Mine Until Morning (18 page)

“Exactly.”

It was an odd face-saver. They both won because they both got what they wanted. Walker removed his feet, crossing one boot over his knee. “So tell me.”

Isabel grimaced and blew the dust off the edge of her desk. “Her cat died.”

He steepled his fingers beneath his chin. Speaking of school analogies . . . “Is this like the dog-ate-my-homework excuse?”

Isabel’s lips twitched. “Some people become very attached to their pets.”

“I’m not dissing pets. I just believe she was more nervous about our meeting than she told you. Was she married?”

“That’s something I can’t discuss.”

There were things her clients told Isabel in confidence. In that case, he gleaned all he could from a woman’s actions, what she didn’t say. After three years of giving women what they wanted, he considered himself an expert on figuring out what they needed even if they couldn’t articulate it. Lonely ladies who needed to be wanted, he made them feel desired. Women who felt impotent in their real lives, he gave them power. Women too busy to take time 116

The Wrong Kind of Man

for themselves, he pampered them for a night. Suddenly my cat died wasn’t so amusing. It sounded like a woman on the precipice between asking for what she wanted and being terrified of it. That was the only thing Walker couldn’t do: make her take what he offered.

What did Cleo need?

Isabel tapped the capped tip of her pen on the desk. “So, you could have called me to find out all about the demise of your client’s cat. To what do I truly owe the pleasure of a visit?” She smiled big. Like a jungle feline. Cleo was the reason he’d come to Isabel’s office. “I’m considering a hiatus.”

Isabel stared.

“You’re catching flies, Isabel.”

“I thought I’d heard that incorrectly.”

“You didn’t.”

“Because of the cat woman?” she said, aghast.

He snorted. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Then why?”

“I’ve met somebody.”

He wasn’t clear on exactly what he wanted from Cleo. Sex, yeah. To learn more about her. Oh yeah. To become a part of her life? Maybe. He couldn’t do it while he was fucking other women for money. No matter his reasons for being a courtesan.

Now Isabel really was catching flies for several seconds. “Oh my God, do not tell me you’re in love.”

He hadn’t quite thought of it like that. Cleo was a mystery in so many ways. She had a daughter. She’d never been married. She worked her ass off to take care of her kid, loved her to death, but things were not so sweet right now. The rest was a mystery he wanted to solve. But the fact remained: you could lust after a mystery woman, obsess about her, but if you loved her, you loved a fantasy you’d created in your own mind.

“Not yet.” Then he gave Isabel a look. “But if I was, why would you be so shocked?”

“Because ...” She paused, as if suddenly realizing she’d said too much.

“Because?”

She put her elbows on the desk, laced her fingers. “I don’t mean this with a negative connotation. In fact I consider myself to be like you in a lot of ways. 117

The Wrong Kind of Man

And we’re not people for deep relationships.”

He wasn’t easily offended. He liked living without a lot of entanglement and mess. On Saturday night, for the first time, he hadn’t been thinking about the client he was with. He hadn’t been trying to figure out what she needed to feel important or worthy. That wasn’t like him, either. He’d changed his reservation from Bella’s to a fancy fondue place in Saratoga. He hadn’t wanted to entertain in front of Cleo. The way he ran his chosen profession had changed because of Cleo and Friday night, because of a no-show and a split-second decision.

“My mind wasn’t in it on Saturday,” he told Isabel.

“I didn’t receive any complaints.”

“I didn’t let her know.”

“Who is this woman who’s captured your attention?”

“No one you know.”

“Does she know about . . .” Isabel waved her hand expressively, encompassing his body.

“No.”

“Are you going to tell her?”

There were few people he would allow this third degree. He did so only for Isabel because she knew him well and liked him anyway. He was also sure she was headed toward a point.

“I haven’t made that decision yet,” he said.

Isabel leaned back in her chair, laying her hands flat on the armrests. “You should make that decision right now.”

He eased his head to the side, regarded her. And waited.

“Whatever you decide now is what you’ll be stuck with. Whether it’s the lie or it’s the truth.”

Now, didn’t that sound like the voice of experience. Another of Isabel’s many facets.

