Almost Like Love (16 page)

How was work?

It was a girlfriend question. A relationship question.

Not to mention the fact that she’d kissed him hello.

“Fine,” he said, avoiding her eyes by walking over to the stove. “What are you making?” he asked, wincing when he heard the words come out of his mouth. That was a relationship question, too.

“Hungarian mushroom soup, chicken casserole, and salad,” she said, coming to stand beside him.

She dipped a spoon in the soup, which smelled freaking amazing, and held it out for him to take a sip.

Except that he couldn’t.

This whole scene was so domestic, so warm and cozy and casually intimate. His stomach muscles knotted, and a wave of panic rose in his throat.

He backed away from the stove.

Concern filled Kate’s blue eyes. “Are you all right?”

He couldn’t have The Talk with her right now. Not after she’d cooked this incredible meal and was standing there looking so sweet and beautiful and worried about him.

So he just shook his head. “I feel bad telling you this after you went to so much trouble, but I think I’m coming down with something. It’s been coming on all day. My stomach’s really off, so I probably shouldn’t try to eat anything.”

“Of course,” she said immediately, and the fact that there wasn’t a hint of a pout in her voice or her expression only made him feel worse. “Why don’t you go lie down while Jacob and I have dinner? I can make you some tea if you’d like, or—”

He couldn’t let her do anything more for him.

“No, that’s okay. In fact . . .” He hesitated. “I don’t want this to come out the wrong way, but if I know you’re here, I won’t be able to relax. I’ll feel like I should be entertaining you, you know?”

She nodded her comprehension, and her complete lack of injured pique made him feel even lousier. She was so kind and sweet and trusting, and he . . . wasn’t.

“I understand. I’ll dish up some food for Jacob, put the rest in the fridge, and then head out. Okay?”

He could hardly look at her. “Okay.”

She rose up on her toes to give him a kiss on the cheek. “Go lie down,” she told him. “Try to get some sleep. I’ll be out of here in a few minutes.”

“All right. Thanks, Kate.”

“Anytime. If I don’t see you before then, I’ll see you on Friday. If you still want me to pick up Jacob that day?”

He managed a smile. “Sure, that would be great.”

“I hope you feel better soon. And if you need anything before Friday, promise you’ll give me a call.”

“I will.”

He went to his room and lay down on his bed. After about ten minutes, he heard the front door open and close, and then he went back out to the kitchen, where Jacob was plowing through the most delicious-looking meal he’d seen in a long time.

“Hey!” his nephew said with his mouth full. “Kate said you weren’t feeling good and to let you rest. Are you okay?”

He nodded. “I will be. Are you all set? Do you need anything?”

“I’m great. I told Kate I’d wash the dishes after I eat, so you don’t have to worry about it.”

Just when he thought he couldn’t feel any worse.

“That’s nice of you, Jacob. Thanks.”

“No problem. Do you want me to bring a tray to your room or anything? This casserole is amazing.”

His mouth was watering at the smells that rose from the table, but he shook his head. He couldn’t eat the food Kate had cooked after he’d lied to her.

“I’ll just make myself a bagel.”

“Okay.”

As he ate his solitary and unsatisfying meal in his bedroom, Ian acknowledged to himself that he couldn’t put off The Talk much longer. Now that he knew it needed to happen, he’d have to make the situation clear to Kate on Friday.

He only hoped he could find a way to do it without hurting her.

Or himself.

C
HAPTER
T
EN

K
ate wasn’t too surprised that she didn’t hear from Ian before Friday, although she was disappointed. But he was sick, after all. And she knew that whatever was happening between them would have to go at Ian’s pace.

He was a well-known commitment-phobe—according to the intelligence-gathering operation at the network, anyway—and even if he weren’t, he was still a guy. Kate might not be the most man-savvy woman in the world, but she knew enough not to scare Ian off by calling and texting him ten times a day. Not if she wanted a relationship with him.

And she was starting to think she did.

On Saturday night, all she’d thought about was quenching her desire for him. But things between them had been . . .

She didn’t have words. And for a writer, that was saying something.

It wasn’t just the sex. That had been amazing, but there had been something else between them—something deeper. She hadn’t imagined the passion and tenderness and emotion in Ian’s eyes, and she knew he’d seen the same thing in hers. Even if he was skittish about relationships, he wouldn’t turn his back on that.

But they’d take it slow, for her sake as well as his. It had been only three weeks since Chris had ended their engagement. She wasn’t looking to rush things any more than Ian was.

So she didn’t worry when she didn’t hear from him that week. Besides which, she had other things going on that were just as exciting.

The development executive she’d pitched Jacob’s project to had been impressed, and in a follow-up meeting he’d told her that other people at the network were excited as well. They loved the marketing possibilities of a show that had its origins in the imagination of an eleven-year-old boy, and it was starting to look like
Powers
might actually be green-lighted. If so, it would air as an animated series with twelve episodes in the first season and an option for a second season.

