CHAPTER FIVE
SARAH had spent three days visiting shops in and around New York with Caleb Lewis. They had stopped in boutiques, in major department stores, in salesmen’s offices. In every store, with every person, she noticed one consistent fact—
Caleb Lewis was involved. Not just with the business, but with every element of it, from the designs to the distribution to the marketing. He talked to his customers, and he listened and, even more, he went back to the office with that information and implemented change. He was genuinely invested in this company, so much more than Sarah had ever thought or expected.
All this time, she’d thought he was merely a playboy who’d inherited a company he didn’t really want, a figure-head blowing through the Lewis dollars with one model after another by his side.
Could she have been wrong?
Sarah sat across from Caleb Lewis in the roomy office that had once belonged to his mother, and flipped through a selection of catalogs from past seasons. For the hundredth time, she wondered why Lenora Lewis wasn’t here. The woman had been so involved in her company, and then she’d just dropped out of sight. Retired, Caleb had said, and as far as Sarah had been able to determine, that was exactly what Lenora had done.
But why? Why would she walk away just as the company was floundering and leave it in the hands of her son, who was full of good intentions, but not so much experience? Why not return and give him a helping hand until the company got over this hump?
When he’d told her about his mother, Caleb had left something out, but what, she didn’t know. There was definitely a detail or two, though, that he’d skipped when he was talking about Lenora and why she was no longer at the company.
Had there been a familial falling-out? A corporate disagreement? Or had Lenora been so ready to retire after forty years at the helm that she refused to return?
Whatever Caleb wasn’t telling Sarah, she had the feeling it was big. Something that would make her article have that intangible element that drew in readers.
“Finding what you need?” Caleb asked.
She glanced up at him. Every time her gaze connected with his, her heart tripped. Damn. It wasn’t just that Caleb was handsome, it was the way he looked at her—looked into her. “Um, yeah. Fine.”
Caleb’s words from the other day came back to her.
I noticed. You.
The sentences echoed in her head, and sent twin thrills of suspicion and joy running through her. Because he was buttering up the writer part of her? Or because he was genuinely interested?
She had to tread carefully. Just because a handsome man was showing her attention was no reason to lose her focus. She needed her job—needed it as much, if not more now than she ever had before.
Get back to work. Get the story, not the man.
“Have you worked up any preliminary designs for the shoe line?” she asked.
“Well, we have a few. But the problem is that we want them to complement the fall line’s clothing and I’m rethinking that after your comments.”
“Rethinking the fall line? But the fashion shows are only a few days away.”
He ran a hand through his hair, making what had been neat a perfect mess. Sarah resisted the urge to tangle her own fingers in his dark curls. “I know. I know.”
She leaned forward. “I think it’s kind of like writing an article. Before I put a piece together, I figure out what tone and voice I want it to have. Snarky or serious. Funny or dramatic. If you can come up with the voice for this season’s collection, then I think you’ll have the direction for the new line, too.”
Caleb toyed with a pencil on his desk, chewing over her words. “I’ve never really approached it that way before. I think so far, we’ve just been trying to capitalize on what has been making us successful in the past.”
“Yeah, but if you ask me, what’s made this company a success in the past is that it never went back. It always moved forward.”
He snorted. “That’s a little easier said than done.”
Sarah’s cell phone began to ring. The familiar chirpy tone escalated in volume, demanding an answer. Either she answered now, or he’d call back. And back. And back. Until she finally acquiesced and picked up the phone. She fished the slim phone out of her purse. “I’m sorry. I really have to take this.”
Caleb nodded. “No problem.”
“Hi, Dad,” Sarah said into the mouthpiece. “I’m in a meeting right now and—”
“Sorry, pumpkin. But this is an emergency.”
Alarm rose in Sarah. The last time he’d said that, he had cut his head open while he was getting out of the shower and needed a half dozen stitches. “Are you okay? Did you fall down?”
“Hell, no. I just can’t figure out how to make this damned remote control work. Every button I push turns the TV off. I just want to watch my crime shows, not get a master’s degree in techno-babble.”