“I appreciate your concern—”

She didn’t let him finish. “She’ll either accept you the way you are, or she’ll hate you for the lie when it comes out.”

Cleo wasn’t like that. She wasn’t judgmental. She’d seen him with women. A lot of women. She wouldn’t have any illusions about him. Then again, he’d already admitted to himself that he didn’t believe any woman, even Cleo, could accept what he did.

118

The Wrong Kind of Man

“I’ll keep that in mind, Isabel.”

She smiled, then shook her head. “You’re not going to listen to me, are you?”

“I’m one of those people who has to make my own mistakes in order to learn from them.”

“I like you, Walker.”

“The feeling is mutual.”

“You enjoy women. Most men think of us as tools. But you, you like us. I think you’d like us even without sex.” She smiled, and any shadow he might have seen—or imagined—was gone. “You can come back anytime.”

“I appreciate that, Isabel.” He rose.

“And you don’t need to be a stranger, either.”

He nodded slowly, letting an answering smile rise to his lips. “I’ll be around.”

He was almost to the door when she said his name. She waited until he’d turned before she spoke.

“Whoever she is, she’ll be lucky to have you in her life.”

Once outside her door, he laughed. Cleo had already told him to get out of her life. He just had no intention of listening to her. 119

The Wrong Kind of Man

6

MONDAY HAD BEEN A DISASTER. THE INSURANCE COMPANY CLAIMED the leaking toilet was a replacement issue that wasn’t covered by the policy, and they wouldn’t even send someone out to assess it. The plumber came in to look at the toilet. If she’d noticed in time—dammit, dammit—the fix would have been easy, but the toilet, which was wall-mounted, had been leaking just behind the wall, into the floorboards and the plaster below. The damages were astronomical.

In desperation, Cleo met with the accounting manager at work only to be told they were hiring an applicant from outside the company who had better accounts payable qualifications.

She wanted to stab her eyes out with a rusty fork. Okay, bit of an exaggeration. Not everything was bad. Bella’s was closed Sunday, and she’d spent some quality time with Heidi and her mom, even if it was in front of the TV watching Lost in Austen. Not her cup of tea, but Heidi, for whatever reason, was into the whole Jane Austen craze. She’d even signed out Pride and Prejudice from the school library. Then tonight, Monday, Walker was back at Bella’s. He arrived late, and he was alone. Cleo hated to admit how relieved she’d felt, experiencing heart palpations and mixed emotions, happy to see him, worried he’d ask her out again, afraid he wouldn’t, undecided what she would say if he did. He’d acted as if they’d never had sex, and she had mixed emotions about that, too.

She brought back his credit card slip. Her feet ached, but she was done for the night after she handled one other customer’s check.

“I’d like to talk to you when you’re off work,” Walker said. Her pulse raced. She should say no, but she didn’t want to argue with people watching. “I’ll be done in five minutes,” she said. But warned, “It’s late, though, and I have to get home.”

He smiled, his eyes a gentle brown. “I won’t keep you long.”

When she left the back entrance, he was waiting by her car, leaning against the passenger side in a pool of lamplight.

Oh man, he looked good. Beneath a skintight black-and-white sweater, his 120

The Wrong Kind of Man

biceps bulged, and the ripple of his pecs as he pushed away from the car mesmerized her. She adored bald, and she itched to feel the smooth skin against her fingertips.

The night air was cold. Cleo pulled her jacket tighter. There were so many things she hadn’t tried with him. A long kiss. A sip of his come. Burying her face against his skin and drinking in his scent. God, what she wouldn’t give for this to have happened six months ago. Or even six months from now when she’d had time to fix things between her and Heidi. She didn’t have the six months to wait.

He didn’t touch her, but he was so close his body heat jumped across the brief distance. An answering fire spontaneously combusted inside her, but she backed up slightly in case anyone was watching through the back windows.

“I want to see you.” Walker’s low voice was like a stroke along her skin. “I’m willing to do it on your terms.”

Have sex with me now. Those could easily be her terms. But not her priority.

“I wish we could, but it’s not good timing for me, Walker.” Oh, the truth hurt. Friday night he’d given her something just for her. She wanted it again. Even if she couldn’t have it. “My daughter, a bunch of other stuff going on now.” She spread her hands, trying to encompass everything with the gesture.

