Beginning Again: Book 1 in the Second Chances series (Crimson Romance) (4 page)

But he acted first, letting her go, moving slightly away from her but keeping his hands on her waist. “I needed one more kiss before I left.” He turned toward the car, then back again. “Well, maybe two more.” This one, like the first kiss, was sweet and gentle. “There, now it’s really goodnight. I promise.” He kissed the end of her nose. “No, I guess that’s it.”

She stood rooted to the sidewalk as he started the engine and put the car in gear. Before he pulled out he said, “Breakfast tomorrow at nine. Okay?” and left without waiting for her answer.

Her buzzer rang the next morning at nine. Collins wasn’t anywhere near the freeway driving east, out of her life until she figured out a way to manage him or at least manage her reaction to him. He was at her door, a coffee carrier in one hand and multiple Starbucks bags in the other.

“I thought you were going back to your cabin,” she said as she let him in. “And,” indicating the sacks, “who the hell is coming to breakfast that you brought all that?”

“Couldn’t decide what pastry you’d like so I brought two of everything they had.” He followed her to the kitchen where he began searching her cabinets until he found an acceptable plate on which to put a wild assortment of muffins, scones, bagels, and coffeecake.

“I took a chance that you were a latte kinda woman. Hope I was right.” He removed a large cup from the cardboard carrier and handed it to her. “And I have two juices for you to choose from.” He placed three containers on the table along with a couple of glasses he took from the cabinet before motioning for her to sit.

She hesitated a moment, then pulled out a chair. She hadn’t eaten yet and it looked good. What harm could there be in having breakfast with the man? After all, he was leaving as soon as they finished. Wasn’t he?

“Back to my original question. Aren’t you leaving for home today?” She opened a bottle of pomegranate and blueberry juice and poured it into a glass.

“Aha. I knew you’d be an antioxidant freak like me. I should have just gone with that and left the oj behind.” He snatched up the second container of the same juice and drank from the bottle. Wiping his mouth on a napkin he pulled from a bag, he winked at her. “I’ve decided not to leave for a couple days. I’m having too much fun here.”

Her heart surged, then sank. That was the harm in eating breakfast with him. It was going to lead to … to who knows what? Dear God, what was she going to do?

As if responding to her unspoken question, he said, “I thought we should get to know each other a little better. Hang out, eat dinner, that kind of thing. No pressure. Just an artist and his representative.”

She almost snorted the juice out her nose. “No pressure? Collins, how dumb do you think I am?”

“I don’t think you’re dumb at all. Quite the opposite. You’re way too smart for me. The point of this is for you to get to know me.”

“Does anyone ever say no to you and you take it as no?”

“Lots of people. Judges, juries — in both my legal and art careers, newspaper critics.”

“I’m thinking more in the personal arena.”

“There, too. But when a woman kisses me the way you did, I have hopes.”

“That was just a weak moment … ”

He hoisted the juice container in a toast. “Then here’s to more weak moments.” After downing the rest of the juice, he pushed the plate of breakfast treats towards her. “You first.”

Her hand hovered over the plate. He grabbed it before she could make a choice.

“No, wait. I have a better idea. Let me see if I can figure out what you’ll pick.” He watched her closely, then looked at the plate, then back at her face. “Okay, you keep looking at that scone with the icing on top. But even though you want that one you’ll take something else because you think the icing isn’t good for you. So, you’ll go for the bagel. Later, after I’m gone, you’ll pick the icing off the scone and eat it.” He released her hand and sat back in the chair.

She jerked her hand away from the bagel she’d been about to take and selected a blueberry muffin instead.

“You weren’t going to take that muffin and you know it.” He laughed and picked up the rejected bagel. “So, when we finish breakfast, what shall we do today?”

“I have work to do in my gallery. In case you’ve forgotten, I’m trying to start a business.”

“It’s Sunday, Liz. You deserve a day off. How about we go to the zoo?”

“The zoo? That’s your idea of getting-to-know-you activities?”

“You can tell a lot about a person by the kinds of animals she likes.”