Sarah let out a sigh. Thank God he was okay. “Dad, something like this could have waited until I got home.”
“How long is that going to take? Eight hours? Plus travel time? Do you know how long that is when I’m sitting here on this sofa of yours? Which is mighty uncomfortable, I might add. You should pick out better furniture.”
Sarah bit back a gust of frustration. Her father liked to think he was being helpful when he criticized everything from her dish detergent to her oatmeal selection. Sarah had grown used to Martin’s “input” long ago, and looked at it as his way of saying he loved her. Albeit, not the best way, but at least he was concerned. “Dad, let me explain the remote.” She ran through the operating instructions, then said a firm goodbye and hung up the phone. “Sorry about that,” she said to Caleb.
“I understand. I worked for my mother off and on through high school and college. It was…challenging sometimes. We loved each other, but there were days when we drove each other nuts.” With that, another small thread extended between them, knitted from shared experiences. She shrugged it off. The last thing she needed was a connection with this man. For one, she didn’t have time, and for another—
She clearly wasn’t his type. Hadn’t she gotten that message in the restaurant the other day? Or when some of the models had paraded by his office earlier this morning and “popped in” just to say hi to Caleb—spending a good ten minutes flirting with him?
Beautiful, leggy women, with the kind of looks Sarah had always wanted, but somehow never mastered. Not that she’d spent a whole lot of time trying. She’d been too busy holding her family together and holding down a job to do much more than apply lipstick in the morning. She hadn’t thought much about her lack of morning prep until now, when it seemed the entire fashion world was strutting by her table, and attracting the attention of the man across from her.
What if she did look like one of those women? Would Caleb Lewis brush his lips across her cheeks? Would he flash her that smile of his? Ask her on a date?
Insane thoughts, Sarah. Buy a tube of mascara and get over the whole fantasizing-about-Caleb Lewis thing.
She cleared her throat. “Now, to get back to what you were about to—”
The phone started again. The same peppy tone that was hooked to one specific caller—
Her father.
“Dad,” she hissed into the phone. “I’m in a meeting. I can’t talk right now.”
“I know, I know, and I’m sorry, but this will only take a second.”
Sarah rubbed her temples. “Okay. What?”
“I was trying to be helpful, you know, and so I started making something to eat, and well…” He paused a second. “I had a mishap.”
Oh, this didn’t bode well. At all. The last time her father had helped cook, she’d had to call the fire department. “Dad, step away from the stove. I’ll be home soon.”
She rose, stuffing her phone back in her purse. “I’m extremely sorry, but I really have to go.”
“Parental troubles?” Caleb came around his desk and stood before her.
Sarah sighed. “You have no idea. My father moved in with me last year and he’s been…difficult. He means well, but he’s not exactly Mr. Self-Sufficient. Sometimes, I feel like I have a toddler at home.”
“Want a hand with that?” Caleb reached for her before she stepped away. The momentary contact seared her skin.
She eyed him. “Why would you want to help me?”
“Because I know what it’s like to be a parental babysitter of sorts, and maybe I can run interference for you.”
The thought of having someone else there to help her get through to her stubborn father sounded good. Very good. Just someone else to shoulder the burdens that Sarah had been carrying way too long by herself.
But Caleb Lewis? Oh, that could be a dangerous mistake. Mixing business with personal? Hadn’t she vowed a thousand times to keep things between them strictly professional? Not to get caught up in his touch, his eyes, his smile? For the past few days, she’d done a good job of keeping things on a business-only level. They’d talked about the company, toured shops, spent time in the factory. All the while, she’d been aware of him—she couldn’t get within five feet of the man and not be overwhelmingly aware of him—but she hadn’t acted on any of those feelings.
And now she was considering bringing him home to meet her father? If anything opened the door to a relationship, that did. “I shouldn’t…”
“You should,” Caleb said, placing a hand on her arm again. Zings ran through her, and she told herself to pull away. Told herself to break the contact.
She did neither.
“I can see the stress all over your face,” he said. “And take it from someone who has been there. A helping hand, even if it’s just to negotiate dinner prep, can make all the difference in the world.”
