and inserted the pen to hold it. “If I bring it up early in the relationship, the guy thinks I’m getting too serious too soon. If I wait until things start to heat up, it changes the dynamics of the relationship, especially if he’s thinking of marriage and wants kids of his own.”
Daniel pointed at the back of my head. “I’m gonna want that back,” he warned, with a stern look and an easy smile.
I forked some eggs. “Not to worry. What would a social worker want with a seventy-five-dollar pen?” I said, sending him a sly look as I slid the eggs into my mouth.
They were delicious. I thanked him with a smile of approval and felt my heart flutter when he smirked back. Protective, charming, a good cook and a secret domicile . . . where did he hide his crime-fighting cape and mask of anonymity?
Daniel helped himself to his first bite of breakfast. “Six hundred and fifty,” he corrected my estimated price of the pen, and I considered returning it right then. “You could adopt,” he suggested.
I took a slow, thoughtful sip of my coffee, wondering how much of one’s soul was acceptable to bear at a near stranger’s breakfast table. “Yeah, I suppose that’s an option.” I sipped again, felt the coffee warm my throat. “I’ve considered taking in a foster child, but then I don’t really want to be a single parent. Kids need a mother and a father,” I said, looking to him for confirmation.
He speared more eggs. “Yes, they do.”
He gave me the affirmation I wanted, slipped the bite into his mouth, and chewed in silence a moment or two. “Lord knows my boys need a momma and a daddy. I’ve failed them on both accounts.” He swallowed through what looked like a punch to the gut. “I can’t have children either,” he offered like somehow that would make us even, or he was trying to avoid my delving into his last comment.
I was feeling generous this morning so I let the subject of him failing his boys fall into the queue of subjects I would like to explore should our acquaintanceship move beyond today. I rolled my eyes toward the sofa table. “That picture of your boys would suggest otherwise.”
He pressed his lips together as if my comment had sent a bitter taste to his mouth. “Well, in my case it’s more of a conscious decision than a physical inability,” he admitted, setting his fork down.
I took up a piece of toast. “Oh . . .” I said, giving him a chance to elaborate as I slathered on some butter.
His focus shifted to the abundant amount of jelly I was now adding. “And it always seems to be a deal-breaker for me as well,” he continued, watching as I took a healthy bite. Obviously, he wasn’t accustomed to a woman who actually ate. “I don’t want any more children. When I date someone younger, I worry she’ll eventually want babies of her own. If I date a woman who is established in her career and doesn’t want kids, she usually isn’t interested in bein’ a momma to mine either.”
I licked a blob of jelly from my thumb. “What about a woman with children of her own?” Then remembering my manners, I wiped my hand on my napkin.
A flash of irritation lit his face then quickly eased. I supposed he was accustomed to eating with women who exhibited better manners as well.
“I don’t have the time for the complications of a blended family,” he said. “My boys are still young and they need a momma. What I need is a woman who loves children but doesn’t want to, or can’t, have some of her own.”
I added cream to my coffee and lifted the cup to my mouth. “Yeah, that’s a dilemma,” I said with a side-glance over my mug as I sipped.
A faraway look crossed his face as he watched my lips close over the rim of the mug. “Sure is,” he agreed.
Chapter Three
Sitting in the back seat of Daniel’s town car, I couldn’t help but smile. I’d never imagined myself riding in a hired car. Yet here I was for the second time in less than twenty-four hours, seated next to a state senator. In a dark gray suit, yellow tie pulled into a perfect knot at his throat and his hair, dark and combed back, he bore the casual elegance of a man who commanded respect, a man who got what he wanted.
“Will you be coming back to Nashville any time soon?” he asked in that self- assured, yet unassuming, way of his. The strong silent type, I’d decided, but with a hint of danger. Humphrey Bogart meets James Dean, wrapped nicely in a Southern accent.
“No, I hadn’t planned on it,” I said unable to decide if he was simply making polite conversation or if he was hoping to see me again. “I don’t have any extra vacation time. I’m going to Bali this summer to help out with the school my parents are building.”
My mom and dad were nondenominational ministers currently on an eighteen-month mission trip.
“I see,” he answered with what looked like disappointment.
“Do you ever get out to California?” I asked, brightly.
“No, I don’t much care for the west coast.” He glanced out the window. “Besides, I’m thinking of making a run for the US Senate next year, so I’ve been spending a lot of time on the opposite side of the country.”
The US Senate! I felt my eyes pop. He didn’t mention anything about this last night. “Right, you’re a busy man. No time for frivolous trips to the coast,” I said, feeling my mood darken.
Daniel’s fingers brushed the back of my hand. “It would be nice to see you again though,” he said with expectant eyes.
My heart skipped a beat, but I told it to behave. “Yes it would,” I agreed just as the car swept the curve at the airport drop-off.
The driver opened the door for me, gave me his hand to help me out, then went to the back of the car and retrieved my small carry-on from the trunk.
Daniel slid from the back seat and came around back. “Wait here,” he said to the driver before lifting my bag and slinging it over his shoulder. “I’ll be right back.”
As we walked along, I glanced around the busy airport. There was the usual mix of people—young, old, wealthy, middle classes—but only in Nashville was the crowd dotted with people lugging a guitar case over their shoulders. In the distance I could hear the whiny twang of a country tune drifting from the lips of a starving artist looking for his big break. Then I noticed that people were glancing at us with curious looks. I in my jeans and Doc Martin boots, an earthy-colored scarf knotted around my neck, my hair in a messy sort of bun, and Daniel, in his expensive suit with a purposeful walk, we couldn’t have been more opposite.
At the divide
rs to the labyrinth that led to the security check-in, we slowed. “I guess this is where I have to let you go,” Daniel said, a hint of regret in his voice.
My chest tightened. “That sounds so permanent,” I said glancing up into his eyes. Dark blue and intense, he stared down at me with a look I couldn’t read.
He reached up and moved a strand of hair away from my cheek. The brush of his finger left a sizzling trail across my skin. “Marlie,” he started with hesitation, “I . . . well . . . It’s just that . . .”
I held silent as he tried a few more times to come up with whatever it was he had to say. Never in my life had I known a man quite like Daniel. Powerful, stately, genuine, and for some unimaginable reason, interested enough in me to be at a loss for words. He might be having a hard time finding his words but I knew what I wanted, and it had nothing to do with talking.
Taking a step closer, I grabbed hold of Daniel’s lapels, rolled up onto my toes, and pressed my lips to his. His mouth was soft and felt good against mine. The rush of his lips heated my cheeks and neck. Only the heat went no further. Though Daniel wasn’t pulling away, he wasn’t kissing me back either—not really. Maybe I’d missed my chance by not encouraging his affections last night and sharing his bed with him? Maybe he simply wasn’t interested? Allowing my lips to linger a moment longer, I savored the feel and drew away. But as I started to fall back onto my heels, he caught me, pulling me hard against his chest, his mouth taking mine in a fit of hunger.
The kiss lasted long enough for my heart beat to consume my chest, for my legs to feel as if they were fading beneath me. Over the loud speaker Gary LeVox from Rascal Flatts reminded travelers not to leave their luggage unattended an instant before the bustling airport drifted away, leaving Daniel and me suspended in a void of our own making. Then, without warning, he broke away and my surroundings crept back in.
Resting his forehead to mine, he said, “That was—”
“One for the record books,” I finished.
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