by Reese Ryan
“I understand, believe me.”
“You? A disappointment to your parents? I have a hard time believing that.”
“My father wanted me to join the family business. My mother wanted me to become a lawyer. They’re both gravely disappointed that I’m committed to a lowly, thankless career in nonprofit.” He laughs, but pain is etched in the creases around his eyes. “I’m thirty-five years old and they’re still hoping it’s just a phase.”
Now I can’t help but laugh. Raine loves what he does. I can’t imagine him doing anything else.
Our torte arrives. We continue to venture into new territory—discussing our families in depth. I give Raine the CliffsNotes version of my conversation with my mother this evening and the general history of the Gordon women. I tell him my mother thinks it’s time for me to settle down.
“She wants me to find a man who will rescue me from spinsterhood.” I laugh.
“That’s not what you want, I take it.” He digs his fork into the torte and takes a bite.
I shrug. “I’m not anti-marriage. My parents were married for nearly thirty years and they were really happy. I just don’t think a husband and kids are in my immediate future and I’m okay with that.”
Raine looks me squarely in the eye. “What makes you think you won’t find someone?”
“My relationship track record isn’t so great.” An involuntary wince accompanies this admission.
“You’re beautiful, smart, funny, successful. What guy wouldn’t want to be with you?”
“You’d be surprised at the guys who haven’t wanted this beautiful, smart, funny and successful girl.”
“Tell me about them.” He takes a sip from his third beer.
“Why? Are you writing my unauthorized biography or something?” I fiddle with the napkin in my lap. “Besides, there really isn’t that much to tell.”
“Good. Then it won’t take long.”
I sigh and bite my lip, trying to read him. He steeples his fingers as he waits patiently for my story.
“I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours,” I say with an impish smirk that makes him laugh.
“Alright.” He leans forward, fingers spread on the table. “I was completely in love with a girl I dated for the first two years of high school. Her parents shipped her off to a boarding school in Europe for junior year. By homecoming she’d fallen for someone else. I spent the next few years partying and dating just about anything that moved.” For a moment it seems like he’s somewhere else.
“My life was really crazy for a while,” he continues. “Didn’t get serious about anyone for a long time after that. Then I met Maria. We dated for about a year and a half. There were too many people in our relationship. Her friends. My friends. Her mom. My sisters. We made the mutual decision to split. She moved back to Mexico. I haven’t heard from her since.”
“Ahh...so that’s the real story behind you learning to speak Spanish,” I say, more to myself than him. “Things must have gotten pretty serious if you were learning her native tongue.”
Raine’s cheeks have a warm, red glow that would give Rudolph a run for his money. He takes another sip of his drink. “Other than that, there’ve been a few dates here and there. The occasional relationship that lasted long enough for me to consider someone my girlfriend.” He shrugs. “Not much more.”
He really wants to hear my dating history. Why else would a guy voluntarily give me his relationship roster?
I take a long gulp of my second mojito, watered down from the melted ice. Raine leans back in his seat and waits.
“I dated the same guy off and on for four years. I fell in love with him when we were in high school. We started dating after college. I was still this starry-eyed schoolgirl who was head-over-heels in love. He took advantage of the fact that I believed we were meant to be together. So, I put up with an amazing amount of bullshit before he finally dumped me for the chick he knocked up while we were still together. They’re happily married with two kids.”
“Sounds like the dude was kind of an ass,” Raine says, an unspoken apology on his face. “You deserve better.”
“There’s plenty more humiliation where that came from. Which is why I’d really rather not talk about this—especially during my celebration dinner.”
“Sorry. I shouldn’t have pressed you about it. It’s just that, in all this time, we’ve never really talked. You know?” Raine places his hand gently on my forearm, causing the skin underneath it to tingle. I clench my hand, then slowly release it. “We discuss safe topics and avoid anything personal.”
I twist my ring again. “I guess we didn’t have time to dig deeper.”
“We never made the time to dig deeper,” he counters.
I bite my lip and fidget with my napkin, unsure of how to respond.
“I’m excited for you, Melanie. But I feel like we’ve missed the opportunity to really get to know each other.”
“We’ve been out more than a dozen times in the past year,” I say, not wanting to sound cruel. “Why am I suddenly so fascinating? Because I’m leaving?”
“Of course not.” He puts down his silverware and pushes back against the burgundy leather cushion. “I’ve always been attracted to you. In fact, that’s what I really called to talk to you about this morning.”
“So you’re telling me that you’ve been attracted to me since the first time you asked me out on what you clearly defined as ‘not a date’?” My cheeks are warm and my heart threatens to beat out of my chest. I slip my hands into my lap and hope he doesn’t notice how badly they’re shaking.
He nods and grips his bottle of beer. He doesn’t make an effort to put it to his lips.
“Why didn’t you say something?”
“The Center’s relationship with J&G is critical to our annual budget. Damien’s been a member of our board for years. There was more than just my feelings to consider. What if things didn’t work out? I couldn’t take a chance on losing a major funding source.” He takes a swig of beer then looks at me. There’s regret in his eyes. “Are you telling me you never suspected? Not even a little?”
