But the more sensible side of me, the side that had ruled the roost for years and years and years now, told me it was good for me to get a clear visual of how different our worlds were. We honestly had nothing in common. Last year he’d been voted New York’s most eligible bachelor. I’d been thrilled when my raisin bread won honorable mention at the county fair. He did red carpets. The closest I’d ever come to a red carpet was the welcome mat we’d had growing up. It had started out red, then quickly faded into a dusty burgundy, then dark gray as the years went by offering not so much as welcome as a warning—we did not keep a tidy house.
This chance encounter between Colt and I was random and fleeting. Tomorrow, he’d fly back into his fancy jet-setting world and I’d keep right on keeping on in Redwood Bay. Tempting as the man was—and lord he was tempting—I wasn’t the slam-bam-thank you ma’am type.
It was kind of liberating. I had no expectations from him. I knew who he was and this wasn’t the start of something special. This was not a Nicholas Sparks movie. This was one night of fun.
And I wanted a night of fun. I had a good life, a satisfying one and I felt proud of what I’d accomplished. But I also felt a lot like that old tale about the little Dutch boy who plugged the leak in a wall with his finger. It stopped the leak, but then he was stuck standing there, fighting disaster with just his finger. Until another leak sprung and he had to contort to cover that one up as well, getting more stuck. I’d been plugging up leaks my whole life, cooking dinner for my younger sister and brother, driving around in a rusted-out 250,000+ miles car, finding affordable quick fixes for unreliable ovens in my store.
I wanted tonight, my escape from reality. One night in a fabulous red dress with a heart-stoppingly gorgeous man. I was going to make the most of it.
§
The limo arrived at my house at 3:59 p.m. Evan used to bike over to my house, sweaty, at unpredictable hours, sometimes asking to use my bathroom for a shower before we headed out. Or just stayed in.
Colt knocked at four o’clock sharp with a dozen roses in his hand. He didn’t say a word when I opened up the door. He just looked at me, his mouth slightly open, his eyes growing dark and heated.
“Hi!” I laughed for no reason, flustered. I was glad I was wearing that sexy red dress, but for a woman used to covering up, I felt pretty much naked. And the way he was looking at me didn’t exactly change that feeling.
“Thank you so much!” I moved to take the roses since he hadn’t said a word nor moved a muscle. Had I paralyzed him with my dress? “I love roses.”
“You look…” He spoke slowly, licked his lips and gulped, then trailed off as if his powers of speech had been severely impaired. Tee hee. I knew I was blushing but, honestly, I kind of loved it. He’d done it to me several times over the past 24 hours. Now it was payback time.
“Who are you?” My sister Zoe appeared, looking sleepy in sweats and a T-shirt.
“Oh, this is Colt.” I introduced them, explaining she was my sister but not giving him any explanation whatsoever. What should I call him? Friend? Date? Business adversary? “I told you I was going out tonight.” I’d left her a message but she never listened to them.
“What about dinner?” she asked, grumpy, looking forlornly at the kitchen.
“There’s leftovers tacos from yesterday and there’s some grilled chicken in there, too. You could heat that up with some pasta.”
Zoe scrunched up her nose, then sighed. “Maybe I’ll just grab a slice before my shift.” She didn’t like leftovers.
Colt looked at her, confused.
“She’s working nights this rotation,” I explained, like a parent with a spoiled brat rushing to excuse the bad behavior by explaining she’d missed her nap. “She’s studying to become a nurse.”
Colt nodded, still clearly not impressed. I found a vase, filled it with water and stuck in the roses. Arranging them could wait for tomorrow. I wanted to head out.
The two of them eyed each other warily while I spoke nonsense about the weather and then grabbed my wrap—light and gauzy as Hannah had allowed—and a small clutch.
“What time will you be home?” Zoe asked. I didn’t know why she cared. Her shift didn’t end until seven a.m.
“Late,” Colt answered for me, opening the door.
