Love to Believe: Fireflies ~ Book 2 Read online

  While waiting for the taxi to arrive she peered through the car windows into the darkness where at any minute a homicidal maniac might appear—she really had to stop watching those crime show marathons—checked every few minutes to be sure the car doors were locked, and cursed the Fates and the gods of all things automotive. Hadn’t she replaced last night’s flat tire just this morning?

  How could this happen to the same person twice in two days?

  Well, at least she’d made it to the restaurant. Whether Nate waited for her was another matter altogether.

  He’s still here. Of course he’s here. And ten minutes from now we’ll be sipping wine and laughing about all this.

  “Hello. How many in your party this evening?” asked the hostess, a sloe-eyed blonde whose nametag read Roxanne.

  “I’m actually meeting someone,” Rebecca said. “I don’t know if he got a table or if he’s waiting in the bar. He may have asked you to watch for me.”

  Roxanne tapped the computer on the maître d’ lectern once, twice, and scanned the screen. “Nate Humphrey?”

  Rebecca nodded “Yes, that’s right.”

  “Right this way.”

  Rebecca followed Roxanne’s swaying hips to a booth near the back of the restaurant. She saw Nate and smiled, offered a little wave, relieved when he stood as she drew near.

  “I’m so glad you’re still here.” She did her best to sound contrite. “I worried you’d leave before I got here.” She kissed his cheek and her throat tightened when he made no move to kiss her back. He offered no comment, just helped her remove her coat. His eyes flicked over her from head to toe before he sat down.

  Uh-oh. She knew she was rocking the little black dress—her push-up bra was doing its job, hard at work like the Little Engine That Could—and she had taken as much time as she dared with her makeup. She knew her hair had a mind of its own, but surely it didn’t look that bad. She was pretty certain a “Wow!” was in order due to the form-fitting dress alone if nothing else, but Nate regarded her with a stony stare as she slid into the booth opposite him.

  “Okay, you’re mad. I don’t blame you. But it really isn’t my fault this time.” Rebecca wrapped her hands around the water goblet and ran her thumbs through the condensate beaded on the glass. “Did you get my messages?”

  “I always do,” Nate said.

  “So you know this was beyond my control, right?”

  Nate regarded her without blinking, his gaze Arctic. He picked up his whiskey glass and downed the remaining amber liquid. With his elbow resting on the table, he held the empty glass in front of him and stared into it as if the alphabet might climb out and form his words for him. After a few moments, he set it upside down and watched drops of residual liquid slide down the sides of the glass to form a spotty ring on the white linen. “I’ve had about ten of these.” His words slurred together. “Not nearly enough, though.”

  Rebecca reached her hand across the table and laid it over his. “I’m so sorry, Nate. But there really wasn’t anything I could do about being late. You got my messages, so you know what happened. I’m here now. Let’s just enjoy our date.”

  He yanked his hand from under hers with force. The back of his hand slammed against his water goblet. The glass flew off the table and shattered on the hardwood floor.

  “Enjoy our date? You think that will fix this?” Nate slammed his hands down on the table, knocking over an empty wineglass and upsetting Rebecca’s water goblet. She steadied the glass to prevent another spill and mumbled an apology to the waiter who hurried over to clean up the broken glass.

  “Causing a scene won’t fix it either,” Rebecca told him through clenched teeth, doing her best to keep her voice calm while her cheeks burned. “Settle down, Nate, and we’ll talk. Or we can leave and deal with it elsewhere. Whatever you want.”

  “I was going to fucking propose to you tonight!” His declaration reverberated through the restaurant, brought all other conversation to an immediate halt, and shocked Rebecca into stunned silence. “Instead, I’ve been sitting here for three hours—three fucking hours!—waiting for you to show, and all you have is some bullshit story about a trip to the ER and your car breaking down. You expect me to believe that again?”

  Rebecca felt dozens of eyes on her and knew the heat rippling along her chest, throat, and face translated to bright red splotches mottling her skin. Not her best look.

