Chapter Five
She hadn’t called him.
Stephanie had put Derek out on her doorstep the night before, with polite murmurs about needing to work and not wanting to take up more of his time. He wasn’t sure if she was angry with him or just uncomfortable with the situation, but he’d somehow found himself looking at her polite smile—followed by her front door.
The same door he was looking at right now, standing in a rather grubby hall in a full tuxedo and listening to her neighbors scream at each other. From what he could make out from their garbled Spanish, the man had cheated on the woman. A crash sounded. If those crashes turned into gunshots, Stephanie would be sleeping in his hotel room tonight.
If she was even here. She hadn’t called to give him the time, to tell him the name of the restaurant, to let him know if they were meeting there or arriving together. Nothing. Pure cold shoulder. So he’d hazarded a guess, and arrived early enough that even if they were late, it would be fashionably so. Wheeler would give them knowing looks, of course. Young lovebirds. Always so distracted by each other.
The farce shouldn’t make him so uneasy. He was helping his friend’s sister get ahead at work. Nothing more.
So why hadn’t he knocked yet?
He rapped on the door and waited. He’d almost thought she’d left without him by the time the door opened. She was breathless, her hair curled to lay about her shoulders in gleaming ringlets that shone like polished teak, her slender frame dwarfed in an oversized bathrobe. One eye was dusted with silver-dark shadow that brought out the luminescent gray of her eye, the other bare. “I just need five more minutes. You’re early.”
“It would help if you’d told me when to arrive.”
She blinked. “Didn’t I?”
Her dumbfounded expression coaxed a smile. He’d thought she was cold-shouldering him, and she’d just been distracted. His own fault for assuming the worst. “Apparently your umbrella isn’t the only thing you forgot.”
“Oh. Well. Sorry, I just…you know. Lot on my mind.”
Like that kiss? he wondered, but said nothing as he followed her inside—and latched all the locks behind him, including the deadbolt. Just to be safe. How could Aaron let Stephanie live somewhere like this? She could be mugged or murdered just unlocking her front door, and…
…and why was he making it his problem?
He sank down on the couch to wait. Tonight would be interesting. He knew next to nothing about Stephanie. Aaron had never talked about his family much in college, and Derek doubted Aaron had said particularly much about his friends when home for the holidays—not that Derek’s would be a long story to tell. By college he’d already immersed himself in his dream of starting his own company, and had been intently focused on his studies. He’d started his first LLC by junior year, and it had only grown from there. He’d never been good at taking orders from someone else—but as long as he held the reins, he didn’t have to.
Would Aaron have told Stephanie all of that? Or was he as much a stranger to her as she was to him? Yet tonight he had to pretend he knew Stephanie well enough to love her—and loved her enough to want to marry her. And he had to pull it off convincingly if he wanted to make a shrewd businessman believe it, forcing a public display of emotion that went against every inch of his ingrained training.
He never should have accepted Aaron’s lunch invite.
The bedroom door creaked open, and Stephanie slipped out. Her strapless black gown whispered over her body in caressing sighs of soft fabric; the pale skin of her shoulders and delicate crests of her collarbones were like moonlight above a glittering night sea. She’d swept her curls up into a loose chignon, and they fountained from the twist into a lustrous froth that lay against the white column of her throat.
The sight of her held him, compelled him, and he stood slowly, drawing closer. Her wide, smoky eyes mirrored the twisting in his chest, the burn deep down in his stomach. “Que belleza,” he murmured, and the soft Spanish words felt like a prayer leaving his lips.
She bit down on her lip. Her fingers knotted so tight in her elegant clutch purse it turned into a mangled twist of velvet. Her gaze slid over his body, and her tongue, pink and damp and distracting, slid over her lower lip. He ached to do the same.
“I don’t speak Spanish,” she whispered.
“You don’t need to.” He brushed his fingertip down her jaw. “You are beautiful.”
“Oh.” She swallowed hard. “Well. Um. Que belleza to you too.”
He smiled. Quiet laughter welled up in his chest. “You think I’m beautiful?”
“No! I mean—I—oh damn it.” Color crept high in her cheeks, and she looked mutinously away with a sweet little pout. “…you shouldn’t smile like that.”
“Why not?”
“Because it makes me think you’re a human being, and not the Dominican T-1000,” she huffed.
“Puerto Rican.”
“What?”
“My mother was Puerto Rican,” he said, and offered her his arm. “Shall we?”
She eyed his arm as if it might bite her, lifted her hand—but her phone rang, breaking the spell. She took a hasty step back, pulled her flip phone from her purse, and lifted it to her ear.
“Hello?” Her eyes took on a far-seeing look, before her jaw tightened and her shoulders sagged. “No. Not yet. But if you give me another month, I’ll get it to you by the end of the week.” She paused, then closed her eyes. “…I know. I do. I’m sorry. Just…please. One week. I’ll have the rent…yes. Yes. Thank you.”
