Hidden Scars (6 page)

       Time. It was nothing more than time and history. She’d known both men for a while, she’d said, almost as long as she’d known Megan. Watching Sara chat with Brian was different. She’d been stiff, but unafraid. The other man had clearly been attracted to her, and Taylor didn’t blame him. Her smile alone made him want to kiss her brainless.

       The hissed conversation he’d overheard between Megan and Sara had been the most informative thing he’d picked up on Sara yet. Pretty, friendly Sara had no interest in being set up. He heard something about a guy named Nate and he’d walked off to the bar, fighting with his temper. Hearing about Sara dating pissed him off and made him want to push harder, faster.

       He still wasn’t certain pursuing her was the best thing for her. He might not have heard from Tony since he left Boston, but the man’s reach could be long, and Taylor wouldn’t put it past Tony to tap him for a favor even when he’d been out of the life for over a decade. Until he was certain Sara would be safe, being with him, he’d have to take his time.

       He scuffed a hand along his jaw and glance at his door. Sara hurried past his office, head down. It was the second time this week she’d done so. The film festival. She’d been positively gleeful over getting that poster at the roller derby bout, and he figured that’s where she had to be sneaking off to.

       The report stared back at him as he pictured her standing in front of the elevator, anxious to escape unnoticed. He glanced at the door. A few hours not speaking, doing one of her favorite things, would go a long way to making her more comfortable around him. Or he hoped it would, and it would give them something to talk about. It had the added benefit of giving him an afternoon off in the middle of the week.

       Without stopping to question his decision, he grabbed his coat and strode down the hall, coming up beside her as she fidgeted in front of the elevator. “You’d look less suspicious if you acted like you weren’t trying to get away with something.”

       Her squeak was cute. Almost as cute as her glare. “Bell. You are so wearing a bell. Did you train with ninjas in a previous life?”

       The car arrived, and he clasped her elbow, guiding her inside. “Where I come from, you’re better off blending into the background.” He punched the lobby button. “Film festival?”

       She scowled at him, adjusting the strap of her bag. “Yeah. A couple of the films I’m seeing start at three or four in the afternoon.”

       He pulled out his phone and checked the time. “It’s barely after two.”

       “Some of the more popular ones will have lines to get in,” she explained. “Seating’s first come, first serve, and if you don’t want to sit way up in the front, you get there early so you’re at the front of the line. Makes for a long, cold wait sometimes. It’s usually worth it.”

       She opened her bag and drew out a pair of flats, tossing them onto the floor of the elevator. Prying off first one heel, then the other, she stuck them in her purse and slipped her feet into the flats as the elevator doors dinged open.

       He kept pace with her as she stalked through the lobby and onto the sidewalk, her shoulders rigid. “Where are we going?”

       She stopped short. “You really want to come with me? I know a lot of people who can’t stand foreign films.”

       “Which country?” Not that he cared; he didn’t watch subtitled films often enough to have formed a definitive opinion one way or another. He tucked his hands in his pockets to keep from reaching for her and finding out exactly what she’d feel like against him.

       “France.” She peered up at him through the rain, a slight frown pulling at her mouth.

       He lifted a brow. “Aren’t we going to be late? I’ll need to get a ticket.”

       It spurred her into action, and they headed to the bus stop. She shifted from foot to foot, shoulders hunched to keep the rain away. “Should have remembered my umbrella,” she muttered.

       Nudging her, he pointed to an empty spot in the corner of the bus shelter, and they ducked in, the crowd forcing them close together. He could have reached out and wrapped an arm around her easily. “It’s supposed to be a thriller. The movie,” she added. “A police informant discovers the information he’s been providing has opened up a new smuggling lane from the coast and tries to find a way to take over the action for himself.”

       He was all too familiar with that story. Any time someone tried to come into Charlestown and set up a business of their own, Tony would take over and knock them out of the neighborhood.

       Sara was worrying her lip, watching him. “Why are you coming with me again?”

       “Thought you’d have figured out by now, I like spending time with you.” He smiled, pleased when her cheeks flushed. Glad he wasn’t the only one who was feeling those stirrings. The bus rumbled up, and they climbed on.