“I don’t want to take away. Only add to.”

She didn’t have time, needing every extra hour for Heidi. But oh how she wanted.

He cupped her cheek, sending shock waves through her. Remembering Friday night, how good it had been, she closed her eyes, wanting to lean in to his touch.

“Poor Cleo. No time for yourself.”

Her rule for Heidi was bed by ten on a school night. Cleo didn’t get home until ten thirty, sometimes later, and Heidi was already asleep. Would it matter if once in a while Cleo came home half an hour later?

That would be little more than a wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am. No holding, no talking, no cuddling.

He smiled gently. “I can see you wavering.”

Yeah. Then she shook her head. “Things are tough with Heidi right now.” She didn’t get terribly personal with Walker but he knew she’d transferred Heidi between schools.

121

The Wrong Kind of Man

“The offer stands. I’d like to spend time with you.” He backed away. “Enough said. You have my number.”

It was on the tip of her tongue to say, Maybe we could just talk for a little bit. She knew herself. She’d want more than talk. With talk and sex, you had a relationship, and really, that was a no-go.

“I’ve got your number,” she said, then unlocked her car, climbed in, part of her screaming that she was an idiot.

Walker was parked four spaces over, and he leaned on his car watching her as she started the engine. It turned over, but didn’t catch. She tried again. Same thing. It wasn’t the battery; she knew that sound. She tried several more times. Nothing.

Walker tapped on the driver’s window. She rolled it down. “I don’t know what’s wrong,” she said.

“Has it done this before?”

She thought about it. “A couple of times, when the car was cold. But it started on the third or fourth try.” Yep, truly an idiot. She should have taken the car to Jimmy, her regular mechanic.

“It could be the starter solenoid.”

She climbed out of the car, then stood staring at it as if the problem would fix itself if she glared hard enough.

“Want me to try?”

What the hell? Why not? He had a magic touch. “Sure.”

He turned the key. Nadda, zip. Same noise, no result. His touch wasn’t magic after all. At least not on cars.

Goddammit. This was not fair. She wanted to scream. Instead she kicked the tire and growled. Then she calmed. Okay. What next? “Do you have any jumper cables?”

“No, sorry. But it doesn’t sound like your battery.”

She breathed deeply. She had a road service card. Her mom had insisted since the car was old and she was out late. “Can you hand me my purse?”

Walker climbed out, bringing her purse with him. Cleo dug in it for her wallet and cell phone, pulled out her roadside assistance card, then tipped it to the light to read the number.

Walker covered the card with his hand. “It’ll take them forever to get here.”

He was not going to let her hang around all night waiting for some tow truck 122

The Wrong Kind of Man

guy. “I’ll drive you home and come back for your car tomorrow.”

She looked at him as if he’d fallen out of a spaceship and landed right in front of her. “I have to work tomorrow.”

“I’ll take you.”

“You can’t do that.”

“Why not?” He did that kind of shit for friends when they were in a bind.

“Because.” She opened her mouth, closed it on whatever else she was going to say. “I need to take care of this tonight.”

He was pretty damn sure there was nothing a road service guy could do tonight. He’d worked cars with his dad when he was a kid, and that sound was not the battery; it was the solenoid, and she was gonna be shit out of luck getting anything more than a tow tonight.

She was a stubborn little thing.

“Call them. I’ll wait with you. If he can’t do anything, I’ll take you home.”

Dialing the number, she shook her head. “You don’t need to do that. I can wait in the restaurant and the tow truck driver can take me home if he can’t start it.”

He did not leave a woman alone late at night. “It’s not a bother. I’ll wait.”

“Honestly, Walker, I’m fine.” She held up a finger before he could reply and gave her info over the phone, nodded her head, and finally hung up. “The girl said about half an hour.”

Translation: an hour and a half. “We can wait in my car with the heater on.”

He’d noticed her shiver.

“Don’t worry. I’ll wait inside.”

He sighed. “I’ll still wait and drive you home.”

She pursed her lips. “Hopefully the car will work, but if not, the tow truck driver can take me.”

He breathed deep, his nostrils flaring. “Fine. I get it. You don’t want me to know where you live.”