  Nate pushed himself from the booth, stumbled, and righted himself. He pointed a finger at Rebecca who continued to stare straight ahead at the spot where he had been sitting. “You don’t care about anything but the stupid business, and you know what? You’re wasting your time. Your father doesn’t even want you involved. He said so last night. Hey!” He leaned down and his whiskey breath blew hot across her face. “Are you listening? He told everybody. He doesn’t think you can cut it. And I’m tired of waiting around for you to figure that out, tired of always being last on your list. You’re just not fucking worth it.”

  Rebecca sat still as the Rock of Gibraltar and felt every bit as battered. She didn’t watch Nate leave, didn’t look around at the faces of the curious onlookers, and didn’t give in to the tears of humiliation that welled behind her eyes. Instead, she drew a shaky breath and met the sympathetic gaze of the waiter. “I’d like a Grey Goose martini, please. Double and dirty, with extra olives.” Nervous laughter brewed in her chest and she managed a halfhearted smile. “Put a rush on it…” She dropped her eyes to his name tag. “…Jonathan.”

  He grinned. “Yes, ma’am. You got it.”

  Ten long minutes later, during which Rebecca fiddled with her phone to avoid meeting the eyes of anyone around her, Jonathan returned to her table with a plate of sautéed shrimp, a mini-loaf of multigrain bread still warm from the oven, and two martinis prepared as instructed. Rebecca glanced up, surprised. “I didn’t order food. And when I said double I didn’t mean two, I meant—”

  “Compliments of Mr. Kinkaid.” He nodded to a table across the restaurant.

  Cheeks burning, Rebecca peeked around the waiter and saw Sean in deep conversation with a woman who Rebecca guessed to be about twenty years his senior. The woman qualified as older, the way Sharon Stone might. In a word—gorgeous, sophisticated. Okay, that was two words. Sexy. Damn it, that was three words, and if she added classy, that made it four.

  “He said he’ll join you in a little while.”

  “Okay.” Rebecca drained the first glass. Jonathan’s brows arched high over eyes the color of chestnuts. “Don’t judge me.” She slid an olive into her mouth. “It’s been a really long day.”

  “Right. Well, can I get you anything else?”

  “Like a stretcher?” she asked and made him laugh.

  “I was thinking more along the lines of a dinner menu.”

  “No, thanks. This will do for now.”

  “Okay. Well, if you think of anything, just let me know. Mr. Kinkaid is taking care of your check this evening, and he asked me to bring you anything you’d like.”

  “That’s generous of him, but not necessary.” Rebecca cursed the bristling heat crawling up her neck and into her face. “I can handle my own check.”

  “Uh, well…” Jonathan glanced in Sean’s direction. “Why don’t you hash it out with Mr. Kinkaid? It looks like he’ll be heading your way in a few.”

  Under her lashes, she watched Sean play the gentleman, helping his companion from her chair and with her coat, and escorting her through the restaurant toward the lobby. The woman’s hair gleamed as rich a sable as the coat she wore, and if her purse and shoes weren’t Jimmy Choos, Rebecca would eat her martini glass. Both items together cost more than Rebecca made in a month. No wonder the woman looked so good. With that kind of money to burn, who wouldn’t? And Sean looked damn near edible in a tailored suit of charcoal gray—Tom Ford, she’d bet a week’s salary—crisp white shirt and conservative silk tie the deep burgundy of crushed pomegranate.

  She couldn’t keep watching Sean
and his woman friend without turning around in the booth, so she sipped her second martini, nibbled the shrimp, and watched the minutes tick by on her cell phone.

  Rebecca smelled him before she saw him, but only because he appeared from behind the booth and leaned down to brush a chaste kiss against her cheek before sliding into the seat opposite her. She breathed him in, something spicy and light, because he was classy enough not to overdo it. Just a hint, enough to shoot a woman’s pulse up and make her remember him after he walked away.

  Sean stabbed one of her martini olives with the olive pick and popped it into his mouth.

