Waiting For A Girl Like You Part 6

CHAPTER TEN.

Seven o'clock rolled around and Abbie didn't show. My brain played different scenarios, my favorite being the painful she had second thoughts. Eight o'clock came and I vented my irritation by getting elbow deep in soapy water, scrubbing pots and pans. Was she in an accident? I had no way to reach Abbie other than calling the store. Would a phone call make a bona fide stalker? Four times I picked up the phone and four times I hung up, accepting the inevitable. She had second thoughts.

When nine o'clock came, it was time to clean up the spread I'd laid out. My table was loaded. Handmade spring rolls. Vegetable stir-fry seasoned with toasted sesame oil. Crisp coconut shrimp. Thin slices of Kobe beef...real Kobe beef that a friend hand delivered on his private jet from Hyogo Prefecture, not the Wagyu c.r.a.p American restaurants try to pa.s.s off as Kobe beef at outrageous prices.

And beside her empty plate -a check made payable to Abbie for twelve thousand four hundred thirty-one dollars.

I picked it up ready to wad up proof of a foolish mistake. Instead I took it to my kitchen bulletin board and jammed a pin into the check. f.u.c.k. I didn't even know her last name and I was ready to rescue her. My record was O and two with women.

Last night was mission accomplished. s.e.x with a woman without losing it when I touched her throat. Abbie was sweet and trusting at all the right moments. She had no idea she'd saved me from falling down a rabbit hole. I should be okay with her not showing -as long as she was safe. If she had other things to do, fine. I did too...like take a hot shower and figure out how to stop thinking about her. We only had one night. What made Abbie so different?

I turned off the lights and headed to my room. Rain splattered the bedroom windows, a lonely sound. Standing in the dark, I gritted my teeth, willing the swollen ache in my chest to go away. Last night with Abbie felt like coming up for air. I was alive for the first time in eleven months. Feeling. Aroused. Connected to a woman. To her.

"Now you're twice the fool." I yanked off my s.h.i.+rt and flung it across the room into the hamper.

Lights glared on the street below my windows. Through the open metal blinds I saw a car drive at a snail's pace, the brakes grinding badly when the car stopped suddenly in front of my house. A beat up tan four-door backed up, the brakes squeaking badly. Abbie.

I took off downstairs and ran out the front door bare foot. Headlights and rain poured over me. Abbie sat in her car, the motor running, holding up the torn napkin, trying to read it with a penlight. The lump in my chest cracked at the sight of her blonde head blurry on the other side of her winds.h.i.+eld. It didn't matter. I'd send her away. I wasn't into girls playing hard to get games.

I knocked on her driver's side window. She jumped like a scared rabbit, dropping her penlight.

I braced both hands on the car door. "You need new brakes."

"Nice to see you too," she said past the window whirring down. The gla.s.s stopped half way.

Mascara-smudged eyes stared hotly at me as cold droplets rolled my back. Sweet Abbie showed her claws ready to match my mood. Maybe I ought to cut her some slack and listen but listening when I'm p.i.s.sed isn't my strong suit.

"You know, one hour I can understand, but two? Why bother to show?"

She killed the engine and gave me a coy, "I have my reasons."

Fat raindrops pinged her tin-can car. Abbie flicked off the car lights, a sure sign she planned to stay. I wanted to yank her close. She was safe and she'd come to me, but, my a.s.shole roots run deep. I wasn't letting her off the hook.

"Give me one good one."

"For my tardiness? Or why I bothered to show?" She shot both questions at me, a sure sign both carried weight with her.

I planted both feet wider. "Let's start with why you're more than two hours late."

"The other a.s.sistant manager came in late. She had a flat tire." Abbie's breath fogged a circle on the window, but her voice got me, the calm, sharp cadence of it. "I was the only one with keys to the store. I wouldn't leave. I couldn't."

Stiffness melted from my shoulders. I respected her sense of responsibility, and her not taking my s.h.i.+t.

"For a man good with numbers, you missed an important one," she went on. "A phone number where I could reach you. I sat at the Reference Desk waiting for my replacement. I would've called you know."

I stood there, rain pelting my back, cooling my ire. Without a word, I opened the door, my blood pressure ebbing. A woman not showing up as planned was a sore spot with me. Sure, I barked at her about being late without listening first. I deserved her testiness, but there was something else. Abbie hesitated. A laundry basket of folded clothes sat in the pa.s.senger seat with the pants and s.h.i.+rt she'd worn earlier draped over one side. Her eyes narrowed on my bare feet and s.h.i.+rtless chest.

"Did I interrupt you in the middle of something?"

Water dripped in my widening eyes. When a woman asks that question in a scathing tone its jealousy. Running out as I did got her a.s.suming the worst.

"Interrupt me?" My laugh had an edge. "Why don't you come inside and see?"

She checked my dark front windows. I couldn't get why she scowled at me or why she decided to come in when she was conflicted at being here in the first place. The car window whirred up again, and we dashed into my house.

