Chapter 3
Chapter three
One Year Earlier
Rose
Nerves swarm all through my body as I wait outside the bar. Cal texted me a few minutes ago, warning me he might be late. He’s stuck on the case he’s working on.
Balancing my weight on my left heel, I rock back and forth, chewing on my nail. While riding in his cruiser back to the station, I about died when he asked me out for a drink. Turns out I wasn’t imagining all the flirting, light touches, and other stuff he’d been doing.
Because this man.
God, this man.
This attraction is surreal. And I get it. I’m a thirty-one-year-old woman with a host of bad boyfriends in my rear-view mirror.
Not one of them has left me reeling when I’m not with them.
Not one of them has looked at me the way Cal does.
Not one of them has made me feel … so alive.
A small smile crosses my lips, full of anticipation, as the low growl of an engine makes my pulse skip.
A man pulls to the curb atop a sleek black Honda sport motorcycle that gleams under the streetlights.
Those same lights reflecting off his polished helmet.
He kills the engine and swings his leg over, pulling off his helmet, revealing his beautiful face.
My mouth goes completely dry.
He smirks while taking off his gloves, shoving them into his helmet, as his gaze drifts down and then back up my body.
I bite my lip because … dear Lord, he looks good. The black leather jacket, the entrance, the quiet confidence—as if he’s walked straight out of a movie. I can’t stop myself from smiling.
“Nice ride,” I say, trying not to sound too impressed. Although I am very, very impressed.
His lip twitches. “Gets me from A to B.”
With a cool, casual swagger, he approaches me and stands close. Almost too close. We stare, and an electric current pulses through me, like lightning. He’s glaring at me in a way he hasn’t since the day we met.
He’s so stupidly tall that I have to crane my neck to meet his eyes. “I didn’t know you rode a bike.”
“You didn’t ask,” he replies with that deep rasp that I’ve come to crave.
What I love about Cal is that he is one of those people who’s cool and doesn’t know it.
You know what I mean, right? There’s nothing fake or pretentious about him.
The man just wakes up in the morning and waltzes through life exuding confidence without trying.
Other than his looks, it’s the most attractive thing about him.
Yes, I’ve made a list. Don’t judge.
“Where did you park? Not too far, I hope,” he inquires while looking around the busy street. Cars line either side of the road with Cal taking the last spot available in front of the restaurant.
I point in the direction of my car. “Just right there. Only four spots away.”
“Okay, good.” He jerks his head toward the bar. “You ready?”
Well, that’s a loaded question. Am I ready? Yes, Cal. I. Am. Ready.
I nod, and his hand lands on the small of my back, leading me inside. His palm flattens, and heat spreads everywhere, making my thoughts swim.
We stroll inside the little bar, and low lights mixed with soft music encase every nook and cranny.
The corners have secluded booths, and other patrons occupy the many bar stools.
In another corner, a small stage rests, ready for the next band scheduled to play.
The whole bar is dark, sultry, seductive and makes you feel sexy as soon as you walk in.
It screams passion without trying.
It’s private without being secretive.
It’s easy without trying too hard.
Just like Cal.
The pent-up energy I’ve carried since the day I met him finally eases, and I let myself breathe.
Being with him these last few days has been torture.
Each morning, seeing him triggers a rush of attraction that courses through me.
But we were working (well, he’s working.
I’m just taking notes), and I didn’t want to let my guard down. But now. Well, I’m free to be myself.
Cal picks a table in the corner of this lush bar, tucked away from the other patrons.
I like it. It’s private and out of the way.
And of course, being the gentleman he is, he pulls my chair out for me.
He rounds the table and grabs the small drink menu standing upright.
“Order whatever you want. Drinks are on me tonight.”
I nod and grin, not about to argue. Let’s be serious; I will do anything this man asks. His green eyes pierce into me, and my cheeks heat, which I’m hoping he didn’t catch in this low light. “Okay, but I gotta warn you. I like a good-quality bourbon.”
“Well, lucky me then. I get to have drinks with a gorgeous woman who has good taste.” He shifts in his seat, hunching forward. His hand inches across the table until his knuckles lightly brush against my arm. Goosebumps erupt. “You look incredibly beautiful tonight,” he rasps.
Oh, Lord. My stomach flips at his words.
Bravery fills my soul as I dance my fingertips along the top of his hand.
One of his eyebrows raises, his intense stare locking with mine.
