16

THE THIRD DATE

NORA

WHEN I GET HOME later that afternoon, Cam opens the apartment door before I can. She’s grinning like the proverbial cat, post-canary dinner.

“What?” I ask, already laughing at her.

“You have a delivery.”

I am at once nervous and confounded. I just left Doc, winding my way home through the streets, giving me time to think. This morning was intense, our first argument and subsequent makeup sex. He’s really putting in the effort to earn my trust. I’m ashamed that it takes so much, but grateful nonetheless. I’m cautiously optimistic, and that feels entirely out of place. So despite how good I feel, I am also weirded out.

After a strangely awkward pause—mainly because I stood there like a dolt, I follow her to the kitchen, where a gorgeous bouquet of purple roses and white lilacs sits on the counter in a beautifully simple vase.

“Someone delivered these for me?” I sound like an idiot. That’s what she just said. “From who?”

Cam rolls her eyes, basically expressing her exasperation with her entire body. “Take a wild guess, toots.”

Instead of guessing, I pick the card out of the holder and open it.

You bewitch me.

X, Declan

“I’m going to faint,” Cam says, breathily, stumbling to grab the counter behind her.

“Stop it,” I say, and I wave a hand at her to emphasize my point. “It’s… it’s—”

“So fucking romantic, I may spontaneously orgasm.”

I turn to glare at her for finishing my sentence as she did, but she’s fanning herself, and it makes me laugh, and blush.

Who am I?

“Call him right now.”

I do manage to glare at her this time, but she’s right. It was crazy sweet, and I better call him now, before I have to get ready for work tonight.

When he picks up, he’s breathless. “My Beauty.” The warmth and affection in his voice lands in all my right places, but most particularly in the middle of my chest.

“Hi. What are you up to?” I meant to sound teasing, but I sound stupidly giddy. Sweet Jesus, help me.

“Working out.”

Okay, well, that’s hot. I’m unable to repress a sigh, which makes him laugh lowly.

“We’re still on for Thursday, right? Malibu?” he asks.

“Of course,” I say. “But I was actually calling to thank you for the flowers. They’re stunning.”

“Now you know how I feel when I see you,” he says, and I’m so overcome by his reply that I nearly hang up in a panic. But in a good way.

“Oh, come on,” I say, but I’m smiling. Judging by his breathy laughter, he senses it. “And the card, it’s… ridiculous.”

This time he full-out guffaws. “I was going for something like that Mr. Darcy character you’re obsessed with. Too much?”

Everything in my body warms. “I know,” I say, quiet and small. “I loved it.”

***

Doc has some new “minions” to train over the next few days, so getting to Thursday and Malibu seems to take forever. When we do arrive, we decide to walk the pier and beach. There’s a quaint little café at the end of the boardwalk.

We wander down the sand a ways, kicking at the low-lapping waves and splashing each other like idiots. What’s surprising, though I suppose it shouldn’t be, is the conversation. It’s relaxed and easy flowing. I allow myself to see what a genuine and wonderful guy Doc is beneath all the teasing and cockiness, not that I haven’t slowly been coming to that conclusion anyway. The flowers, his thoughtfulness… It’s just taken me a beat longer than it should have to accept that there’s so much more to him than I’ve allowed myself to see before.

“I didn’t plan to go into stunt work,” he says after we turn around, rerouting back toward the pier for lunch. “In fact, I had no interest in working in the movies.”

“Riiiiiiight,” I say. “That’s only why everyone and their mother comes to LA.” He eyeballs me. “Well, except my mother, but that’s a blessing for all of us.”

“From everything I’ve heard, we’re certainly not missing out,” he agrees. “I wish you’d tell me more about your family.”

“But you’re in the middle of your origin story.”

“Nora,” he chides. “I’m not kidding. Tell me something.”

His gentle plea is quite striking, and I feel it all over my body. It makes me want to tell him whatever he wants to know. I mean, I’m not secretive about my family, but the only person I really like is my father (despite his apparently genetic lack of money-smarts). As I’m feeling good about us, I offer Doc a morsel.

“As you know, my da’s Irish, born and bred in Limerick.”

“You’re also born there, yeah?”

“Indeed,” I say and am interrupted by a quick kiss. I feel his fingers thread through mine and squeeze. “Anyway, he traveled all over the world for work—”

“Which was?”

“Hey! Do you want me to tell you this shite or not?”

“Proceed.” His expression is entirely too amused, but properly chastised.

I have a brief flash of tying him up. The thought makes me snort-laugh and shake my head to clear it. Not that I wouldn’t experiment with the idea.

“You okay, Beauty?”

I throw him a nod with a tight-lipped smile, but he picks up.

“What?”

“I just had a vision of you in a particular situation, that’s all,” I say, lifting an eyebrow.

