by J. R. Ward
"Sissy...?"
He put his shoulder through the opening, pushing it wider. Then he leaned inside.
There wasn't much light to see anything, but he heard the covers shuffling as if she were moving around. "Sissy?"
He took a step into the room, and opened the door all the way, weak illumination falling on her curled-up form.
She was definitely breathing. Whether she was asleep or just pretending to be? He didn't know. What he was clear on was that she didn't acknowledge him.
After a moment, Jim closed the door. Sat back down. And kept waiting.
"Actually ... I'm meeting him now."
As Cait hit her turn signal, she tried to figure out exactly where the cut-through to the Palace Theatre's parking garage was.
"Okay," Teresa said over the phone, "I'm not going to lie. I am so jealous I can barely speak."
"Well, it's not like we're dating. Don't get ahead of things."
"You are going on 'a' date. One more after this? You are 'dating.'"
"Finally!" Cait slammed on the brakes and yanked her car into the two-inch-wide slot to hit the ticket kiosk. "Why don't they mark these things better?"
"You're deflecting."
She put down her window and took what the little machine spit out. "No, I'm trying to park."
"So you have to tell me how this happened."
Cait frowned as she hit the gas and began her ascent, looking left and right for an opening in the lineup of cars. "I departed from my house, got on the Northway, and took the exit for--"
"No, let's try, 'I was sitting by the phone and it rang and--'"
"He asked me to come to this show." She shrugged even though her friend couldn't see her. "It was that simple."
Well, kind of. She was not mentioning that he'd called her while he was still in bed, and that there was a strong possibility that he'd been naked. No confirmation, and maybe it was just her imagination--but that tone in his voice?
It had said naked.
"He's singing backup," she tacked on in the unlikely event Teresa could read her mind over the phone. "For Millicent Jayson."
"Well, I've heard of her. But what a waste for him."
"Agreed."
"So how's it going to work? Do you have a backstage pass? Or is he meeting you?"
"I'm supposed to go wait by will-call. Honestly, I don't know."
"What are you wearing? Tell me you have some cleavage showing."
"Aha!" Cait pulled into a spot between a Kia and a Mini--two cars with small profiles that probably wouldn't door her--plus as a bonus, it was only two floors up and right under a security light. "And as for cleavage? Come on, you know I don't have a lot to show."
"Quality over quantity, baby."
"Uh-huh. Right. 'Cuz that's how Pamela Anderson made her money." Cait snagged her phone, locked up, and walked fast for the open-air stairwell. There was an elevator, but in her new workout-world mentality, stairs were king. "Okay, I'm going to go--and yes, before you ask, I'll call you as soon as it's over."
"I hope I don't hear from you until tomorrow morning."
Cait was quiet for a moment, nothing but the clip-clomp of her loafers ringing out around the cold, concrete garage. "You're a really good friend, you know that."
"Yeah, yeah, what can I say. I'm also a sucker for romance--and if it can't be me, there's no one I'd rather it be than you. It's beyond time for you to get out there again, Cait."
The latter was said as gently as Teresa could put anything--and it had to be about Thom and his soon-to-be-here baby.
Damn it, that whole thing still stung, Cait thought. Even though it had been years, and was now totally and completely not her business.
Teresa cleared her throat. "Call me later, even if it's two in the morning--in fact, especially if it's after midnight."
"Okay, I will."
"And try to kiss him, will ya? I'm dying to know what it's like! Oh, and if it sucks? Lie to me so I can keep my fantasy going. Thank you. Good-bye."
Cait was laughing as she hung up and disappeared the phone into her purse.
A couple flights of stairs later, she emerged out onto the sidewalk, looked to the right and there it was in the distance: the iconic Palace Theatre vertical sign that ran up the corner of the building. Long the staple of Caldwell postcards and T-shirts, the forty-foot-high, spotlit jewel was exactly as it had been in the forties, the bright red, gold, and white swirls spelling out the name ... and the fantasy of the stage.
