Come Back To Me (23 page)

At his words, Cara did laugh out loud.

Jerry grinned at her again. “I was wondering what it would take to get a laugh out of you, Red. You look so serious.” Then he said, “The boss is coming. Watch yourself. Remember, if you need anything I’m your guy.” He busied himself pouring beer for another waiter.

Cara felt her stomach twist as she rose from the stool and turned to meet the man who might become her employer. She spotted him across the restaurant, a tall man standing just in front of John. Brown eyes, hard eyes, locked upon hers. It almost as if he was a predator and she his prey. Cara sucked in a breath. The man was beautiful. He looked exactly like an older version of James.

∗    ∗    ∗

The moment Micah Welsh laid eyes on the young woman sitting at the bar, he determined to have her. She was breathtaking. He stood still, eyes narrowed, watching as she chatted with Jerry. Jerry obviously appreciated the same things he did. When Micah saw Jerry say something to her, and she tossed back her lovely head and laughed, he decided he’d had enough. Just as he stepped forward, one of the waiters moved into his path. Irritated, Micah walked around him. The young man mumbled something, but all Micah’s attention remained riveted on the woman. As he approached, she turned towards him and rose from the stool. The look on her face intrigued him; she seemed startled at the sight of him, as if she recognized him.

Impossible
.

Micah would never have forgotten a woman like this one. God, she was stunning. Her lips alone could drive a man insane. He took in her long, shapely, bare legs, the skirt that hugged her hips like a second skin, the taut waist, the perfect silk blouse, unbuttoned just enough to expose the rounded slope of her high, firm breasts. She was not for Jerry, or any other man. She was his.

The waiter kept pace with him. Micah finally stopped to pay him some attention. “What is it?” He kept the annoyance out of his voice. It wouldn’t do to make a bad first impression on the woman.

“I just . . . I just . . . I want to introduce you to the friend I told you about.”

“What friend?” Micah considered firing the idiot on the spot.

The waiter turned and motioned to the woman. She walked towards them, her violet eyes questioning, never leaving his face.

“Cara, this is my boss, Mr. Welsh. Mr. Welsh, this is an old friend of mine, Cara Franklin.”

Micah took her hand in his and brought it to his lips. “Micah,” he murmured, “call me Micah. I’m delighted to meet you, Miss Franklin.”

The woman appeared flustered at his display of courtesy. “I’m sorry to be so impolite,” she said in her soft voice. “I didn’t mean to stare, but you look like someone I used to know. You’ve caught me a bit off guard.”

“Not in an unpleasant way, I hope,” he replied, giving her his most disarming smile.

“No.” She shook her head. “Unexpected would be a better word.”

Micah could hear the waiter prattling on. “I told Cara that maybe she could talk to you about the hostess job, you know, since Beverly quit.”

“Yes,” said the woman. “I recently moved here and I was hoping . . .”

Micah tucked her arm into his, drawing her towards the private room in the rear of the restaurant. “I’m certain we can work something out, Miss Franklin. Why don’t you come with me to the club? It’s much quieter and we’ll be able to talk, if you don’t mind waiting for me to finish up a little business, that is?”

“That sounds fine.” She shot a glance at John. He nodded and she allowed Micah to lead away from the bar.

This one is a bit skittish
. Micah realized he’d have to take his time. This wouldn’t be a quick fuck and a
see ya later, doll
. His grin widened. It had been quite a while since a woman had intrigued him. There was an innocence about Miss Cara Franklin, a vulnerability despite the way she looked. He doubted she had any idea of the effect she had on every man in the room. If he played his cards right, he could keep her around for a while. A woman like this could be very, very good for business. And to think, that little prick, John, found her for him. He’d have to remember to thank him, later.

∗    ∗    ∗

Cara sat alone at a corner table nursing a glass of champagne. Mr. Welsh, Micah, chatted with two men near the rear exit. Despite the fact that he turned his head in her direction every so often, he seemed engrossed in his discussion.

