Ringing in Love (9 page)

“How's he dealt with the other men you've been out with?”

There was an uncomfortable silence. “Well, that's probably part of the problem. I haven't been out with anyone since the divorce.”

“I know you said you didn't really have much of a social life, but it's hard to believe there's been no one at all.”

“There hasn't been. Not unless you count women friends, sisters, and a son.”

This time the silence came from Dominic's side of the table, as he seemed to be digesting what he'd heard. He shook his head. “What's wrong with all the men you've met? I assumed you had them standing in line waiting to ask you out.”

“It's not them, it's me.”

He shuddered. “Please. Not that line. It's too reminiscent of a bad breakup.”

“Did you hear it or use it?” She couldn't help laughing at his attempt to lighten the conversation.

“Sadly, heard it. Never used it, never will.” He touched her hand. “But explain to me why you've turned down chances to have a social life.”

“I had a son to raise and a business to grow. Which took all the energy I had. Besides, there hasn't been anyone interested. Even if there had been, it wouldn't have made a difference.”

He cocked his head and frowned. “I'm not sure I should ask this, but I will. Why did you say yes to me, then? And no excuses about how I was threatening to endanger a plant species.”

She hesitated but decided there was no point in avoiding the answer. He deserved the truth. “Moving into this building made me feel I was making a success of my business. And things were good with Noah. It seemed like it was time to do something just for me.”

“And there I was?”

“Well, there was a bit more to it. I was flattered that someone like … that you'd pay attention to me. You made me think about things I hadn't considered in years, had even forgotten I liked.”

“Lucky me.” His expression said he wasn't being clever or sarcastic. The warm look in his eyes said he meant it.

“You may change your mind after you meet Noah on Friday.”

“I'm forty-five. Thirteen-year-old boys don't have enough experience to make a dent in my self-esteem. And anyway, I was an adolescent male once. I know how they operate.”

“Then maybe sometime you'll explain it to me.”

Dominic glanced at his watch then finished his coffee. “I'd be happy to, but I don't have time right now.” He stood and pitched his cup into a waste bin. “Maybe we could start at lunch on Wednesday. You free?”

“Depends on where you want to eat. I have client meetings all Wednesday afternoon, so revisiting Sergio is out of the question.”

“I was thinking more of a place a couple blocks away—Thai Noodles.”

“I love that place. I usually have to settle for takeout, though. Going there would be a treat. Is twelve thirty okay?” She picked up her cup and walked with him to the elevator. “But you don't have to keep feeding me, you know.”

“I'm Italian. It's what we do. You should know that. And twelve thirty works.”

• • •

Dominic was puzzled. Catherine was beautiful and smart, successful, and available. She should be beating men off with a stick. Was there more to her dateless state than simply wanting to focus on her business and her son? From the few comments she made about her husband, he had to wonder if she had a bad case of “once burned, twice shy.” He understood how it could happen. His own brief marriage—which he usually referred to as twenty minutes of his life he'd never get back—had soured him on serious relationships from his early twenties, when the marriage had begun and ended, well into his thirties, when another relationship had cemented the habit of avoiding emotional entanglements. But he hadn't closed himself off from enjoying the opposite sex and what they offered him. Catherine apparently had.

Had he known what she'd revealed, would he have changed the way he'd approached her? No, probably not. What he'd done had gotten him lunch, coffee, another lunch, and dinner—all in one week. Throw in a couple kisses he replayed every now and then because they'd been so pleasurable, and it had all worked out fine.

Still, knowing what he now knew would make a change in what he did next. He didn't have a timeline for taking a woman to bed, but he was willing to bet Catherine wouldn't meet it if he had one. Which was too bad. Kissing her had not only given him interesting moments to contemplate, but had also whetted his appetite for more. She was delicious, so aroused when they kissed, with her brown eyes going black and her lovely skin flushing with desire.

But he knew she would likely take her time before going any further. He had to find a way to make her comfortable, let her know, no matter how much he wanted her, he was willing to wait until she was ready.

He'd work on it at lunch.

Thai iced tea had been served, and pad Thai and crispy fried noodles ordered. Dominic was about to launch into his speech about not wanting her to feel he was putting pressure on her when she said, “So, what's it like to be a thirteen-year-old male?”

He was surprised. “You were serious?”

“This is my chance to try and understand this strange creature I'm living with, and I'm not passing it up. Didn't you mean what you said?”

“I was mostly joking, but if you're really interested …” A memory of another conversation tickled the edge of his mind. “Didn't you say you have a brother? Don't you remember what he was like as a teenager?”

“He's three years younger than I am. I don't remember much about his teenage years except I had a few friends who wanted to hang out at my house because they thought he was cute. I didn't understand it because, to me, he was too young to pay attention to.” She shrugged her shoulders. “Besides, sometimes I think Tony—my brother—is part of Noah's attitude issues. After his father moved out, Noah got even closer to his uncle. Then Tony got married and moved to the Northwest. Two men he loved. Two men who left.”

“Does Noah see his dad regularly?”

“Not really. Andy, my ex, doesn't operate that way. He's not a bad father. He loves Noah, and we work okay together as parents. He isn't a regularly scheduled father, I guess you can say. Noah doesn't see him more than once or twice a month. In a way, Tony's been more attentive. He talks to Noah every week, has flown him out to Oregon once already, and is making noises about having him come out between Christmas and New Year's.”

“Losing both of them sounds like it might have been rough on Noah. No wonder you're asking perfect strangers for advice.”

“You're hardly a stranger. And I have yet to be convinced you're perfect. So, get to what you were like when you were thirteen.”

He lounged back in his seat and shrugged. “Okay, if you're really interested. It's not a completely pretty story. And you have to remember, when I was thirteen Ben Franklin was flying a kite around here someplace. Things might be different now.”

