Attraction (7 page)

feel all achy and hot and tense in her loins…
From the other end of the telephone line, an impatient male voice said, sharply clipping
his words, “Ms. Calderon, this is Heron Wait, your sister’s fiancée.”
Riley bolted upright in her bed. The bed covers fell to her waist and she hurried brought
them back up and held them tightly over her breasts.
“Are you there?” the male voice inquired impatiently when she did not speak for several
seconds.
“Yes, I am,” she answered, trying to sound imperious. “Why are you calling?”
“I happen to be in Santa Rosa on business today. And I’d like to meet you for lunch. Is
twelve thirty good for you?”
“It depends. Why would I want to meet you for lunch?”
“I thought we could get better acquainted,” Heron said silkily. “We are going to be
related in less than a month.”
Riley’s first instinct was to tell Heron Wait to go to hell. Then she remembered the
exhausted and distraught look on her sister’s face when Tanner had brought her up from San
Francisco that night. She knew that Roberta needed every support and strength that her family
could give her to see her through the grueling ordeal of the wedding arrangements.
“Alright. Twelve-thirty it is, Mr. Wait. Where?”
“Hotel La Rose. Oh, don’t be late. I don’t like to be kept waiting.”
The phone clicked in Riley’s ear as he hung up on the other end. She looked at the
receiver with resentment before she replaced it. “Arrogant bastard.”
On cool autumn noon, Riley entered the Mixx, a posh restaurant that often was written up
in Chronicle for its innovative dishes. She stopped just a few feet from the door and looked
through the window. And, there, she saw him, and her face turned severe with grimness. He was
sitting alone at a small, intimate table for two, sipping at a red wine that she was sure was the
priciest on the wine menu.
If she had any guts, she would just turn the other way and walk back to her car. But that
might only make it worse for her sister. So, she had no choice, but to meet him. For lunch, he
said, making it sound as if it were a friendly lunch. But she knew it would be far from friendly,
lunch or no lunch. To give herself a boost of confidence, Riley decided to dress in classic chic in
camel colored wool pleated slacks with cuffs at the hem, high-heeled cream pumps, creamcolored, long-sleeved silk pullover with a crewneck, and a black pashmina that she draped over
her shoulders. The attire made her appear together and confident. Squaring her shoulders, she
stepped inside.
“Ah, Ms. Calderon. It has been a while since you’ve been in here,” the head-waiter said
in a thick French accent, half delighted and half admonishing. “A table for one, or are you with a
guest.” He kissed Riley on both cheeks.
“Hello, Francois. No, actually I’m here to meet someone. He’s already sitting at the
table.” Riley gestured towards Heron.
“Ah! Toute alors!,” Francois exclaimed. “Does he belong to you, then? He is tres, tres,
tres beautiful, in a cold, brutal way.” He shuddered with imagined pleasure. Francois was an
occasional visitor upstairs at the bar. He liked to be whipped and disciplined by other men,
especially by policemen.
Riley laughed. “No, he’s not mine.”
Francois breathed in, his eyes shining with hope. “Then there’s a chance…”
“No, Francois, there’s not a chance of that, either. He belongs to my sister. He’s her
fiancée.”
“That doesn’t mean anything. That could be just for appearances.”
“Well, you might be the best to pick up on such things. Tell me, when you sat him down,
did you get any vibes from him?”
Francois pouted. “No, the brute. He didn’t even know I existed while I showed him to the
table. He just sat down, ordered wine, and began to talk on his cell. But that could be because he
was only playing hard to get.”
Riley patted him on the shoulder. “Well, keep hoping. It doesn’t hurt to hope.”
Francois walked her to the table. When she neared the table, Heron, stood up, and when
he did, Riley was reminded of just how tall he was, Suddenly, she felt uneasy, but in a different
way than had she felt earlier. She was acutely aware of just how devastating his looks were, and
she felt as bowled over as Francois had felt. But it wasn’t just the fact that his body was lean and
powerful or that his face was so strikingly good-looking or that his thick black hair was
irresistible and inviting. If the dark attraction that Heron seemed to exude just had to with
appearances, than he was only as good as the next rising actor in Hollywood. There was a certain
stillness about him, not a quietude or contentment or inner peace, but a stillness that was caused
by a knowing, waiting, calculating, and playing his cards close to his chest. That stillness was
magnetic, commanding, dominating and, therefore, intimidating. That stillness did not come
from being born and raised in comfort and ease, but from knowing what he wanted and getting it,
and winning at everything he did in life.
