28

A knock on her office door distracted Stella from the new algorithm she was formulating. As she swiveled around, the door opened, and an enormous bouquet of calla lilies walked into the room.

Their lead receptionist, Benita, a curvy brunette in her early forties, set the vase on the desk and exhaled through her mouth. “Okay, that was heavy. It looks like you have an admirer.”

Stella plucked a card out from between the blooms. She recognized Michael’s bold scrawl immediately.

For my Stella. Thinking of you. Love, Michael.

“I don’t know what this means.” She stared at the note sitting in the palm of her hand.

Benita craned her head to the side to read Michael’s script and grinned. “Michael is the honey you’re dating, isn’t he? He’s quite the looker.”

“We broke up.”

Benita’s grin turned sly. “Looks like he wants to get back together. Are you going to give him another chance?”

Before she could reply, Philip stalked past her door. After a split second, he reversed and glowered at the bouquet on her table. An impressive black eye decorated the right side of his face.

“That son of a bitch.” He barged into her office, headed for her flowers.

She threw herself in front of them. “What are you doing?”

“I’m going to throw those in the Dumpster where they belong.”

“No, you’re not. They’re mine.” This was her first bouquet from a boy ever.

“I’ll get you better ones,” he said through his teeth. “Those have to go.”

“I don’t want you to get me flowers.”

“We’re dating, remember?”

“We’re not dating. We went on one date, and I don’t want another. We’re not compatible at all.”

Benita pursed her lips and watched Philip with raised eyebrows, obviously enjoying the drama.

He approached Stella with tensed shoulders and clenched hands. “And you’re compatible with him?”

She curled her fingers around the card. Was it still compatibility if it was one-sided?

“I was really happy when he and I were together. He’s a good listener. More than that, he wanted to know about me, my day, what I was doing, and—”

“All I care about is whether or not he’s good in bed,” Benita interjected.

Stella bit her lip and blushed down at the carpet. The word good didn’t do Michael justice. Phenomenal was more like it.

“You lucky duck.” Benita turned to Philip and grabbed his arm. “Come on, PJ, let’s go to the kitchen. You need to ice that eye.”

PJ?

Philip grumbled under his breath and stared a few daggers at her lilies before he allowed Benita to pull him out of Stella’s office. As the two of them walked down the hall, he settled his hand at the base of her spine, slipped it lower, and squeezed. Instead of smacking him as Stella thought she would, Benita brushed the light hair from his brow and clucked over his bruise.

That was . . . interesting.

Apparently, Benita didn’t care that Philip was a complete hound when it came to women. That worked out just fine for Stella. She didn’t have to feel bad for not asking him out again.

She rotated the flower vase and fiddled with the stems. Flowers had always seemed pretty senseless to her. They stank, they wilted, and then you had to clean them up. But these were from Michael.

Her phone buzzed repeatedly, and when she retrieved it from her desk drawer, she saw it was him. She considered letting it go to voice mail, but her thumb hit the talk button on its own.

“Hello.”

“Did you get them?” he asked.

“Yes . . . Thank you.”

“How’s Philip Dexter’s eye looking today?”

“Purple.”

He made a satisfied sound, and she could almost see his evil smile. She barely refrained from sighing like a schoolgirl. His barbarism shouldn’t please her like this.

“It’ll start turning green in a few days,” he said.

“You really shouldn’t have given him a black eye.” But she loved that he had. It made her feel special in a way she’d never known. She was a bloodthirsty villainess.

“You’re right. Next time, I’ll double-punch him in the balls. If anyone’s going to kiss you, it had better be me.” After an awkward pause, he asked, “Will you have dinner with me tonight?”

Her foolish heart leapt at the thought of seeing him again, but she forced it into submission. She didn’t understand why he was doing any of this, didn’t trust it. “No.”

There was a long silence before he said, “Good. I like a challenge.”

“I’m not trying to challenge you.”

“I know you’re not. You’re trying to get over me, which is worse.”

“Michael . . .”

“I have stuff to do. Talk to you later. Miss you.” The call disconnected.

She paced about her office with increasingly agitated steps. He didn’t want her to get over him. How irritating. What was she supposed to do? Pine over him for eternity?

This burst of outlandish courting had started immediately after he saw Philip trying to kiss her when she didn’t want it. Michael was trying to warn Philip off because he didn’t think she could protect herself.

She was still his charity case.

Breathing heavily, she picked up his note, crumpled it into a misshapen ball, and tossed it in the trash. That was what she thought of his pity.

If she wanted to get over a man, she was going to get over a man.

She sat down and read over the last few lines of code on the programming screen. Her brain was too distracted to concentrate. She kept thinking about Michael. Her body still yearned for his caresses and his dirty words. More than that, she missed him and the routines they’d made together.

