Chapter 8
Tuesday
Loch is so much more than he lets on.
Savoring the full meaning of his words, they’ve penetrated my heart, and all I can do is stare at him in disbelief. He tried to fool me, but he didn’t succeed. The man behind the attorney has a heart of gold.
But I’m starting to realize he wants people to think emotions have no place in his life.
That benefits him at work, but in his personal life, it makes him vulnerable to the prosecution, a.k.a.
me. That’s why he’s left me in the cold absence of the warmth of his gaze.
He’s been looking everywhere but at me since his confession, probably thinking it makes him weak.
It doesn’t. I see his strength more than ever.
I reach across the table and lay my palm flat beside his silverware. “Loch?” His eyes slide back to mine, the laughter we shared dying down. “I appreciate you opening up to me, especially since I realize that’s not a place of comfort for you.”
“You appreciate it, but I shouldn’t have said anything at all. It’s . . .” He looks at my hand and raises his from his lap, but then he stops and lowers back down. “It’s not something I usually offer up easily.”
“That’s why it means so much to me.” I’m careful as I paddle through his choppy waters of emotions.
“I took it as intended. You’re under no obligation to me.
” My heart starts racing and I look away, almost wishing I had a story or distraction to detour us back on track.
With nothing but darkness in place of memories, I slide my gaze back to him and offer him one of my secrets instead.
“I don’t know how old I am.” A humorless laugh escapes without permission.
“How crazy is that?” I ask with a half-hearted eye roll.
He's angled in his chair, his build too large for the wooden frame. “I’m sorry.”
“Pfft. Don’t be.” I reach over and take his glass. I know I shouldn’t drink but feeling like this has to be worse than any side effects from the concussion. “What is it?”
“Bourbon.”
“Wonder if I like it.” I take a sip, letting the flames of alcohol scorch my throat.
I scrunch my face when my chest can’t take it and end up coughing and scrambling for water to douse the fire.
I take a long pull of the cool water, reveling in the relief it brings.
Inhaling through my nose, I slowly exhale a tinged breath.
The crack of a smile splits his face, and he says, “I don’t think you like bourbon.”
I rub my throat as if I can soothe it. “I don’t know why you do.”
“Sometimes the burn is worth the respite.”
“And here I thought the relief came after with the water.”
He chuckles. “It’s both.”
After taking another sip of water, I ask, “What in your life deserves that kind of respite?”
“Everything.”
The last thing he’d want is for me to feel bad or sorry for him. Doesn’t he have it all?
Money.
Looks.
A successful career.
A private car and driver.
I’m sure some fancy apartment on 5th Avenue.
But the sorrow in his eyes has me reevaluating my stance. Maybe he’s lost communication with the most important part of life—his heart. I ask, “How can I—”
“Here’s your soup and the salads,” the server says with perfectly bad timing as I was about to see if Loch would open up even more to me. He sets the dishes down on the table, bursting the bubble Loch and I shared.
I move out of his way as he fills our table and refills our glasses.
I can feel the weight of Loch’s eyes fixed on mine, but I don’t look up.
I don’t even breathe, much less move. I wait until we’re alone again, then bravely drag my eyes from the vegetable soup in front of me to meet his searing gaze.
Under the intensity of his stare, I go blank as if amnesia strikes twice. His mood has shifted, and the masterful attorney has arrived. I don’t stand a chance against him, so I stop prying, for now, and eat my soup.
I only get a few hearty bites in before he says, “I’ve been thinking.”
“About?”
“Because you haven’t received the call doesn’t mean someone hasn’t filed a report. There are procedures and processes in place that take time.”
“I understand, but . . .” Holding my spoon above the bowl, I stop and look around the bustling restaurant, needing to gather my thoughts.
When I feel better prepared with my own clear thoughts, I say, “If I loved someone, I’d find them.
I’d be searching day and night, have photos plastered everywhere, and file a report the minute legally allowed. ”
“Maybe they have, Tuesday. You may wake up tomorrow to your old life. So much can change in an instant.”