Oh, having Caleb Lewis spend more time with her was going to make a difference. That, she could tell just by the way her traitorous hormones ran through in a frenzy. But that kind of difference could be dangerous.
A huge step out of her comfort zone.
Wasn’t that what she was supposed to be doing? Part of the whole new life plan? Nevertheless, she hadn’t done a single out-of-the-comfort-zone thing except take home those Frederick Ks without her boss’s knowledge or permission. Look how well that had turned out.
Sarah glanced at Caleb. “Maybe—”
Then yet another model poked her head into his office, calling out Caleb’s name. Sarah drew herself up. This was Caleb Lewis. The man who personified playboy. He was a lot more trouble than a pair of stilettos.
“Thanks,” she said, offering him a smile, “but I’m just fine on my own. Good day, Mr. Lewis.”
Night fell, draping its blanket of darkness over the city. Outside, streetlights flickered on, incandescent bulbs warmed homes and hearths and people settled in for the end of the day.
But not Caleb Lewis. He sat in his apartment, watching the city blink outside his window. From here, it seemed like hundreds of fireflies flicking their glowing tails, flitting into a window, along a walkway, down a busy street. Jazz music played on his stereo, a lonely sweet melody filling the dark corners of the apartment, dancing life over the inanimate furniture.
He sipped at a bourbon on the rocks. The pricey liquor slid down his throat with a slight satiny burn. The alcohol didn’t make anything easier, but it sure as hell made it seem as if he could sit here long enough and the right decision would just come to him. Dozens of nights he’d spent sitting in this chair, sometimes even falling asleep where he sat, and he had yet to figure out a damned thing.
There was a gentle nudge at his elbow. Caleb glanced down. “Hey, Mac. I bet I know what you want.”
The chocolate lab panted out a yes-yes, then, when Caleb didn’t get to his feet, the seven-year-old dog let out a sigh and dropped to his haunches beside Caleb’s chair. Patient, quiet. Knowing his master would eventually pull himself out of this funk, snap on the leash and take both of them out into the night. Or even better, fill the food bowl with a second meal of the day.
Caleb rubbed the dog’s head, and Mac pressed himself against the chair. The dog, so loyal and, yet, so unaware of the agonizing decisions racing through Caleb’s head. How he tossed around the same list of pros and cons and impossible solutions. “What would you do?”
The dog didn’t answer. He never did. If Caleb really wanted an answer, he’d ask a human.
Instead, he sipped at the bourbon and watched the city. And thought about where he had gone wrong in his life, and how he would probably try to fill that hole again tonight with yet another loud, mindless night.
And in the end, come back here, exhausted, but no more fulfilled. No happier than when he’d left and certainly no closer to the right decision.
Or…he could make another choice. One that sent him down a different path than the crooked one he’d been following for way too long.
“What are you, some kind of stalker?” Martin Griffin crossed his arms over his chest and eyed Caleb. He was a tall man with a barrel chest—at least six inches taller than Caleb—and he used that height advantage to loom large and imposing.
Caleb had seen the badge encased in glass on the mantel and wondered if the interrogation was because Martin was a former cop or because he was a father or both. Either way, Caleb couldn’t blame the man. If Sarah had been his daughter, he’d have been suspicious of any man showing up on the doorstep.
For the fourth time since he’d rung Sarah Griffin’s doorbell, Caleb wondered if he’d done the wrong thing. He’d gotten her address out of the phone book, and just shown up on her doorstep. Instead of finding Sarah at the door, though, he found her father.
“Uh, no, sir. Not a stalker at all,” Caleb said.
“Just making sure.” Martin leaned in closer. His light blue eyes seemed to see into Caleb’s brain and the scowl on his face said he wasn’t happy with what he was reading there. “You never know when some stranger follows my little girl home.”
“I didn’t follow her. I just stopped by to visit.”
Martin harrumphed. Showing how much he believed that.
The apartment door opened and Sarah breezed in, a large tote bag stuffed with papers slung over her shoulder. Clearly, she’d just left work, and like him, brought as much of it home as she left behind in the office. “Hey, Dad, I was thinking for dinner we could—”
The sentence died in her throat when she saw Caleb. “What are you doing here?”
