“Anything else happening?” I asked Channing.
“Nah.” His attention had clearly turned back to his game, not that he was all that talkative on the phone anyway. Getting any idea how his classes were going was like pulling teeth.
The two of us did better in person. I’d find some time next week to take him out for lunch or dinner and make sure he was good. “Okay, I’ll let you go. Give Mom a hug for me. And don’t eat everything. I’ll be back the day after Christmas and there better be enchiladas.”
He laughed. “No promises.”
I ended the call and took another look around the store for anything else I needed. There wasn’t. Everything I’d bought would fit in my backpack. Tonight, I’d work on my laptop, answering emails and reading reports. Hopefully that would be enough of a distraction from Cleo in the bed wearing those skimpy pajamas. Though it would be harder to mask my attraction in sweats.
“Back again?” the clerk asked as I approached the register and set my things down. “I thought you’d come back to get a last-minute gift for your girlfriend. That’s pretty much what everyone shopping is doing today.”
“She’s not, uh . . . no. This is just for me.”
Damn it. Should I buy Cleo a gift? I hadn’t even thought about that. Why would I? If I got her something, that would make it weird, right? But it was Christmas.
Maybe I could grab her something from that kitchen store. Cleo had more kitchen utensils than any person on earth but she’d been eyeing some sort of spatula. Would she see through the gift? Would she know that I’d been watching her every move in that store, not because I was concerned with her safety, but because I could barely keep my eyes off her?
Fuck my life. When had a spatula become so complicated?
“Cash or card?” While I’d been debating the merits of a goddamn spatula, the clerk had rung up my purchases and bagged them to go.
“Oh, sorry.” I dug out my wallet and swiped my card through the machine. Then I took my things and left. I forced myself across the street so I wouldn’t be tempted to go inside the kitchen goods shop.
If Cleo were mine, I’d buy her all the kitchen trinkets her drawers could hold. I’d get her tasteful gifts, ones that she’d appreciate, as opposed to the too-fancy jewels her father bought her every Christmas that she never wore.
She’d appreciate a pair of simple earrings and a new rolling pin better than the Tesla he’d bought her last year. The Tesla that she’d sold two weeks later, donating the proceeds to charity.
Blake had been with her that day. He’d laughed and rolled his eyes at Ray, then he’d praised Cleo for being the breath of fresh air that she was.
She didn’t need a new car. What she needed was a weekend in Montana to unwind.
That could be my gift to her. These couple of days.
When I got back to the hotel, I walked through the doors and looked toward the fireplace. Cleo was on one of the couches, her eyes glued to her phone. She’d been in the same place when I’d left earlier.
I crossed the lobby, standing beside her couch. “Hey.”
“Hey.” A natural smile spread across her face as she looked up. She smiled at everyone and it was always genuine. Those smiles, combined with her baked goods, were the reason people flocked to her bakery. Cleo was magnetic. “Where’d you go?”
I held up the bag. “Bought a couple things so I could change.”
“Oh.” Her shoulders fell. “Sorry.”
“Stop apologizing. I’m going to head on up and change, then do some work. I’ll be out of your hair so you can chill in the room.”
“Actually, I made us a dinner reservation.”
“Oh.” I grimaced. An intimate Christmas Eve dinner with this beautiful woman would be torture.
Cleo’s smile disappeared. “I can cancel.”
“No, don’t.” If dinner was what she wanted, then I’d eat with her.
For so long, I’d pretended to be a professional. I’d maintained a professional distance. I’d kept our interactions professional. I’d stayed away from her to maintain professionalism.
If professional actually meant acting like a rude, motherfucking asshole, I had professional nailed.
Cleo hadn’t deserved my attitude. For the last day, for the last four years, I’d been acting like an ass. Keeping up the act was exhausting.
Today, I would attempt being a true professional.
“Dinner sounds great. Thank you.” I gestured to my shirt. “But I don’t have anything nice to wear.”
“Neither do I. And I checked with the dining room. It’s not fancy. We can come as we are.”
“Okay, then. What time?”
Her face lit up into a beaming smile. “Seven thirty.”
That gave me four hours to get my shit together, stop pouting and quit ruining her vacation. “I’ll be there.”
“This is so good.” Cleo closed her eyes and hummed. The look of rapture on her face was more mouthwatering than the chocolate cake on my fork. She opened her eyes and smiled. “How’s yours?”
I dropped my gaze to my plate and cleared my throat. “Good.”
“Want to try some cheesecake?”
“No, thanks.” I shoved a bite in my mouth and looked anywhere but at her.
We were the only two left in the dining room. There’d been two large parties here tonight, but both had disbanded and left an hour ago.
Cleo and I had eaten at a leisurely pace. There hadn’t been much conversation, but thanks to the others in the room, we’d spent the time people watching. The other guests had graciously let us stare while they’d eaten, laughed and opened gifts. Cleo and I had both ordered steaks. Not an ounce had been left behind on either of our plates. They’d been that good.
“More?” Cleo lifted the bottle of red wine between us.
“Sure.” I held the stem of my glass as she poured.
“I like this version of Austin.”
“The one who drinks?”
