He's the One (9 page)

He shrugged and gave her one of those smiles again; the ones that set her heart thumping and her body wanting. “Could be."

An hour later, Taylor closed her folder on the screeds of notes.

"You got enough information?"

"I hope so. I can always come back."

"Sure. Anytime."

Cade might have agreed, but Taylor wasn't so sure “anytime” was a good idea.
Anytime
, changed business to
pleasure
, somehow.

She peered through the dust-coated window at a day divested of sunshine. The streetlights had switched on, and the ever-present sound of city traffic had reduced considerably.

"You hungry?” Cade asked as they wound back towards the head of the stairs.

"An ox wouldn't go amiss,” she said, realizing the gnawing in her stomach wasn't nerves but hunger.

"Not sure I can rustle up an ox, but the take-out joint next door does the best fish and chips I've ever had."

"Better than Hammerheads?"

Cade pretended to think a bit on that. “Let's just say different, a casual ambiance.” Pulling his mobile phone from his pocket he punched in a couple of numbers and began listing off an order.

"You ordering for a football team?"

"I'm a hungry boy. Need feeding if I'm going to perform."

Perform?

Taylor's head jerked up, and she stared, wide-eyed at Cade. His eyes twinkled. He looked so good, so relaxed and happy.

Just so darn sexy, don't you mean?

Her belly did another round of flip-flops. Oh, Lordy.

"Dinner is superb,” Taylor said as she grabbed another piece of mouth watering battered fish. She licked a drop of sauce off her fingers.

"Best linens and best dinnerware, too.” Cade sounded fractured. Using the edge of his key ring, he flicked the lid off a couple of bottles of ice-cold beer and passed one to her.

"Fish and chips in paper
is
the best,” she agreed.

"Don't forget the ketchup and a beer.” Cade saluted her with his beer.

"Cheers. To ... us."

"Yeah, to us, to wedding planners."

"And bars, too,” Taylor added laughing.

Cade lifted the bottle to his lips and took a swig of beer. Taylor watched him swallow, the way his Adam's apple bulged, how he wiped the tip of his tongue over his lips.

As he lowered his drink, his gaze leveled with hers. “To good old sex,” he said.

Heat coursed through Taylor's veins. She never knew drinking beer and eating a takeaway could be so sexy. Grabbing a handful of chips, she dipped them in the sauce sachet. “Childhood memories are made of this. And new memories,” she said, munching on the fries. This was one of those moments, one of the unforgettable ones that would stay with her—all night long she reasoned silently.

"You reckon?"

"Uh huh. Well not the ‘good old sex', part,” she said, blushing, “but you know, memorable meals and all that.” She forced herself to continue, knowing Cade's gaze rested on her. “I remember when we were kids, my siblings and I would have fish and chips on a Friday night. Mum said it was her night off."

"She cooked every night?"

"Of course."

"Lucky you."

Taylor caught the change in Cade's tone, giving her reason to wonder about his childhood and family.

For a few minutes they ate in silence. They had set themselves a “picnic” spot against one wall. Cade leant back, long, jean clad legs stretched out; his T-shirt with the Ford logo and a revved up hot rod emblazoned across his chest delineated his muscled body beneath.

"Real boy's toy stuff,” Taylor said, pointing to his chest.

"Yeah. Man's gotta have his passions."

"Um ... I suppose so."

"What about yours?"

"Mine?”
Oh, please don't ask. Please.
Taylor stared at the beer in her hands and twirled the bottle.

"You trying to play spin the bottle? There's just the two of us, so it could be interesting."

Taylor's breathing slowed, and her lips parted. They were suddenly very dry.

Her nerves started up that tango low down in her belly once more as she weighed up her odds.

Let's play?

Expectation fired in every part of her. She'd played that teen game before—with disastrous consequences.

"Once was enough, thank you very much,” she forced out

"Was it? This is getting interesting. When did you play spin the bottle, Ms. Sullivan?"

Taylor wiped the tip of her tongue over her parched lips, wishing the memories that ripped through brain would just go away and leave her alone. Her heart palpitated and sweat slid between her shoulder blades. She blinked—once, twice, and then squeezed her eyes closed for a second, that was in no way long enough.

