Chapter Seventeen #2
Downstairs, Vanessa kissed Emily goodbye and waited for Paul to arrive. When he pulled up in his white truck, she felt another flutter of nerves. She hurried toward the door and tried to sneak out unnoticed.
No such luck.
As Paul exited the vehicle, her father followed her outside.
She glared at him in silent entreaty, which he ignored.
He was determined to act the doting parent.
Vanessa couldn’t avoid introducing them without making an awkward scene.
She felt like a teenager on her first date instead of a woman approaching thirty.
Paul had dressed for the occasion, and he’d never looked better.
He wore a pale blue linen shirt with the sleeves rolled up to the elbow, and lightweight gray trousers.
His shoes were a nondescript brown leather.
He wasn’t trying too hard, but he didn’t have to.
His handsome face and lean physique did most of the work.
While she admired his appearance, he returned the favor. His gaze landed on her neckline and stayed there. He stumbled over an uneven patch of sidewalk, distracted by the sight. Then his attention jerked toward her father.
“Eric Nava,” her father said.
Paul shook his hand. “Paul Murphy.”
Her father gave a curt nod. He didn’t ask where they were headed, or grill Paul about what he did for a living.
“Don’t wait up,” Vanessa said. Then she put her hand on Paul’s arm and led him across the driveway. He opened the door on the passenger side of his truck. She felt his fingertips on her bare back as she climbed into the vehicle.
“Don’t wait up?” Paul repeated as he got behind the wheel.
“What? Isn’t that a thing people say?”
His eyes returned to the front of her dress as she secured her seat belt. “You could’ve warned me.”
“I didn’t know he’d want to meet you.”
“I’m talking about the dress, not your father. I had to shake his hand with my eyes glazed over and my tongue hanging out.”
She chuckled at his exaggeration. “Where are we going?”
“I made a reservation at a place called Angelo’s.”
Vanessa was familiar with the Italian restaurant, which had a small, intimate vibe. “Perfect.”
He started the engine, and they were off. She didn’t try to make small talk on the short drive, and neither did he. When they arrived, he opened the door for her again. His callused fingertips lingered at the small of her back as they entered the restaurant.
They were seated at a corner table. The place was crowded with couples and larger groups. With its simple black and white décor, and framed photographs of family members on the walls, it had an elegant, old-world charm.
Paul surveyed the room in a methodical sweep while she studied the menu. She got the impression that he’d memorized the layout of the restaurant, and taken a mental picture of every customer, within sixty seconds.
Vanessa didn’t know whether to be amused or offended by his inattention to her. She was sitting across from him with her breasts half-showing, and he was focused on their surroundings. Maybe they should have stayed in.
“Your brother is an interesting character,” she said. “We had a chat this morning over coffee.”
Paul moved his gaze from the nearest exit to Vanessa. He squinted as if the thought of her having coffee with his brother—the morning after “having coffee” with him—was distinctly unpleasant.
“I take it the two of you are competitive.”
He arched a sardonic brow. “What gave you that impression?”
When the waitress arrived to take their drink order, she ordered a dirty martini, figuring she might as well begin as she planned to go on. He asked for club soda—with lemon. She smothered a laugh at the in-joke.
“Where did you get that dress?” he asked.
“Out of my suitcase.”
“You look incredible.”
“I’m glad you noticed.”
“Every man in the room has noticed.”
“Is that why you’re acting like my bodyguard instead of my date?”
His shoulders stiffened. “Sorry. Professional habit.”
“From your security job?”
“Yes. It has nothing to do with you, or what you’re wearing.”
She believed him, and some of her tension eased. Bennett had often criticized her for dressing too sexy, which was ironic, since he was the one who’d been unfaithful. He’d been projecting his weakness onto her.
The waitress brought their drinks. Paul ordered a dish with grilled chicken while Vanessa chose a summer salad.
“Salad?” he said.
She sipped her martini with relish. “I’ll get dessert.”
They made polite conversation about the lemonade stand, and her day with Emily.
She didn’t pry for personal details. She was determined to enjoy herself, stay cool, and maintain an emotional distance.
This was a summer fling, not the start of a beautiful relationship.
The less she knew about him, the better.