• • •

It turned out, he was right. She wanted to go immediately to see the giraffes, which she said she had some sympathy for, whereas he wanted to see the elephants because he was always hoping he could find a way to free them from the confinement of their tiny cage. Neither of them liked to watch the sea lion who swam the same circle in its small tank like a patient pacing the floor in a psychiatric ward. They agreed that the big cats were beautiful to watch and the lorikeets annoying when they buzzed you looking for food.

Mid-afternoon, when he dropped her off at home, he said he’d be back at seven to take her out for dinner at a place he wanted to try in the trendy Pearl District. Because she’d given up fighting about his planning her day, she agreed.

When he arrived, he had a bottle of wine with him.

“I thought we were going out.”

“We are. But I couldn’t get a reservation until 8:30 so I thought we could have a glass of champagne here. You like champagne, don’t you?”

“I love it. And you even brought my favorite, Argyle. But it’s not really champagne.”

“Hey, who’s the lawyer here? I know it’s technically sparkling wine, but what the hell? I don’t see any French wine police around to object, do you?” When she shook her head he said, “Okay, then, how about glasses for this not-champagne?”

“Right here,” she answered, bringing out two crystal flutes and an ice bucket to keep the bottle chilled.

They settled on the couch in her living room.

“So, now that we know each other better … ” he started.

“One trip to the zoo and we know each other better?”

“Absolutely. Now that we know each other better, I want to revisit our conversation from last night.”

“Which one?” Her mind was whirling trying to find an escape, any escape from the topic he was about to raise. The only result was dizziness from the effort.

“Do you really need to ask?”

“That’s a closed topic, Collins. There’s nothing more to say.”

“Oh, I think there’s a whole hell of a lot more to say.”

“All right then, if you insist, let me be blunt, since subtle seems to be lost on you. We’re not going to get involved the way you’re suggesting.”

“Why not? I can’t believe you don’t want to. I saw your face. I know how you felt when we kissed. And the age and contract excuses are bogus. I’m sure of it. What’s it really?”

“Look, I’m no good at it, all right?” She avoided his eyes, putting her head back on the couch and staring at the ceiling. “There’s no point in going any further because it’ll be awful for you and then I’ll be embarrassed and feel like a failure and we’ll never be able to have a decent conversation about anything ever again and … ”

“You’re no good at it … at what, exactly?”

She sighed and closed her eyes, hoping she could get it out without having to look at him. “At what you want. I’m … I don’t know … lacking in skills, grace. Whatever it takes to be a good lover, I don’t have it. I never have. So it’s better not to even … ”

“Who the hell told you that?”

Her eyes flew open and she finally looked at him. “No one had to tell me. It’s been obvious.”

“So … what … you don’t like sex?”

“Of course I like sex. It’s nice. Sex is nice.”

“Babe, sex can be hot and sweaty or breathtaking and amazing, sometimes it’s off the charts sensational or even fun, but it sure as hell isn’t nice. Tea parties are nice. If that’s what your experience has been … ”

“That’s what I’m trying to say. I’m bad at it.”

“More likely you’ve been with men who didn’t know what they were doing.”

“And, of course, you do.”

“You won’t know until you try, will you?”

She shook her head. “You are the most arrogant, conceited, egotistical man I’ve ever met. Is there anything you don’t think you do well?”

“We can have a discussion of my character flaws another time. Tonight, we’re talking about you.” He smiled. “Hell, I thought you were going to tell me you had a contagious disease or were dying or belonged to some religion that requires celibacy. What you’re talking about is just a little delusion. We can take care of that.” He furrowed his brow, as if considering how to accomplish the task.

“A delusion? I’m deluded? Do you have any idea how hard it was for me to tell you that? And you brush it off as a delusion.” She sat up straight with her arms crossed over her chest. She was sure fire was shooting out of her ears or maybe her nostrils. “And I’m not something you ‘take care of.’ I’m not a project.”

“God, no, you’re not. You’re a beautiful woman who found the switch to turn me on the first time she looked at me, but who thinks she’s frigid or something.”