The latter clearly came hard to her, and as she closed the phone she sat stiffly on the couch and pressed her face into her palm. Derek watched helplessly. There was nothing he could do, yet he felt as if he should do something. Anything other than standing here like an unfeeling stone statue. The T-1000, she’d called him. How fitting.
He sank down next to her. “You cannot pay your rent.”
She shrugged in a short, sharp jerk. “I will. I’m sorry you had to hear that.”
He reached into his pocket, his fingers closing around his wallet. “Do you need money?”
“No,” she snarled, then took a deep breath and flashed a forced, artificially flirtatious smile. “If anything, I should be paying you. You’re the hired entertainment for the night.”
“You’ll accept that favor, but not this one?”
That smile vanished, and she shot him a sharp look. “I’m already indebted to you for this mess. I won’t ask for more. Thank you, but no thank you.”
He frowned, but let go of his wallet. “What about Aaron? Does he know—?”
“No.” She stood and glared at him. “And he doesn’t need to know. Not one word, Derek.”
He bit back his argument. The stubborn little thing wouldn’t budge, if she was anything like her brother. He worked his jaw and stood. “Very well, Miss Miller.”
“When you say my name like that, I feel like a spinster schoolmarm.” She snorted. That fake smile was back, plastic and strained. “We’re supposed to be in love. Hearts and flowers on a first-name basis.”
His brows rose. “Is that what you think love is? Hearts and flowers?”
“Not really,” she said, “but I can’t fit puppies and kittens in this stupid tiny purse.” She tossed her head and headed for the door, her heels clicking, her hips swaying. “Come on, before I figure out a way to kill myself just by walking in heels.”
Downstairs, they climbed into the waiting cab and settled in. Neither spoke again until they were deep in downtown traffic, the city lights crawling past. She glanced at him, then blurted out, “We should probably go over a few basics about each other. So we sound realistic. I can count the things I know about you on one hand after a fireworks accident.”
“Basics such as…?”
“Favorite foods. Pet peeves. Work. I don’t know, things people know about each other when they’re in love.”
“Have you never been in love to know?” He had trouble believing that even as he asked. She was a wild little thing who seemed made to love and be loved, brimming with enough unfettered emotion for ten women. She hesitated. Her eyes lowered, and then she looked away, quickly, glancing at something outside the window. “I thought I was. Once.”
The silence that followed was strained. Her profile was ethereal under a panorama of shifting lights that slid over her skin like oil, gilding the bridge of her nose, its upturned tip, her glossed and parted lips. He’d said something wrong. What, he wasn’t sure. But he was starting to think there was more to this woman than her kittenish charm, and he wondered what could make such an animated little thing suddenly turn so still.
“I’ll start,” he said quietly. Perhaps he could coax her to speak again. “How long have you been with Inner State?”
“Almost a year.” Her small smile was distracted. “They hired me as a temp, with the possibility of full-time employment. My temporary position is up in March.”
So she barely had a week or two left on her contract. “Do you still sleep with a night light?”
The whites of her eyes flashed in the darkened cab. Her mouth dropped open. “I—you—how did you know that?”
“Guess.”
“I’m going to kill him.”
His mouth twitched involuntarily. “That’s a yes, then.”
“I stopped when I was sixteen!” She hunched down against the leather upholstery. “…I liked scary movies, okay? But they stopped being fun after dark.”
“What was your favorite?”
“The Grudge.”
“Mm.” She was sulking, and it was adorable. He wanted to pull that sulky mouth to his and— “I prefer the original Japanese version. Ju-On.”
She blinked at him. “You like horror movies?”
“Is that so surprising?”
“Well…yeah. You’re, you know…”
“…gifted with a battery-operated stick up my ass?” he offered with a dry smile.
Her sudden laugh could have lit the entire cab. “Yes.” She leaned a little closer, eyes glittering impishly. “I’ll tell you a secret.”
He swayed closer, lured by that wicked gleam. “And that is?”
“I still have the night light. It’s pink. My Little Pony.”
“Your little what…?”
“You are such a boy.” She laughed again. “God, we sound like we’re in junior high and playing Truth or Dare. Is it my turn to ask yet? I have to think of a good one.”
“Missed your turn. When did you graduate?”
“You don’t play fair.” She shrugged. “Two years ago. I’ve been bouncing from one temp job to another ever since. I’m hoping this is my last contract…but right now it doesn’t look promising.”
He captured her hand. Her fingers were soft and small in his, and as he leaned closer he caught the scent of lavender. “You’ll get your investor, Stephanie. I’m your advantage, remember?”
She withdrew her hand with a tense smile. “Are you the guy who ate a cheeseburger after it fell on a New York sidewalk?”
“That was Michael.”