  “I’m surprised you like these things.” He nodded toward the glass. “I pegged you for a margarita girl.”

  “Margaritas are my go-to celebration drink, but after a day like today, only a martini would do. And not one of those fruity posers, either.” So saying, she picked up the glass and took a sip. “Where’d your date go?”

  “Not a date, a business dinner. She’s a client.”

  Rebecca waited for more information, but Sean offered none, just kept his eyes steady on hers. “Thanks for the drinks and the food. I’m not too proud to appreciate the gesture, even though it was a pity ploy.” She chomped on another olive. “I guess you heard the whole thing.”

  “Hard not to. And for the record, he was wrong.” Sean leaned forward and rested his warm hand over hers. “You’re totally worth it, and he’s an idiot.” He squeezed her hand and then retreated. “You look beautiful.”

  Rebecca’s lips curved in a crooked smile. “Thanks for that, but Nate’s not totally to blame. He overreacted for sure, but I’ve given him plenty of reason over the last few months.”

  Sean regarded her but said nothing, and even through Rebecca’s slight alcohol haze, she understood one of the things that made him a successful lawyer. His attentive expression encouraged conversation and confidences without giving away anything of what thoughts brewed behind those Kinkaid blues. Tell me everything, those gorgeous peepers urged her. So she did.

  “I made it clear when Nate and I started dating that I didn’t have the time or inclination for a serious relationship. My dad had a heart attack last summer, and Caleb and I had to step up to keep the business going. It was tough for Cal, because he still had his own business to run, so I took more responsibility. We both figured once Dad saw that I could handle it, he’d be on board, but that hasn’t happened.” She finished off her drink and exchanged the martini glass for her water goblet. “Is it true, what Nate said? That my dad told everyone I can’t cut it?”

  “I didn’t get that impression, no. It’s more that he’s old school in his thinking. If you were a man, he wouldn’t think twice about your role in the company. Cal’s in your corner one hundred percent, and your father will come around eventually.”

  “I used to think so. I’m not so sure now.” She thought back to that afternoon and her conversation with her father. No, she doubted he would change his mind about her abilities. Resigned, she shook her head and pushed an escaped curl from her face. “Anyway, Nate knew the job had to come first. He was okay with it in the beginning, but lately, not so much.”

  “So what happened tonight?”

  “I was three hours late.”

  “So I heard. But what happened?”

  “I knew tonight was important to Nate. But believe me, I had no idea why, and that proposal thing—” She blew out a long breath. “—where did that come from? I just told him again last night I don’t want a serious relationship. Anyway, when I got home my neighbor was hurt, so I took her to the ER. I was covered in blood, so I had to go home and change, which made me even later, and then my damn tire went flat.” At Sean’s raised brows she laughed and shook her head. “Not the same tire as last night. The driver’s side this time. I have to stop driving through construction sites. I’m picking up nails. Anyway, I had to wait for a cab. I must have left ten messages for Nate. He wouldn’t pick up. It was like he expected me to be late, waited for it, and of course I was, but what choice did I have? And as you may have figured out from his tirade, he didn’t believe me, anyway.”

  “Why do you always meet instead of driving together?”

  “It usually saves time and makes it easier for me.”

  “So what will you do?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “To fix things.”

  Rebecca’s cheeks heated, but she kept her eyes on Sean’s and shrugged. “Nothing. There isn’t anything to fix. He wants more than I can give. Getting married and having kids is nowhere on my immediate agenda. I’ve been telling him that. And I refuse to be with someone who thinks I’m a liar.” She picked up her water glass and took a few sips, something to shut herself up, but the martinis had loosened her tongue and the words bubbled out of her mouth. “All I asked for was a friends-with-bennies kind of thing. Like the movie, you know? No ties, no hassle, no—” She gestured to the area around them with her arms. “—no messy scenes in a public place.” She leaned forward, grabbed Sean’s silk tie and pulled him toward her until their noses were an inch apart. “Most bachelors in their thirties would love that, wouldn’t they? I think it makes me the perfect girlfriend, don’t you?”