“I didn’t say I was frigid. I said I was inept. And is this your idea of no pressure? This is about as high pressure as … as … I can’t even think of anything that’s as high pressure as this conversation is.” She put her glass down on the coffee table. “This was not a good idea.” She moved away from him, perched on the edge of the couch for a moment, and started to get up.

He took her hand to stop her. “Wait. I’m sorry. I’m pushing when I promised not to.”

“It’s too late. I think the evening’s over.”

“But we haven’t had dinner yet.”

“Dinner? After this conversation?”

“Aren’t you hungry? I am. That hot dog we had at the zoo wasn’t very much.” He kissed the back of her hand. “Come on, Liz. I know you want to try this restaurant. I hear it’s great. Don’t take it out on the poor restaurant because I’ve been an idiot.”

She shook off his touch. “You are the most maddening man — person — I’ve ever met. Why do I keep giving in to you?”

He shrugged. “My mother says I’m cute. Maybe that’s it.”

• • •

The restaurant was everything they’d both heard it to be — trendy, expensive, and good. When they arrived, the owner, Tom Webster, after ascertaining that the Collins on the reservation list was indeed the well-known sculptor, welcomed them and brought them a bottle of wine compliments of the house. Webster was a tall, good-looking man who oozed fake charm. At least that’s what Liz thought. She might have been influenced by the way he hovered over Collins, ignoring her. When he finally acknowledged her it was to give her his advice on how to make her business better — even though he’d never been in her as-yet-unfinished gallery.

He wrapped up his list with a suggestion that she feature a woman he knew who did some kind of glass art — Liz was convinced it was collapsing wine bottles in a kiln to make cheese plates — and promised that he’d allow some of her artists to display in his restaurant once she’d proven herself a success. She listened politely, grinding down her molars a bit and trying not to spit at the man. When he left to bother other patrons, Collins, whose sly smile suggested he’d been enjoying the exchange, poured the wine from his glass into hers, saying she needed it more than he did.

Local politics absorbed their attention through their entrees, but when dessert was served, Collins brought the conversation back to something more personal.

“So, you’ve been married?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Want to tell me about it?”

“Why would I?” She squirmed in her seat.

“So we get to know each other better.”

“I thought we were finished with that experiment.”

He leaned across the table and held out a forkful of his chocolate cake for her to taste. “You said we were finished with it. I’m not ready to give up on it yet.”

Licking the icing off her mouth, she said, “I’m still eating. Why don’t you go first? Have you been married?”

“Not even close. I decided a long time ago that marriage wasn’t likely to be in my future. The reasons people get married seem to be to have live-in company, kids, or both. I’m a workaholic who likes being alone when I’m not working, and the responsibility of raising a child to be a decent human being scares the bejesus out of me.”

She was amazed at how easily he talked about something so personal. He didn’t even need prodding to continue.

“I’ve had a couple long-term relationships, one in my twenties and one in my early thirties. Both ended when the women wanted what I couldn’t give them — the house with the white picket fence, the 2.3 kids, the golden retriever named Honey. So we parted friends. Sort of. When I want company, I can usually find someone to go to dinner with me. Or whatever. And I know lots of people with ideas about who to fix me up with if I can’t find someone on my own.” He sat back in his chair and sipped his coffee. “That’s my story. What’s yours?”

“It takes a bit longer.”

“We have the rest of the night.”

She hesitated, not sure exactly what to tell him. Then the thought occurred that the truth might be what she needed to take control over what the hell was happening between them. So, he’d get the truth. The whole truth.

“When you were eleven and I was nineteen … ” She ignored the interruption of a raised eyebrow and a theatrical cough and plowed ahead. “When I was nineteen, I married one of my college professors. He was forty-three. I was this hick kid from the Central Valley in California and he was the most sophisticated man I’d ever met. I thought he loved me.” She sighed. “Turned out, he was looking for a research project not a wife.”

“He was Henry Higgins and you were Eliza Doolittle?”

“Except, unlike in
My Fair Lady
, he never got emotionally attached. We married just before his sabbatical year and I dropped out of school to travel with him. He tutored me in art at some of the most famous museums in the world. Those places I talked about visiting at dinner last night? Roger took me to most of them.”