“You’ve turned the mixed signal into an art form,” I say pointedly. “We’d have an amazing night, but the next day it was like I’d wake up back in Kansas.”
“I wanted to say something, to tell you how I felt. At the last minute I’d back out or I’d discover you were dating someone else. I kept thinking...next time I’ll go for it. But now you’re leaving and there won’t be a next time.”
I stare at him, debating my response, when Debbie and Dawn approach our table.
“Dammit! We’ve missed dinner,” Debbie says.
“Dessert, too,” Dawn says. “But at least we made it. Sorry I couldn’t get here sooner. I had to work late tonight.” She gives me a Hollywood air kiss before sliding into the booth next to me. “Congratulations on your great news, hon.” She reaches across the table and extends her hand to Raine. “Hello. I’m Dawn, Melanie’s neighbor.”
Raine is obviously disappointed by the intrusion, but he’s polite, charming. He grips her hand firmly. “Raine Mason.”
“I’m Debbie, Dawn’s sister, also Melanie’s neighbor. May I?” She gestures to his side of the table.
Raine slides over to let her in.
“I know we’ve come late, but you have to let us buy you a drink.” Dawn places her hand on mine.
“Or at least another dessert,” Debbie chimes in.
“I’ve already had two mojitos,” I object.
“You can’t possibly be counting this one with the ice melted in it, barely touched.” Dawn laughs and runs her fingers through her shoulder-length brown hair. She narrows those mischievous brown eyes at me. “Seriously, this is your big night. You deserve to get completely shit-faced drunk if that’s what you want t
o do.”
“I don’t,” I say firmly but politely. “We’ve had a really lovely dinner and we were sort of winding down.”
“Just a glass of wine then, maybe,” Debbie says.
“I don’t want to keep Raine out all night.” My eyes offer an apology.
He gives me a smile that says he understands. There’s disappointment and regret in his eyes. I wonder if my face mirrors his because I feel the same way.
“No problem,” Debbie pipes. “We’ll get Melanie home. After all, we live in the same building.”
“Well, Melanie is obviously in good hands,” Raine says. “And I’ve got a few things to catch up on. So, if you’ll excuse me.”
“Don’t leave on our account.” Dawn smiles at him. “We’d love for you to stay, and I’m sure Melanie would, too. Right, Mel?”
I open my mouth to speak. All I can get out is “I—” before Dawn jumps in again.
“See! She really wants you to stay.”
“Thank you.” Raine shifts in his seat. “But I’d better go.”
Debbie stands and lets Raine out of the booth. He leans across the table and kisses my cheek.
“Congratulations, Melanie. You deserve this promotion and all the happiness you can stand.” A smile is perched on his lips but refuses to travel north to his eyes.
“Good night. Thank you for dinner.” I watch him walk over to the bar to pay for our meal before leaving. I feel I should say something, but I’m not really sure what.
Dawn leers at Raine like he’s a filet mignon hot off the grill. “That is one hot piece of—”
“Dawn!” Debbie pokes a finger in her sister’s direction. Her short blond curls tumble forward as she narrows her blue eyes at her. She turns to me. “You didn’t tell us you were seeing someone.”
“I’m not,” I say quickly. “We’re just friends.”
“Are you sure about that?” Dawn asks.
“Yes.” I nod. “I’m positive.”
“Then would you mind if I...”
“Jesus! Not now, Dawn,” Debbie says. “There’s obviously more to the story than that.”
“Then let’s hear it.” Dawn folds her arms. “Talk!”
“It’s a long story,” I say, “and I’m really not up to talking about it right now.”
“Well, I’ve got just the thing to loosen closed lips.” Debbie wiggles her eyebrows. “Waiter, a round of shots, please!”
“You’ve been out with me before. Do I honestly seem like the kind of girl who does shots?”
Dawn raises one eyebrow and crosses her arms.
Oh, yeah. I did do shots that night, didn’t I? “Okay, that was just once,” I say. “And the next day I could barely stand.”
“Which time—the night you found out your ex was getting married, or the day of the wedding?” Debbie asks innocently.
Dawn cranks her eyebrow—arched within an inch of its life—up another notch and gives me an evil grin.
Damn that Debbie and her motor mouth.
“Both times should really count as one episode, since they were triggered by the same event,” I say. That event being my on-again, off-again boyfriend, Jaxson Payne, getting married.
For an instant I feel like I’m back at the very moment when my sister called to tell me that Jax, the man I spent four years with, who wasn’t capable of committing to our relationship, was getting married. I was devastated. The following weeks were spent in tears—often accompanied by copious amounts of alcohol.
My sister assured me that one day I’d find a guy who’d love me the way I deserved to be loved.
My best friend took a less sympathetic approach. “Jax is a piece of shit. You should be glad some bimbo is taking him off the market for good. The rest of womankind thanks her,” Jamie had said. Eventually my uncontrollable sobbing, which threatened to short out the handset of the phone, had moved Jamie to say something thoughtful and profound. “Look, Mel, if you and Jax are really meant to be together, maybe this is the journey you both need to take. Maybe you need to spend the next few years focused on your career. Maybe he needs to be in a relationship and get his heart ripped out and handed back to him before he’ll ever truly appreciate you.”