The theater was the best kind of throwback, a gold-leafed, crystal-hung, red-carpeted palace that rebuffed the relentless fleece-and-sweatpants nature of modern life, and made you feel like a schmuck for not wearing a belle cloche and gloves when you stepped out.
Total Bette Davis fabulous.
Beneath the sign, she fell into line with a processional of other pedestrians, all of whom were walking over a mosaic'd stretch of pavement that also spelled out the theater's name. And then inside the front receiving foyer, the iconic pattern of reds, golds, and whites was further repeated in the tile floor and the papered walls.
As the crowd filed in like cards getting shuffled into an orderly deck, she noticed that she was surrounded by couples, and wasn't that yet another reminder of how long she'd been single. In fact, she could barely remember what it was like to go paired up somewhere, whether it was a party or a movie or the park on a nice day.
The last date she'd been on...?
Oh, jeez, it had to have been that setup her parents had arranged long-distance. What a nightmare--her mother and father's theology had shown up at an Olive Garden in a suit and a tie, proceeded to order for her, and then stepped up on a soapbox to hold forth for two hours of her life that she was never going to get back.
Before that high point? It might ... yes, it might even have been something with Thom. Back in college.
But she was breaking that dry spell tonight.
Rising up on her tiptoes, she peered over the sea of heads, hoping to find G.B. standing by the will-call--nope. Well, at least not that she could see. Maybe he was somewhere else in the lobby--
"Oh ... my God."
There was someone she recognized.
Over against the wall by the interior sets of doors that led into the lobby.
Standing alone, looking like he didn't belong and didn't care.
Slowing to a halt, she was knocked into from behind, someone's elbow digging into her shoulder. The bump didn't restart her in the slightest. Especially as he swung his eyes up and around--right at her.
It was the man from the truck last night, the one who had been parked next to her at the cafe.
The big, powerful man who had come up to her window and spoken in a voice that had made it impossible for her to fall asleep.
As her body flushed, she expected him to register a flash of recognition and then look away for whoever he was waiting for. He didn't refocus elsewhere, however. He just stared at her.
Cait shook herself and got with the program, telling her feet to get going so she didn't plug up the flow of people. Rising onto her toes again, she searched for G.B.
Nope.
And when she looked back at the other man, he was still staring at her.
Maybe he knew Teresa's favorite singer?
When all he did was continue to meet her eyes, she wondered if he hadn't been sent for her--and didn't that seem somehow ... inevitable--
Okaaaaaaay, she told herself as she made her way over to him. Let's not go all Cupid on this, shall we?
Then again ... wow. He was wearing black jeans and a black leather jacket, and that body of his did all the work and then some when it came to giving the clothes structure. Between his incredible eyes and that jawline, the only thing she could think of was that he should be photographed or drawn--someone needed to capture what he looked like permanently.
And on that note, she so wasn't the only one who noticed him. Every woman glanced in his direction and did a double take.
He, however, was
only looking at her.
"Hi," she said as she came up to him. "I, ah, I don't suppose you're waiting for me?"
"Yeah, I am."
Cait cleared her throat. "Oh, good. Okay. Well, this makes sense then."
She waited for him to say something. Instead, his eyes slowly went down her body.
Holy ... crap. She felt like someone had put her on a hot plate. And even though there were a hundred people around her? Instantly, it was just the two of them, and God help her, she liked it that way--as well as how he was looking at her: He was a stranger who was radiating sex, and rather than being offended, all she could think of was what it would be like to have him doing that while she was naked.
While he was naked--
Yeah, okay, time to step away from the ledge. Any fantasy of that was absolutely insane. She was a lights-out, under-the-covers, missionary kind of girl. Or at least, she had been ... back when she'd had a sex life.
A decade ago.
When her lips had to part so she could grab enough oxygen, his eyes locked on her mouth--and he might as well have been kissing her. Pure, animal attraction flared out of his stare, his stance, his body ... and she responded to it, her skin, her core warming even further.