“I'm desperate here, Russo. I'll take any help I can get.”

“Well, what I remember was feeling unsure about what was happening to me. My body was changing; my head was full of ideas I didn't know how to handle. I was angry about not understanding it. All I wanted to do was beat up on something.”

“You got in fights?” Incredulousness was evident in the tone of her voice.

“Constantly. My younger brother was the athlete in the family, so he wore himself out with basketball and track. I was never much interested in team sports, so I got into fights.”

“About?”

“Girls. Imagined slights. Sometimes nothing at all. It was a way to let off steam. I spent the better part of my early teen years with banged-up knuckles, cuts on my face, and the occasional black eye. Noah's lucky he has soccer. It's a much more productive way to use up energy.”

“Sounds like
I'm
lucky he has soccer.”

“You're undoubtedly right.”

The waiter interrupted with their lunch. They both attacked their noodles and let the conversation lag for a few minutes.

Eventually Catherine continued, “I assumed middle school is the same stew of hormones for boys as it is for girls, but I didn't think about the difference in how they'd act. I don't think I knew any girls who got into fights. Lots of mean-girl stuff, but not physical fights.”

Dominic sat up straight as Catherine's words jogged a memory. “Middle school girls. My God. I haven't thought about Cathy Evans in years.”

“Your middle school girlfriend?”

“Yeah. In seventh grade, we got caught making out in the janitor's closet. Our parents were brought in to the principal's office to discuss our ‘inappropriate behavior.'”

Catherine giggled.

“It wasn't funny at the time. We got detention for a couple weeks.”

“Dragging a girl into a closet to kiss her doesn't quite go with the image I have of the very smooth and sophisticated Dominic Russo.”

“There was no dragging involved, believe me, but I'm relieved you're not worried I'll repeat that particular approach to male-female relationships.”

She raised an eyebrow at him. “You came dangerously close with the lunch at the shore stunt, but I've decided to let it pass. How did your parents deal with it?”

“Interesting reaction. I overheard my father say in a conversation I was clearly not supposed to hear that kissing a girl when you were thirteen wasn't inappropriate behavior at all, it was normal.”

“And your mother?”

“She was more in your camp—outraged I'd taken the girl to a janitor's closet. She said she thought she'd raised me with more class. But in spite of their belief what I'd done wasn't all that bad, they backed the school. They told me I had to learn to respect the rules even if I didn't agree with them. To work to change the rules, not disobey them. And they took me to task for getting someone else in trouble with my behavior—although, technically, it was
our
behavior.”

“How'd they deal with the fighting?”

“They were even harder on me. When the school threatened to expel me if I got in one more fight, I was grounded for a whole semester. Had to earn my way back into being trusted by doing all sorts of good deeds.”

“I think I like their parenting style. I might steal some of those ideas. And you've made me feel more comfortable about you and Noah meeting on Friday. You really do understand the species.” She looked at the time on her phone. “I better be getting back. A new client's coming in for our first meeting at two, and I want to go over the presentation with the project manager.”

“Can you give me about five more minutes?”

“We can finish the conversation about male puberty on Friday, can't we?”

“About Friday—I want to say something so we're both clear what's happening.” He slid closer to her in the booth and took her hand. “I've been thinking about what you said the other morning, about not having a … shall we say … social life for the last three years.”

She sighed and broke eye contact. “If you've decided I'm too rusty at the kind of extracurricular life you usually have, I understand. We don't have to have dinner on—”

“You really do have some interesting ideas of who I am, don't you? First I was a ruthless businessman, then a low-life player. A few minutes ago I was so smooth and sophisticated I'd never drag a girl into a janitor's closet for a kiss. Now I'm apparently willing to ditch the woman I've been trying to go out with for weeks because she's had the good sense not waste her time with other men before she met me.”

“I guess what I wanted to say didn't come out right. I only meant …”

“You meant it was okay for me to break our date if I'd changed my mind when I found out you'd been out of the game since your divorce.” Now it was his turn to sigh—in frustration. “Is it because you think all I want is to get you into bed, or is there some other reason?”

She pulled her hand out from under his and started playing with the chopsticks, moving the leftover noodles around on her plate, not meeting his gaze, a pink flush on her cheeks. “I thought I was letting you off the hook. You looked so surprised that morning.”

“I was. For the reason I gave you. I'd have thought men would be beating down your door to take you out. And I don't buy the comment no one has been interested.” He chewed on his lip for a minute. “Tell me something. When the roses started arriving, who did you think was sending them?”

She looked startled at the question then hesitated for a few moments before answering. “I wasn't sure, but my staff had a betting pool on who it was. There were a few weird candidates like the barista downstairs, but the three main contenders were a freelance copy editor I hire frequently, a former client, and …” She stopped.

“And me, right?”

“Well, yes. And you.”

“So apparently your staff noticed three men who'd shown interest in you. Right?”

“I guess.”

“You haven't been ignored, Catherine. You've ignored anyone who's interested. Your staff knows it. I know it. But for some reason, you don't want to see it. Hell, it cost me a fortune to get your attention. And, for the record, it's not just for a tumble into my bed. Although if you'd like that, I'm perfectly willing to oblige you.”

“Dominic, this is bordering on embarrassing.”

“I'm simply trying to say it's been obvious to half my staff and, apparently, a good proportion of yours, that I find you attractive. And from the way you kiss me, you feel the same about me. I'm not going to break our dinner date because I've discovered you've buried yourself in work and in raising your son for the last three years.”

He kissed her hand. “I have every intention of being with you in a restaurant on Friday night so we can continue to have these interesting talks about what kind of dastardly—wasn't that the word you used?—egomaniac I am.”