The howling that, up ’til then, accompanied my sobs ceased. “You think so?”
“I’m not suggesting you go looking for him or go within a hundred yards of him at any point while he’s married,” she’d said, stressing each syllable. “But who knows what the future holds?”
What it held for Jax was two kids, a big house in a high-end Cleveland suburb and a well-paying job with a global sports marketing firm. What it held for me, until earlier today, hadn’t been nearly as exciting.
“So, are we doing shots or what?” Dawn asks, bringing me out of my temporary daze.
“I could get called in tomorrow for work,” I say. Not entirely untrue, but highly improbable. “I’ll just have another mojito. This time I’ll drink it. I swear.”
Dawn isn’t convinced but lets it go. “Good enough.”
Debbie claps her hands together. “I’ll have one, too.”
“Excuse me, miss!” Dawn waves to the server who’s taking care of diners at another table. “We need to order a round of drinks as quickly as possible. Before my friend changes her mind.”
Chapter Four
The fuck-me pumps come off.
I sink into the couch and turn on the television just in time for the news. I rub my cramped feet, wiggle my toes then prop my feet up on my sad excuse for a coffee table. It leans down on the side with the slightly shorter leg. The one I never have time to adjust.
The television watches me as I replay the day in my mind. In just three weeks I have to get everything packed and moved to Cleveland. Then I’ll have another four weeks to hire an assistant and get the office up and running. I’m giving myself eight weeks to find a place to live.
I’m eager to get the process started. My Wednesday flight to Cleveland has already been booked. I didn’t tell my mother. I want to surprise her.
A knock at the door disturbs my thoughts. For a moment I think I dreamed it. A series of short, rapid knocks assures me the sound is real. We have to buzz guests into our building, so it’s probably Debbie or Dawn. Still, as my mother often reminds me, a single girl living alone can never be too careful. I pick up a slender metal vase. Not because I’m afraid. Because I can’t bear the thought of hearing “I told you so” throughout infinity.
I creep quietly to the door, just in case it is some psycho who’s come here to club me to death. I hold my breath and peek through the peephole.
Oh, shit! It isn’t Debbie or Dawn.
Stepping quickly but quietly to face the mirror hanging next to my front door, I run my fingers through my hair. Going for a look of calculated disorder, I give my head a good shake. Not a good idea after three mojitos.
There’s another round of knocks, this time more urgent. I take a deep breath, unlock the door then slowly turn the knob.
Raine stands there, his hand against the door frame, a perturbed look on his face.
“Hey,” I say nonchalantly, “did we forget something?”
He doesn’t respond. Instead he searches my face as if he expects to find the answer to a question he has yet to ask. It’s only a few seconds, but it feels like an eternity.
I open my mouth to speak. Before a single word can escape he steps forward and presses his warm palms on either side of my face. His warm breath smells of cinnamon. His intense gaze locks with mine. The throbbing pulse that emanates from his thumbs reverberates against my cheekbones.
He leans in closer. My breath quickens and I’m keenly aware of the rise and fall of my chest. Body trembling, I close my eyes and lean in, ever so slightly.
He presses his lips, firm
and soft, against mine. I take a deep breath, my lips part slightly. He readily accepts the invitation. His tongue slips inside and glides against mine.
I can barely breathe. His kiss is greedy, intense. It sends a chill down my spine yet sets every nerve in my body ablaze with a consuming fire. I’m overwhelmed by the sensation of heat, the increased sensitivity of my skin and the pulsing ache between my thighs. I break free to catch my breath.
“Lock the door.” My words come out ragged, breathy.
He releases me and locks the door. When he turns around I tug on his sweater, pulling him farther inside my apartment, until I’m backed against the wall.
He smiles then leans in to kiss me again. His lips press firmly on mine. His tongue darts in and out of my mouth as he grinds his hips into me, pinning me to the wall. I can feel his growing erection hard against my inner thigh.
There’s an insatiable hunger in our kisses. The kind that comes from an intense craving for something you want so badly, but don’t believe you can ever really have. Each kiss pulls me in deeper, makes me want him more.
This may be the relationship equivalent of a mirage, but it looks, tastes and feels damned good, and I’m going for it. And I’m going to enjoy every goddamned second of it. Starting now.
I slide my hands underneath his shirt. They glide slowly up the muscular ridges of his abs. My thumbs gently graze his nipples. He sucks in a deep breath in response. I grab hold of the edge of his sweater and shirt and inch them over his head. He pulls them off the rest of the way and tosses them on the floor.
Raine has been hiding more than just washboard abs under that sweater. A tattoo of a large sword with a vine wrapped around it and a vibrant red rose on its elaborate hilt decorates his right arm. A tribal tattoo rings his left bicep. I press my fingertips against the tattoo on the left side of his chest. It’s a bloody heart, pierced by a dagger with a skull handle. There’s a ribbon across it that says Forever. The word is barely visible.
Discovering a darker side to Raine, whose demeanor is more choir boy than badass, is unnerving, yet intriguing. What other secrets lie beneath his cool, calm surface?