She giggled, topping off her own glass. “Yes. He’s chill.”
“You’re the first person to ever call me chill.” I took another bite of my cake followed by a sip of wine, and the last shred of tension over this meal melted away.
I let myself chill and enjoy her company.
“Did you always want to own a bakery?” I asked.
“Yes. My mom used to let me help her in the kitchen. She’d let me mash bananas for banana bread and she’d measure out ingredients so I could dump them in the mixing bowl. I was so little when she died, but I never forgot those days in the kitchen. When I got older, it was something I could do to feel connected to her.”
There was nothing but adoration and love in her eyes whenever she spoke of her mother. It wasn’t often, but enough to see that Cleo carried Janet in her heart. Maybe that was why her food was out of this world. It was infused with love.
“What about you?” she asked. “Did you always want to be in private security?”
“I don’t know if anyone in this business plans on being in this business.” At least, that was how it was for all of my guys. “I just fell into it. I always wanted to be a fireman, like my dad. My mom wanted me to get my degree first, but I’d planned on applying to a station as soon as I had one. Then a month before graduation, I met this guy who owned a security firm. He was looking for some muscle to work at a few events.”
Most of the other twenty-something-year-old guys he’d hired had been bored as hell. They’d hated standing against the wall, observing a party instead of participating in it. But I’d liked the work. It was interesting to watch people when they didn’t realize they were being watched.
I’d seen men check out women other than their dates. I’d heard women talk about other women. And I’d learned how it felt when the tension in a crowd spiked before a fight broke out.
“I was working this concert. It was a private deal in a hotel for a twenty-first birthday party. The birthday boy was a spoiled rich kid. His dad was an actor—and no,
I can’t tell you who.”
“Bummer.” She pouted.
“I’d just turned twenty-two and was weeks away from graduating. My class load was light so whatever jobs he gave me, I took because I wanted the cash. So I’m at this concert and these two hothead assholes are about to get in a fight over a girl. I broke it up without breaking any bones or making a scene. No big deal, but my boss was there that night. He watched the whole thing. Before we left that night, he offered to train me and give me a job that paid three times what I would have made in one year as a firefighter. I couldn’t pass it up.”
“How long did you work for him?” Cleo asked.
“About five years. He retired, moved to Hawaii, and I decided to start Garrison.” I’d built my company slowly and deliberately, only hiring crew members when I could guarantee their income for a year. I’d been working Garrison for two years before Ray had become a client, and since, we’d grown considerably.
It was still a small company in terms of the private security firms in LA. I intended to keep it that way, choosing quality services over a massive team. Still, Garrison was bigger than I’d ever dreamed it would be after less than a decade in business.
“Do you ever wish you had become a fireman instead?” Cleo asked.
“Occasionally,” I admitted. “When I see catastrophes and those in uniform banding together, I have regrets. But mostly, I consider myself fortunate to have a good job. And I like calling the shots.”
Cleo laughed. “You are rather bossy.”
“Occupational hazard.”
She picked up the purse she’d brought to dinner off the seat of the empty chair to her left, taking out a small wrapped box. “I got you something.”
My heart dropped. Fuck. I should have bought her that spatula. “I, uh, didn’t get you anything.”
“Oh, this is nothing. I don’t expect or need gifts this year. But I saw this and couldn’t pass it up.” She slid the box across the table.
I took it and gently unwrapped the red and gold foil paper to reveal a deck of cards. The box was a hand-painted mountain scene with the words Welcome to Quincy written on the face.
“I noticed you collect them.”
I managed a nod. I held the box, speechless. How had she known? I collected decks of cards from all the places I’d traveled. If I had seen these myself, I would have bought them.
“I saw those in the airport yesterday when I flew in and thought they were beautiful,” she said. “If you don’t like them, you won’t hurt my feelings.”
Wait. She’d bought them even before I’d shown up here. Why? Why would she buy me something when she hated me?
Maybe . . .
I shoved that thought aside and cleared the lump in my throat. Then I looked up, meeting her shining hazel eyes. “They’re great. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” She beamed. “I hope you like them.”
“I do. Very much.”
“Why cards?” she asked. “I think it’s a cool thing to collect. Better than shot glasses or refrigerator magnets. But I always wondered why.”
“My mom. She taught me to play different games when I was little, but I was rough on cards. Whenever I had money, I’d buy a new deck and beg her to teach me a new game.”
“How many decks do you have?”
“No idea. But they fill up three drawers in my kitchen.”
“That’s a lot of cards.”
And this would be my favorite deck.
Our waitress appeared beside our table, her hands clasped around a black folio that likely held our bill. “How was dessert? Can I get either of you anything else?”
“No, I think we’re done,” Cleo said. “Thank you. May I put this on my room?”
“Yes, of course.” The woman handed her the check. “And you’re welcome to take your wine if you’d like to retire to your room.”
“Cleo—” I started to protest, reaching for the check, but she silenced me with a scowl. Then she signed her name on the receipt and added a tip.
“Thank you for dinner,” I said after the waitress cleared our plates.
“Thank you for eating with me.” Cleo stood from her chair. “Will you teach me a card game?”
“Sure.”
