Chapter 19
Jameson should be here any minute. I’ve changed ten times and this outfit still doesn’t feel right, but I’ve run out of time. It will have to do.
I take one last look in the mirror, assessing the full picture.
I curled my hair, put on a little more mascara and blush than usual, and the plunging neckline of my fitted sweater is more than I usually dare to expose.
I wanted to feel pretty tonight. And I do.
It’s nothing that far out of my realm of comfort, but just enough that I don’t feel like my usual thrown-together self.
I video-called Jess while I was getting ready to get her opinion.
She loves to be included in these things.
Lately, she’s been very into fashion, jewelry, and all that stuff, though I’m not sure where she got it from.
Certainly not from me, but I’m not complaining.
She approved of my outfit, but I know if she had it her way I’d be shimmering from head to toe with all of the jewelry we could find.
She had to settle for one simple gold necklace.
When she asked where I was going, I wasn’t entirely forthcoming.
I simply said I was meeting a friend. I don’t like lying to her, but it’s definitely too soon to have that conversation. Plus, he is a friend. I think.
A knock sounds at the door, solidifying this final outfit. Too late to make any more adjustments now.
I could easily be a little embarrassed by my tiny two-bedroom bungalow, but I’m not.
I’ve done the best I can over the years, and saving up enough money to rent this house for just the two of us is something I’m proud of.
I’ve never needed a man for things like this.
But perhaps it might be nice to have one for… other things.
Like fixing my damn roof that leaks somewhere new every single winter.
Or to sate this aching need I’ve been feeling since that first meeting with Jameson.
He already looks way too hot just seeing him through the distorted peephole.
If that man wanted to take me home tonight, I don’t think I could resist. And I’ve resisted that particular activity for a long, long time.
I’ve dated plenty, don’t get me wrong, but I’ve held off on going all the way for some time now.
Maybe that’s part of the reason nothing has lasted long-term.
Jameson has me realizing why. I didn’t have nearly as strong of a reaction to any of those guys as I do with him. And we haven’t even been on a real date. Yet, I guess. Tonight will change that.
I open the door and face him. At first, I freeze in panic, because my initial reaction is that he doesn’t look happy to see me.
He’s not smiling. But then I realize that he’s taking me in, and his look is more like one of…
desire? Lust? Everything feels like slow motion until his heavy eyes meet mine, and then a ghost of a smile touches his lips for a flash.
“You ready?” he asks.
“Yeah.”
He moves aside, letting me step out so I can lock up. Then we walk side by side toward his SUV.
“Thanks for not picking me up in the motorcycle,” I comment with a laugh.
“Maybe next time.” He side-eyes me, one brow arched.
I scrunch my nose.
“Okay. Not next time.”
His quiet chuckle is like old-fashioned vanilla ice cream—smooth, delicious.
“Are you still good with Archie’s?” he asks
He’d messaged me earlier to ask about where to eat. My restaurant has the best food in town, of course, but there’s no way I’m taking a first date there.
“Yep.”
“Good. I made a reservation.”
“They don’t take reservations…”
He only shrugs as he opens the passenger door and holds out a hand. I take it as I climb in. It’s immaculately clean and smells fresh.
I expect the door to close, but instead he steps closer, one hand braced on the open door and the other on the back passenger window, effectively boxing me in as he looks down at me.
“You look stunning,” he says, his voice low.
“Thank you.”
He smirks, gives a curt nod, then finally closes the door and walks around to the driver’s side.
When he climbs into the driver’s seat, he casts one more unreadable look my way before driving off.
We ride in silence for a moment. All I can think about is how good he smells and how hot he looks in his black button-down shirt.
It surprises me a little, because I would expect someone with his position and status to show up in a fancy suit or something like that.
But I like this better. Part of me wonders if he’s a bit rebellious, and I picture a young Jameson wearing all black, possibly with a nose or eyebrow piercing.
I’m dying to know more about his story, and how he got to where he is.
His mere presence floods my senses, so I force a distraction. “So, you got some exciting information?”
“Yep.”
“And?”
“I can’t tell you everything before dinner even starts. What if that’s all you came for?” A playful smirk teases his lips as he glances my way.
“It’s not.” As if he needed to lure me into a date with the promise of details about the case. Surely, he’s joking.
“I’ll tell you. Promise.” He clears his throat, steering with one relaxed hand. “So, your parents live here too? Did you grow up here?”
“My dad. And no—we moved a lot. Military.”
“Ah. And your mom?”
“Vegas.”
He nods. He’s a smart man. He can sense my tone shift at the mention of her. “Any siblings?”
“One. He’s in the Navy. Off floating in the ocean somewhere right now probably. What about you?”
“I’ve got a sister. She’s in Ireland. Has three crazy kids.” His face lights up.
“Uncle Jameson is probably pretty cool.”