“I know that better than anyone.” I hate how harsh my tone has become and how desperate I feel not just for answers but for someone to come out of the woodwork to show me an ounce of the care that the man across from me has.
“I know you do. I didn’t mean to insinuate that you’re naive.”
I roll my head. “Might as well. Everyone else does.” My breath stops hard in my chest, and my spine straightens.
“What did you say?” he asks, leaning in.
I shift my gaze to the wall, hoping to find the void that will allow me to see my thoughts, but there’s nothing. “Why did I say that?”
With his mouth open, Loch stares at me. “Why did you say that?”
“I don’t know.” I search the nooks and crannies of my mind for any clue as to where that came from but come up empty . . . technically blank. “Nothing comes to mind.”
“Maybe your memory is returning because that was definitely something.”
“You think?”
He nods. “We can hope.”
I’ll hold on to that hope as tight as I can.
I’m not sure if we’re stunned or uncertain about what to say after that, but the silence doesn’t make me feel alone. It bonds us, not needing to be filled.
We eat, enjoying our food and the company of each other.
When the server returns to take my soup bowl and his salad plate away, I ask, “Can I ask you a favor, Loch?”
“Seems I owe you after I put my foot in my mouth.”
“You didn’t. You owe me nothing. Instead, you have spoiled me rotten, which I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to pay you back for. Like this dress—”
“I’m happy to help. What favor do you need?”
I don’t know why this feels important, but I need to do it. I’d just rather not do it alone. “Will you take me to the coffee shop tomorrow?”
A million things roll around this man’s mind, and when he shuffles his knife to the other side of his plate, I’m not sure if it’s a stall tactic or if he can’t bring himself to say no to me.
Sitting in the shadow of his discomfort, I’m quick to add, “I shouldn’t have asked. I know you’re busy.”
“I was working through my schedule. What time are you available?”
“Anytime you can squeeze me in.”
“I’ll send Brady to pick you up at seven forty-five. I’m locked in meetings starting at nine for the rest of the day.”
“I’ll be ready.” I reach across the table and brush the tips of my fingers across his knuckles before retreating as if he suddenly had second thoughts. “I sound like a broken record but thank you.”
He nods once and then starts on his spaghetti. The way he maneuvers the noodles around the fork playing off the spoon is truly a thing of beauty.
Does this man have any faults?
I’m not sure it’s right to feel this safe with someone I don’t truly know. But that’s how he makes me feel.
Is it smart to trust him after barely spending any time with him? Who knows? But I’m going to. He’s given me no reason not to.
“I’m impressed.” Loch’s eyeing the remains of my dinner.
Setting my elbow on the table, I rest my chin on my hand. “I did a solid job. I really have no idea why I’m so hungry today.”
“You probably didn’t eat for a while after waking up, so that’s a long time to go without a meal.
” Maybe I’m too in my head, but I think Loch likes to look at me.
He does it enough that I’ve come to accept the intensity of his eyes on me.
He makes it tempting to do the same. Although we’re both strong-willed, I don’t.
Instead, I drink in the heaviness of his gaze and let it smolder inside.
Whether it’s a temporary yearning or a true desire, I feel we’ll catch fire one day.
Thinking of him alone on that bed causes my heart to squeeze. Sadness is the last thing I want to feel around him. I ask, “Dessert?”
“I’m good, but order what you’d like.”
“I don’t think I should. I’m stuffed. I’m going to sleep like a baby tonight.”
The server drops the check on the table, and our eyes both land on it. We look up to meet each other’s eyes. Popping my shoulders, I slink down in my chair a bit. “Thank you,” I whisper again, annoyed with hearing myself repeat it another time, feeling like I’m once again at his mercy.
He deposits his card inside the folder, and it’s swept away.
“You’re welcome,” he says, picking up his glass of water to drain it.
He checks the time on his watch, something I notice he does quite a lot.
Maybe a bad side effect of being in a profession that bills for his time, or perhaps someone who’s too busy to enjoy his life.
For Loch, I think it’s a combination of both.
“So—”
Tony returns and says, “Thank you, and we look forward to having you return soon.”
