Perfect for You (6 page)

"Yes. I love it."

The way he lit up confused her. How could anyone be so happy about breaking families up? "Did you always want to be a lawyer, or did you fall into it?"

"I always knew. My father is a lawyer, and I was around it all my life. Instead of fairy tales I grew up reading books on tort. I did go through a phase when I was three where apparently I wanted to be a fireman." He nodded at her. "Didn't you always want to design?"

"Ah, no." She shook her head. "When I was a little girl I wanted to be a pirate. Then I heard about the concept of Ôwalking the plank' and decided that being a witch would be a better choice. Only I didn't have any natural talent for that, and I couldn't develop any skill."

"Wait a minute," he interrupted. "How did you realize you couldn't develop any skill? I mean, how does one practice to become a witch?"

She shrugged. "I went to the library and borrowed books on witchcraft. I couldn't seem to be able to memorize any of the herbs, let alone pronounce them, and some of the ingredients were kind of hard to come by. I mean, where in the Bay Area can you buy eye of newt?" She held up a hand. "No pithy comments please. I was only eight."

"Far be it from me to say anything."

"Right." She slanted him a look before continuing. "Then I decided that being a gypsy was the perfect thing. I would wrap my mother's tablecloth around my neck and tie a scarf to my head and dance around in circles. I tried to get my family to move to France so I could roam the countryside, just me and my cart pulled by a bull named Philippe."

"Your parents must have loved that."

"Actually, Dad got out a map and plotted the route Philippe and I should take." She laughed, remembering the intent look on her dad's face as he poured over the map, like they were planning a surgery. She shook her head in wonder. "I hadn't remembered that. It's a good memory."

"How did you go from being a gypsy to working in web design?"

She sobered, remembering her parents' car crash and the subsequent downward spiral that led her to begging Eve's dad for a job. "It was an accident."

He leaned forward, his brow furrowed. "How was it an accident?"

She blinked at his sudden intensity, like he actually cared. "My best friend's dad offered me a job out of high school and then I just stayed."

His fingers drummed the table, his gaze still fixed on her. She thought he was going to cross-examine her about her decision to work at Evolve but instead he asked, "You didn't want to go to college?"

She would have given a lung to go to college. "It didn't seem necessary. I was only thinking of studying art anyway. Being an artist didn't guarantee making a living, so I stuck with web design."

"Are you looking for guarantees?"

"Interesting question."

"Are you going to answer it?"

She shrugged. "Doesn't everyone want guarantees?"

"Some people want to roam the country and be free. Do you still paint?"

The sudden tangent caught her off guard. "I—um—I haven't been, but I'm thinking about starting again."

"Maybe you'll show me one of your works when you do."

Their food arrived before she could reply—thank God. The thought of showing him her artwork made her stomach churn.

The two stews she had ordered and the two Greg asked for were served on one thin silver platter. Another platter carried the flat, spongy bread used to scoop them up.

She closed her eyes and deeply breathed in the aromas. When she opened her eyes, Greg was watching her so intently she felt her heart stop for a second, starting up again beating double time.

As she opened her mouth to tell him to knock it off, he lifted the bread platter and asked, "Want some?"

Freya narrowed her eyes at his innocent question. Except it didn't sound very innocent to her. She accepted the bread suspiciously and dug in.

They fell into a comfortable silence as they ate. Every now and then she glanced at Cavanaugh. She hadn't thought he'd attack his food with so much—well, honest passion. He was a lawyer. He wasn't supposed to have an honest bone in his body.

Distracted by her thoughts, she reached for a bit of lamb and brushed his hand as he went for the same morsel. When she looked up, the look in his eyes made her drop the food onto the platter.

"You lost it." He scooped up the lamb with a piece of bread. "Open your mouth."

She looked at his fingers. She imagined her tongue rasping against his skin—a little salty, a little spicy. She pictured how his eyes would go all bedroomy, how his voice would deepen, and she leaned forward...

What was she thinking? She didn't even like the man. Frowning, she resettled on her seat and took the morsel from his hand. "You're quite the little helper, aren't you?"