“I offered to help, remember?”
“You want me to get rid of him?” Martin asked, staring at Caleb as though he was a trash bag, ready to be hauled to the curb. “Is he one of those crazy guys who can’t take no for an answer?”
“No, not at all. Caleb is a…” Her voice trailed off and she glanced at him.
“Colleague,” Caleb finished.
Could he have picked a lamer description? But another option didn’t come to mind. He and Sarah weren’t friends, exactly, and they certainly weren’t lovers. They were…
Colleagues, as cold as that word sounded. Distant. And not at all the kind of thoughts he’d been having this whole week. They’d spent day after day together, and though their every conversation had been about work, his mind had been elsewhere. Fantasizing about kissing her, about taking her in his arms, and about what it would feel like to run his hand over that sweet peach skin—that didn’t fit in the description of work peers.
Yeah, probably not the best thing to tell her father.
Martin harrumphed again, then crossed the room and dropped into a leather recliner that had seen better days. Its battered brown sides and duct-tape-repaired footrest stood in stark contrast to the sleek white-and-glass modern furniture filling the rest of the room, furnishings that reflected Sarah’s fresh, direct personality. Clearly, the chair had come with Martin.
Sarah sighed and rolled her eyes at her father before turning to Caleb. “Can I get you something to drink?” she said to Caleb.
“Get the man a beer,” Martin said before Caleb could answer. “Men like beer.”
Caleb grinned. “Beer’s fine.”
She ducked into the kitchen, leaving Caleb alone with her father. Martin eyed him as if he might make off with the silver at any moment. Clearly, Caleb wasn’t racking up too many brownie points here.
“What do you want for dinner, Dad?” Sarah called from the kitchen. “I have some chicken in the fridge—”
“Not anymore.” Martin frowned. “That damned stove gets too hot. My chicken fricassee got fricasseed and then some.”
Sarah returned, handing an opened beer to Caleb. “Okay, then the steaks I bought. Those—”
“Have gone on to a better place.” Martin put up his hands in a wasn’t-my-fault gesture. “That broiler ain’t much better.”
“Didn’t I tell you to shut off the stove today?”
“I did. After I tried cooking a meal.” Martin scowled. “I was trying to be helpful, you know.” His face softened. “You do too much for me, little girl, and I was just trying to repay you a little.”
“I know. And I appreciate it, but really, Dad, I don’t mind cooking.” Sarah crossed to the closet, and hung up her coat, then did the same with Caleb’s. “How about I just open a can of soup? You like that tomato one.”
“Or I could take you all out,” Caleb cut in. He could read the frustration bubbling in Sarah from across the room. Undoubtedly, this kitchen-disaster scenario had played out more than once before between father and daughter.
Martin kicked out the base of the recliner, then clicked on the television. A game show roared to life. “I don’t like going out. Too much work involved just to get a meal.”
Sarah sighed. “Dad—”
“Then we’ll order in. No work for anyone.” Caleb flipped out his cell phone. “What would you like, Martin? Steak? Burgers?”
There was a pause as Martin assessed Caleb. “Well, if you’re going to force me to eat…” A ghost of a smile appeared on Martin’s face. “Steak. Medium. Baked potato with all the extras. And lots of rolls.”
“Dad, there’s hardly a vegetable in that.”
Martin shrugged. “Potato’s a vegetable.”
“All health benefits are canceled by the sour cream, the butter, the salt and the bacon bits you put on top of it.” Sarah made a face. “Not to mention all the white flour in the—”
“Sarah, you know I love you. And I know you love me, too. But if you try to tell me about one more thing that’s going to clog my arteries or raise my cholesterol, I think I’ll have to ground you.”
Sarah laughed. “I am far too old to be grounded. And someone needs to tell you how to take care of yourself. God knows you’re not going to do it. The doctor has already told you to watch your meat consumption. If you’d just have more vegetables, you’d be a lot healthier.”
