by Mary Campisi
She raised the chopstick, pointed it at him. “Why is it you think every sigh and moan is sexual?”
Those full lips pulled into a faint smile; the dark eyes glittered behind his glasses. “Isn’t it?”
Sizzle. Sizzle. Sizzle. Dang, he was tormenting her. “It would seem you have limited knowledge in the art of experiencing pleasure…in and out of the bedroom.”
The voice dipped. “Would it now?”
Oh, she had him. She could tell by the tic on the left side of his jaw. He grew very still, as though he were waiting. Well, she’d give him something to consider. “There’s a whole wide world that does not involve suspenders, tailored suits, or twenty-dollar words. It doesn’t even involve logic; imagine that?” The cords of his neck tensed, made her bolder. “You should try that world sometime. You might find you enjoy it.” She sat up straight, eyed him. “That world has something in it called emotion.”
He shrugged. “Not interested.”
“My therapy sessions make me think something happened in your past to make you this way.” The way he clutched his plate told her she’d hit a sore spot—scabbed over, but still there. “Was it Daddy? Or was it Mommy?”
“My father took off when I was two and my mother spent the rest of her life trying to prove she didn’t care. Serial random hookups aren’t the way to go. The only thing she proved was that having a kid around—” his voice turned rough “—no matter how quiet or obedient, no matter how many chores he did or how many times he fixed dinner, he was still a nuisance, one she didn’t want around.”
Oh, boy, she had not expected that. “Wow, that must have been rough. I never would have guessed.” No wonder he tried to control every aspect of his life and refused to permit emotion to take over. Heck, refused to admit emotion existed. She bet that was it; that was why he hadn’t wanted to consider what she’d asked—
“Gotcha.” He lifted his last piece of sushi, popped it in his mouth, and smiled as he chewed.
Roxie tightened her hand around a chopstick. “You made that up? Your mother wasn’t a runaround? Your father didn’t take off when you were two? And the child who parented the mother to earn her love and attention, none of that was true?” She’d seen the pain on his face, heard it sifting through his words…
“None of it. Call it a lesson in the art of lying. I told you that so you’d understand you can’t trust Anson Welliver, no matter how sincere he appears. Even if he means what he says when he says it, the situation will change, the dynamics will shift. He’s an intelligent man and he’ll know your pressure points. Once you give him that BS about a child, he’ll hop on his white horse and offer to save you because he’ll believe you need saving. That’s not what he wants.”
Roxie grabbed the second chopstick, snarled. “No? Do tell. What does he want?”
Rhyder reached for his water and lime, took a sip. “He wants you, at least, the person he thinks you are. He wants the life he believes you can give him…the one we both know you can’t. And the happily ever after. He wants that, too.”
The man had no right to tell her what did and did not exist and what she could or could not give to another person. He didn’t know her. He didn’t know the real Roxie Revito. But even as those thoughts flitted through her brain, she realized that maybe deep down he knew her better than she wanted to admit. “Maybe I’ll just tell him about Roberta. Of course, I’ll leave out the psychiatric evaluation part and the nervous breakdown. I’ll just tell him the good stuff.”
“Ah, so you’re going to start a relationship built on lies. Now I know you’re done. You’d never make it past the third date. The man’s too strait-laced for you. Too nice.”
If he kept up that kind of talk, she was going to jab him in the arm with a chopstick and when he bled all over his leather recliner, see if she’d care. “Why are you doing this? It’s plain cruel and unnecessary.” She dragged a hand through her hair, wished she’d added more gel to the ends... Wished too she’d added another half-inch of eyeliner and more makeup. They provided a camouflage from her numerous vulnerabilities and she needed that protection, especially when Rhyder Remington was near. She looked away, settled her gaze on the edge of a mahogany table. Glossy, rich-looking. Rhyder was a lot like that table with a hardness inside him, and whether or not his mother had emotionally abandoned him, he had been abandoned. She knew because she’d suffered the same.
“Roxie.”