“Pretty sure I need to hear this.”

The tone of his voice is quite tempting, but I like teasing him too much. “You either get that description or the rest of this family information you badgered me for.”

His eyes narrow, but then he rolls them at me. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but family.”

I exhale, offering a bright smile, and shrug. “Suit yourself. It’s much less interesting.”

“Completely different categories,” he says. “You’re going to show me the dirty thing later, right?”

I gasp theatrically. “How dare you!”

He laughs, head thrown back. He really is a gorgeous creature, especially when he’s happy like this. My stomach twists. The sensation shakes me a little. Is it guilt over how I acted our last go-round? The way things are right now make me wonder why I lied.

“Come on, then,” he says, rescuing me from my temporary cloud. “Your da, your mum.”

“Right.” I smile at him, feeling the present wrap around me like Doc’s arms. “Well, Da met my mother on a work trip to South Korea. I’m still unsure how that happened, because my mother was never a particularly romantic or even jovial person. Maybe she was before I was born, but certainly not after. She never really wanted kids.”

I avoid Doc’s gaze, afraid to see pity. I don’t need pity, particularly for having a shitty mom. She wasn’t the worst, but a far cry from the best.

“Anyway, when I met Sophie in college, Margaret—you know, her mom—kind of adopted me in a way. She makes up for a lot, actually.”

“But you didn’t grow up with her,” Doc says. “That’s when having your mum is really important.”

“Yeah,” I answer breezily, ready to move on. “So there. I told you stuff.”

“No, no, hold on,” he says, his grip on my hand tightening as he stops our stroll to stand closer to me.

It makes me nervous. I don’t like talking about my mother.

“Do you see your mom?”

I fidget with the edge of a pocket on my dress, focusing on my toes popping out of the sand. “No, and that’s okay.”

I hear the conflict in my voice and know he’s going to—

“Nora.”

Pounce.

“How can that be okay?”

I find his eyes, and they’re not judging. It throws me, because that’s what I was expecting—I’d expect it from anyone who didn’t know her.

Before I can speak, he pulls me closer and into his arms. I swallow with difficulty before I can reply. “The day after my fifth birthday, she told me she’d never wanted me.”

“Honest to God?”

“No, I made that shit up,” I snap, pushing him away. I feel bad, but the fact embarrasses me to this day. Maybe I need to go back to therapy.

“Beauty,” he says, gently calling after me. He snatches my hand and turns me to face him. “That’s not what I meant. I just… I can’t believe she’d say that to you, and I’m sorry.”

“I don’t want your pity.”

“It’s not pity.”

The way he says it draws my eyes to his. “I’m sorry. I guess it still hurts.”

“Of course it does, and that’s okay.”

I allow a small smile and reach up to kiss him. “Thank you. Now, back to your Hollywood fairy tale.”

“Bloody Hollywood bullshit,” he says, but then he pauses to kiss me again, lingering. “All right. Truth is, I moved to LA to road trip around the States with Monkhouse and then maybe hit Hawaii for a few weeks. That was my full plan at the time.”

“You followed your boyfriend back to California?” It’s irresistible, these two and their bromance. “You’re too cute.”

“I’m going to ignore that,” he says, but ruins the effect by pinching my ass.

I swat at him, but I ruin it by laughing. I’m thankful to be back in more comfortable conversational waters.

“Anyway, naughty girl, we’d just gotten back from our first round up along the coast when I was stopped in a Starbucks by a casting director. She said I would be a ‘perfect stand-in’ for… Shit, I can’t even remember who it was. No one I’d heard of, but didn’t matter much to me.”

“This story sucks. I don’t know why I asked you to continue,” I say, teasing. He side-eyes me, and I wink. “You don’t remember who it was?”

“Brad something.”

“Pitt?”

He stops to pose and faux-primp, pretending to brush his hair away from his face. “Do I look anything like Brad Pitt?” His eyelashes bat furiously.

“Shave the beard, and I’ll tell you,” I say, reaching up to scratch his chin beneath said hair.

His expression stretches into one of horror, and I crack up.

“You monster,” he gasps dramatically.

“Oh, don’t be a baby. I would never tell you to shave your beard.”

“Is this where you say I can never tell you to shave your legs?”

I raise an eyebrow and lean forward. “As if you would try.”

His grin is fuel for every filthy dream I’ll have for years to come. Heh, come. “So who was it then?” I ask quietly, brushing a soft kiss over his lips before turning away to continue walking.

“Maybe it was Brendan?” he muses. “No, that wasn’t it either. Anyway, the picture didn’t have a major studio backing, so he wasn’t A-list or anything. But his name did start with a B.”

I don’t notice that I’m walking ahead until his fingers close around my hand and tug me back. “What?”