       The film hadn’t sold out, and he left Sara standing in line to get in while he dealt with the ticket seller. They were starting to let people inside when he joined her, and they found a pair of seats toward the back.

       She popped up as soon as they’d sat down. “Popcorn,” she announced. “I need popcorn. Want anything?”

       “A Coke would be good.”

       The lights were coming down as she came back, juggling a bag of popcorn and two sodas. She sat, putting her drink on the floor and holding the bag on her lap. “I hope you weren’t expecting me to share,” she whispered, the soft glow of the screen lighting her face as she grinned. It sparked something inside him, something warmer, more intimate than desire. Something far more dangerous.

       Then she handed him a napkin.

       Like she had in the hotel room, she forgot about him minutes into the opening scenes, hand dipping into the bag absently. Having to continually scan the writing at the bottom of the screen kept him from the same immersion she was experiencing, and he wondered how he might be able to get her to watch something in English next time. If he was going to be trapped in the dark with her, he needed something more engaging so he wasn’t passing the time thinking of what she looked like under her clothes.

       Going for a handful of popcorn, he reached down for his soda at the same time and didn’t notice Sara’s hand heading for the bag as well. Their fingers brushed against each other and she froze. He didn’t give her a chance to pull back. He scooped out the popcorn he’d come for and withdrew his hand, covering his smirk with his hand as hers stayed in the bag a few seconds longer.

       A tiny step of progress.

       She’d probably expected him to try and hold her hand. Hardly. It had been a complaint he’d heard quite frequently from women he’d dated in the past, his lack of obvious affection in public. Fights usually ensued, and break ups followed, all because he wasn’t willing to break long-held habits.

       With Sara, he wouldn’t want to stop at holding her hand. The slender waist and rounded hips begged to be held closer. And those were not the thoughts he should be thinking in the dark when he didn’t have anything to distract him.

       The movie ended, and the lights came back up. He studiously kept his eyes off her ass as he followed her out of the theater. Blinking in the brightness of the theater lobby, she tilted her head. “Hungry? There’s a good Thai restaurant a few blocks from here.”

       More progress. He grinned. “Sure.”

       “I told you I had plans for them.” Taylor stared at the tickets on his desk, half listening to Paul’s pleadings. “Sorry, man. They’re mine, and I’m going to use them.” Unless Sara said no. She might.

       He’d have to find a way to convince her to go.

       Paul grumbled and hung up, and he contemplated the tickets a moment longer. The NCAA tournament tickets had been difficult to come by. Pulling some alumni strings had gotten him into the session, although they’d miss the Carolina game. He had to settle for West Virginia.

       Did she even
like
basketball? She’d asked him about the Carolina/Duke rivalry. It was the main reason he’d gone after the tickets. He couldn’t imagine someone who wasn’t at least a casual college ball fan paying attention to the animosity between the two schools.

       Fuck it. He was acting like a pussy. Scooping up the tickets, he stuck his head out into the hallway, making sure it was empty. While he knew their lunches were fueling office gossip, he preferred to keep it to a minimum. So, it seemed, did Sara. Not that there was much to gossip about. Yet.

       Skittery. As careful as he was not to surprise her or catch her unawares, sometimes it couldn’t be helped. She no longer jumped, and sometimes he caught a flash of fear in her eyes, but it was becoming less and less frequent. He wanted it completely gone.

       He wanted to strangle whoever had done this to her.

       He needed her to feel safe with him. Wanted to see her confidence in full bloom. He wouldn’t feel comfortable asking for more without it.

       The hallway was empty, and he strolled down to Sara’s office. Her smile had subtle changes from when he’d first seen it, the warm, approachable expression taking on something a bit more personal. Something she only brought out for him. A sweet warmth expanded in his chest whenever he saw it, and he hoarded it, craving more.

       “What’s up?” Sara sat back in her chair, and he wondered if her shoes were off, lying under her desk.

       That had been an interesting scrap. He’d startled her about a week ago to the point where she’d shot to her feet and he got a good look at the socks she was wearing that day. Polka dots. Bright blue and pink polka dots on a black background.