When she met Jacob after school on Friday, she could hardly wait to tell him. They went out for ice cream to celebrate, the two of them bubbling over with excitement as if they were both eleven.

“There are still a few hurdles to cross before anything is official, but we might be ready to start negotiating as soon as next week. We can talk to Ian tonight about how he wants to—”

“Do we have to tell him tonight?”

Kate frowned. “Listen, kiddo. If this really happens, we’ll be talking money and contracts. You’re a minor, and Ian’s your legal guardian.”

Jacob started playing with his napkin. “I know, but . . . you said it’s not official yet.”

Kate watched him shred his napkin into several pieces. “Can you tell me why you want to wait? Your uncle loves you—and he’s in television. He’ll be as excited about this as you are.”

Jacob looked up. “No, he won’t.”

“But—”

“He cancelled your show, didn’t he? He told me that’s why there won’t be new episodes of
Life with Max
.”

Was he mad at his uncle on her behalf? She hoped that wasn’t the case. Of course, she’d been mad at Ian herself when it had first happened. Furious, even. She always wanted quality and creativity to trump every other factor. But then, it was her job to be creative . . . and it was Ian’s job to consider all those other factors.

As much as she hadn’t wanted to admit it, a part of her had always understood Ian’s decision even as she’d disagreed with it. And she realized now that she’d long since forgiven him for the choices he had to make as an executive—especially since she’d gotten to know the man behind the suit.

“Yes, he cancelled
Life with Max
. But that was a business decision—and probably a good one. The show was popular with its core fans, and I was proud of the work my team did on it, but it wasn’t ever going to connect with a wide audience. There are places for niche shows like that, but not on a major network. Your uncle was just doing his job.”

Jacob didn’t look convinced. “It’s not only that. He doesn’t like any of the things I like. He doesn’t care about what I’m interested in.”

“He cares about
you
. And if you give him a chance, you might find out you have more in common than you think.”

When she saw him that night, she’d suggest to Ian that he tell his nephew about his Dungeons & Dragons phase. He could even teach him how to play.

Jacob shrugged. “I doubt it.”

“But—”

“It doesn’t matter. But about the show—you said there are still hurdles to cross, right? I don’t want to tell him and sound all excited and then have everything fall through. Can’t we wait until it really is official? Please?”

She wished Jacob trusted his uncle more, but that would only come with time. And it was true that the project could still fall through. She’d been in television long enough to know how real that possibility was. Could it hurt to wait until there was an actual offer on the table? That was the point at which Ian had to be involved.

She sighed. “All right. But the minute they start talking turkey, we’re telling your uncle. And I promise he’ll be as proud and thrilled as you are.”

Jacob looked relieved. “Thanks, Kate. So what should we do now?”

“Do you want to go to a comic-book store?”

“Yes!”

They had a wonderful afternoon, made even more wonderful for Kate by the knowledge that she’d be seeing Ian soon.

Every time she thought about him walking through the door, her heart beat faster.

Jacob had said his uncle was over his illness. If Ian really was recovered, and if she was still here after Jacob went to bed, wasn’t there a chance the two of them could do some old-fashioned fooling around?

Of course she wouldn’t stay the night, not with Jacob in the apartment. But she’d settle for a few long kisses. In fact, as she remembered the effect Ian’s kisses had on her, the thought of spending an hour on his terrace in a lip-lock made her knees weak.

She wouldn’t count on that, though. Even though Ian was well enough to go to work, he might still be feeling under the weather—and she’d already decided to let him set the pace as far as their relationship went.

But she couldn’t stop her excitement from building as afternoon turned to evening. Jacob had disappeared into his room, and she was curled up on the living room couch, trying to read a magazine without much success. Her thoughts kept drifting to Ian, and she found herself smiling into space as she relived their night together.

When her phone rang and she saw his name on the screen, her smile turned into a grin.

“Hey there,” she said.

“Hey.” There was a short pause, and then, “I’ve got a huge favor to ask you. If the answer’s no, that’s completely all right.”

Something about dinner, probably. “What’s the favor?”

“Is there any way you could stay a little later tonight?”

Pleasure spread through her like warm honey. “I think I could manage that.”

“That’s great. Is midnight too late? If it is, I can be home sooner.”

She blinked and readjusted her ideas. He was asking her to stay
for
him, not
with
him.

Well, why not? They could fool around when he got back, couldn’t they?

“Midnight would be fine. Is it a work thing or a friend thing?”

Another pause. “Actually, it’s a date thing.”

For a moment it just didn’t register. Date thing? What did he mean? Not that he was going on a date with another woman. That couldn’t be.