“The best. Obviously.” He side-eyes me with a cocky grin. His smile is bright, his eyes crinkling slightly at the corners. I fear he has the type of face that just gets better and better with age.
“Obviously.” I smile back before turning toward the window.
Dark trees rush past, and my thoughts drift to my own brother and how excited my kid gets when her uncle visits, which isn’t often.
Still, kids don’t seem to have the same sense of time as we do.
It’s been two years since she last saw him, yet she still talks to him as if she saw him just yesterday.
I decide to push deeper. “So, why are you really buying a place here?”
He glances my way, expression unreadable.
“I don’t know if you know much about what I used to do?” His raised brows make it a question.
I shake my head.
“I founded a little medical tech company in my twenties called Lumivia. I was the CEO.”
“I’ve heard of it.” I’m sure a lot of people have. He started that company in his twenties? Suddenly, I don’t feel so bold. I shrink back inside myself a little more.
“Please don’t—” He cuts himself off and gazes over at me. Clearly, my intimidation was all over my face. “I’m just a guy, I promise. Lord of the Rings nerd, remember? After college I wanted to make a difference in the medical field, and I got lucky.”
His reassurance does nothing to assuage my intimidation. Especially since he doesn’t exactly look like the stereotypical fantasy nerd.
“You said was?” I ask.
He nods. “Was.”
“What happened?”
“I learned pretty early on in the business that most of the people I had to work with didn’t exactly have the most noble of intentions.
But I was in too deep by then. Basically, we started out acquiring up-and-coming medical tech and making it more accessible to hospitals.
Got very lucky a few times, and it just took off from there.
But I was too busy to notice my life was empty.
I still wanted to make a difference. And we did do a lot of good, but it was hard.
Almost everyone in that world is out for themselves and everyone wants as much money as they can possibly get their hands on.
I don’t mean doctors and all that, of course.
I’m talking the business and tech side of things. ”
“I can’t say I know exactly who you mean, but I do freaking hate pharmaceutical companies,” I grumble.
He flicks his gaze to me for a moment, studying my face. “You seem passionate about that. Usually, people who are passionate about things have a personal reason for it…” There’s a question hanging in the air.
“My daughter has type one.”
His expression softens. “Enough said. They’re the worst. I’m sorry.”
Anyone who is familiar with diabetes or the pharmaceutical world knows how insanely expensive insulin and all the equipment you need along with it is. Things that are needed to literally keep diabetics alive.
“It makes me sick.”
He nods in agreement. “That must have been rough, getting that diagnosis…”
I nod, my eyes going distant. “It was.”
“Does her father…” he trails off, as if he hadn’t fully thought out what he was going to ask there.
“Wasn’t around.”
He hears the period at the end of that sentence and knows it’s a closed topic.
“Anyway,” I say, shaking off the bad memories and attempting to sound more chipper. “I’m so sorry. You were telling a story.”
“It’s okay.” His voice is velvet, his lips curved just barely as he looks at the dark, winding road.
“Anyway. A little over a year ago, not long after my ma passed and then my dad very soon after, I took a little break to decompress. Stayed with my sister and her family in Ireland for a bit. It was an eye-opener. I stayed there much longer than I anticipated, because I felt so peaceful. I realized everything I was missing.”
“A family?”
“Not necessarily that. I mean, it could be nice. But just…enjoying life and connecting with people who have no interest in what you have to offer them, they simply enjoy being around you. Sitting outside at night with tea or whiskey—depending on the night—watching my nieces and nephews roll in the dirt, chasing sheep. It hit me how miserable I’d been. ”
“Don’t lie,” I tease. “You rolled around in the dirt with them. Got those nice T-shirts of yours dirty and everything.”
He laughs. “Maybe once or twice.”
“So why Tahoe?”
“I just liked it,” he says simply. “I’d only visited a few times before the wedding, but I know when something is good. It only takes me one time to decide if it’s for me or not.”
“Hmm. So sure of yourself.”
“You have to be to make the kind of decisions a CEO does.” He pulls into the restaurant parking lot. “It’s how I knew—when I watched you dance the night away at the wedding with that glow about you—that I was going to take you out one day.”
I’m stunned into silence at his blunt admission.
He flashes a quick grin at me before he hops out of the vehicle, and I sit with my mouth open, watching him stroll around the car. My body warms, my cheeks betraying me.
The door opens, snapping me from my stupor. Jameson takes my hand and helps me out like he didn’t just drop that bomb.
“Ready?” he asks, mouth wide and eyes crinkling.
“I—yeah.” I don’t know what else to do except follow along.
He doesn’t let go of my hand as we walk toward the entrance. After what he just said, the warmth of his hand wrapped over mine feels far more intimate than it should. I’m hyperaware of its roughness, its heat, and my mind begins to imagine what it would feel like touching me in other places…
At the door, he pulls it open with his free hand, then turns to look at me as he holds it ajar, his gaze deep and hungry as it meets mine. My stomach flips.
I’m so screwed.