A driver opened the door to his limo and I had to giggle. So many doors being opened for me. And then we set off, heading out of town.
“Where are we going?” I peered out the window as if looking for a clue.
“You’ll see.” He stretched out an arm along the back of the seat. We weren’t touching, but I could feel his body heat. He was a big man but not too bulky, exactly my type. I bet he had abs of frickin’ steel. He asked me about my day and I told him, leaving out the part about googling him. Once I mentioned leaving early and letting Shelly close up, I started getting nervous.
“Maybe I should—?”
“Only double-check if it’ll set your mind at ease. I don’t want you distracted tonight.”
“You want my full attention?” I asked, smiling at his arrogance and putting down my phone. I didn’t need to call.
“You’ve got mine.” He gazed down at me with heated admiration, leaning in to give me a light kiss on my cheek. “You look incredible.”
“Thanks, Hannah helped me find a dress.” I played a bit with the material along my legs, enjoying his attentions but still self-conscious.
“I’m eternally grateful to her. But it is going to make my plans for tonight more difficult.” He dropped his hand to my bare shoulder and gave it a light caress.
“It is?” What did he have in store that a dress would complicate? Horseback riding? Paragliding?
“I don’t know how I’m going to keep my hands off you during an entire dinner.” He brought his face to my hair and nuzzled me, breathing me in. It left me breathless, how he savored me.
And I became even more breathless when the limo pulled into a private airport and up to a small plane.
“What are we doing?” I asked as the driver parked and hopped out to open my door.
“Going out for dinner.” Colt gave me a satisfied smile.
“Where are we going out for dinner?”
“San Francisco.”
“What?” I’d been down there exactly once, on an ill-fated road trip with Hannah and two other friends. Our car had broken down an hour south of Eureka so by the time we’d reached S.F. we’d already blown a chunk of our money and time. We stayed two nights, crashing on couches of a friend of a friend’s friend, wandering around the Mission District and heading to parties. Everyone seemed to work at Apple, Facebook, LucasFilm or Pixar. They were happy to say where they worked, but then even more happy to inform you that they couldn’t tell you what they were working on. Top Secret.
“There’s a restaurant in SoMa I want to take you to.”
I swore under my breath. He hopped out and made it around to my door before I’d even moved a muscle. He wanted to fly us down to San Francisco for dinner? I couldn’t even process it.
I took his hand and he led me over and up the stairs to a small plane. The interior looked more like an upscale conference room than a commercial airliner. No rows upon squished rows without even enough room to flip down your tray table, this plane had some large leather chairs, a couple of tables, plus a sofa and widescreen TV.
“Wow!” Now I was nearly speechless.
“You OK with flying?” he asked, perhaps misinterpreting my shock as reluctance.
“No, I’m fine with flying. I’m just…” I gestured around at all of it, like something out of a movie. “I can’t believe you want to fly us to another city for dinner. It’s so Fifty Shades!”
The second I said it I covered my mouth and blushed, furiously. Not the association I’d meant to make, not aloud anyway, with visions of bondage now dancing above our heads.
“Fifty Shades?” he asked, clearly enjoying the reference. “Sounds good to me.” He took my hand and led me
toward the couch. He greeted the pilot and asked a few questions that seemed somewhat technical. I knew nothing about planes, and I guessed most other passengers wouldn’t know about the quality of shock absorbers, either.
“I have my pilot’s license,” he explained after the pilot headed to the cockpit. He poured us each a glass of wine. “Makes things easier. We don’t need a co-pilot up front.”
“All right then.” Was there anything he couldn’t do? I took the glass of wine from him and we toasted to the evening. I had a feeling it would be like no other.
CHAPTER 7
Colt
I’d never seen a woman look more enticing. The way that red dress wrapped around her, revealing, tempting, promising more within. It was hard to keep my hands off of her.