Finally, she spoke. “I was fifteen."

"First party?” Cade's intuition caught Taylor unawares, and her head shot up, capturing his narrowed gaze. Heat fused her cheeks.

She nodded. “You guessed?"

"Just lucky.” He shrugged. “Or, more to the point, remembering back to my own ‘first’ time. I guess it wasn't a fun night."

Taylor grimaced. “That's about it. It was the first time I'd been invited to a party. With my brain box family, I wasn't the most popular kid in school.” Taylor trailed a nail along an imaginary pattern in her dress—remembering it all over again. “Those days seem so far away, yet like yesterday,” she said sadly. “Bobby Harcourt asked me."

"The coolest boy in school?"

Her finger halted its course. “Most of the girls thought so."

"And you?"

"I felt ... lucky, privileged that he'd ask the school nerd out."

"And?"

"It was a disaster from the minute I walked in. The music so loud I couldn't hear a word, or think."

"Careful, you're showing your age,” he chuckled.

Taylor offered him a tentative smile. “Probably, but back then I felt so out of my depth.” Exactly like now, she reasoned. “It seemed as if all the school arrived. The so-called adult supervision my father had remonstrated about, turned out to be an older sister—older by about two years. She just wanted to have fun."

"What happened?"

"The party ended abruptly. Drugs and booze, sex in the bathroom. You name it. It happened. Everywhere I looked, something ... was going on,” she whispered. “So I left. Fast. When my parents found out, I was grounded for a month."

"But you didn't do anything."

"No. I was the proverbial good girl, just like you said, Cade,” she said, lifting her chin up and staring at him directly. “Ms. Prim, I think you called me."

He gave her a sheepish grin. “Oops."

"No, you're right. I was then, and ... well, I suppose I am now, too.” But what she hadn't told Cade was that she'd run scared—emotionally, and for some psycho reason, she'd taken sanctuary in the security of what she knew.

Who she knew.

In Rob.

Outside, the blast of a car horn pierced the silent streets and brought reality back with a thud.

All those years ago. Not so different now.

Yes, it is.

It was. Really. Now, she was smack bang in the middle of cutting the apron strings to that sanctuary, and it scared the heck out of her.

Taylor finished her beer and put the bottle down. “My turn now."

Cade's eyes narrowed on her “Didn't know this was a turnabout."

"Humor me,” she said. Though, what she really wanted wasn't chitchat but
action
. Sitting in silence with Cade, talking about emotions and passions had wrapped Taylor in an intimacy so real her body hummed with an aching need. A need that required itching. If she dared.

"You want to know the man, before you have sex with him?"

"Better late than never.” she said, trying for humor. “Or are you aiming to get out of talking? How like a man."

"And you're an expert?"

"Scared?” she shot back at him.

He looked at her directly then, one dark brow arching. “What of?"

What was she thinking—Cade Harper scared? Never in a million years. The man oozed confidence. “Try communicating,” she offered, saying the first thing she could think of. It hit the mark.

For a moment, Cade's gaze shifted away and time stood still, the silence deafening. Shifting uncomfortably on her dusty upturned box, Taylor bent and retrieved her bottle from the scuffed floor. She took a sip, enjoying the tangy froth as it slid down her throat, succoring her dry lips, then replaced the bottle. She rested her hands on her hips. “Waiting,” she prompted Cade.

"You're very determined, aren't you?"

"When it's something I want.” But the moment those words passed Taylor's lips, she witnessed Cade's reaction and cringed.

And you want me,
it said.

Taylor snatched up her beer and drank thirstily, draining its contents.

An icy droplet trickled down her chin. She went to brush it off, but Cade reached out to her.

"Let me.” His voice was warm, and his darkened gaze burned into her as he brushed away the drop.

Time seemed to stand still.

Then, he did something that sent her over the edge. He licked the tiny drop from his fingers. Slowly. An act so intimate and blatant it left her in no doubt as to what Cade intimated. Hypnotized, she watched the tip of his tongue slide over each of his fingers, sucking, tasting.

Oh, dear heaven. Taylor squeezed her knees together as slick moistness pooled between her thighs and shivery tingles chased each other up and down her spine.