"I try."

She ignored the amusement, heat, and hint of disappointment in his gaze. She tried not to notice his hands as she ate, but she couldn't help it. She'd never noticed how they were so masterful. She remembered how his hands felt over the silk of her robe and tried to keep from fidgeting.

Eating Ethiopian wasn't helping—not with the way their hands kept brushing each other's as they ate. Each touch of his fingers caused goose bumps up her arms.

"Did you place your ad yet?"

Freya blinked, startled from her tangled thoughts. "Excuse me?"

"The personal ad you were going to take out. Did you go through with it?"

"Of course I went through with it." The stakes were too high to chicken out. "I posted it last night."

"Do you need help screening the emails?"

She snorted. "I think I can manage on my own, thanks."

"Freya."

"Cavanaugh," she answered flatly.

"You have some food on your lip."

Cheeks burning, she lifted her napkin.

Before she could wipe it, he reached out and ran his thumb along her lower lip. She inhaled sharply, feeling the touch down to her toes.

Something inside her unfurled. The noise from the restaurant faded as she met his gaze. She got caught there, in the heat and desire she saw.

It made her breathless.

He wanted to kiss her. It was there in his too blue eyes.

"Stop," she said, hearing the weakness in her voice.

He looked sincerely contrite, as if he knew he went too far. "I'm sorry I crossed your boundaries. It won't happen again, I promise."

"Good."

"The next time you'll be dying for my touch."

No way in hell. She was going to find someone appropriate through her ad, and then she wouldn't be so desperate she was tempted by a lawyer.

She folded her napkin and dropped it on the table. "I have to get home."

"I'll walk you." He signaled for the waitress, who came running the second she saw he wanted something from her.

"I'm paying for myself," she said firmly. This wasn't a date.

Cavanaugh paused and looked up from cleaning his hands. He studied her for all of two seconds before he said, "Okay."

"That was easy. I expected more of a struggle."

"No, I understand." He pulled some cash out of his wallet and handed her the bill. "This was just our first date and you want to keep your boundaries in place."

"That's not it at all." She frowned as she pulled on her coat. She let him guide her out the restaurant before she continued. "If we were on a date, even a first date, and you had asked me out, I would've expected you to pay."

"Ah." Greg nodded as he tucked her hand into the crook of his arm, impersonal enough that she didn't mind. "So because you asked me to join you we obviously were going dutch?"

"I didn't ask you to join me. You barged in on my dinner. I'm saying this wasn't a date."

"It wasn't?"

"Of course not. An outing has to meet several criteria before it can be called a date."

His mouth curved into one of those smiles that could make a female corpse sit up and do a jig. "What type of criteria?"

"You mean aside from one party actually wanting to spend time with the other?" she asked pointedly.

"Aside from that minor detail."

She frowned as she really thought about it. She should have known he'd actually ask her. "I guess there are three ingredients to a date. Anticipation, sharing, and a kiss. Without any one of those, it's just a casual get together."

His eyebrows flattened, which she recognized as a sign of him thinking. "What do you mean by anticipation?"

"Butterflies in the stomach, the mad scrambling to look pretty. That kind of thing."

His lips twitched. "What about a spontaneous, spur of the moment date? Anticipation isn't possible then."

"There's still a sort of anticipation. Like where he's going to take you and what you're going to do. Or for a kiss maybe."

He nodded. "Okay, I concede that point."

"Thank you." They turned the corner onto their street.

"And the sharing?"

She heaved a sigh. "You have to dissect this, don't you?"

"I just want to understand your point of view."

Freya couldn't tell if he was teasing her or being serious. He seemed serious, but why would he? She humored him anyway. "Sharing. An exchange. A give and take."

"Like dinner," he said in an aggravatingly lawyer-like way.

"We didn't share dinner," she said quickly. "You crashed mine."

"And then we shared." He cocked his eyebrow, daring her to deny it before continuing like the relentless lawyer he was. "And you have to admit, sharing food is one of the ultimate sensual activities."