       He drew out the tickets. “Session tickets. New Mexico versus Creighton, and West Virginia versus Dayton. Tomorrow.”

       She actually squealed, then clapped a hand over her mouth, her gaze going to her open office door. Darting around her desk, she plucked them from his hand and grinned, an almost manic light in her eyes. “I thought the sessions were all sold out.
How
did you get these?”

       He kept his surprise at her response to himself. “Carolina alumnus, remember? They’re in the tournament. I called around, found someone who couldn’t use his. Thought maybe you’d want to go.” He stole a peek at her socks. Dogs? He swore there were dogs on her socks today.

       “
Yes
. Oh. My. God. Yes. I’ll even pay for the beer. Or the hot dogs. Or both.” She plucked the tickets from his hand and danced around the desk, and he had to laugh at her face as she cooed over the tickets in her hand. She glared at him. “Shut up. I love West Virginia basketball.”

       “School pride?” When she’d evaded his two previous questions on where she’d moved from, he’d only grown more curious.

       “Nah. Attended Cal Poly.” Her response was absent as she stroked the tickets in her hand. “My dad’s really into college ball, though, and I’d help him with his bracket for the tournament every year.” She stopped hopping, her stillness so absolute she could have given lessons to a squirrel. Too late, he saw his mistake. She’d admitted something she’d avoided before.

       “Why West Virginia?”

       She shrugged it off, the movement jerky. “The first time I really remember them being in the tournament was like, 2006. They weren’t one of the big name flashy teams, like Kentucky, and I thought they were…scrappy. You know?” A faint blush stole over her cheeks, and she handed the tickets back to him. “Anyway. West Virginia’s been my team ever since. Well, them and the Zags.” She sat, relaxing now that the desk was between them. “I can’t make it to the first game. Too much to do. That okay?” He nodded. “I’ll need to head home and change before, too. What time do you want to meet?”

       He pushed back at the offer on the tip of his tongue, to come pick her up. Better if she met him at the arena. The idea of her riding the bus alone, late at night, sparked a fierce protective urge inside. Compromise. He’d let her take the bus there. Then he was giving her a ride home. “Five thirty?”

       She grinned, and he got to his feet, intent on leaving before he did anything else that might step over some invisible boundary. He hesitated at the door. “Rebekah Cross is doing a reading and a signing at Powell’s this weekend. Three o’clock, Saturday. I could pick you up around two.”

       Fuck. He scanned his mental catalogue of info. Had she said Cross was a favorite author? She hadn’t. He scrambled for a plausible lie. He didn’t want her to freak out on him if she realized he’d figured that out just by paying attention to her.

       She blinked, once, twice, before her head bobbed. “Okay,” she whispered.

* * *

       The cold snuck through his sweatshirt from the cement pillar at his back. Hands in his pockets, he scanned the crowd pouring into the Rose Garden. He hadn’t spoken to Sara since he’d left her office yesterday, and while he assumed she’d show up or otherwise text him if she was running late, there was a niggling doubt in the back of his mind.

       The invitation to the book signing was something he’d thought of doing a while ago and ultimately decided against. He hadn’t quite been ready to let her know how closely he’d been paying attention. It had slipped out anyway, and if it hadn’t been for his offer to pick her up, it wouldn’t have been out of the ordinary for them now.

       It hadn’t taken long to figure out that the big gestures needed to be Sara’s move if this relationship was going to go the way he hoped. The gradual buildup of information, likes, dislikes, even hobbies, was natural and plausible for a casual friendship. The film festival movies, the game tonight took it a step further. Willingly attending a book signing she’d probably rightly figure would bore him? Another step. A big one.

       But she’d said yes. So assuming this evening didn’t go down in flames, he’d be picking her up Saturday afternoon at two.

       He spotted Sara coming toward him, and stayed as he was. She’d find him. And it gave him a few moments to pull his head back into the present. To wipe clean the inappropriate thoughts of how good her ass would look in her jeans, and to forget about the vaguely disturbing email from his younger brother Jamie. Tony had sent one of his men around to casually inquire how he was doing. Jamie didn’t think anything would come of it, since he hadn’t been dumb enough to fall for the man’s false interest and tell him where Taylor was living.