Her resolve to keep things light didn’t hold up to her second martini.
By the time she’d reached the bottom of the glass, she’d forgotten all about it.
She nibbled an olive from the toothpick, wondering about Paul’s previous girlfriend.
Kyle had ribbed Paul about her last night.
What had he said about her? She was never going to leave … someone.
Vanessa hadn’t heard every word of their conversation. Some parts had been inaudible, muffled by laughter, spoken in a volume that varied. “You look like your brother,” she said, pointing at Paul with her toothpick.
“Hmm.”
“Do you compete over women?”
“I wouldn’t say that.”
“You wouldn’t say anything.”
He didn’t disagree.
She ate the second olive, her eyes narrow. “Why do you avoid bunnies?”
“Bunnies?”
“Don’t play dumb. Your brother told me what it means. You two were talking about it right before your wrestling match.”
He raked a hand through his hair, flustered. “My brother isn’t a reliable source of information. He’s still in love with his ex, and he’s incredibly bitter about women. Disregard anything he told you.”
The waitress reappeared with a dessert menu.
“Strawberry cheesecake,” Vanessa said.
Paul asked for the check. Maybe he was afraid she’d order another martini if they stayed much longer.
“I have a theory about this bunny stuff,” she said. “You watched your brother go through a nasty divorce while you were both mourning the sudden deaths of your parents. You weren’t able to prevent the accident, or its fallout. Now you’re afraid of commitment because of your tragic family history.”
He showed no reaction to her psychological evaluation. The waitress brought the cheesecake, and the check.
“Was your last girlfriend a bunny?” she asked.
“No.”
“Why not?”
“She wasn’t looking for a husband.”
“Neither am I. What’s the difference?”
Paul shrugged. Vanessa took a bite of cheesecake, and a snippet from last night’s conversation floated back to her. Kyle’s voice had been muffled, nearly unintelligible. Suddenly, the words fell into place.
She was never going to leave her husband for you.
“She was already married,” Vanessa breathed.
Paul’s jaw hardened at the statement. He didn’t deny it, and she felt the icy slap of shock. He’d been involved with a married woman? What was wrong with him? She gaped at him for several seconds, unable to fathom it.
“Wow,” she said, putting her fork down. “I can’t compete with that, can I? What a perfect partner for you. Unattainable, exciting, off-limits. No chance of her hearing wedding bells or harboring expectations.”
“Do you really want to discuss this here?”
“I’m sure you don’t want to discuss it anywhere.”
“You’re starting an argument.”
Her cheeks burned with indignation. Then a cold calm settled over her. This was fine. This was what she wanted—a no-strings affair. She could have hate-sex with him and flush him out of her system.
“My mistake,” she said. “Arguing is what people in relationships do. We can’t let that get in the way of fucking.”
His gaze darkened in anger, or desire. Maybe both.
She plucked a fat strawberry off the top of the cheesecake. She licked syrup from the tip before taking a lush bite. Dull color crept up his neck at the sultry display, but he didn’t look away or ask her to stop.
After she finished the berry, she dipped her fingertips in her water glass, swirled them around, and brought them back to her lips to trace the fullness. “Isn’t that what you said, Paul? You’re not interested in a relationship? I don’t want to put words in your mouth.”
His throat worked as he swallowed. The comment, along with the berry-sucking, was designed to inspire sexual fantasies. Paul watched with a rapt expression, as if he wanted to reach across the table and ravish her.
She dipped her fingertips again and let them trail along the inner curve of one breast. Then she used her spoon to retrieve an ice cube from her glass.
After transferring it to her mouth, she rose from her seat and closed the distance between them.
She twined her arms around his neck and pressed her cool lips to his ear.
“Vanessa, please,” he said quietly.
She bit his earlobe to shut him up. Then she soothed the sting with her tongue while he held himself motionless. “We don’t have to talk at all,” she whispered. “If you hurry, I’ll let you fuck me in the parking lot.”
He inhaled a sharp breath and she released him.
Then she walked away, aware of his eyes on her naked back.
She figured he was in no condition to follow her, and she was right.
When she glanced over her shoulder at him, he was still seated, his face taut with tension.
His hand made a fist in the cloth napkin.
Smiling, she strode out the door.