She swung around, found him sitting next to her on the couch, touching distance away, close enough for her to smell his woodsy scent. Too close. Roxie scooted to the edge of the couch, clutched both chopsticks in her hands. “Do you try to be cruel or do you really not possess an ounce of what civilized people call compassion?”
Pink burst from his neck to his cheeks. He cleared his throat—twice. “I don’t think he’s right for you and I don’t think he’d make you happy.” The pink morphed to red, spread to the rest of his face. “But—” he looked away, regret sifting through his words “—I had no business saying what I did, and I’m sorry.”
Had the man who never apologized just apologized?
“Roxie, did you hear me?” He darted a gaze at her, frowned. “I said I’m sorry.”
A tiny smile flitted across her face. “So you did.”
Maybe the man was human after all.
“What’s going on with you and Roxie? I heard you made her sushi the other night and you don’t pull out the sushi stuff unless you plan on keeping the woman around for longer than a meal. Who was that last one who went crazy over your spicy salmon rolls? Was it the neurologist?”
Rhyder sighed. Was Ian trying to annoy him or had the role of father and husband addled his brain to the point of affecting recall? “She was an epidemiologist. Cassandra.” The woman could identify a disease, the people at risk, and the factors involved, but she did not know what constituted a relationship, beginning with the necessity for both parties to agree to its existence.
“Right. Cassandra. Now I remember. She was the one who buried items of clothing at your place so she had an excuse to see you once you dumped her.”
“I didn’t ‘dump’ her since we were never in a relationship.” He’d told her the first time she asked him to dinner that he didn’t “do” relationships, and she’d told him she was more than fine with that. Except she hadn’t been.
Ian laughed. “When a woman starts leaving personal items at a guy’s place, she thinks you’re in a relationship.”
Hmph. “Cassandra knew the rules and she agreed to them. I was very clear.”
“Oh, I’m sure you were.” Ian shook his head. “If there’s one thing about you, it’s your absolute insistence that you don’t want a plus one in your life.” His friend paused, rubbed his jaw. “That is, you didn’t until Roxie steamrolled into your life. Her, I think you’d make an exception for, and I kind of think you’d agree to the baby idea, too.”
Rhyder sat up straight, clutched the edges of his desk. “Why would you say that?” He hadn’t told Ian anything about what might or might not happen with Roxie.
“Why? Come on, Rhyder, it’s obvious. You and Roxie are about as explosive as nitroglycerin. Just admit you’ve got a thing for her and be done with it.”
And then what? Become the brunt of jokes, comments, and insinuations? Absolutely not. “A thing?” Rhyder tossed his pen on the desk, scowled. “That’s absurd.”
His friend grinned, shook his head. “It didn’t look absurd the other night when you were twirling her around the room.”
The man was not going to get him. “It’s called a waltz and I was not twirling her.”
“If you say so.”
“Just because you found wedded bliss with C.C. does not mean I’m interested in a similar fate.”
Ian raised a brow, the grin spreading. “Who said anything about wedded bliss? I’m referring to attraction. You know, the kind between a man and a woman. I spotted it the other night and I’m not talking about Roxie and Anson Welliver. Oh, he
was trying with those damnable good looks and the pleasantries I’m assuming spilled out like champagne, but he wasn’t getting anywhere with Roxie.” He eased back into the chair, crossed his arms over his chest. “Nope, not happening. It was actually quite interesting to watch except I wasn’t sure if I should keep my eyes on Roxie or you.”
Rhyder shrugged. “No idea what you’re talking about.” So Ian didn’t think Roxie was interested in Anson Welliver? That was a good sign because it was hard to tell since Roxie wasn’t sharing much, especially thoughts on Mr. Eligible and Looking. “She likes to play games and it could never work between them. Roxie would swallow him whole.”
That made Ian laugh. “C.C. said it wouldn’t work either, but I think she said something about the guy being too nice and too predictable for Roxie. She thinks Roxie needs a challenge: someone who’ll keep her guessing, provide cerebral challenge, but also an emotional one. Know anybody like that?”