Live now, a voice said in her head. Live while you have the chance.
As if he knew what she was thinking, he said, "I get off work at three thirty. Meet me."
Not a question. Not even an invitation. A demand--like maybe he'd spent time thinking about them hooking up, and whereas it had never dawned on her to follow through on the chance intersection from the night before, he had made a point of crossing her path again.
"I don't do one-night stands," she blurted.
"Who says one will be enough."
Right. Okay. Those words, framed by that deep growl? Talk about a carnal promise.
"I don't know you." Damn, her voice was husky.
"Does that matter."
"Yes."
He stuck out his hand. "Duke Phillips."
Walk away, Cait told herself. This is not the seventies. No one has casual sex anymore--
Abruptly, scenes from Girls flashed through her mind. With him in the picture, naturally. Great.
"I'm here to meet G.B." Wow, didn't that sound like a protest.
He dropped his unshaken hand. "What's that got to do with me?"
"Wait, I thought he asked you to get me and take me backstage?"
"When I said I came for you, I can assure you, it was not on anybody else's behalf."
Cait's mouth nearly fell open, but she caught it in time. Although come on, it wasn't like she was sporting any swagger over here, what with the blushing routine and the self-talk about her very non-Girls existence.
"Three thirty," he repeated.
"I'm sorry, I already have ... plans."
"I work at the Iron Mask. Use the staff entrance in from the back parking lot. Ask for me."
Cait frowned. "Quick question here. Does this approach actually work for you?"
"I've never used it before. So you tell me."
"I don't like cavemen. And I do not sleep with strangers."
"I gave you my name. I'm the one at the disadvantage on that."
Bullshit he had any disadvantage. But at least he didn't deny that this was just about sex.
He leaned in. "Don't tell me you didn't think about me last night."
"Are you always this arrogant?"
"I don't worry about what other people think."
"And what if that kind of attitude doesn't get you where you want to go."
He shrugged and resettled against the wall. "You want this, too. Don't deny it."
"I cannot believe ..." She looked around, expecting G.B. to make an appearance at any moment. "... you."
The surreal sense that this couldn't possibly be happening resurged, making her feel a little dizzy. Then again, she wasn't breathing right and her heart was pounding.
If she fake-fainted, maybe he would catch her and then she could get a real feel for him.
Oh, there was a plan.
"Excuse me?"
Great, she'd said that out loud--
Abruptly, she narrowed her eyes. "How did you know I was going to be here?"
His shrug was casual. "You told me you went to that cafe for the singer. It's not that tough to extrapolate you might want to see him again. And he put on his Facebook page that he's doing backup here tonight. I took a gamble--and you walked through that door. I didn't know you were meeting up with him."
Interesting. He expressed himself like he had an education, and he enunciated his words without any accent at all. But the Iron Mask was a hard-core club of some kind--she'd seen its ads in the CCJ. So he had to be a bartender or ... given his build, a bouncer?
That really shouldn't have made him even hotter.
Really.
Like, not at all.
"And that doesn't bother you," she said absently.
"What? That you've got a date with some singer? Christ, no. I don't care if you were here to meet ... Channing Fate-um or whoever that stripper dude is. The only thing that would stop me would be a husband, and you don't wear a wedding band."
"What if I told you I had a boyfriend? A partner?"
"Then why are you going out with the singer."
"I'm not meeting you in the middle of the night. I don't know you--and the fact that you gave me two random names and offered your palm doesn't change that."
"Google me."
"Not helpful."
The man, Duke, whoever he was, leaned in again. "Bank on this. If you come over after my shift, I'll tell you anything you want to know about me. And then I'll show you the more important stuff."
Cait licked her lips. "And what would that be."
"You'll find out. If you think you can handle it."
With the smooth move of an all-man type, he walked around her, his body shifting with barely reined-in power. As he passed, he didn't touch her, brush her arm, lay a hand on her. But he didn't have to.
He'd already left his mark.