  Sean’s eyes crinkled at the corners and his lips curved upward in an amused grin. “I’d be a fool to disagree.”

  She set him free and settled back in her seat before it struck her that he hadn’t answered the question.

  Jonathan came by and Sean ordered cappuccinos for himself and Rebecca, a chocolate cannoli, and tiramisu as well, because he couldn’t decide which dessert he wanted and Rebecca, who agreed to share, had no preference. When Jonathan bustled out of earshot she leaned forward. “So, what’s your deal, Sean?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, with the exception of last night, whenever we have those big family get-togethers you always bring a date with you. And I don’t mean to be catty, but while you choose women with bodies to die for, none of them have much in the way of a personality. This is a conundrum to me. What’s your reasoning?”

  Sean tapped his fingertips on the tabletop. Rebecca imagined the wheels turning inside that handsome head of his, wondered if he debated with himself about what and how much to say, or if he was just looking for an easy way out.

  ***

  How to answer the question without making himself look like a shallow asshole? There was no way. Denying Rebecca’s assessment would be a lie, but the truth was too personal, so much so that he had never discussed it with anyone except his priest—and then only because he was Catholic enough to feel guilty as hell—much less a tipsy Rebecca Walker over an impromptu dessert.

  He chose his words with care, sticking to the edges of the truth and knowing that he’d sound like an asshole anyway.

  “I’m thirty-five and career driven with no interest in a relationship that ties up my time and energy. A wife and children are not in the cards for me. Ever. As in never, ever. That doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate the benefits of a healthy adult relationship. I do, but I limit it to women who don’t want any more out of it than I do.”

  “Women like Cynthia, from the Fourth of July last year.”

  “Yes,” Sean nodded. “Cynthia is a perfect example. She’s a beautiful and brilliant corporate attorney, but not much of a people person. She’s a hard-ass and not well-liked by most, but she’s comfortable in her own skin and doesn’t care what anyone else thinks. I like that about her. I also like that for the duration of our arrangement she didn’t cling, didn’t complain when I canceled plans, and was happy to take up space at family functions when I needed a date to prevent my mother from fixing me up with God-knows-who.” Sean flashed a wry smile. “The last guy my mother played matchmaker for is about to get hitched.”

  Rebecca laughed. “You mean Caleb. My mom aided and abetted that Fourth of July matchmaking scheme. So, what kind of arrangement?”

  “What?”

  “You didn’t say you were in a relationship with
Cynthia. You used the word ‘arrangement.’ What did you mean exactly?” Rebecca rested her arms on the table and leaned in, her eyes homed in on Sean’s in a laser stare. “C’mon, handsome. Dish.”

  Well, shit. He hadn’t meant to use that terminology—arrangement—although it was accurate, and damn her for being discerning enough to strip it down to that. Sean shifted in the booth, uncomfortable. They were talking about Rebecca and Nate, weren’t they? How had she turned the tables on him? And did she have any idea that, in this light, her eyes were the color of Ireland, or that a single spiraling curl, bright as burnished copper, had escaped the clippy thing and lay against her cheek just begging for a tug? His eyes dipped to her generous mouth and he looked away. Idiot. Don’t go there.

  He received a brief respite when Jonathan delivered the coffee and desserts, but as soon as the waiter disappeared Rebecca pushed. “C’mon, Sean. What kind of arrangement?”

  Sean stared at her for a moment and decided to dive in. He’d tell the truth, and if she thought him to be an asshole, well, she sure as hell wouldn’t be the first.

  “It’s pretty cliché. Friends with benefits, no strings, no drama. And when the arrangement ends, it just ends, no discussion, no questions, just goodbye.” He dug his fork into the tiramisu. “Those are the rules and it works for me, so don’t judge.”

  “No strings, no drama, no questions. Just goodbye. Hmm.” Rebecca took a bite of the chocolate cannoli and closed her eyes. “Amigo, this is like heaven, nectar of the gods or something.”