And Heron seemed to instinctively know how to dress to emphasize that silent, heavy,
male presence. For the lunch meeting, he wore a black suit of the finest wool, meticulously hand
tailored for his body by an exclusive English tailoring house, olive cotton dress shirt that had an
expensive patina, and black tie with tiny taupe polka-dots. He looked elegant, incredibly
expensive, deceptively at ease, in command.
For a moment, Riley studied his cleanly-cut face that was set into a stony mask and the
shutters over his eyes. “Hello.” Then, somehow, with some inconsequence, she thought of Heron
as Mr. Wait.” Do I call you Mr. Wait or Heron?”
They both sat down in their seats as a busboy filled their goblets with water and slices of
lemon. Riley took off her pashmina and draped it on the back of her chair.
“Heron will be fine. You’re ten minutes late.”
Riley gave an unperturbed, cool smile. “I don’t do very well being ordered around as if I
were some trained poodle. Besides, you woke me up during my normal sleeping hours. So, it’s
you who is imposing on my time.” Out of the corner of her eye, Riley saw the busboy jerk as he
laid a basket of freshly baked French bread and butter on the table.
Heron waited for the busboy to leave. Then said smoothly, “I apologize. You’re right,
Ms. Calderon, I am imposing on you. In my personal and professional life, I have very little
flexibility in my own time. I had a business appointment up here, and I felt it was a perfect
opportunity for us to talk. Just you and I, alone.”
Riley wasn’t impressed by his apology, and didn’t bother to attempt to show that she was.
“Talk about what? What could there possibly be for you and I to talk about?”
“Many things. Of course, most of them concern your sister, my fiancée.”
She yawned and did little to hide it. “You know, I’m not much for conversation when I
haven’t had a good morning sleep.” She refused to be affected when Heron gave her a look that
was not very pleasant.
Francois appeared ready to take their order. “Are you ready?” he asked briskly, trying not
to give Heron a look of longing.
Riley ordered light, wondering if she could stomach anything at this hour when her body
was used to sleeping during this time. “I’ll have pasta in chicken stock and hot tea.”
Heron handed his menu to him. “I’ll have yellowtail sashimi rolls and side salad.”
“Excellent choice, sir. The yellowtail will be especially scrumptious today. We just had a
fresh delivery of it early this morning.” Francois gushed. “And, may I say, that the cologne
you’re wearing is fabulous. What is the name of it?”
His face deadpan, Heron stared at the other man for a moment. Then he pulled out his
pen and wrote something down on his napkin and handed it to an excited Francois. But the
waiter’s face turned to disappointment when he saw that Heron had not written down his phone
number as he had hoped but the name of the cologne.
“Thank you,” Francois murmured listlessly and walked away.
“You must get that a lot,” Riley observed with some amusement.
“I’m not gay.”
“I didn’t say you were. I was just saying that you must get approached a lot, by both men
and women.
Heron shrugged, not too interested in the topic. “Why would I, more than any other
man?”
Riley stared at him in disbelief. “Well, look at you. You’re about the most intensely
attractive man I’ve ever seen.”
For some reason, hearing her say that shocked Heron and he could only stare back at her.
Riley herself was startled to hear the words coming out of her mouth. The words were so
personal when spoken out loud. And yet, they were so forthright, and said not to flatter or to
seduce but because it was a fact that was overwhelmingly true.
“That must not come as a surprise to you,” she said. “Surely you’ve been told numerous
times that you were attractive.”
Heron said, “Not quite in that way. Even Roberta has not told me that I was attractive.”
An awkward silence fell. Then both looked away, keenly uncomfortable, and not quite
knowing what to do to ease the tension. Both had not meant for things between them so early on
the in the conversation to get so personal. They felt some measure of reprieve when the busboy
reappeared to refill their glasses.
During the brief interlude, Heron managed to regain his equilibrium.
When the busboy left again, he said, “I love your sister, Riley.”