“Oh.” She pointed a finger at him, her eyes alight. “Then you must be the one who got caught having sex in the library.”
Of course Aaron had told that story—and left out that it was about himself. Derek wasn’t going to be the one to tell her the truth. His phone vibrated in his pocket; he took advantage of the distraction to check it. Work emails, even this late at night. They were starting to pile up. He was trying not to feel guilty, and failing. “Not me.”
“Oh, come on!” She scowled. “There has to be some dirt on you. You’re way too serious. Guys like you are usually secret freaks on an R. Kelly level.”
He eyed her sidelong and tucked his phone away. Work would have to wait until after dinner.
She returned his gaze with a long, discerning look. “Like I said. Too serious.” She looked out the window again. “Next question. Are your parents still together?”
He stiffened. “I’d prefer not to discuss my family.”
“If you’re my fiancé, I should know more about you.”
Derek shook his head. “He won’t be asking about me. He’ll be asking about you. You don’t need to know my whole life story.”
“And if you’re wrong?”
He narrowed his eyes. “Why would they possibly want to know about my family?”
Stephanie glared back at him, fearless and challenging. “What if they ask a simple question and I panic and blow the whole thing because I don’t know your favorite food? Or what your mom’s name is?”
“It’s not a multiple choice quiz with an answer key. You could say my mother’s name is Conchetta McFee and they wouldn’t know any difference.”
Her mouth quirked at the corners. She half-swallowed a snickering sound. “Conchetta McFee?”
One side of his mouth quirked up. “Be quiet, you impudent imp. You put me on the spot.”
“See? Even you’re getting flustered. Now imagine me, trying to make up something convincing with Rodgers and Wheeler staring at me. When I tell them your childhood pet was a cactus and you used to pretend to be a goldfish in the bathtub, it’s completely your fault.”
“Dragon, actually.”
“…you pretended to be a dragon?”
“Yes.” He looked firmly out the window. “I thought the Loch Ness monster was a dragon, and I’d use my toy boats to drown hapless sailors.”
She burst into that silvery, engaging laughter again, and leaned over to nudge him with her shoulder. “You know, you’re almost cute…for a Terminator.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment,” he said, and forced a tight smile.
She was waiting. He could feel it in her silence, in the soft, curious way she looked at him. He was tempted to kiss her. Kiss her so she’d stop asking her questions; kiss her so she’d stop prying at him, needing to know him. She wasn’t asking for his life story. She wasn’t asking for the dirty details, like how many beatings it had taken before Derek had fought back against his father. Like the words spoken between them when he’d walked out, and become his own man.
Because he was never really his own man, as long as he lived by the rules his father had whipped into him, beating the last of his defiance out of him.
Maybe it was a spark of that defiance that made him speak. “My mother is gone,” he said, and took a deep breath. “She died when I was a boy.”
She made a soft, sympathetic sound. Her hand on his arm was like a little spot of soft flame, burning through his coat sleeve. “How did it happen?”
“Cancer.” His throat was dry, constricting. “After that it was just me and my father, and the servants who raised me. He and I don’t speak anymore. I still send cards for my old butler’s birthday, but don’t even remember when my father’s is. That’s about the sum of my childhood.”
She bit her lower lip. “I’m s—”
“Don’t. Don’t say you’re sorry. I’m not. It’s in the past.” If only he could leave it there. He looked out the window and took a calming breath. “How long have you been in your current apartment?”
She watched him from the corner of her eye. “Almost a year.”
“Do you have any idea how unsafe it is?”
“If you start lecturing me I swear to God I’ll knee you in the nuts. Which is step two in my self-defense plan, by the way. The first is the pepper spray in my purse.”
“Touché.” He leaned back and crossed his ankle over his knee. “How old are you again? Twenty-four or twenty-five?”
“Twenty-four.” She met his eyes. “Are you the same age as Aaron?”
“Yes. Twenty-nine. Have you ever been in a serious relationship before me? Ever been engaged?”
“None that I want to talk about with you.” Her cheeks flushed red. “What about you? Any special women I need to know about? Any past fiancées or long lost loves?”
“I’m not the marrying kind.”
She tilted her head. “Never?”
“Never,” he said flatly.
“Good to know my fiancé is never getting married.” She tipped her head back and closed her eyes. “Maybe we should be done with the interrogation portion of the evening. I’m tired already, and we haven’t even gotten there.”
He studied the arch of her neck. His fingers rested loose against his knee, but tightened with the need to touch. “Feeling a little too violated and probed?”
She snorted. “Please. If I was being violated or probed, this would be a hell of a lot more fun.” She covered her mouth and met his gaze with wide eyes. “I did not just say that out loud, did I?”
His laughter slipped out before he could contain it. “You did.” And now he couldn’t get the image of her writhing beneath him out of his head.
This evening was already off to a brilliant start.