Good Girls Don't (7 page)
He gave her an easy smile. “She’s a good kid, and I was at a point in my life where I could take care of her.”
“Not exactly what most single men do, though, is it?” she asked, and took a big sip of her drink. The caramel and chocolate met her stomach and made her feel nearly as good as the dimple in his cheek.
“No,” he admitted, “it wasn’t what I’d planned either, but I wouldn’t have it any other way. And besides, if it hadn’t been for Erika making that trip to Tampa this week, we might have never crossed paths again.” He flicked thick dark brows and finished off his mug.
Colette still had half a cup of latte, but she couldn’t drink any more.
“Full?” he asked.
“It’s more filling than an espresso.”
“I’ll say. So, how long before you need to get back?”
She glanced at her watch to stall for an answer. At My Alibi, her hours were her own, particularly since so much of her work was done at home. But he thought she worked at a computer graphics company.
“I’ve got another half hour,” she said; then, when he looked surprised, she added, “I didn’t take lunch.”
“Then why don’t we walk a little farther down the street? I want to show you something.” He stood, left his cash payment on the table and moved behind her.
Colette hadn’t had a man withdraw her chair in a very long time. If ever. She didn’t think she was necessarily into that kind of thing, but right now she’d beg to differ. She was very, very into it. “Thanks.”
“No problem. This way,” he said, taking her hand and leading the way through the patio exit.
“Are we going to your office?” she asked.
“No, but we can stop by there if we have time. It’s that building, twentieth floor.” He pointed to one of the large high-rises.
“I always knew you’d do well. An advertising executive, right?”
He stopped walking, tilted his head. “How’d you know?”
“One, it was your dream. And two, that’s what your assistant said when I called the number you gave me this morning.”
“Can’t hide anything from you, can I?” he asked, squeezing her hand.
Her breathing hitched, but she pulled it together. How long could she hide something from him? And how would she live with herself if she did?
“Bill, I need to tell you,” she started, but stopped when he put a finger to her lips, then eased it away.
“Wait. I deserve a chance to guess too.”
“Guess?”
“About whether you’ve achieved your dream.”
That wasn’t even close to what she’d been about to say, since she was going to tell him about My Alibi and Erika. But that wouldn’t have been a wise move. Not yet. Amy had asked her not to say anything, and if she were going to tell him about Erika, she’d need to talk to Amy first.
“My dream?”
“I know you’re working for a computer graphics company. Are you doing that so you can perfect your technique with computer-generated designs?”
“Designs?” she asked, bewildered.
“That’s all you talked about in high school,” he reminded. “Designing your own clothing line and opening a boutique in a big city. Is that still the dream? And if it is, I bet your current job is helping you get closer to the goal.”
Her current job was helping her get closer to the goal of owning a boutique. But she’d fine-tuned the dream a bit to designing beautiful, yet sensual, lingerie, rather than general clothing. And she hadn’t ever thought of producing computer-generated designs. What would be original about that? However, his logic did play true, since he believed she worked for Integrated Solutions.
“I am saving money for a boutique,” she admitted. “And I’m getting very close to having what I need for start-up.” She couldn’t deny the pride at telling Bill her goal was in sight.
“I knew you would,” he said, starting to walk again. “That’s what you deserve, everything you ever wanted.”
Oh man, was he ever killing her with his positive comments! If she did get everything she deserved, it probably wouldn’t include fulfilled dreams. A nightmare would be more like it.
“Here we are.”
Colette looked up to see a long brick building and a huge playground hopping with kids. “What is it?”
“A community recreational center. The manager is a friend of mine, and I come here a few times a week to visit. He hosts a program for the inner-city kids during the summer, when their parents are working and they need something to do.”
Tiny boys and girls climbed on teeter-totters and monkey bars. Older girls played kickball and a group of teen boys played an aggressive basketball game on a blacktop court. All of them were laughing, exercising, having fun. And all of them reminded her of those carefree days of high school, the last time she and Bill had been together.
“I can see why you wanted to show me this place. It’s nice that your friend is doing something for these kids.”
