Almost Like Love (4 page)

Ian followed her movements with his eyes. His gaze warmed her skin as though he’d touched her.

She swallowed. “Okay, fine. You can take me to the wedding. It’s on”—what the hell was the date?—“June twelfth.” She remembered something else: “I may need you for the rehearsal dinner, too.”

His eyes gleamed with something—satisfaction, or maybe amusement. Not that she cared what he was feeling, of course. She needed a hot date, and Ian Hart fit the bill. And since this was partial payback for his cancelling her show, it was kind of like a business transaction.

“I’ll keep that weekend open,” he said. “And now I have a favor to ask you.”

She frowned. “You don’t get to ask me a favor. You could take me to ten weddings and you’d still owe me.” But then her curiosity got the better of her. “What is it?”

“I’d appreciate it if you’d let me take you home now.”

Her frown deepened. “Now? I only got here an hour ago. What if I’m not ready to leave yet? And how is that a favor to you, anyway?”

One corner of his mouth lifted in a smile. “I’m afraid that if you stay, you’ll keep drinking. And then you might find some other bad boy you like more than me.”

She spoke without thinking. “I wouldn’t—” She stopped herself just in time and coughed. “I wouldn’t be surprised if I did,” she finished primly.

His smile turned into a grin. “So why don’t you let me take you home now? You drank, you danced, you hung out with your friend and got hit on by Arthur. That’s pretty good for a night on the town. Why don’t you cap it off with a ride on a motorcycle? That was one of your requirements for a bad boy, right?”

She stared at him. “You have a motorcycle?”

“I used to, a long time ago. I borrowed one tonight just for you.”

He used to drive a motorcycle. Her gaze drifted down to the tattoos on his arms, and she wondered if they dated from the same period in his history.

She reached out and traced one of the tattoos with the tip of a finger. It was gorgeous—a red-and-black dragon twisting sinuously around Ian’s bicep.

“How old were you when you got these?”

“Old enough to know better,” he said after a moment. His voice sounded husky, and she looked at him.

Their eyes locked, and she lost track of the conversation. Then she snatched her hand away from his arm and cleared her throat.

“You don’t have to drive me home. And you don’t have to worry about me. I’ll hang out with Simone a while longer and go home with her.”

Ian looked over her shoulder, towards the bar. “Simone looks busy.”

Kate turned her head and saw her friend chatting with a cute guy. “She’s just passing the time. She wouldn’t ditch me for a guy—not after the day I’ve had.”

“If you go home with me, she won’t have to make that choice.” He paused for a second. “And by ‘go home with me,’ I mean let me drive you home and see you to your door.”

She rolled her eyes. “I get that you’re not propositioning me, Hart. You don’t have to keep emphasizing it.”

She glanced back at Simone again. As though he sensed that she was wavering, Ian’s voice turned persuasive. “It’s a Harley. Black leather, chrome, and more power than you’ve ever felt between your legs. A bad girl’s dream. What do you say?”

A bad girl’s dream.

She had no idea how he was doing it, but Ian seemed to know exactly what to say to her tonight.

“Okay, you’ve convinced me. I’ll tell Simone I’m leaving and meet you out front in a few minutes.”

As she made her way through the crowd, she replayed another choice phrase in her head.

More power than you’ve ever felt between your legs.

If any other man said that, she’d assume it was a come-on . . . or else that he was overcompensating for something.

But neither of those scenarios applied to Ian. He’d made it clear that he wasn’t coming on to her, and she had a feeling he didn’t have to overcompensate for anything.

Not that she’d ever be in a position to verify that, of course.

Did Kate have any idea how hot and bothered she’d made him?

He doubted it.

He’d always known she was clueless when it came to the practical side of life, and apparently that included dealing with men. Which was why he’d pushed her to let him take her home. She was like an angelfish swimming in shark-infested waters, and he couldn’t count on the next guy who hit on her being like Arthur . . . or him.

Not that he was usually so noble. But Kate had had a lousy day, thanks in part to him, and she’d been drinking. That was the only reason he felt so protective of her.

It was guilt, plain and simple. Guilt and basic human decency, not to take advantage of a vulnerable woman.

He had a sudden, visceral memory of Kate’s body against his.

Sweet Christ. If it weren’t for guilt and decency, he wouldn’t even wait to get her home tonight. He’d drag her into a dark corner right here in the club, slide his hands under that tight little skirt, and—

A loud honk brought him out of his heated fantasy.

He’d almost walked into the street. Now he took a step back and looked around, spotting Stephen’s Harley a few doors down.