"Damn it," she whispered as she stared over her shoulder and watched him leave.
Chapter
Twelve
"There you are, Cait!"
As Cait heard her name, she turned around. G.B. was weaving in and out of the crowd, waving his hand at her, making progress even as he was recognized and stopped by people.
Forcing a smile, she struggled with a ridiculous sense of guilt as she waved back at him and met him halfway.
"I'm a hugger," he announced, holding his arms wide.
She went in for the clinch out of reflex. In reality, she could barely concentrate--but as their bodies came together, the woodsy scent of his cologne and the feel of his chest cleared out some of the cobwebs.
Boy, did he smell good.
And close up? He was even more handsome ... and that hair was softer than it looked as it brushed against her cheek.
"Hey! G.B.!"
Someone broke up the embrace, and that was all right with her. As she pulled away, she needed a minute.
With a vague thumper starting up behind her eyes, Cait went to rub them--and stopped herself just in time. She had makeup on, so unless she wanted to do this date thing raccoon-style, she'd better chill with the scrubby-scrubby. And it was hard to keep still as G.B. chatted with some woman, her hands fiddling with her purse, the collar of her coat, her hair as she played bystander.
The idea that another man had just come on to her, and that she'd been seriously attracted to him ... seemed like something she had to confess--but come on. That was bullcrap. Number one, she was not in a relationship with G.B. Number two, she hadn't asked tall, dark and wow-are-those-pecs-real? to show up. And number three, even if she decided to meet a stranger at a public place and get to know him in a very "personal" way? That was her choice as an unattached, adult woman.
She wasn't living under her parents' roof--or their closed-minded value system--anymore. And she and G.
B. had a long way to go before they knew whether there was a future ahead of them.
In fact, if she wanted a chance with Teresa's favorite singer? The one guaranteed way to screw it up was to start babbling about what was essentially a nothing-at-all.
"So come on back," G.B. said, taking her arm. "I've got you a pass to the green room. We just have to pick it up in the office."
"Oh, that's wonderful, but really, you didn't have to go to any trouble--"
"And listen, forget about the penguin suit, okay?"
She glanced over at him. She'd been so rattled, she hadn't even noticed he was wearing a tuxedo. "Very nice ... and you have nothing to be embarrassed by. Trust me."
"Is that a compliment?" he asked as he punched open a door marked, STAFF ONLY.
"It is."
G.B. looked across his shoulder as he led the way into a concrete corridor. Lids dropping low on his eyes, he murmured, "Well, thank you. I'm glad you like me in it."
"But you also look good in jeans."
"Really? Tell me more." As they laughed, he offered her his arm. "Will you let me be a gentleman?"
"Yes," she said, tucking a hold on to him. "I will."
As they walked along, they passed by a placard that read, THEATER OFFICE, with an arrow underneath pointing in the direction they were headed.
He pulled her even closer. "I haven't told you how good you look tonight."
As his voice deepened some, she was reminded of the way he'd sounded from his bed this morning.
"Do you sleep in the nude?" she blurted out.
"Yes ..." His eyes shifted to hers ... and they were intense, a deep blue that seemed to offer both a soaring height and a safe place to land. "I do."
In that moment, it didn't take much imagination to picture him lying back in some sheets, head on a pillow, arms stretched out, tattoos glowing on his skin.
"Oh..."
"Good or bad," he prompted.
"What?"
"Is that 'oh' a good or bad one?"
"It's ... good."
"Then can I ask you the same question?"
She hesitated, wishing she had more sophistication going for her. "Well, I hate to be a buzzkill, but I'm not a birthday suit kind of gal."
"Silk is good on a woman."
As he wagged his brows--like he was trying to put her at ease, Cait laughed. "Yeah, no, not that."
"Satin, maybe?"
"Try flannel."
He nodded sagely, like he was performing a complex analysis in his head. "Hmm, soft. Warm. Can come in patterns other than plaid. Total winner--on you, that is."
Cait grinned. "You're being charming again."