“Vegetables, shmegetables.” Martin patted his ample belly. “I’m a meat-and-potatoes guy. Always will be. You aren’t going to change that.”
Sarah ceded the argument and sent Caleb a smile of gratitude. The best she could do was sneak some vegetables into the spaghetti sauce, add pureed apples to her father’s morning oatmeal, and insist he take a vitamin every day. Martin Griffin had always been a stubborn man, and Sarah had learned to pick her battles. She needed to accept she wasn’t going to win the one over vegetables.
Caleb shot her a grin, then completed his call, placing the order for delivery. While they waited for the food, Caleb and her father exchanged small talk and Sarah set about cleaning up the disaster in her kitchen from her father’s attempt at chicken fricassee. She soaked the burner covers, expended about a thousand calories scrubbing off the burnt bits of food in the oven and the cooktop, then did dishes until her fingers wrinkled.
By the time she came out of the kitchen, Caleb and Martin were chatting and laughing like old friends. She paused in the entryway, watching them. She hadn’t seen her father smile that much in years. His face was animated, his eyes bright, and the laughter that poured from him was the deep, hearty sound she had missed so much over the last few years.
Her dad—like he used to be, before his wife died and his world turned inside-out. Ever since then, he’d been a ghost of himself. She’d tried everything—calling his old friends, insisting he join a book club, dragging him to nearly every new movie released, but nothing had worked. Until now.
The change she had prayed to see in him was finally coming to light. Tears sprang to her eyes, but she whisked them away before they made an appearance on her cheeks.
The doorbell rang. Caleb answered it and insisted on paying for dinner, even though Sarah offered several times. “My treat,” he said.
“Thank you. You really don’t have to do all this.”
He laughed. “Ah, but isn’t this my specialty?”
“What?”
“Sharing a meal with a beautiful woman.”
Beautiful. She tried not to let the word affect her. To tell herself he was just joking. She was so far from his type, she wasn’t on the same planet. And besides, she knew what kind of man he was. She’d written the sentences that described him as a “footloose bachelor,” a “determined playboy,” a “charming heir to the fashion throne.”
But the man she saw in her apartment living room, the one who had eased the tension between her and her father, who had gotten Martin to laugh and smile, didn’t seem to fit any of those adjectives. Was it all an act just to get her to write more positive stories about him? Or was this man the true Caleb, the one who existed under the intoxicating smile and models hanging on his every word?
“Thank you,” she said, taking the food from him. Their fingertips brushed and a heat that had nothing to do with the food raced along Sarah’s skin. She had gone all these days without touching him, but the thought of what his touch would be like had always been there in the back of her mind.
“Anytime,” Caleb said.
Sarah just nodded and headed back into the kitchen. Don’t think about him. Don’t give in to the temptation.
She busied herself with dishing up the food and setting the kitchen table. A few minutes later, the three of them sat around her small round walnut table. Despite everything she’d just vowed, she couldn’t help but notice how domestic it all felt. Sitting across from Caleb gave her an image of the future. If only.
If only he wasn’t who he was. If only she would take a chance on him. If only she believed in fairy tales instead of writing about the dissolution of happily-ever-afters.
“Wherever you got this food from,” Sarah said, “it’s delicious.”
“I agree,” Martin said as he finished off his last bite of steak. “Best damned cow I’ve ever eaten.”
Caleb smiled. “You really liked it?”
Martin gestured at the half a steak remaining on Caleb’s plate. “You gonna eat that, skinny? Because if you aren’t, I will.”
Caleb pushed his plate across the table. “Help yourself.”
Her father polished off his second helpings in record time. Then he sat back in his chair and rubbed a circle over his stomach. “If I had known a kitchen disaster would bring about a meal like that, I’d have set the stove on fire a long time ago.”
“Dad! I hope you’re not serious.”
Her father sent her a wink.
“I’d be glad to treat you again,” Caleb said. “Especially to a meal so good for your health.”
Martin chuckled. “Good for my health. That’s a good one.”
“I’m serious.” Caleb leaned in, and caught Sarah’s gaze for a moment. “Because this ‘steak’ dinner was actually vegetarian. Soy steak, as it were.”