He couldn’t really want her back, but it would be wonderful if he did. When she noticed the hopeful direction of her thoughts, she scolded herself and told herself to focus on the data. It didn’t work. Making a frustrated sound, she fished his note out of the trash, smoothed it out, and stuffed it in one of her drawers.

---

Each day that week, he called and asked her out to dinner. Each day, she refused. She didn’t need or want his help. She could take care of herself just fine.

As of Friday evening, her desk sported the vase of still lovely calla lilies, another vase of roses ranging in shade from bloodred to pink, a bundle of balloons, and a fuzzy black teddy bear in a karate gi. She was far too old for stuffed animals, and the sight of it embarrassed her. Michael’s extravagance was making her the talk of the office. She had to figure out a way to make this stop.

When it was time to leave, she powered off her computer, grabbed her purse, and headed for the door, snatching Karate Bear on the way out. She didn’t want him, but the thought of him sitting alone in her office all night made her heartbreakingly sad.

She squished the bear under her arm, making him as small as possible, and exited the building. No one needed to see her walking around with a stuffed animal in tow.

“Heading home?” The solitary voice came from behind as she crossed the empty parking lot, and her heart leapt into her throat.

She whipped around with a hand on her chest.

Michael pushed away from the wall of her office building, thumbs hooked into his pockets. He wore a fitted black vest over an oxford shirt that was unbuttoned at the throat and dark slacks. Too gorgeous. She dragged her eyes away and went to pick up her bear from his abandoned location on the blacktop.

Brushing off the bear’s fur, she said, “This can be interpreted as stalking, you know.”

He ducked his head with a sheepish smile. “I know.”

“You need to stop all of this.”

“It’s not just a little romantic? I don’t have a lot of experience with courting, so you’ll have to excuse me if I come across too strong.”

She pursed her lips. With his looks and charisma, she was sure all he generally had to do was crook his finger and wait for women to crawl to him. She didn’t want to be one of those foolish women anymore. “Cut it out, Michael. We both know you’re not courting me.”

His shoulders stiffened. “What do you mean?”

“You don’t need to protect me from Philip anymore. He’s switched his attention to the receptionist.”

“None of this has been about Philip.” He stalked toward her, his brow furrowed and his jaw tight.

Her instincts told her to back away as he neared, but stubbornness had her digging her feet in. She lifted her chin. She wasn’t scared of him. “I’m done being your charity case. I don’t want—”

Clasping the sides of her face in his hands, he kissed her. Sensation shocked through her, ending her struggles before they began. The cool silk of his lips on hers felt like heaven. As he stroked his hot tongue into her mouth, his salty taste and familiar scent intoxicated her. She gripped his shoulders and pressed her body to his. He surrounded her with his arms and aligned their hips, her softness to his hardness. Liquid aching pervaded her limbs.

“Look at you melting for me,” he rasped against her mouth. “I’ve missed you.”

He kissed her again, a deep, slow tasting that curled her toes and made her sigh against his lips. Her hair loosened, and she shivered as he threaded his fingers into the mass.

“Pretty Stella,” he whispered, running his hands over her loose locks. “I might not have the hang of courting, but I kiss you right.”

That snapped her out of her kiss-induced haze immediately. She jerked free of his arms and wiped a sleeve over her mouth. “Don’t kiss me. Don’t touch me. I don’t want you doing anything with me out of pity.”

“Why do you keep talking about pity? I never said I pitied you,” he said with a frown.

“Then why didn’t you take my money?” Without waiting for his response, she retrieved the bear from the ground for the second time. She wanted to hug it close, but she made herself hand it to him. “This past week was nice, but I’ve had enough. I’m asking you to stop. Please.”

“Does that mean you no longer have feelings for me?”

A film of moisture glossed over her eyes, and she spun away from him blindly. “I’m going to go now.”

“Because I have feelings for you.”

She froze, felt his hand close around hers and pull until she faced him once again. He tipped her chin up, and her tears threatened to spill free. Had he really said that? With her heart drumming in her ears like this, she must have misheard.

He took a breath, released it, took another. “I didn’t take your money because I’m in love with you. I told myself you needed me, that helping you would prove I wasn’t like my dad, but those were just excuses to be with you. You don’t need me, and I don’t have to prove I’m not like my dad. I know I’m not. I ended things because I was certain you didn’t love me back. But when you said you were going to get over me, you gave me hope.”

Her skin flushed with heat—her hands, her neck, her face, the tips of her ears. He didn’t pity her. He loved her. Had she heard correctly? Was it true?

He swallowed once. “Could you say something, please? When a guy tells a girl he loves her, he doesn’t want silence in response. Was I too late? Are you over me?”

“Are you wearing the underwear I got you?”

Laughter cracked out of him. “Sometimes, the way your mind works is a complete mystery to me.”