“Thank you,” I whisper out as gratitude fills me.
It’s the only reply I can come up with, but it means so much.
Because no man has ever looked at me with such reverence and told me I was ‘incredibly beautiful.’
Not one.
As the night wears on, we talk. About everything and nothing. He makes me laugh—really laugh—and it’s so foreign. And I do the same for him. Not once in my adult life have I thought I was funny. Until tonight.
It’s been so long since I felt this kind of connection and ease with someone on a date. For a couple of hours, I can almost believe we’re just two people out for a drink, not drowning in work and adult responsibilities.
The waiter makes his way back over to us, pointing to our empty glasses. “Another one?”
“Water for me, thanks,” Cal replies, covering his glass with his hand. “But you go ahead.”
Typically, one glass of bourbon on a date is my norm, but this date is different.
It’s like I can let the real Rose shine through.
When Maggie and I go out, three small glasses of bourbon are my norm.
But not with anyone else. Especially a man.
Plus, I don’t think we are leaving anytime soon, which will give the alcohol time to leave my system before I drive.
Tonight with Cal, I’m relaxed. And free.
“Um, sure. I’ll have another.” The waiter nods and scurries away, leaving us alone once again.
Resting my chin on my palm, I take him in. And trust me, there is a lot of him. And I want it all.
The alcohol coursing through me gives me courage. “Soooo, Cal Masters…”
He matches my body language, inching closer. His hand finds my thigh under the table, and squeezes. The air stalls in my lungs. “Yes, Rose Sheridan,” he replies.
“Are you going to kiss me tonight?”
I shock myself. Where did that come from? Who am I?
His lips curl into a grin that borders on evil. “Only if the lady grants me permission.”
Permission granted.
I shift closer to him. “She would,” I purr.
His hand travels up my thigh as we both tilt our chins. His lips part and—
“Here ya go!” We jolt backward as the waiter, with impeccable timing, sets down my drink. “Is there anything else I can get you two this evening?”
“We are good. Thank you,” Cal replies. The hint of annoyance is undeniable.
Actually, the interruption was a gift because I need to put the brakes on how fast this night is going. And it’s not that I have no desire to kiss Cal. Because, God, I do. I really, really do. But I want to get to know him a little better first.
Cal’s hand stays on my leg, as his thumb rubs in small circles.
I grasp my drink, studying him across the table. The way his broad shoulders slump a little now that he’s relaxed, how his expression softens when he forgets to guard them. He’s different in this setting. So unlike the work version of Cal that I have been getting day in and day out.
I like this Cal. Very much.
Tapping his finger, he gives me a quizzical look. “So, what have you learned about being a detective in the past week?”
I snicker. “Well, it’s only been a few days, but you guys deal with a lot of domestic violence.” He shrugs in agreement. “And there is a lot of sitting in your car. Just waiting. More than I expected.”
He grins. “No lies there.”
“And I was really hoping there would be more donut shop breaks.”
He laughs. A full-on belly laugh. See … I’m funny.
“I always wondered where that stereotype came from.” He slowly regains his composure. “But seriously, do you think any of what you’ve seen you can use in your book?”
I nod while sipping my bourbon. “Yes, absolutely.”
His fingers graze mine across the table. “I can’t wait to read it.”
I tilt my head. “You read?” Because if this hunk of a man reads, let’s just get this over with. Yes, I will marry you, Cal.
“Only Rose Sheridan books.”
Oomph, I’m in trouble.
“So,” I say, drifting forward once again, “earlier, I told you way too much about my love life. That it’s messy, complicated, and nonexistent. What about you?”
His brow arches. “My love life?”
“Yes,” I press. “Don’t tell me you’ve been too busy playing detective your whole life. You’ve dated, right?”
Faintly he smirks, but his face is blank. “Once or twice.”
“That’s vague.” I grin, still holding my bourbon, swirling the brown liquid around. “Spill.”
He exhales, staring at his glass for far too long.
Then, his hand leaves my thigh, and he settles back in his chair.
Disappointment surges through me. “They don’t last. The job gets in the way.
And”—he glares off into the void of the crowded bar—“when people find out how dangerous it can get, they don’t usually stick around. ”
Something about his tone and change in body language is throwing me off. It’s quiet and raw, and it tugs at me. “So what, you just gave up?”
Ugh, why did I bring this up? It’s like he’s constructed a sudden wall in a matter of seconds.