I shut the door behind her and flipped on a row of light switches. Wet hair clung to her cheeks, dripping wet spots on a red waffle knit Henley s.h.i.+rt. Lips pursed, Abbie sized up my living room, empty except for three surfboards on beach towels, a spring suit for warm weather surfing, one board bag for travel, and pictures cluttering the mantle.

"No furniture," she said, flas.h.i.+ng att.i.tude. "I wouldn't have pegged you for Communist chic."

"I like the simple life."

Abbie made a beeline for the mantle, her tennis shoes squeaking on my tile floor. "Family pictures. I wouldn't have pegged you for those either." She tossed the words at me, picking up one frame, examining it tersely before going onto another.

Tension knit my shoulders. Abbie pinballed from one seething state to another, a range of emotions bouncing off her, all lit with a harsh undercurrent as she scanned the photos. Four of the pictures were me with my mom, dad, and sister at high school and college graduation, one family Christmas gathering, and the other two were me at favorite surf spots.

"This is so...normal." Her body rigid, there was a bite to Abbie. "Do they know about you?"

I sucked in a quick breath. What was I thinking? One night and we were cozy? I didn't need this. I took the picture from out of her hands.

"Picture time is done. You can leave."

"Why? Did my coming late upset plans with your fiancee?"

I averted my eyes, taking my time setting the frame back on the mantle. Abbie's question sucker punched me. I didn't have to explain. Revealing my past wasn't a requirement. Good for her researching me. I was a virtual stranger who'd invited her to my house for what? More handcuffs? She was smart to check on me. I'd used my credit card to buy the cookbook. She'd probably looked me up on the internet.

Maybe I wanted her to.

Wiping a speck of dust off my college graduation picture, the irony wasn't lost on me. Last night I wanted Abbie to open up to me and here I could barely do the same for her. My gaze latched onto the unb.u.t.toned part of her s.h.i.+rt before drifting lower. Two small circles poked back at me, her nipples pencil eraser hard unfettered by a bra.

"You know about Lacey." My voice was flat. The past was the last thing I wanted to talk about.

Abbie inhaled fast. "I need to leave."

When I looked at her eyes, needle sharp pain reflected back at me. She blinked twice and sped to the front door. I'd caused the hurt, and it ripped me in two.

"Abbie...wait."

She fumbled with her purse, and I ran to the kitchen for the check. Trotting back to the front door, I wanted to stroke the long snarled blonde hair falling down her back. Sniffling loudly, Abbie had her hand on the door k.n.o.b.

Her shoulders hunched around her ears when I touched her arm. "I should never have come."

"But you did," I said quietly. "Why?"

She held onto the k.n.o.b. "I don't know."

"Come on. You can do better than that."

Was it the money? Me? Or did she come here to satisfy some morbid curiosity about me and Lacey after she researched me? It was laughable how hard I pushed for the truth from her, yet I refrained from giving the same.

Abbie was the one with a vice grip on my door k.n.o.b, but I hung onto what she'd say next. I wanted honesty, the same generous, easy conversation she gave last night. I stuffed the check in my back pocket over the foil package of a waiting condom. I'm no saint. I knew what I wanted. Cold water dripped from drenched hair down my bare back, but I'd wait. My arms were awkward at my side, unmoving when I wanted to soothe her. We both had our needs.

She turned around, sc.r.a.ping messy bangs off her face. "As of right now, we've known each other for about twenty-four hours."

"So?" My voice was rough.

"So, we went deeper than most people do in months." Her hollow laugh echoed in my empty living room. "You want to know why I showed up when I had every reason not to?"

Abbie's blue-green eyes glazed like dark pieces of gla.s.s, making me forget about my water-logged jeans and bare feet on cold tile.

"It was you. When I weighed all the pros and cons, it all came down to you. All my senses come alive when I'm near you. I love your smell. Your voice. Your caustic way with words...how you look at me." She groaned a deep primal sound at the back of her throat. "For all your bark and bite you have this other side. It's like you read me and understand exactly how I need you to see me." Her chest heaved and she clutched the row of b.u.t.tons resting on her breast bone. "I feel you."

With rain-drenched hair and mascara-ringed eyes, this Abbie had more in common with pagan warrior women than the docile, tea-sipping bookstore clerk. She was a wild thing, beautiful and unscathed. She got my heart thumping.

"And you're not here for the check?"

Her brows furrowed. "A little."

Sighing, I fisted my hand to keep from touching her. "It's okay."

Rain pounded the roof. Abbie bit the corner of her bottom lip, glancing at the mantle. "What about your fiancee?"

"I don't have one."

"But, I thought you were engaged to Lacey Boudreaux, CIO of Nor Star."

I chuckled harshly. "Come with me."

She followed me to my kitchen where I flipped a light switch. Three frosted pendant lamps cast soft light on my silver laptop sitting on the center island. Modern white cabinets and stainless steel appliances didn't mesh with the rest of my neglected seventies style tract home. Out of necessity, I'd renoed the kitchen and master bath four years ago with my dad and a few friends. Working with my hands and with my dad was a joy, but our schedules didn't always coincide when it came to future projects. I was content to put off the rest for later. Lacey never understood. She'd never liked my old style home with its crab gra.s.s and cracked concrete.