Martin jerked back, as if the plate might bite him. His silverware clattered onto the white porcelain. “Soy? As in that bean thing?”
“Yep. Tastes just like the real thing, doesn’t it?”
“Well…yeah, it does. Tastes damned good, in fact.” Martin glanced back down at his empty plate and chuckled. “Well, I’ll be. Fake steak. Ain’t that the damndest thing ever?” He rose, and clapped a hand on Caleb’s shoulder. “I like this one, Sarah. Bring him around again.”
Then her father headed back into the living room to catch a rerun of his favorite sitcom, still puzzling over the dinner switch while Sarah and Caleb cleaned up. She loaded the dishes into soapy water and he bundled up the few leftovers into plastic containers. Sarah turned the water off, then pivoted and put her back to the sink. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” He grinned again, and she realized she was getting used to seeing his smile. One of these days—soon—she’d be done with the article and she’d only see that smile when he used it on another woman in a nightclub.
That day wasn’t today. Thank goodness.
“You did a great thing today. It was more than just the steak.” She smiled. “Where did you get the idea to order vegetarian steak?”
“My mother. She also had high cholesterol and blood pressure that made the nurse cringe. Didn’t matter to my mother. She liked what she liked, and that was it, no arguments. She was going to have her chocolate cake and the sauce on the side, too.” A smile flitted across his face, but this one was bittersweet. What secrets did he keep tucked in that gesture? “So I called around to all the bakeries in the area until I found one that made a healthy chocolate cake. She couldn’t tell the difference, and after that, as long as it tasted like the real thing, she’d eat it.”
“I went through the same things with my mother,” Sarah said. She plunged the sponge into a glass, then rinsed it, and paused a moment before putting it in the strainer. “When I was ten, my mother got breast cancer. She beat it the first time, but then it came back, and she had a long, long tough time before she died. I did my best to make her healthy meals that tasted good but sometimes getting her to eat was a battle.”
Caleb’s hand lighted on her shoulder. “I’m sorry. That must have been so hard on you.”
She nodded, and felt the sting of tears against the back of her eyes. Oh, damn. She didn’t want to cry. Not now. Not in front of Caleb.
His hand lingered on her, and a tear slid down Sarah’s cheek. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologize. How long ago did she die?”
Sarah’s gaze met his. “Two years. Some days it feels like yesterday.”
“I’m sorry,” he said again, and she could hear the heart felt sentiment in his voice, the sympathy in the syllables.
She nodded, then sighed, and put the glass in the strainer before reaching for another. “Have you ever watched someone you love go through something so painful, so difficult, you find yourself praying for their suffering to end?”
There was a long pause, so long, Sarah glanced over at Caleb. His features were as set as stone, his gaze on something outside her window. “No. But I can imagine how difficult it must be.”
She had a feeling there was something more he wanted to say. She waited, the dishes simply soaking. Whatever it was, Caleb didn’t say anything more. Instead, he held up a platter. “Uh, where does this go?”
“In the cabinet in the hall.”
He disappeared to put the dish away, and probably to put an end to a difficult conversation. She regretted bringing up her mother. She’d opened a door to her personal life that she had kept shut for years—and to the last person in the world she would have thought she’d open it to. But there’d just been something about Caleb, something that seemed to say that he understood.
Why him, of all people?
He returned to the kitchen, picked up the towel and waited for her to wash more dishes. “Your dad really seemed to enjoy dinner tonight.”
Subject of her mother definitely closed. Good.
“He did.” Sarah deposited a clean plate into the strainer. “You’ll have to give me the name of that restaurant. Maybe I should set up a standing order.”
Caleb pulled the damp plate out of the strainer and swiped it with a dish towel. “Sure. No problem.” He held up the plate, a question on his face, and she gestured toward the cabinet on his left. Caleb slipped the plate inside, then reached for another.
As he did, he came within a millimeter of touching her. Every fiber inside her was acutely aware of the nearness of him. The way his T-shirt hugged his muscular frame, outlining a body that had clearly spent a lot of time in the gym. As she watched him handle the dishes, a part of her wondered if he would handle her with that same care and attention to detail.