By the time Kate came out of the club, he was waiting for her at the curb. Her eyes lit up when she saw the beautiful machine, and he couldn’t help smiling at her enthusiasm.

The air had turned cool for a May evening. When Kate came up beside him, he pulled off his leather jacket and laid it across her shoulders.

“Thanks,” she said, looking surprised and grateful as she put her arms through the sleeves. Then he handed her a helmet.

“This is my first time on a motorcycle,” she confessed as she put it on. “I’ve always wanted to ride one.”

“Of course you have. All right-minded people want to ride a motorcycle.”

She started to climb on, and then hesitated. “I’m wearing a miniskirt,” she said. “Doesn’t this have the potential to be a little indecent?”

He shrugged. “I wouldn’t worry about it. I’ll be facing front, so I won’t see anything—and that jacket’s long enough to hide you from the rest of the world.”

She thought about it for a moment and then nodded, swinging a leg over the passenger seat and settling in behind him, putting her hands lightly on his shoulders.

“You’ll probably want to hang on a little tighter than that,” he said.

He wasn’t really concerned that she’d fall off—he wasn’t planning to go that fast. But with a woman like Kate on his bike, he’d be a fool not to get her as close as possible.

He reached back to move her hands from his shoulders to his waist. Then he revved the engine, smiling to himself when her grip tightened instinctively.

“Where to, ma’am?”

“Seventy-Seventh between Columbus and Central Park West.”

His eyebrows went up a trifle. That was a pretty swanky address. She lived on the Upper West Side near the Museum of Natural History, across the park from his even swankier address on the Upper East Side.

“Okay, here we go. All set back there?”

“Yes.”

A lot of years had passed since he’d been on a bike, but it wasn’t something he’d ever forget. As he pulled out into traffic, he found himself smiling—partly from the pleasure of being on a Harley again, and partly from the sensation of Kate’s body molded to his, her breasts pressed against his back and her arms around his waist.

It took him twenty minutes to get uptown, which wasn’t too bad for a Friday night. He didn’t hurry, either. It was a beautiful night, and he wasn’t in a rush for the ride to end.

Or to say goodbye to Kate.

As he turned down Seventy-Seventh, he remembered the scornful look she’d given him earlier in the day. It seemed almost surreal that he was taking her home on a Harley just ten hours later, the insides of her thighs pressed to the outsides of his.

It had been one hell of a night.

He pulled up in front of her building and turned off the engine. “Home sweet home,” he said in the sudden quiet.

Kate didn’t move. “That was so cool,” she said almost wistfully. “I don’t want it to be over.”

Wondering briefly if he was making a mistake, he said, “It doesn’t have to be over. I could take you on a longer ride if you want.”

A moment of silence. Then: “That’s a nice offer, but I guess I’ll head inside. Thanks, though. And thanks for the ride. I loved it.”

At least one of them knew when to put the brakes on.

“I’m glad.”

The doorman was coming towards them, and Ian pulled off his helmet and hung it on a handlebar. “Is it okay if I park here for a few minutes?” he asked the man. “I’m going to walk Ms. Meredith to her door.”

The doorman stared. “Ms. Meredith? I didn’t recognize you. Of course, sir—you’ll be fine there for half an hour.”

“I won’t be that long,” Ian said easily. He slid off the bike and held out a hand to Kate.

She pulled off her own helmet and hung it on the other handlebar. That glorious copper hair of hers tumbled free, bouncing on her shoulders like living silk.

Why hadn’t she ever worn it down at work?

Probably so men like him wouldn’t adjust the front of their pants every time they looked at her.

Her face was flushed and she looked happy. She really had enjoyed the ride. “Are you sure you want to go up with me? You don’t have to. This is a safe building, and Andreas is right here,” she added, smiling at the doorman.

“Absolutely,” he said firmly. “What kind of gentleman would I be if I just dropped you off at the curb?”

She shrugged. “All right, then.”

Andreas held the door for them, and they stepped inside the elegant foyer.

“This is a nice building,” he commented as they waited for the elevator. “And it’s a great neighborhood.”

He couldn’t help wondering what the rent was like. What kind of savings did she have? Could she afford to go on living here after she’d lost her job?

He knew it was none of his business, but once they were inside the elevator he heard himself ask, “Are you going to be okay financially? While you’re in, uh, transition?”

He hoped she was too tipsy to notice how inappropriate the question was.

She looked at him with one eyebrow up. “How sweet of you to ask, Mr. Hart. Especially since you’re responsible for my ‘transition.
’ 
”

Okay, she wasn’t too tipsy. But he had to know. “I just wondered if you had a backup plan. For living expenses.”