Before he’d excused himself, Micah had waved off the waitress and poured the champagne for her himself, insisting she wait for him to finish up his business. Cara took the opportunity to study him. The man was tall, broad shouldered and narrow hipped. His thick hair, with its neat cut, shone a rich, dark brown in the warm, muted glow of the candle-lit room. Cara hadn’t missed the muscular feel of his arm beneath her hand when he’d escorted her to the private club, nor could she ignore the perfect fit of his tailored slacks and the crisp white of his shirt.

There was no sense denying it, Micah Welsh intrigued her. Knowing where that might lead, a small voice in her head whispered, “run.” Cara ignored it. She wanted to know what sort of job he’d offer her. Besides, how could she help but be fascinated by a man who looked exactly like James, yet was nothing like him at all?

Micah was older, charming, seductive, sophisticated. Cara assumed he got whatever he set his mind to. In that respect, he reminded her of James. In all other respects he was James’ cracked mirror image. Out of the blue, Cara was struck by an intriguing notion. Perhaps she could have James, or someone like him, without the painful burden of love. As she sipped her champagne, speculating about the man who might become her employer, thoughts roaming in disparate directions, she reminded herself that this was not about James. This was about leaving him behind.

∗    ∗    ∗

Micah Welsh couldn’t believe his good fortune. Of all the nights for a doll like her to walk into his place . . . Here he was, meeting with his two biggest buyers, one from Los Angeles, the other from New York, and there she sat, looking like a birthday cake. It hadn’t escaped his attention that both men had licked their lips when he strolled into the room with Cara on his arm. A beautiful woman was always good for business. But nobody was getting their hands on this one, at least not without his say so.

When they’d concluded their discussion, Micah set the two men up at a table. One of them asked if the redhead was available. Micah made it clear she was off limits. Instructed two of his waitresses, Charlene and Donna, to get his associates whatever they wanted.

These two gentlemen knew when a line had been drawn and they wouldn’t dare cross it. There were others though, who would challenge him. If he was going to keep this woman for himself, he’d have to be prepared to battle now and again.

Good. Life had been a bore of late. Micah enjoyed a good fight, but more than that, he was fond of the chase. He glanced at Cara Franklin. She sat still, like a young doe hiding in the bushes, and he was the big bad wolf. He’d begun his pursuit the instant he’d caught her scent. She would belong to him if it was the last thing he did.

M
icah treated her to a delicious dinner of Caesar salad, steak au poivre with a Dijon cream sauce, roasted fingerling potatoes, tender-crisp steamed green beans and a shared crème brûlée for dessert. He offered to drive her home. The two of them had split a bottle of Bordeaux. Although the wine didn’t seem to affect Micah, Cara wasn’t accustomed to alcohol and she didn’t feel right about driving.

Cara thanked him for both the dinner and the kind offer, but she kicked off her high heels and handed her keys to John. “Please don’t trouble yourself. I’ll walk home.”

Cara smiled one of her rare smiles. “I really can’t impose upon you. You’ve already been so generous with your time.” Cara didn’t mention that they hadn’t gotten around to discussing a job.

“I insist,” said Micah. “I can’t let you walk alone in the dark. I’d never forgive myself if anything happened to you. Please, it’s the least I can do.”

“The least you can do? You’ve done more than enough, Mr. Welsh.”

“Micah, remember? You promised to call me Micah.”

“Yes I did, Micah.”

“You’ve allowed me to enjoy the pleasure of your company, Miss Franklin. Please, I insist.”

Micah pressed a hand against the small of her back as he steered her out the door towards his Jaguar. The act was possessive, proprietary, the simple act prompting Cara to remember another hand.