The connection that had formed between them all those days ago had deepened tonight, augmented by the way he had taken care of her father, how he had stepped in with a simple phone call, a few words. Who knew a takeout order could change things so much?
“You know, I’m not as evil as you like to think I am.” His words broke the silence.
“I never said you were evil.” She concentrated on making concentric circles with the sponge, watching the soap bubbles multiply, disappear, multiply again.
“You might have thought it a time or ten when you were writing about me. Admit it.”
A laugh escaped her. “Okay, maybe. But not evil, more…devilish.”
“I assure you, I’m neither. What you see and what’s reality are two different things.”
She let the silverware in her hands slip back to the bottom of the sink, then turned toward him. “Oh, really? Then who are you, Caleb Lewis?”
He put down the dish towel and moved closer to her, so close, all she had to do was take a step, maybe two, and she’d be in his arms. Her heart rate accelerated, her pulse thundered in her veins.
“I’m just an ordinary man trying to run a company. One who doesn’t know what the hell he’s doing most days, but who keeps showing up anyway.”
“Good.” Anything with more than one syllable seemed impossible to say.
“Yeah,” he said, his voice soft, quiet. Sexy.
Her breath caught and held, every ounce of her captured by his blue eyes. Caleb leaned in closer, propping one hand on the edge of the sink, nearly touching her waist. Electricity hummed inside her.
“I’m really a very nice guy.” He was so close, he could have kissed her without any effort at all. She wanted him to—oh, how she wanted him to kiss her. Wanted to feel his lips against hers, to taste him, hold him. To see if the reality was anywhere near as good as the fantasy.
“I believe that,” she said, the words almost a whisper.
“Do you?”
“After tonight, yes, I do.”
A smile quirked up one side of his face. “Good.”
“Then what’s a nice guy like you doing out on the town almost every night?”
The wall between them couldn’t have been rebuilt faster if a team of masons had come in to lay the cement. Caleb backed up, grabbed the dish towel again, then withdrew another plate from the strainer. “That’s different. It’s…. hard to explain.”
“Why don’t you try?” Which Caleb was he? She still didn’t know. There were parts of Caleb Lewis that he kept to himself, parts that were partitioned off from her, from the rest of the world. Why?
He held up the plate. “Where does this go again?”
“Same place as all the others.” She gestured to the cabinet on his left. “Are you avoiding the question?”
“I just don’t think it’s pertinent.”
“To what?”
“To the piece you want to do on the company. I am not the company, nor is my social life. I’m sure you can write a fair, balanced and incisive piece, without including what martini I ordered at the 21 Club last week.”
“Of course I can.” Sarah pulled the plug, watching the water drain away. She should be glad there was distance between them again. Glad she’d avoided being kissed by one of the most well-known playboys in New York. This was what she wanted, wasn’t it?
Of course. Except for that part of her that already missed Caleb’s grin.
“I need to get going,” Caleb said. “Early day tomorrow.”
Back to work. Which was where her mind should be going, too. “About the shoe…” In the last few days, she’d nearly forgotten all about it, but she knew Karl would be back to work tomorrow, which meant she had to have the Frederick K back, too.
“Can you come by my office first thing tomorrow? I’ll give you that and we can finish up whatever else you need for the article.” Caleb hung the towel on the oven-door handle. The move seemed so final, and despite her better judgment, a part of Sarah wanted to ask him to stay. To ease this constant ache in her body for more…for him.
One night wouldn’t make any difference one way or the other, Sarah decided. And a few hours away from Caleb would surely help her clear her head. “Of course.”
The grin curved across his face, and something deep inside Sarah fluttered. “I look forward to it.”
She did, too. The problem was how much.
Sarah saw Caleb to the door. On the way, he stopped to say goodbye to her father. His gaze swept over her apartment, and he was seeing, no doubt, how different she was from all the other women he knew. She would be smart to remember that and stick to what she did best.
Write the story and stay uninvolved with the subject.