“My backup plan is the fact that I own my apartment. My grandparents left it to me. So I’m not going to be out on the streets, if that’s what’s worrying you,” she added drily.

He was relieved to hear it, but at the same time, the knowledge that she came from money reinforced his old feeling about Kate—that she’d never had to struggle for anything. It was easy for someone born rich to be idealistic and creative and oblivious, and to turn up her nose at practical realities like ratings and market share and stockholders’ meetings.

They arrived at the tenth floor, and the elevator opened. Kate crossed the hallway to apartment 10B and stopped in front of the door, pulling off his jacket and handing it to him.

“Thanks again for the ride—and for offering to be my date to the wedding from hell.” She spoke a little coolly, and Ian wasn’t sure if he was relieved or disappointed that he’d managed to dissipate any lingering electricity between them.

“No problem.”

She fished her key out of her purse, unlocked the door, and then paused with her hand on the knob. “Do you want to come in?” she asked, without noticeable enthusiasm. “I’ve got wine if you want a drink.”

He shook his head. “That’s all right. I should be getting home.”

“Okay.” She was looking at him now with a little frown between her brows, and he wondered what she was thinking.

“So what’s the deal with the tattoos?” she asked suddenly. “Do I get to hear that story?”

“Maybe someday,” he said, deflecting the question. He didn’t usually talk about his past, and the longer he stood here, gazing into Kate’s blue eyes and breathing in her subtle fragrance, the harder it was to remember all the good reasons not to kiss her.

He cleared his throat and took a deliberate step back. “I’ll keep the weekend of the twelfth open. Good night, Kate.”

“Good night, Ian.”

She opened the door, gave him a quick smile, and disappeared inside.

That was the first time she’d ever called him by his first name.

When he realized he was still staring at her door a minute later, he turned and headed for the elevator.

There was no reason to look forward to an event Kate had described as “the wedding from hell.” But as he gunned Stephen’s Harley and drove away, that was exactly what he was doing.

C
HAPTER
T
HREE

W
hen Kate woke up the next morning, she opened her eyes to find Gallifrey staring at her from a distance of three inches. He was sitting on her chest like a library lion, gazing down with sphinxlike majesty.

“Go away,” she told him, even as she reached up to scratch between his ears. His low, rusty purr vibrated through her.

She had a headache, and her mouth tasted like the bottom of a birdcage. What the hell had she—

Oh, God.

Memory came flooding back in a sickening wave. Her show . . . Chris . . . the club last night and three shots of whiskey.

Three shots of whiskey . . . and Ian Hart.

Oh,
God
.

She replayed the evening’s events in her head, trying to remember everything that had happened with Ian.

Okay, she hadn’t kissed him. That was good.

On the other hand, she’d wrapped herself around him on the dance floor and on the motorcycle.

The motorcycle . . .

Kate closed her eyes as she remembered that ride. It really was like having power between your legs. Maybe that’s what made it so sexy—as sexy as their dance had been. Her body pressed against Ian’s, her arms around that rock-hard abdomen . . . feeling the bunch and release of his muscles as he wove through traffic . . .

Hoo, boy.

And he’d offered to be her date to Jessica’s wedding.

Gallifrey, who had apparently decided the time for Zen-like meditation was over, interrupted her thoughts. He kneaded her chest through the cotton sheet, the prick of his claws causing her to say, “Ow, ow, ow,” before she sat up in bed and ran her hands through her hair.

Since sitting up was her usual prelude to getting out of bed and feeding him, Gallifrey jumped to the floor and headed for the kitchen.

As soon as he was gone, Kate collapsed back on her pillow. She felt like crap, though she would’ve felt a lot worse if she’d stayed at the club last night and continued drinking shots.

Ian had kept her from doing that. And he’d kept her from going home with a stranger, too.

He’d looked out for her. And he hadn’t been too heavy-handed about it, all things considered.

In fact, he’d been pretty nice.

Well, why not? He owed her, didn’t he? They’d both agreed on that.

She turned her head and looked at the clock. Was it really almost noon? She hadn’t slept this late in years.

“
Mrrowr
!
”

That was Gallifrey, sitting in the bedroom doorway with a disgusted look on his face.

“I’m coming, I’m coming. Give me a minute.”

Coffee and a shower would make her feel more human, and the cat wouldn’t leave her alone until he got his breakfast. She might as well get up.

A few minutes later, Gallifrey was eating and Kate was pouring milk into her coffee. The thought of food was not appealing, so she took her mug into the living room, curled up in the armchair by the window, and took her first sustaining sip of caffeine.

The day ahead of her was depressingly blank. If she didn’t find some way to keep busy, she’d definitely start feeling sorry for herself.