She shoved the memory away, willing herself to relax into Micah’s touch. Over the past three hours Cara hadn’t learned much about the man, but what little she had managed to ascertain gave her pause. He had been unfailingly polite and considerate. She’d watched him firmly rein in the sexual hunger she saw in his eyes. Despite that evidence of control, she realized Micah Welsh wasn’t a man to be trifled with. He was the kind of man people respected, even feared. To tell the truth, Cara felt a little afraid of him. The marvelous dinner he’d just treated her to had strings attached. He would eventually expect to be paid back, and not in kind.

Cara reclined in the soft leather seat and closed her eyes. She wondered how long she could stall him. Yes, she would go to bed with him in the end. There was no point pretending she wouldn’t, just not tonight.
Please God, not tonight
.

∗    ∗    ∗

It didn’t occur to Cara to be self-conscious about the dilapidated condition of John’s house until Micah had already walked her to the front door. By then it was too late. There was no way she could let a man of his sophistication inside. She doubted he would understand, and he might be tempted to ask why in the hell she was living like this. And he might suggest she come home with him. Thank god there was no porch light.

She turned to face him, extending a hand.

“Thank you,” Cara said. “I had a delightful evening. I’m afraid we never got around to discussing that job.”

Micah took her hand in his. He leaned over to give her a gentle peck on the cheek.

“We’ll have plenty of time for that,” he said. His lips just barely brushed her ear.

Cara held very still, afraid to encourage him, yet just as afraid to discourage him.

Micah straightened up, her hand still in his. “Come with me tomorrow.”

“Where?”

“Just come with me. I’ll pick you up at noon.”

Cara laughed. “I need to know where we’re going so I’ll know what to wear.”

“Shorts, and bring a bathing suit.”

“A bathing suit? That’s one of the many things I neglected to pack when I moved here.”

“I’ll find a suit for you. You must be . . . ? His eyes traveled her torso. “What, a size two?”

Cara raised her eyebrows. “Yes. How did you know?”

Micah shrugged off her question. “Be ready at noon.”

“All right, thank you,” Cara said. “Good night, Micah.”

“Good night.” Micah continued to clasp her hand with his own.

With a gentle motion, Cara disengaged her hand and unlocked the front door.

∗    ∗    ∗

“Hey, uh, John, come with me.” Micah headed to the stairs that led to his private office.

Micah walked to his liquor cabinet and reached for a bottle of single malt scotch. He poured two glasses, handing one to John. “Have a seat,” he said, in a cordial fashion.

John sat.

“Tell me about this friend of yours. Tell me about Cara.”

This was exactly what John had been hoping for. That Cara could get him an in with the boss, get him into some of the backroom business. That’s where the money was, not waiting tables and selling penny ante homegrown weed to the local high school kids who didn’t know any different.

Deciding to play it cool, John leaned back in his chair and sipped his scotch. The liquor burned his throat, but he pretended he’d been drinking it all his life.

“What do you want to know?”

Micah didn’t mince words. “Are you sleeping with her?”

“Hell no.” John choked on the scotch. He coughed and sputtered and tried to catch his breath. “Cara and I are friends, that’s all we are.”

“How do you know her?”

“I lived in Iowa for a few years when I was in high school. Like I said, she was a good friend of mine.”

“Why did she decide to come out here? Why did she move in with you?”

Jeez
, John thought,
what the hell is this? An interrogation?
“I don’t know,” he said. “I got back in touch with her and she was at loose ends, so she came out. It was no big deal.”

“At loose ends? Why was a woman like Cara doing nothing?

“She’d graduated from college and she had some plans, but I guess something happened. An accident or something. She had to change her plans.”

“What kind of accident?”

John shrugged. “Didn’t you notice her hands, Mr. Welsh?”

“What about her hands?”

“The scars, they’re scarred. She broke a lot of bones in her hands. She used to be an artist, a real good one. I don’t know if she can paint anymore.”

John watched Mr. Welsh fiddle with his drink.

“Did you tell her I had a job for her?”

“I mentioned, yeah, I just mentioned there might be a job available that she could apply for. That’s all I said. Was that okay?”