“I’m not in the habit of assessing another man’s suitability for anything other than his job. It’s not my strong suit.”
“But equations and formulas are your thing. Big problems filled with X and Y and if you plug in the right formula, there’s no telling what you’re going to get.” He paused, said in a casual voice, “Like the answer.”
Rhyder sighed. The man was horrible with analogies and worse with formulas. “Why don’t you just say what you want to say and skip the commentary because you’re making absolutely no sense.”
“Okay, here goes. You and Roxie are attracted to each other but you’re both doing your damnedest to deny it because it confuses you and doesn’t make sense to those superior brains of yours...at least not on the surface. Plus, neither of you wants to let yourself care about anyone because that will make you vulnerable and you are not about to let that happen. So, you keep your distance, leave before the other person does, and never show your feelings.” He paused. “Sound about right?”
No way was Rhyder confessing to any of that. “Sounds messed up and off-base to me, but what do I know? I’m just a numbers guy. You’re the one who pledged until-forever nonsense and got a wife and a baby in the deal. Happy ever after, right?”
Ian’s voice turned syrupy sweet and his expression softened like melting ice cream. “That’s right. Just when I think it can’t get any better, it does.” He let out a ridiculously satisfied sigh and smiled.
The man deserved his happiness; so did C.C. They were perfect together and didn’t seem to mind showing their feelings or their weaknesses to one another. How did a person ever get comfortable with that? It sounded truly painful, worse than a root canal, which Rhyder had the unfortunate bad luck to require a few years ago. Still, he guessed love made people vulnerable and opened them to revealing imperfections and a fair amount of risk taking. He sucked in a breath, blew it out nice and slow. Of course, he did not subscribe to such a mindset. No indeed. Connections, not relationships; formulas, not emotions; that was where his comforts lay and, in that, he and Roxie were alike. If they weren’t, would she request a baby minus the man, the relationship, or the marriage?
No, absolutely not.
“So—” Ian burst through Rhyder’s assessment of Roxie and what she didn’t want “—C.C. wants you to come for dinner tomorrow night, said she’s got a new salmon recipe she thinks you’ll like…asparagus, lentils… All that stuff you salivate over.”
“Culinary heaven. I’m in.”
“That’s what I thought.” He paused, rubbed the back of his neck, and slid in the catch. “She invited Roxie, too.”
“On second thought, can I have a to-go bag?” He hadn’t seen her since the night they’d shared sushi and chocolate flourless cake. There was a reason for the avoidance and they both knew it. Something close to what might be considered feelings had definitely swirled between them: bold, powerful, intense. He’d even found himself apologizing for his careless words about how unsuitable she and Anson Welliver were. Rhyder never apologized. Why would he when he’d never behaved in a manner that required an apology? He said what was on his mind, period.
But he’d hurt Roxie and that bothered him.
Thus, the apology.
And he’d been contemplating their next meeting, but he didn’t want spectators. Ian and C.C. would definitely be watching and analyzing.
“Funny, but Roxie said the same thing about a to-go bag, though she added a few colorful words to the request.”
“Then she’s not coming.” Was he glad to hear that? Maybe, because logic told him he needed to regroup and rethink his strategy on how to interact with her, but the ping in his gut said something else. Heartburn over the possibility of another confrontation? That was it. That had to be it.
“Oh, Roxie’s coming.” Ian’s laughter filled the room. “She asked for the to-go bag for you.”
Chapter 7
“Okay, this is awkward.”
“That would be an understatement.”
Roxie shifted on the couch, turned to him and whispered, “Do you think they could be any more obvious?”
He shrugged, his gaze fixed on the lime and tonic in his hand. “I’m not the one who made mention of a baby or an agreement. That was you.”
Why did the man have to speak as though she didn’t know she should have kept her mouth shut? “No kidding. I know that was me and if I’d thought these two would try to play matchmaker, I would have kept my mouth clamped shut.”