“Let’s take a seat,” he suggests, motioning for me to return to him. “Just for a few minutes.”

I drop my sandals and skim through the warm sand, digging my toes in at each step. His arms wrap around me and press me close. The kiss is expected, but the sweetness of it isn’t. I almost feel flustered. I try to brush off the tickle of a surprise blush, but when he strokes my cheek with his thumb, I don’t mind anymore.

He flashes his teeth at me before we finally sit. The warmth of the sand under my palms is grounding and feels so good; it echoes through my body. My eyes close in contentment.

“Tell me more,” I say.

I picture his body and posture as his slow intake of breath sounds over the waves and breeze. My muscles contract with little quakes of happy, and my stomach warms.

“Well, not much to tell, really. I was on set for a week, mostly sitting around and reading magazines while I waited to actually do what I was there to do,” he says, the irritation of time-wasting evident in his voice even now. “It was pretty boring, but the last day I’d been hired, they were shooting one of the major stunts on the next lot over. I started bullshitting with one of the rig guys, and next thing I know, I’m in a fuckin’ harness.”

I turn my head and open my eyes, catching his gaze—at least I think I do. He’s got his aviators on, and I’m wearing the last pair of sunglasses I have yet to lose.

“And the rest, as they say…”

As I trail off, the corner of his mouth rises. I imagine his eyes sparkling with mischief behind the mirrored glasses, and before I can protest, his fingers dig into my sides, pulling me in and tickling me at the same time. I squeal and giggle.

As an aside, the reaction sounds twerpy and strange coming from me. Or maybe just happy and relaxed. It’s a toss-up.

While I’m both annoyed and surprised that he seems to be the only person I’ve ever met to incite this response—as well as how goddamn involuntary it is—it’s an overpoweringly positive feeling. Enough that I’m not sure how to contain it.

“Stunt work was an instant addiction for me,” he says as his lips brush the shell of my ear. Then his tongue, then I feel his teeth on my lobe. “Just. Like. You.”

Jesus, this man and what he does to me.

I turn my head. “Just like me, huh?”

“Exactly like you.”

“I never broke your arm.”

Something washes over his face that erases the impish look that thrilled me.

“What?” I think I know. The feeling he projected, whether he realized it or not, wasn’t a positive one. I feel the word broken thump over my chest as though typewriter keys are tapping on my breast plate. And then my heart mimics the rhythm.

“Nothing.” He looks down and forces a happy shrug.

Lies.

“Doc,” I say, pleading though I’m not sure I want him to answer. Something in me doesn’t feel strong enough to face hearing what it was that maybe I did break.

“No, really, Beauty. It’s nothing.” He turns to face the sea and pushes to get up. “Let’s head to the café, yeah? I could eat a shark, I’m so hungry. How about you?”

“Famished,” I say, but my heart’s not in it. My heart’s not in it. Well, there’s a double-edged sword.

I offer him my hand, and he pulls me to my feet. But I must let go too soon because I stumble backward, about to land right back on my ass save for Doc’s quick move.

“I got you, baby,” he says, his voice low and gentle.

I stare into his eyes until he sets me straight, not waiting for my response. He takes my hand and tows me behind him toward lunch—and hopefully no more hiccups into too-serious-for-me-right-now conversation.

***

After we stuff ourselves on fried clams, French fries, and mercifully light and fun topics, I drag Doc to the end of the pier. Storm clouds have begun to bunch together maybe a mile out over the Pacific, darkening the day yet making the strands of white lights decorating the pier stand out like low-hanging stars. Subtle thunder rolls across the water and under our feet. I can feel it in my soles, barely rumbling the wood planks beneath us.

“Mmm, I’ve always loved thunderstorms,” I tell him.

Doc leans onto the rail and twists toward me. “The sounds of a storm are so powerful, aren’t they? Sometimes I feel like I can hear the lightning, too.”

“Oh yeah,” I say, my voice scratchy and low. “It’s fucking sexy.”

He stands tall and closer. “I agree. Is it the danger of it?”

I move slowly, pushing my chest up against his. I’m sure he can feel that my nipples have tightened, pressed between us, harder when I inhale. “Maybe. Risk can be a turn-on, right?”

“Absolutely. Adrenaline rush,” he says, even closer. “The fuck or flee response.”

I chuckle. “Oh, is that what it’s called?”

“What do you call it?”

“I call it shut the fuck up and kiss me already.” I barely get the words out before his tongue replaces them in my mouth.

I’m swept away—the gorgeous grays of the scenery, the soft breeze rushing and swirling before dissolving around us. It’s cool and would give me a chill, but I can’t feel it. I know nothing but Doc’s body against mine, his mouth, his beard softly scratching my skin, his hands pressing low into my back before slipping lower to grip my ass. I writhe, damn near yanking up my dress to mount him then and there.