“I know, but this isn’t what I wanted to show you. That is.” He indicated a group of girls in one of the shady spots by the big building.
Long black loops arced through the air in the midst of the chanting group. Leave it to Bill. . . .
“They’re good,” she said. It’d been a long time since she had seen anyone jump double Dutch. But she remembered the fun, could practically feel the excited energy pulsing through the stomping, jumping, chattering girls. And she could feel more too. The memory of that day when a determined eleven-year-old helped her fit in by teaching her how.
She looked at Bill.
He looked at her.
“Thank you.”
He didn’t ask why; he knew. Putting one finger against her chin, he tilted her head and moved closer. . . .
“Hey, Mr. Brannon!” a girl twisting one side of the ropes called.
A deep sigh echoed from his chest, and he turned toward the sound. “Hi, Regina.”
Colette laughed. Businessman, guardian and fan of double Dutch. There were many sides to the man he’d become, and she enjoyed seeing each of them.
“You do come here often, don’t you?”
He shrugged. “I was always an admirer of talented rope turners.”
“Mr. Harris is inside!” Regina called again. She was missing her front teeth, which made her “inside” more of an “inthide.”
“I’m not here to see him,” Bill admitted. “I just wanted to show my friend how talented your group is. She knows how to double Dutch too.”
“Really? You wanna jump now?” Regina asked.
Colette examined her pantsuit and navy pumps. “Probably not today,” she called back. “Maybe another time, though.”
“Gotcha!” Regina said, then turned her attention back to the twirling of the ropes.
“I should get you to the train if you’re going to make it back to work on time,” he said, waving to the kids.
They walked away, while Colette pondered their afternoon. Was this their date? Did she want it to be?
No, she didn’t. She was only beginning to understand, and appreciate, Bill Brannon. Not merely the friend, but the man. And she didn’t want it to end.
Unfortunately, he hadn’t said anything else since they left the rec center, and she had no idea if he planned on their “date” ending when they reached the train.
He’d hinted that they would have more—a G-spot-finding more—in their conversation last night. Had that merely been a joke, to make her feel less uncomfortable about the steamy conversation he overheard? That’d make getting out of this lying issue much simpler, wouldn’t it?
But it wasn’t what she wanted. Not anymore.
She wanted Bill.
“I really enjoyed our date,” she said, entering the MARTA station. She was fishing, but she had to know. If this wasn’t their date, he’d tell her.
She turned, waited.
Lord, had he always had that dimple? Because she couldn’t imagine having all of those heartfelt, and somewhat intelligent, conversations with him in high school and ignoring it. And that smile . . . that smile would make any woman in her right mind swoon.
“Lettie,” he said.
“Uh-huh?”
“Wait here.”
She blinked. Wait here? Before she could protest, he turned and shuffled between a crowd of passengers trying to jockey their way into position for the next train. She squinted, but lost him in the mass of people.
“Wait here”?
Frowning, she checked her watch. She really should get back to work and make sure Cassie was set on taking Erika’s case, as well as pick up her assignments for the night. Okay, so she hadn’t got the response she wanted from her “enjoyed the date” remark. That was probably better, anyway, right? Now she wouldn’t have to worry about lying to Bill. Cassie would handle the remainder of Erika’s week, and Bill would assume Colette would return to Tampa. Case closed. End of semidream of having something beyond friendship with Bill Brannon.
However, she had no doubt she’d be having new dreams now. Dreams where she vividly saw his face when she tested one of Amy’s toys.
God help her, she wanted him, and she hadn’t told him. Maybe
that’s
what she should do. When he came back, she’d tell him what she wanted.
That’s the Lettie Campbell he knew in high school. So it wouldn’t surprise him if she merely reminded him that they were mature adults who might enjoy each other’s company at a more intimate level. Intimate. With Bill. She’d never have thought of it before and, in truth, she wasn’t thinking “intimate” now.
She was thinking,
sweaty
and
steamy
.
Was the MARTA station getting hotter?
“For you,” he said, his words feathering against her neck.