I take it as a sign and stand as soon as Loch closes the booklet. He looks up at me, then stands, tucking his wallet inside his jacket pocket. “You look ready to go.”
I’m not sure how to reply. I wouldn’t mind spending more time with him, but I’m not sure if he has more time to spare for me. “We have an early morning coffee date.”
“We do,” he says, smiling at me.
The heat of his hand embraces my lower back as we weave through the tables toward the front. I hand my ticket to the host, who quickly retrieves my coat from a large walk-in closet.
Loch and I move to the door, but he stops and takes the coat from me. Holding it open, I slip my arms inside, then pull it tight around me. “How do you feel about red?”
“It’s not my favorite color.”
“Blue?” I ask when he opens the door for me.
We walk outside, hit with a chill of gusting wind. He lifts the collar of his jacket and flips his lapels up for more protection before tucking his hands in his pockets. “Brr. I like blue,” he says, just barely nudging me. “You have beautiful blue eyes.”
I hate that I’m fluttering my eyelashes in response. I really have no couth, especially comparing myself to his manners. He’s still watching me, which makes me giggle, and then he asks, “What’s your favorite color?”
“Since I don’t know, let me think.” I tap my chin, hoping something comes to mind to give me a clue.
“If you had to pick one color right now, what would it be?”
“The warmth of brown.”
“Brown? I don’t think I’ve ever heard of anyone choosing brown as their favorite color.”
I could go into some deep description of all the colors of his eyes, from the golden centers to the caramel layer to the heat of the amber and the comfort of the chestnut. I won’t, though, to save myself the embarrassment.
He adds, “Then again, you were dressed almost entirely in brown yesterday.”
“I consider that more camel-toned.”
We walk a little distance to get out from the entrance of the popular restaurant. “I’m not getting into the weeds on shades of brown, but let’s just say it was a flattering shade on you.”
“You’re too kind, Mr. Westcott.” I stop and turn back to him. The man has a way of seducing me with only a look in his eyes. That look currently on his face, to be specific. My knees weaken, but somehow, I manage to remain upright. “Do you mind giving me a ride home?”
“No.”
One single syllable word voiced in that sexy, dulcet tone has my stomach tying itself in knots. With his deep voice and that ridiculously handsome face, I’m fairly certain this man never goes home alone after a dinner date.
Will I be his first?
I take the honor and get in the back of the SUV parked ahead at the curb. “Evening, Brady.”
“Good evening, Tuesday.”
The vehicle's cab feels like a haven from the wind and crowds outside. I put my seat belt on and relax against the soft leather. We ride in relative silence most of the way. I point out something of interest, and then he does. Nothing triggers any memories, though.
When we pull up to the hotel, Loch hops out before the doorman has a chance to open the door. He escorts me inside the luxurious lobby decorated in burgundy velvet and rich gold trimming with marble floors and a grand staircase.
We stop in the middle. One step more feels like an invitation upstairs. I’d be cheated of my time with him if we’d taken one step less. “So . . .” I say, rocking back on my heels.
“So . . .” He picks right up, then finishes with, “I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Seven forty-five.” I slow my breathing, hoping to tame my thumping heart. The lobby is so quiet he might hear otherwise.
“I had—” we both say in unison, stop, then start laughing.
“I don’t know why this is weird.”
“Awkward.”
“It’s not like it was a date?” I look up as if he’ll save me from embarrassing myself. He doesn’t. He just watches me shovel myself deeper. “Thanks for the pity party. I needed it.”
Nodding slowly, he studies me before saying, “Have a good night, Tuesday.”
“Good night.”
He covers about five feet, but then stops and turns back.
With his thumb rubbing over his lower lip, he eyes me like I’m the dessert he’s having tonight.
“I didn’t take pity on you. I invited you because I wanted your company.
You didn’t disappoint.” A smirk lifts the left side of his face, and I think I even catch a waggle of his eyebrows before he turns away. “See you tomorrow.”
Damn, that man knows how to make a woman swoon. I steady myself on these heels and try to drag myself upstairs. If I’ve learned one thing about him, it’s that the devil has another name.
Loch Westcott.