I really must figure out why I cannot resist this man.

With that thought, I press against his chest and step back minutely. “Take me home?”

Our breaths feel heavy between us, the humidity of the oncoming rainstorm only adding to it.

“After you tell me a story,” he says, taking a few steps toward the bench facing the sea. “What did you do before PR?”

My stomach drops unexpectedly. I blink and move slowly in his direction. “Well, um, I…” I begin like a preteen imbecile, swallowing hard before I can continue. “I was bartending for a few years while I got my master’s degree.”

“Smartypants,” he says, nudging my side softly with his elbow. “What does Sophie call you?”

“Mensa,” I say with a grunt of disapproval. “Don’t you start.”

“I’ve already got a nickname for you.”

I smirk and suddenly more comes bubbling over my lips. “But I’d always been a dancer. Through all of college and even while bartending. My dream as a girl was to be a ballerina.”

The words are soft and with the coming rain, I’m not sure he heard me.

“Beauty was a Tinker Bell?”

I gasp and stare at him like a dying trout. “Did you say—”

“Tinker Bell? Yeah, why?”

I sit next to him on the bench and shake my head, stunned. “My da calls me Tink or Tinker Bell,” I confess.

No one knows this, except perhaps Sophie. The fact that he pulled that nickname out of nowhere shouldn’t be that surprising, but it’s got me flustered and warm inside.

Doc smiles. “Would you dance for me?” he asks, and I study him, looking for the joke.

“Lap dances are for customers only,” I say.

He shakes his head and stretches his arm behind me, resting on the top of the bench. “I’m serious. You have a dancer’s body—”

I scoff, certain that the years have softened my edges enough to hide my former career goals. He turns my face back to his with a single finger.

“You’re not going to try to convince me you’re fat or some bullshit like that, are you?”

I make a face. “I’m not an asshole, so no, I’m not saying that. It’s just been so long, I’m out of fighting shape.”

It’s his turn to scoff. “Bull. Shit,” he says, amusement curling his mouth. “You’re always in shape to fight. That’s one of the things I love about you.”

Butterflies whirr in my stomach. “Ha-ha,” I say and look away. Soon, I feel his kiss high on my neck as his nose nestles behind my ear. The butterflies faint from a sudden spike in body temperature. Sorry, butterflies.

“I mean it,” he whispers. “I want to see you dance.”

I pull back and eye him, questioning.

“Nora,” he urges with a raised eyebrow. “I’m not asking you to perform the entirety of The Nutcracker.”

That makes me laugh. “Oh yeah, I will Sugar Plum Fairy all up in this bitch.”

“But I guess if you want to, maybe wait until Christmas.”

“Piss off,” I say with a smile. “All right, I’ll dance for you. But not now. It’s going to rain any second. We should go.”

He doesn’t move. I look behind us, and the pier is empty. The café seems just as barren.

“You don’t want to dance in the rain?” Still with the teasing.

“Pfft,” I laugh and lean into his side. “Wait, are you serious?”

The thunder cracks so close, we startle and cover our ears.

“Okay, stud, getting struck by lightning is not on my bucket list, so—” I move to stand, but Doc’s arm switches from the back of the bench to my shoulders. His fingers curl around my arm and encourage me to stay put.

“Wait. Didn’t you ever want to just be in the rain? My mom always ran us inside no matter what. All I wanted to do was feel it soak through my clothes.” He inhales and releases a breath, deliberately and calmly. “I get the danger of it, but… Just for a minute?”

His eyes shift off to the approaching raincloud and the beaded curtains of water sweeping beneath it. A tiny smirk plays on his lips, and I realize he’s been cooking this one up for longer than the last couple of minutes. I’m about to tell him I have no idea what the fuck he’s talking about when the open heavens reach the end of the pier, closing us within their embrace. I gasp first, followed by a squeal and a huge, embarrassingly loud peal of laughter.

Doc’s bizarre request soaks in, and I focus on the thudding of raindrops against my skin, head, clothes, and the bench beneath me. Every sensation is elevated thanks to the surprise. I turn toward him to see his head tipped back, eyes closed, his free arm out to welcome the deluge. I continue to laugh before deciding I need to kiss him immediately.

His surprise is palpable, and I devour it—it’s not often I catch him off guard—but he doesn’t waste the moment, kissing me back with fervor. He stutters a few pecks before whispering, “You really want me to take you home?”

Lost in his eyes and nearness, it takes me a minute to respond. Finally, I shake my head. “I really like it here.”

His smile is blinding.

A man comes running out of the restaurant, offering us a golf umbrella. We pause a moment to stare, before laughing hysterically.

“Thanks, mate,” Doc says eventually, panting. “We’re just havin’ a dance.”