At the kitchen island, I pulled out a barstool for Abbie and planted myself on the other.

Abbie's jaw dropped. "Is that dinner?"

She gaped at the spread on my dining room table beyond the kitchen. My house smelled of toasted sesame and coconut shrimp. I was surprised she didn't say something when she came in -a clear sign she was p.i.s.sed at me. Women loved my cooking.

Fingers typing fast, I nodded. "Uh-huh."

"Can I..." She jerked her thumb at my dining room.

"Sure. It's cold."

Abbie set her purse on the island and padded to the dining room as my screen rendered the image I sought.

"This is incredible." Abbie circled the table, plate in hand.

With her back to me, she spooned plum sauce beside spring rolls piled onto her plate. She oohed and ahhed over the food, scooping it onto her plate and eating while standing. She had to be starved. The bagel was likely the last time she ate.

She flashed a smile, chewing fast and swallowing. "This is incredible."

Her delight shot an arrow through my self-serving heart. Abbie circled the table, raving about my cooking. I was about to make a crack about knowing a sieve from a sifter when the check crinkled in my back pocket. It was the quietest condemnation, the sound cracking pieces of the wall around my heart.

Maybe the way out of this past year wasn't s.e.x, wasn't honesty, or another woman. Maybe...just maybe it was stepping outside of my wants and needs to be the bigger man for someone else. Someone like Abbie.

While she poked around each dish with a fork, I pulled the check from my pocket. Carefully, I opened her purse and what I saw put a lump in my throat. Two books. Physics for Dummies and Heisenberg Explained. A red-ta.s.seled bookmark stuck out a quarter of the way into Heisenberg Explained. I traced the spine. Did she read this while waiting for the replacement manager?

I sucked in a deep breath, savoring the moment. Lightness inside me was foreign. I hadn't had this in a long time, this freedom and goodness. The world centered on Abbie praising my cooking, her curved a.s.s bent as she scooped up limp bok choy. She was genuine. Forget labels like girl-next-door. Whatever she had ran deeper than wholesome and sweet. The powerful urge to protect Abbie welled up. I wanted to spare her from the seedier side of life from the sugar daddies who didn't deserve her and the Mrs. Smith's of the world who'd take advantage of her. Tucking the check in with the bookmark, I'd do right by Abbie.

She walked into the kitchen, balancing a plate in one hand and a half-eaten coconut shrimp in the other. "This is not from a box," she announced in awe. "You hand-breaded this."

"I said I'd feed you."

Her eyes sparkled with sheer joy as she finished the coconut shrimp. She took a seat beside me and dipped a spring roll in plum sauce. She took a bite, dark red sauce squis.h.i.+ng at the corner of her mouth. Abbie's chewing slowed when she saw my laptop. The image reflected a glamorous pair, a far cry from the two of us in jeans hunkered down in my kitchen. The tip of Abbie's tongue swiped her bottom lip. Her blue-green eyes were big and sad. For me. That look was a softer punch to my gut. I didn't deserve her tender emotions.

"Signora Lacey Arcuri and her husband, Signor Lorenzo Arcuri," I said without ceremony. "Married eleven months ago."

Abbie's eyes rounded. Did she remember me saying last night how long it'd been since I had s.e.x? Her gaze traveled from the laptop screen to me. Like all women, she was curious about details. I could see questions parade across her face, but to her credit she stifled them. Dredging up the past was nails on a chalkboard for me.

She fiddled with one of the b.u.t.tons on her s.h.i.+rt, concentrating on the short write up. "So he's Italian."

"Yep. Italian, a millionaire, and ready to fulfill Lacey's every desire." I hooked my heel on the stool's bottom rung. "Three things I'm not."

Her eyes slanted my way when I'd said Arcuri was ready to fulfill Lacey's every desire. She fixed on me, but my attention riveted on the screen.

Lacey's black slip dress clung just above her nipples. Three strategic cut-out ovals exposed skin from her diaphragm to her navel. A year ago she wouldn't have worn the dress, deeming it s.l.u.tty. On the arm of her new rich husband, Lacey oozed sophistication. Diamonds ringed her neck, chunks of them sparkling big and cold as ice. But, something was off. Hollow eyes stared out from the screen. I had a pretty good idea why.

It was the reason why I'd send Abbie home.

CHAPTER ELEVEN.

Talk about a backfire. The contempt line angled hard at the side of his mouth. Shoulder tendons twitched under burnished skin. Mark gave me what I wanted: information about his fiance -former fiancee. It may have been close to a year since they'd severed ties, but he smarted from the wound like it was yesterday. By digging into his past, I'd pushed him into memories of another woman rather than nurturing present happiness with me.

I tried for levity. "So you're not an Italian millionaire. Hot surfer millionaires are the next big thing."

"I'm not a millionaire."

"You're not?" I feigned horror, but Mark ignored my lame humor, his mouth flat-lining.