The first item on her agenda would have to be uninviting Ian to Jessica’s wedding. That had been an arrangement made in the heat of rejection and under the influence of alcohol.

She’d thank him for the offer—as galling as it was to have to thank the man who’d cancelled her show for anything—but explain that she’d be just fine going to the wedding alone. She was a strong, self-confident woman, and she didn’t need a crutch to face her ex-fiancé.

Although the thought of sweeping into the reception hall with Ian Hart on her arm was very, very tempting.

In more ways than one.

And that was the other reason she needed to cancel this fake date. The last thing she needed while navigating the waters of unemployment and a broken engagement was the confusing distraction of lustful feelings for a man she’d always despised.

So it was decided. She’d take a shower, get dressed, and jot down a few bullet points about what she’d say. Once she was well prepared, she’d sit down at her desk and make the call.

Her phone rang.

She was so lost in thought she jumped, spilling coffee down the front of her pajamas. The phone was on the table next to the armchair, and she grabbed for it as she pulled off her stained pajama top, using it to sop up the coffee that had spilled on the floor.

“Hello?”

“Is this Kate Meredith?”

It was Ian.

An electric feeling went through her. Unable to speak, she froze with the phone in her hand.

This was the exact opposite of the circumstances in which she’d wanted this conversation to take place. She’d planned to be distant, polite, well prepared, and fully clothed. Instead, she was kneeling in a puddle of coffee with her hair sticking up in all directions . . . and she was topless.

Of course, since this was a phone call, there was no reason Ian had to know any of that. She could still
sound
fully clothed, right?

She cleared her throat. “Yes, this is Kate.”

“Hi, Kate. It’s Ian Hart.”

No kidding.
“Hi, Ian.”

There was a moment of silence, and Kate was about to say something to fill it, when she stopped herself. He was the one who’d called her, after all. It was up to him to tell her what he wanted.

Oh, God—she knew what he wanted. He was going to cancel on Jessica’s wedding.

Well, that was good. Right? It was the same thing she wanted.

Except she’d been planning to ditch him, instead of the other way around.

“You’re probably wondering why I called. This is a little embarrassing, but—”

“It’s fine,” she interrupted. “I know what you’re going to say.”

“You do?” He sounded bewildered, and Kate wondered suddenly if she might be wrong.

“I . . . that is . . . why don’t you tell me?” she said after a moment, wishing like hell she had clothes on. The sound of Ian’s sexy baritone voice affected her like a caress, causing her bare nipples to pucker and tighten.

She went over to the couch and grabbed the quilt she kept there, wrapping it around her torso before sitting down. That was a little better.

“Okay. Here’s the thing.” He hesitated, and Kate bit her lip. He
was
going to cancel on her.

“I was at the club last night for a bachelor party. My friend’s wedding is tonight, and my babysitter just cancelled on me.”

Babysitter? Ian had
kids
?

No—that couldn’t be. There was no way the female employees at the network, who had assembled quite a dossier on him, would have missed that piece of personal info.

“I didn’t realize you had children,” she said cautiously.

“I don’t. It’s my nephew. He’s been living with me since his mother died.”

His mother. Was that Ian’s sister?

“It’s an adults-only reception, and even though I’m sure my friend would understand if I had to bring Jacob, it would be awkward. And since he’s eleven, I’m sure the last thing he wants to do is go to a wedding—especially when he’d be the only kid there.”

Was he looking for recommendations for professional babysitters? T
he best ones wouldn’t be available on short notice, but
—

“I’ve tried a few services, but they’re booked up. And anyway, I’d be more comfortable with someone I know.” He paused. “Unfortunately, anyone I know well enough to ask for a favor like this is going to Mick’s wedding, too.”

The reason for Ian’s call finally dawned on her.

He needed a babysitter.

A swirl of emotions went through her. Relief that he wasn’t blowing her off for Jessica’s wedding, even though she had every intention of blowing him off. Annoyance that he thought he knew
her
well enough to ask a favor like this. And underneath all that, an unexpected feeling of disappointment. A part of her had wondered if maybe, just maybe, he was calling to ask her out on a real date.

Which was crazy, of course. He’d made it clear last night that he had no romantic intentions towards her, and even if she weren’t still reeling from a breakup, Ian Hart was the last man on earth she’d want to go out with.

“So,” he continued, “I was wondering if you might be willing to do it. I’d send a car to pick you up and take you home again, and of course I’d pay you whatever you think is fair.”

He was offering to
pay
her? Why, that—

“I wouldn’t ask if I wasn’t desperate,” he went on. “Jacob’s had a rough time since his mom died, and he’s always been kind of an introvert. I’d hate to drag him to this wedding, even if other kids were going to be there.”