Riley also felt herself back in control. She smiled coolly at his words. ”You know, what
is coming next should be considered suspect when you start with a line like that.”
“That’s not a line,” Heron said coldly.
“You’re forgetting which sister you’re dealing with, honey. Remember me? I’m the one
whose business is sex, in one form or another. And what is sex, but one line after another. Now, I
know you love my sister, but shame on you for trying to pawn that off to try and gain the
advantage.”
Heron’s face went stone cold, his dark eyes as chilling and cutting as the icy face of the
Himalayans. “That’s right. I guess I’m giving you too much credit by trying to appeal to your
familial sensibilities, to your sense of love and duty to your family. I’d be better off if I
remember that who I am dealing with is no better than the hustler down at the street corner.”
Riley tipped her glass at him. “Now, you’re talking.” She was not offended. Far from it.
She would have felt more respected if Heron had dispensed with the niceties that she knew he
constantly meted out in his own ensconced world of privilege and money. After all, she
recognized a hustle when she saw it, even when cloaked in a London-tailored, finest sheep wool
clothing.
Heron reached for a bread roll. She watched, a little fascinated despite herself, his wellmanicured fingers neatly tearing the roll in half and then the long fingers handling the delicate
silver butter knife with ease and grace to carefully and with deceptively meticulous care, spread
the cream on one half.
He said, almost idly, “Well, you’ll have to forgive me if I observe protocol. You’ll have
to remember where I come from.” He bit into the bread, and Riley detected a slight relish in the
way he sank his teeth into the bread.
“Like I said, I very much care for your sister,” he said smoothly, washing the bread down
with his wine. “The most important thing to me is her happiness. And I hope that it is as well for
you, too.”
Riley drummed her fingers on the table. “You know, I’m ashamed to say that I’m the
type who, when picking up a new book, reads the ending of the book first before she decides to
read it or not. It always seemed strange to me that that was blasphemous to those lover of books,
but it always seemed sensible to me. After all, how a book ends largely tells a potential reader
just how much she should invest in it.”
Heron gave her a smile, which was more of showing his white teeth than conveying any
warmth or humor. “Now that I’m marrying Roberta, of course, my first concern is her future
happiness. Her future happiness with me largely depends on both our ability to have our
marriage be enfolded in the community of my family, relatives, and friends. And part of that
enfoldment depends on our ability to come to a certain understanding..”
Riley shook her head. “Isn’t is fascinating how life is just one long unending chain? One
thing in life depends on another, which depends on another, and so on, and so on.”
“I’m largely at the whim of your favor.”
Riley leaned closer towards him, her light gray hazel eyes almost friendly. “That’s
bullshit. You’re the last man to let yourself be in a position where your fate has strings that can
be pulled by another.”
“Normally, that is true. But when you fall in love, self-determination, I’m afraid, is
subordinated.”
“That is so sweet. Did you get that from a Hallmark’s card?”
Heron gave an icy smile. “You can take this just so far.”
“Ah, there is it is. As much as you’re trying to impress me that you’re thoroughly
civilized, don’t’ bother. Not with me, at least.”
A brief break in the deadly sparring was forced on them when Francois arrived with their
meals. After getting the dishes in front of them, he set down between them a small vial of olive
oil and tiny bowl that contained shaved parmesan.
Francois looked a little uneasy from one to the other. He knew both were hardly aware of
him, each keeping his or her eye on the other. He imagined that each was assessing the weakest
points in the other into where they could thrust their foil once his back was turned.
“Will there be anything else,” he asked carefully.
Heron barely gave him a glance. “No. Thank you. That will be all.”
After Francois took his leave, without preamble, he smoothly picked up their exchange
where they had left it. “Fine. Then, let me be blunt about all this. I have concerns about your
business and what it means to your sister once she is married to me.”
“Concerns?”
“Not so much the bar and dance club. Those I can accept. It is your sex club that I have
deep concerns about.”
Riley stiffened, her face turning cold as she waited for him to continue, sipping at her
soup.
“Running a sex club is a bit unusual, wouldn’t you agree? It’s not exactly the normal,
accepted method of livelihood.”
Still, she kept quiet but watched him, and continuing to sip her soup. She watched him
slice into a succulent roll of yellowtail tuna that was soaked in olive oil and bite into it. She had