“Are you?” She transferred the bear underneath her arm and tucked her fingers into the waistband of his pants above his leather belt.

Lips curving, he unfastened his belt, unbuttoned his pants, and drew the zipper down. “If we get arrested for lewd acts in public, they better let us share a cell.”

She pulled his shirttails out of the way, and even in the poor lighting of the parking lot, she could see the red plaid of his boxers. She lifted her eyes to his as effervescent warmth pervaded her body, filling her heart and spreading to every extremity. He did love her. And her theory was confirmed. Michael’s β had changed from one to zero. For her. “You’re wearing them.”

“I don’t like to go commando. Chafing.”

Trying to suppress a goofy grin, she straightened his pants and belt. “Women buy underwear for the men they love. It’s economics. Data supports this claim.”

“Are you telling me you love me, Stella?”

She hugged Karate Bear tight and nodded, suddenly overcome by shyness.

“You’re not going to give me the words?” he asked.

“I’ve never said them to anyone but my parents.”

“You think I run around telling women I love them?” He pulled her close and pressed their foreheads together. “I’m going to get the words out of you. Tonight.”

“Should I be worried?”

“Yes.”

“What are you going to . . .” The heat in his eyes stalled her words.

“Let’s go home.”

“Okay.”

Instead of leading her down the street toward her house, he brought her to a small silver Honda Civic and opened the passenger door for her. “I traded in my car,” he said with an awkward shrug.

She sat and buckled her seat belt, taking in the clean, nonleather interior of the car. Nothing about it reminded her of Aliza. “I like this better.”

“You would.” He smiled as he got behind the wheel. “I’m partnering with Quan to start a clothing line, and I needed startup funds. Since I quit escorting, there was no reason to keep that car.”

He was finally doing it—quitting escorting, taking chances, and making a name for himself. In that moment, he was so perfect to her she wanted to launch herself across the gearshift and kiss him until he was breathless.

“That’s great. I’m so happy for you, Michael.” But the thought of him selling his car because he needed money bothered her, especially when he’d returned her check. “Do you still have some of your mom’s medical bills to pay? Did the foundation’s medical assistance program fail to cover everything?”

He tilted his head as he frowned at her. “How do you know about my mom’s bills or the program?” After a moment’s hesitation, his eyes widened. “Was it you?”

She averted her eyes.

“It was you,” he said in a discovering voice. “How did you know about my mom’s lack of insurance?”

“That night at your apartment, I saw the bills, and I made the connection between the cost of her treatment and your escorting fees. I think . . . that’s when I fell all the way in love with you.”

A boyish grin spread over his lips. “I was going to get those words out of you in the most delicious way.” But then his smile vanished, replaced by a thoughtful line. “It must have cost a fortune. You started an entire medical program. Just how rich are you?”

She worried her bottom lip as she continued to hug the teddy bear. “I’m not that rich anymore. Well, I’m kind of rich. It depends on how you define it. You’re probably not going to like it. Are you sure you want to know?”

“Out with it, Stella.”

“I had a trust fund. There was about fifteen million dollars in it,” she said with a shrug. “I donated it to the Palo Alto Medical Foundation to start that medical program.”

“You gave away your entire trust fund? For me?”

“That’s kind of what you’re supposed to do with money like that, isn’t it? Give it away? I can support myself with my salary. It’s just money, Michael, and I couldn’t stand the idea that you were being forced into escorting. If you want to do it, that’s one thing. But if you don’t . . .” She shook her head. “I was determined to give you a choice. Besides, we’re helping lots of families now. It’s a good thing.”

“We?” He leaned forward and kissed her cheek, the corner of her mouth. “That was all you. That money was not mine.” He pressed a series of kisses to her lips. “Thank you for giving me that choice so I could pick you. Thank you for being you. I love you.”

She couldn’t help smiling then. She didn’t think she’d ever get tired of hearing him say that. “Now I can say my boyfriend is a designer with complete confidence. That is, if you are my boyfriend. Are you?”

Instead of answering right away, he started the engine and drove out of the parking lot. Eyes on the road and voice casual, he said, “I better be your boyfriend. Since I’m asking you to marry me in three months.”

Stella’s jaw dropped as shock washed over her in waves that alternated between hot and cold. “Why are you telling me this?”

A small smile played on his lips as he darted a quick glance her way before focusing on the road once again. “Because you don’t like surprises, and I figured you’d need time to get used to the idea.”

He was right about that, but before she could dwell on it too much, he dropped one of his hands from the wheel and caught hers, interlacing their fingers the way he always did.

Saying nothing, she let the moment wash over her, the uncertainty, the breathless hope, the anxiousness, and the shimmering contentment. The sight of their intertwined hands pleased her. So different, but still five fingers and five knuckles, the same general blueprint.

She tightened her grip, and he squeezed her back. Palm to palm, two lonely halves found comfort together.