Now she’d feel guilty for saying no. She could lie and say she was busy, but—

“I can do it,” she heard herself say.

“Really? That’s great.” The relief in his voice was palpable. “Do you want me to pay you an hourly rate or a fixed sum for the night?”

It was then that Kate realized one of the reasons she’d said yes to this.

“I don’t want you to pay me at all. I’ll watch your nephew because I’m a nice person. I remember you said once that there’s no such thing as a nice person—that when someone does you a favor, there’s always an agenda involved. The only thing I want in exchange for helping you out is an acknowledgment that you were wrong about that.”

“Oh, for God’s sake,” Ian said, sounding disgusted.

Kate found herself smiling. “It’s a pretty small price to pay for free babysitting.”

A short silence. “What exactly do you want me to say?”

“Just that people can do nice things without having an agenda. I’m sure you can manage to utter the words without actually choking on them.”

“But you
do
have an agenda. You want me to say that there’s true kindness in the world, or whatever. That’s an agenda.”

“All right, then. Good luck finding another—”

“Fine, I’ll say it. There may, on rare occasions, be people who do nice things just for the sake of being nice. Is that good enough?”

She was still smiling. “Yep, that’ll do. What time do you need me tonight?”

“The babysitter was supposed to come at five o’clock, but if that’s too early I could—”

“Five o’clock is fine.”

“I won’t be home until after midnight.”

“That’s fine, too. You’re sending me home in a car, right?”

“Right.” He paused. “So . . . I’ll send my driver to pick you up at five. He’ll call when he’s downstairs.”

“Sounds good.”

Another pause. “Okay, then,” he said after a moment. “I guess I’ll see you later today. And . . . thanks, Kate.”

“You’re welcome.”

It occurred to her after she hung up that she still had to cancel their date to Jessica’s wedding. But when she went into the bathroom to shower, she saw Chris’s toothbrush on the sink and felt a sudden spasm in her throat.

She and Chris had met a year earlier at Jessica’s engagement party. He was a biology professor and, like her, not much of a party person. They’d bonded in a quiet corner to which they’d both retreated to get away from the crowd. Their friendship had begun that night, and a few months later they’d started dating.

The transition had been smooth and effortless. They got along as a couple as well as they did as friends—they rarely argued, and there was no drama or angst between them. When Chris had proposed two months ago, it had seemed like the natural culmination of their relationship. Add in the fact that Kate was twenty-nine—right on the cusp between not-a-kid-anymore and holy-biological-clock, Batman—and their engagement had felt almost inevitable.

A part of her had wondered if she ought to be more excited about the whole thing, but she’d long ago come to the conclusion that there would always be a gap between the romances she read and wrote about and the ones she experienced in real life. And Chris was a kind, intelligent, gentle man, and she loved and trusted him.

At least, she had until he’d fallen in love with someone else.

How could she have been so blindsided by someone she thought she knew? Had there been signs all along—signs she’d missed? Their relationship might not have lit the world on fire, but up until yesterday she’d thought it was solid. She’d thought they wanted the same things and were looking forward to building a life together.

But Chris, it turned out, had been looking for something else. Some
one
else. Someone who made him feel whatever it was Anastasia made him feel.

Someone who wasn’t her.

She picked up his toothbrush and squeezed it in her hand.

They’d spent more nights at his place than at hers, but he did have some clothes in the closet and some toiletries here in the bathroom. The clothes she’d give back to him, but a spare toothbrush she could—and did—throw out.

Once she’d dropped it in the wastebasket, she scoured the bathroom for other remnants of him. She found an old bottle of aftershave, a razor, a stick of deodorant, and an empty prescription bottle. They followed the toothbrush into the trash.

She stared down at the pitiful detritus of her relationship. When she felt a tickle in her nose and the sting of tears behind her eyes, she grabbed the basket, marched out of the apartment, and emptied it into the garbage chute.

Back inside, she told herself there was no need to uninvite Ian to Jessica’s wedding just yet. What if she decided she did need a crutch to face her ex? If she’d already cancelled on Ian, she’d be too embarrassed to reinvite him.

Maybe she should give it a few days and see how she felt.

After her shower, she made some toast and poured another cup of coffee. She had only a few hours before she was due at Ian’s, so she decided to stay home and look through her project folder—the file of story ideas she hoped to get to someday.

She’d published short stories and graphic novels before she’d gotten her first job as a television writer. She’d worked on a few different shows in the years since then, but
Life with Max
had been her baby. She’d created it, and she'd written and directed most of the episodes herself with the help of a wonderful production team.