His lips twitched. Twice. “A physical impossibility.”
She huffed. “You and your cute comments. We have to figure out a way to shut down their ideas of us as a couple.”
“Agreed.” He paused, shot her a sideways glance and added, “Because that notion is impossible.”
“Right.” Did he have to act like it was so distasteful? Worse than a bite of lard on toast? Could he not have offered an option or two or a scenario where the situation would not have seemed repulsive?
“However...”
“Yes?” However, under certain circumstances he might not find the idea of them as a real couple so impossible. Or was the proper word implausible? Rhyder would know but darn if she’d ask him. He turned to face her, his eyes dark, soulful, captivating. Her belly flipped-flopped in ways that had nothing to do with the burrito she had for lunch. “Yes?”
“We won’t be any sort of couple without the spreadsheet you’ve created.” When she stared at him, his full lips curved into a slow smile. “I have to know what to do,” he said in a low voice. “I’ll be lost without the guide of that sheet you created. When, where, which positions, how long? You do have that noted, don’t you?”
Roxie leaned back, preparing to slug him in the arm, but then she stopped. This wasn’t about C.C. and Ian treating them as if they were a real couple. This wasn’t even about the blasted spreadsheet she’d agonized over that now rested in her handbag. No, this was about Rhyder Remington showing an emotion the other night and the apology. He didn’t like that she’d seen it but she bet what bothered him most was that he felt it at all.
It was her turn to smile at him, long and slow, place a hand on his forearm and lean in close enough to brush her lips against his ear, whisper, “I know what you’re trying to do, but it won’t work. You’re human, Rhyder. I spotted it the other night.” Her voice dipped lower. “Now I know and that scares you, doesn’t it? Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone.” And then she patted his cheek, slid off the couch, and headed toward the kitchen humming AC/DC’s “T.N.T.”
It took Rhyder an entire night to counter her comments. She must have really surprised him with her analysis because he had no quick responses to the conversation, not even when Ian brought up the possibility of involving Roxie in a proposal for a new-concept preschool building. Nothing but a shrug and a nod, which meant he was in another universe. If he’d been present, as in paying attention to what was going on around him, he never would have continued to pick the onions out of his salad and remained silent.
They’d just said their goodb
yes to Ian and C.C. and were headed toward their cars when Rhyder stopped, shoved his hands in his coat pocket, and said, “You were right.” The wind lifted his dark hair, the scrap of moon casting his face in shadow, but his voice said it all: resignation, confusion, frustration.
Roxie nodded. “It wasn’t about being right; it was about being honest.” She paused, gave him a few seconds to process her words, and finished, “With me, but mostly with yourself.” Oh, look at her, talking to the guy as if she didn’t hide behind her own demons and insecurities. It wasn’t fair or honest to call Rhyder on it and then pretend she didn’t do the same thing. “I know all about manipulating information so my brain processes a different outcome based on altered data.” She shrugged, let out a long sigh. “I called you on it because I recognized that behavior in myself.” There—she’d confessed.
“I see.” He nodded. “Thank you for telling me.”
“Sure. So...” Okay, this was getting weird; Rhyder was starting to act really human and showing more emotion. Way too uncomfortable...way too attractive.
“Do you want to get something to drink?” His voice dipped, pinged her senses. “I’ve got too much going on in my head to sleep.”
Oh. The man was actually asking for her company? “Well, you don’t drink and I’m not drinking, so...”
“Right, probably not a good idea.” He took a step back and the streetlight caught his expression that looked a lot like disappointment. “Okay then. I’ll see you tomorrow and we can—”
“I’ve got fifteen varieties of tea at my place. There’s this decaf one I am obsessing over: cloves, cinnamon, a hint of ginger. I can’t guarantee you’ll love it, but I’m pretty sure you’ll like it.” Roxie paused, sipped air. Why was she yammering like she’d had ten caffeine jolts? She ignored the jumpy belly that said this was all about nerves and fear of rejection and added, “It’s just a thought.”