She wasn’t my usual type, and maybe that was why I was practically drooling and having to remind myself to cool it, not act like a teenager. She was so goddamned juicy. I couldn’t stop thinking about licking her, sucking her like a ripe fruit. I wanted to grab her ass hard with my fingers and bury myself in her chest. I’d never want to come up for air.
So I distracted myself by asking her questions, getting her talking. On the plane ride she told me about her family. Her parents were both artists and lived on some sort of a commune. They’d probably like my younger brother, Heath, a craftsman living in the wilds of Vermont. Caroline’s brother drifted around picking up various types of seasonal, outdoor adventurer jobs. And though she brightened up with pride discussing her little sister and how she was earning her nursing degree, I had to admit, I hadn’t been impressed with what I’d seen.
“How old is she?” I asked, remembering her pout over not getting a fresh-cooked meal placed in front of her.
“21.”
“And you cook her dinner every night?”
“Well, not every night,” she protested, giving herself away the second she did it by looking overly guilty.
“Was there that one time you had a fever of 103?” I teased.
She laughed at herself. “I know I spoil her a little. But she’s working really hard earning her degree. And our parents never exactly took care of her.”
“You’re working really hard. Who’s taking care of you?”
She looked at me and, not having a good answer, sipped her glass of wine. Thought so.
“What time do you wake up every day to get that bakery of yours going?”
She gave me a run-down of her daily schedule and, I had to admit, it impressed me. I obviously ran a much larger company valued at roughly a billion times her business’s worth, but I also had a well-trained team of people dedicated to keeping the enterprise running full steam ahead. She had herself.
I supposed if I saw her as a true adversary, I might have delighted in her vulnerability. As it was, I felt myself wanting to help her out. I’d done a lot over the past year to grow Heath’s fledgling art and furniture business. I’d seen first hand how much of a difference a few well-placed connections and resources could make. Plus, it would give me a reason to see this tasty treat of a woman again. I hadn’t even had her yet, but I already knew once wouldn’t be enough.
After we landed, a car took us from the airport over the bridge into the city. This time of day it didn’t take long. We were headed the opposite direction of most of the rush hour traffic.
“I’d better get something in my stomach before I have another.” She declined a glass of wine offered in the car. I had to admit, I liked how she thought. I wanted her nice and relaxed, maybe slightly tipsy, but I wanted her sober enough to feel every second with me. I planned to make the flight back up to Oregon one she’d always remember.
I took her hand and stroked her fingers, exploring them.
“What’s this?” I asked, looking at a small red mark on the side of her left index finger.
“Oh, a burn.” She dismissed it as if it were nothing.
“When did you get it?” It didn’t look bad, but had she taken care of it properly?
“I don’t even remember. It happens all the time.”
I brought her hand up to my lips and kissed it, gently. She held her breath as I did it, and then her eyelids dropped slightly as my tongue traveled down her palm, over to her wrist. I could feel her pulse picking up as I licked her. She smelled so good, like strawberries or cherries and cream and I wondered if she’d been baking with them earlier that day.
“Do you always smell so delicious?” I murmured, one hand on her bare knee, stroking just the start of her inner thigh with my thumb. I worked my way up her arm, kissing, tasting, up to her neck. She tilted back and purred.
“You feel so good,” I marveled, still trying to hold myself back but having less success. If she didn’t respond so eagerly, it would be easier to resist her. But when she melted like butter it was almost impossible not to dive in.
The car stopped. Reluctantly, I pulled myself away. I wanted her as my meal, but I guessed it made sense to eat an actual meal first.
The plain, unadorned brick front to San Francisco’s most expensive restaurant made it feel like you were in on a secret. A Michelin-award-winning secret, but nevertheless it added to the charm. With the feel of a warehouse, exposed piping ran along the thirty-foot ceilings. I was struck again by the difference between New York and San Francisco. Restaurants in my hometown liked to knock you over the head with a bold statement, something that would wow you and keep you talking whether you loved or hated it. San Francisco delighted in its understated lack of refinement, with its priciest restaurants deliberately using rustic wooden bowls and Mason jars to serve up exquisitely prepared courses.