"Yes, but it wasn't sensual." She tried to pry her arm loose as she marched up the steps but he wouldn't let her go.

"Are you sure about that?" He stopped her at the top of the stairs. He stood on one lower, and it put his eyes level with hers. Unfortunately, his lips were also right there, and they looked capable. Very capable. Especially when it came to nibbling. And maybe even sucking.

She cleared her throat. "Forget dinner. It doesn't change the fact that there was no anticipation and definitely no kissing."

"Not yet."

"Don't even try it. I don't want your lips anywhere near mine," she lied, her gaze dropping to his mouth.

"You sure?"

His voice was sex-laden and for a second she was tempted to let him light her fire. He'd be able to unleash the sexy goddess locked inside. She could use him for sex and cast him aside when she was done with her design.

Except something told her he wouldn't let her dismiss him so easily. Something told her he wanted more than she was willing to give. Her instincts said he'd take it all if she let him.

She couldn't let that happen. Blinking out of the stupor, she pushed him down a step. "I'm positive."

"Damn." He took her hand in his, rubbing her knuckles with his thumb. "So tonight won't end up a date after all. I wonder what we should call it."

"A mistake." She tried to tug her hand from his before she did something embarrassing, like purr.

He smiled with too much satisfaction for her tastes. Taking her keys, he unlocked her door. "Go in, it's cold out."

She hesitated in the doorway. Was this when he made his move? She stiffened as he leaned toward her, her heart starting to race.

But he just ran the back of a finger over one curl and then stepped back. He held out her keys. "Don't forget to lock up behind me."

Freya watched him turn and close the door behind him.

That was it?

She twisted the deadbolt, leaned against cool wood, and listened to him close his own door, followed by his footsteps on the stairs as he went up to his flat.

It wasn't like she
wanted
him to kiss her, but why hadn't he tried harder?

What did it matter? Her ad was up and there were probably emails of eager suitors waiting for her. She'd find someone who really wanted to kiss her. Someone more perfect than a lawyer who toyed with her.

She glanced at the door one last time before going upstairs to her flat.

Anna parked her car in the red zone and yanked the brake. Parking spots in Freya's neighborhood were so hard to come by, and she was only making a quick stop.

She hopped out and jogged up the steps of her sister's home. Then she knocked on Greg Cavanaugh's door.

No answer. She got up on her tiptoes and looked into the window. It was dark up there. Maybe he wasn't home yet? She glanced at the time on her cell phone. It was almost ten—he should have been home way before now.

She looked at Freya's door. The light was on upstairs, which meant she needed to be out of here before her sister noticed her.

The door suddenly opened. Greg blinked at her in surprise. "What are you doing here?"

"Helping you," she whispered. She pushed her way in and closed the door behind her.

"I take it your sister doesn't know you're here."

"You never saw me."

He leaned against the wall and crossed his arms. "Want to tell me what the purpose of this visit is?"

"You need to ask Freya out, without asking her out."

"That makes sense." He nodded good-naturedly. "I'll get on it."

"Listen to me." She grabbed his sleeve. "She hasn't had any decent responses to her ad.
Yet
. It's only a matter of time. You need to strike before that happens."

He raked a hand through his hair. "I believe we've established that."

"Well then, do it." She let go. "And I also need your cell number."

He arched his brow.

"So I can give you updates and stuff," she explained, taking out her phone.

Fortunately he gave it to her. She tapped it in and put her phone away. "Thanks. Good doing business with you. I'm outta here."

"Why do I feel like I just conducted a shady transaction?" he asked, opening the door for her.

Anna patted his chest. "Look at it as a positive step toward the rest of your life."

"Your sister will kill you if she finds out," he murmured as she walked out.

"I know." She shot him a saucy grin over her shoulder. "We need to make sure that doesn't happen."

He shook his head. "Get out of here before your cover is blown."

"Later, Shrek." She waved and skipped down the steps. She was so pleased with herself that she didn't see the guy in front of her until she bumped into him. "Sorr—"