“Do you mean . . . what do you mean?”

Maybe it was an obligation kind of date. Like he’d promised to escort a female friend somewhere, or bring a date to a network event, or something. And of course if it was a network event, he wouldn’t invite her. That would be awkward.

“A woman I met at the gym asked if I wanted to go for a drink.”

A woman he’d met at the gym. Asked him out for a drink.

And he’d said yes.

Slowly, very slowly, the reality of the situation sank in.

Ian was going on a date with another woman. And he was asking
her
to babysit. While he bought this woman drinks, and flirted with her, and kissed her good night.

Or more. If he took her back to her place by nine or ten o’clock, that would leave plenty of time for more.

And she knew firsthand how good Ian Hart was at talking a woman into bed.

Her silence had lasted way too long. She had to say something.

Her mouth opened, but nothing came out.

He had to know this floored her. He had to have known she would—

And then, suddenly, she understood.

Ian wasn’t stupid. He hadn’t agreed to go on a date without knowing she would be upset. Ian was a strategic thinker—she knew that from working with him.

Which meant he’d done this deliberately.

This was his way of breaking things off with her. His way of letting her know that what they’d had wouldn’t be repeated. While she’d been imagining their next night together, Ian had been thinking about his next one-night stand.

But she couldn’t let him know how hurt she was. Her pride demanded that she at least give the pretense of not giving a damn, even if he knew perfectly well that she did.

She took a deep breath. “So, midnight. Midnight will be fine. I’ll see you then.”

That was all she could manage. Without waiting for Ian to respond, she ended the call.

Tears stung behind her eyelids, but she couldn’t cry in the living room. What if Jacob came out of his room and saw her?

She went into the bathroom and locked the door. Then she sank down on the toilet seat and let the tears fall.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

How could she have been such an idiot? Not to mention such a
girl
. She was like a cautionary tale out of a
Cosmo
article. She’d ignored all the signs that told her Ian was not relationship material, and she’d been willfully blind to every signal he’d sent. She’d built up hope and expectations with absolutely no justification.

But she couldn’t blame Ian. What was it he’d said that night?
If you let me be your rebound, I swear you won’t regret it.

He hadn’t led her on. He hadn’t promised anything beyond that one night. He’d even called himself her rebound.

If she’d gotten hurt, it was her own damn fault. That was the fair way to look at the situation.

But she didn’t feel like being fair.

She remembered a fender bender from a few years ago. She hadn’t been injured, but she’d woken up the next morning bruised and aching all over.

She felt like that now. Like she’d been beaten up. And, fair or not, she wanted to take it out on Ian. She wanted to hurt him like he’d hurt her.

But a man with Ian’s attitude about relationships wasn’t susceptible to hurt. There wasn’t anything she could do to him that would make him feel like this.

Because he didn’t have a heart.

She got up, turned on the faucet, and splashed her face with cold water. Then she toweled herself dry and went back out to the living room.

She’d come full circle as far as Ian went. She’d always thought he didn’t have a heart, and now she had proof.

But then her glance fell on the bookcase. When she looked at the bottom shelf, she saw the Dungeons & Dragons set.

She sat down on the couch and closed her eyes.

As much as she wanted to wipe out the last few weeks and go back to her old, two-dimensional image of Ian, she knew she couldn’t.

Ian hadn’t been pretending with her. The man she’d seen Saturday night was the real thing. Complicated and a little damaged, sure . . . but also passionate and tender and caring.

What she was seeing now was the armor he put on to protect himself from all that.

Kate took a deep breath, opened her eyes, and went into the kitchen to make dinner for herself and Jacob.

She had no reason to feel like an idiot. Ian was the idiot. And in the long run, he’d hurt himself a hell of a lot worse than the women he slept with. They’d get over the momentary pain of being dumped, but Ian was stuck with himself forever.

And it wasn’t like she’d gotten nothing from the experience. She’d had the best sex of her life, and a taste of the kind of passion and intimacy she was looking for in the bedroom. Ian wasn’t capable of giving that to a woman on a long-term basis, but that didn’t mean no man was. She just had to find someone who could make her feel the way Ian did but who was actually capable of commitment.

As impossible as it had seemed just half an hour ago, Kate was starting to think she and Ian could go back to being friends. God knew he needed one, and so did his nephew.

Although she would draw the line at babysitting during dates. She might be exhibiting some impressive emotional maturity here, but she wasn’t a martyr. Ian could find someone else to stay with his nephew while he slept his way around Manhattan.

Jacob went to bed at nine thirty, and Kate turned on the TV.

She actually got caught up in a new sci-fi show she hadn’t had a chance to watch yet—so much so that when Ian got home, she looked up in surprise.

“Is it midnight already?” she asked, glancing at the clock on the TV. It was only eleven.