Caroline seemed startled when the waitstaff began setting out our first course.
“Aren’t we going to order?” she asked.
“It’s a single menu,” I explained. With twelve courses, there should be plenty to please even the fussiest of eaters.
But Caroline wasn’t fussy. She delighted in each and every dish, the presentation, the flavors. With each one she grew more animated like a kid in a candy shop, asking questions about preparation and ingredients. Halfway through I excused myself and brought the executive chef over to our table to introduce him.
“Oh!” Caroline stood up to shake his hand, as excited as if she were meeting a celebrity. “You’re food is so amazing!”
“Caroline’s a pastry chef,” I explained, tooting her horn since I was pretty sure she wouldn’t do it herself.
“Oh, no,” she shook her head, but then I got to see her in her element, asking him how he got his inspirations, where he’d done his training. She had a voracious appetite for learning. It seemed to me the chef enjoyed the conversation as much as she did. He also enjoyed checking out her voluptuous figure. I couldn’t blame him, but I could escort him back to his kitchen. Then I returned to my woman so I could enjoy the view all by myself.
“That was amazing!” Caroline looked at me like I’d performed a miracle. “How did you get him to come over here?”
“I asked.” He probably would have come out eventually, anyway. In my experience, the best restaurants always knew how to welcome their best patrons. Complimentary extras and greetings from renown chefs were not exactly a novelty to me.
Caroline laughed and shook her head as if I’d said something remarkable. “Rich people are so funny.”
“What’s that?” Obviously, I was rich but I wasn’t used to people calling me out on it or commenting on my kind so directly.
“You just ask for stuff.” She sighed. “I guess it occurs to you to ask because you’re used to getting what you want.”
I nodded. She was probably right about that. But Caroline had such a bright spark in her. Didn’t she feel empowered to ask for what she wanted?
“That brings up a good point,” I reminded her “You had an assignment for tonight.”
“Are you my professor?” she asked, and I instantly got all the wrong images in my head. Her coming to me in a tiny skirt, asking for an extension on an assignment
. I’d have to take her over my knee and give her a firm spanking for being so naughty.
“I’m happy to teach you,” I informed her, my voice husky. “But I have to warn you, I have high expectations. And I can be a very firm disciplinarian.”
She gave a nervous laugh, a flush stealing over her skin. And she offered me so much skin, her shoulders and delicious chest, the exposed upper mounds of her breasts. She bit her lip, looking away, that mix of arousal and nervousness stirring my blood. I wondered just how inexperienced she was.
Clearing her throat, she steered us into safer territory. “So, you asked me to dream big,” she began, and she started telling me about her ideal store. Room for seating, bright lights, big windows, sleek and uncluttered but welcoming décor. In back, she really got into details. She knew exactly which six-burner chef’s stove she wanted, which refrigerator and freezer, the layout for her work spaces right down to the hanging rack of pots and pans over the prep island.
“Seems like you’ve got it all figured out,” I complimented her. She might not know it, but she had all the hallmarks of a successful entrepreneur. Passion and dedication plus planning down to every little detail.
“I’m adding to it all the time,” she explained. “Every time I see a cooking show or read a profile of a pastry chef.”
“Sounds like you’re really serious about this.”
“I am.” Despite the strength of her reply, doubt clouded her sweet face.
“But what?”
“No, I don’t mean to…” She trailed off, wrestling with her own self-doubts, perhaps wondering whether she should share them with me. “The problem is I don’t have any formal training.”
“But people like what you bake,” I reassured her. I’d seen some guys with Harvard MBAs who couldn’t navigate their way out of a paper bag, never mind a complex business deal. I’d also seen some self-starter entrepreneurs who kept pushing and pushing, challenges thrown in their way only serving to strengthen their resolve. They might not have formal degrees, but they never stopped until their dreams became reality. “You don’t always need the diploma.”
Unbelievable Page 7