Talk.

Talk for goodness sake.

Think of something, anything.

Taylor swallowed hard. “How did you end up owning a bar?” she questioned, the words coming out in a breathless rush.

"That's bars, plural,” Cade admitted easily.

"Really? Very impressive."

"Glad you think so."

"You're very sure of yourself, aren't you, Cade?"

"Why not? If I don't blow my own trumpet, no one will do it for me. You're in business, you should know that."

"Do you need to blow it? You're a very successful man."

"It helps.” He shrugged and downed the last of his beer.

Taylor watched as he swallowed, his full lips pursed around the neck of the bottle, the way he wiped a droplet of beer from his mouth with the back of his hand. A simple act, yet one that she found erotic in the extreme.

She wanted to reach out and stop him.

She wanted to taste it. Taste him.

Finally, she found her tongue. “How does it help?"

"What is this—twenty questions?"

"No. Just trying to get to know you, return the interrogation favor,” she laughed.

You're trying to prolong the inevitable. Scaredy cat.

Cade's dark eyes rolled towards the heavens. “Am I so interesting?"

"Don't get a swollen head,” she laughed. “It's simple interest, that's all."

"Why is it women want to get all chatty?"

"You mean instead of getting down and dirty."

"Yeah, well, that's a different angle,” he agreed, grinning.

"Talk about a sheep in wolf's clothing. Wasn't it you who said we should take it easy?"

"That's the sheep's definition,” he said, winking. “Wanna hear mine?"

Taylor shifted nervously. “Not without holy water and a silver bullet,” she shot back, frowning. “Tell me something about yourself I don't know."

Cade's eyes rolled again. “Is this that Venus and Mars stuff; you know, the men versus woman speak? Just so you understand, I don't talk about myself."

"Why not?"

Cade let out a long, slow whistle. “You don't give up, do you?"

Taylor shrugged. The air hung thick between them and once again she chastised herself. Everyone told her to get a life. To live.

But ... she couldn't.

Not properly.

Everyone expected things of her. Her family. Even, somehow—a dead fiancé.

"I left school at sixteen,” Cade said, his voice ringing out in the silence.

She reached over and touched a hand to his forearm. “You don't have to."

He wrapped his fingers over hers. “I know I don't. But somehow, with you, it's easier."

"I'm glad.” And she was. Perhaps if Cade could open up a little, she might be able to subdue her own raging torrent of nerves. She had asked him a big favor. It was the delivery, however, that was setting her on edge.

He still held her hand in his, thumb caressing the back of her hand. She didn't pull it away. It felt right. Actually, it felt more than that. It felt
good.

Then he continued. “Mostly, I took on odd jobs, building and laboring. I had a head for figures, loved maths at school."

Taylor screwed her nose up at that. “Lucky you. Maths was my worst subject, and try telling that to parents who were mathematicians."

"Really?"

"Didn't go down very well, that's for sure."

"That, I can believe."

"Go on. What next?” she encouraged.

"I did some work for a developer, had a few dollars put aside and found the property in Devonport."

"So that's your flagship bar, so to speak?"

"Yeah. Then there are a couple here in the city, one in the CBD and the other along the waterfront where they have the Sunday markets."

"Good locations."

"Location is everything."

"So they say,” she agreed. “What about your family?"

But the mention of his family changed Cade. It was as if a shield came down and he'd donned a coat of armor and the bright fire burning in his eyes evaporated, replaced by a gloomy sadness. His fingers stilled their teasing stroke.

"You've met Katie. Then there's Zane. He's two years younger than me."

"And your parents?"

"Dad's somewhere down south."

"And your mother?” she coaxed.

Cade shrugged, seemingly nonchalant, but a flush stained his cheeks and the sadness in his eyes darkened.

"That's it. That's enough.” Cade shoved himself upright and kicked at a derelict piece of wood at his feet. The wood clattered across the concrete floor, spinning out of control.

He walked away, his back hunched, hands deep in his pockets. Taylor stared at his rigidity and tried not to think about what that taut denim outlined.

She failed.

Heat curled through her veins, blood pumping at a furious pace.