She took her wineglass and the bottle, then led the way from the dining room. But instead of veering for the elevator, she returned to the couch in front of the fireplace where she’d been reading earlier.
“Here?”
“Or would you rather play in the room?”
“No, this is fine.” I dropped to the couch and lifted the lid on my cards. The less time we spent in that bedroom, the better. “Do you know how to play gin rummy?”
“No.”
I took the cards from the box and shuffled them. Then taught her to play gin. An hour later, she’d finished the bottle of wine and hadn’t won a single hand. But you’d never know by the smile on her face or the twinkle in her eyes.
“Gin.” I discarded my last card.
“What? Already?” She giggled and tossed her cards on the pile. “Okay, I give up. Let’s play a different game. How about war? Or go fish? I might stand a chance if we play kid games.”
“I learned to play gin when I was six.”
“Show-off.” She rolled her eyes, then lifted her hand to her mouth to cover a yawn.
“We should go up.”
“No, not yet.” She relaxed into the thick leather of the couch, tipping her eyes up at the stone chimney and taking in the wreath hung above the fire. “This is peaceful. I like it here.”
“Me too.” I collected the cards, putting them back in the box, then mirrored her position.
“Thank you, Austin.” She turned her cheek to look at me. Somehow, while I’d put the cards away and she’d been sitting there, we’d gotten closer. Or maybe we’d inched closer as we’d played, using the center cushion of the couch as our card table.
Whenever it had happened, our shoulders were nearly touching. A lock of her hair had slid over the leather of the couch and brushed against the cotton of my shirt.
“For what?”
“For this break. I know it was out of character for me, but sometimes I just want to say screw it. Just do what makes my heart happy. Does that make any sense?”
“Yeah.” My eyes roamed her face. Without thinking, I brought my hand up to cup her cheek.
Her breath hitched.
Tingles raced across my skin.
What the fuck was I doing?
Making my heart happy.
I leaned in closer.
And kissed Cleo.
Chapter 8
Cleo
Someone was pounding a drum in the room next door. A really loud, extremely painful drum.
No. Wait. That was just my pulse.
“Fuck you, wine,” I groaned into the pillow, squeezing my eyes shut. I hadn’t even realized how much I’d had to drink last night at dinner with Austin—
I shot out of bed.
Oh. My. God.
Austin had kissed me. Austin Myles had kissed me.
He’d kissed me, right? Or had I dreamed it in my wine-hazed state?
My hand flew to my lips. They felt the same as usual. Maybe a little dry since I hadn’t put on my nightly sleep balm. I traced the edges, searching for any sign that I’d kissed the handsomest, sexiest man I’d ever seen, but there was nothing.
No chafed skin. No puffy swell.
But I hadn’t imagined it. I hadn’t dreamed it. I clearly remembered sitting on the couch in my happy buzz when Austin dropped his lips to mine.
After that, things got fuzzy. Reality had been scraped away by the stubble on his sculpted jaw.
The kiss hadn’t lasted long. There’d been no tongue or playful nips. Just Austin’s soft lips on mine and the all-consuming desire for . . . more.
Oh my God. Austin had kissed me.
Why? Didn’t he hate me? Wasn’t I this major annoyance in his life?
And where was he?
/> I turned in a circle, my head spinning. The room was empty except for me. I was alone but hadn’t come to the room alone. Austin had been with me. After the card game and kiss, he’d lain on the bed beside me and I’d smiled at him until I’d fallen asleep.
The pillow on his side of the bed had a noticeable dent. The quilt was rumpled because he’d slept on top of the covers while I’d burrowed in deep.
At least he hadn’t suffered on the floor.
He’d slept beside me and he’d kissed me. Or had I kissed him? Oh, shit. My stomach turned. Did I have this entire thing turned around?
“I’m so stupid.” I slapped a hand to my aching forehead.
Austin had no reason to kiss me. None. But I’d been tipsy on wine, something that always made me flirty and forward, and I’d kissed him. Then he’d brought me upstairs and put me to bed.
The man was probably back in California by now.
I tipped my head to the ceiling and groaned. “Montana was a horrible idea.”
Mortification oozed from my bones, making me cringe. I trudged to the bathroom and took in my disheveled state. My hair was everywhere and the makeup I hadn’t washed off last night was smeared on my face.
At least Austin wasn’t here to see the goddamn wreck I’d become. I was the farthest thing from desirable. Hell, I didn’t even want to be me at the moment. So I brushed my teeth, turned on the shower and got to work collecting the shreds of my dignity.
So what if I’d kissed him? I could explain that it was a mistake and apologize. I could definitely pretend it had never happened. Once we got back to LA, I fully expected never to see Austin again, but whatever. He didn’t like me anyway and maybe I’d have an easier time letting go of this crush if Austin became a distant memory.
My shower was far from relaxing with the way my hands shook. Tears pricked the corners of my eyes, but I refused to cry so I rinsed the conditioner from my hair and got out. Melodrama wasn’t going to make this easier.
I dried off and wrapped a towel around my body, then dragged a brush through my hair before twisting it up in a knot. When I emerged from the bathroom, I expected to find my room empty.
'Tis the Season for Romance Page 33