She turned and ended face-to-bloom with an exquisite pink rose. Inhaling, she let the sweet scent calm her nerves. Surely, he was thinking about more. There was that G-spot comment, right?
“It’s beautiful. Where did you get it?”
“There’s a vendor outside, and I thought it was the perfect flower to let you know how much I’m looking forward to our date.”
“Looking forward to it?” Oh yeah, here goes that uterus happy dance again.
“You didn’t seriously think an afternoon coffee would be enough, did you, Lettie?”
She shook her head. She’d sure hoped not.
“You do want more. A date. With me,” he said.
It wasn’t really a question, but she nodded anyway. There was no way she could form words.
“Good,” he said, brushing the petals down her cheek, “because I want to get to know you, Lettie. Even better than before. And I plan to start tonight.”
Another nod was as good as she could do, given where her mind had headed, to visions of hot and heated, ready and willing, Bill.
He guided her to the train. “Here.” He placed something in her hand. “It’s my card. E-mail directions to Amy’s apartment, okay? Pick you up at seven?”
“Seven’s fine,” she said, and was glad her excited libido had handed over the reins to her voice.
“Next stop, North Avenue. North Avenue, our next stop,” the intercom voice announced as Colette looked through the tram windows to watch Bill Brannon disappear.
“That’s a beautiful rose,” a woman said from the seat across the aisle.
Colette looked at the flower, inhaled its scent again, then closed her eyes as a hint of a memory emerged.
She couldn’t put her finger on it, but she decided to let it go. She’d relish her afternoon for now and look forward to tonight, and her date. A date with an old friend and, perhaps, a future lover.
I
labeled both phones with the corresponding company names, as well as the names of my clients. I’m only responsible for two tonight, so it shouldn’t be that bad.” Colette handed the cell phones to her sister and pointed to the white stickers identifying pertinent information. “I hate asking you to do this.” She fiddled with the straps on her dress. “Maybe I should cancel this thing with Bill.”
“This ‘thing’ is a date,” Amy said, “like he told you this afternoon when he gave you this rose.” She leaned over the kitchen table and stuffed her nose in the center of the flower. “I guess that’d be one of the perks to going out with a real guy, instead of merely taking advantage of toys.”
“What’s that?” Colette asked.
“Flowers.”
Colette laughed. “That’s one way of looking at it. But we’re simply having dinner, a show and sex.” He’d confirmed the dinner and show when he responded to her e-mailed directions. The sex, of course, was a given.
Amy didn’t bat a lash. “Exactly. Dinner, a show and sex. In other words, a date. And if you so much as try to cancel, I’ll kill you. Don’t you think I can handle being an alibi for a night?” She tucked the phones in the side pocket of her purse.
“I’m sure you’ll do fine, but humor me one more time, please.”
Rolling her eyes, Amy put a clenched fist to her ear and deadpanned, “Hello, this is Amy with”—she eyed the back of one of the phones—“Century Pharmaceuticals. Can I help you?” She withdrew a tiny notepad and pen from her purse, tilted her head as though propping her imaginary phone on her shoulder, then pretended to write a number on the page. “Certainly. I’ll be happy to give Mr. So-and-So your message, and I’ll ask him to get back to you as soon as possible. Have a great night.”
A grin tugged at the corners of Colette’s mouth, but she held it in check. Her sister was quite good at prevaricating over the phone. “Then what?”
“Then I call the cheating culprit and let ’em know they need to check in with the cheatee. No sweat.”
“But I’m asking you to lie.” Colette hated her job more by the minute, especially now, dragging Amy through the muck too.
Amy made a large production out of clearing her throat. Then she placed a palm against her chest and confessed, “As shocking as this might come to you, it wouldn’t be the first time I’ve fudged the truth.” She grinned, and one deep dimple winked from her right cheek.
Funny how Amy’s dimple had never reminded her of Bill before, but after this afternoon, and most certainly after their date tonight, Colette suspected she’d never see another dimple again without remembering his.
“Tell me, though, what do I have here? Married or single?” Amy pointed to the phones protruding from her purse.
Colette indicated the slim red one. “I’m glad you asked. This one is an, um, unusual case.”