Crossing Hathaway (11 page)

Aching for something to do other than stand there like an idiot, I dug the toe of my shoe into the carpet. “Then what do you want?”

Silence for a moment. “I think you know what I want us to be.”

A nervous giggle burst out of me. “Neighboring inmates in the local psychward?”

He boomed out a laugh, filling my insides with dancing butterflies.

Again, I peeked through my fingers, unable to help myself. He stood there grinning, held the towel in his hand and stared at me with penetrating green eyes. My hand fell away, heat breaking across my skin as my gaze devoured him from head to toe and all of the delicious bits in between. The definition of his muscular arms caught my attention. Full, defined. He must have worked out hours per day. Wouldn’t I like to be a little fly on the wall to see that? I followed the spectacular contours of his body. A thin strip of dark hair started just above his bellybutton and drew my focus down to its eye-popping conclusion. I shook myself and turned, gathered my chin from the floor and considered checking it for drool.

“Can you please put some clothes on?” I focused on the stones of the fireplace surround so my gaze wouldn’t wander back to him. “And stop staring at me like that. I can’t think when you do that.”

Hell. Why did I have to say that out loud?
Christ.

“You’re angry with me. Don’t you like the roses?” His voice held uncertainty. “I thought women enjoyed flowers.”

I turned, staring at his feet, and held the card out for him to see. “What does this mean, ‘you like what you see?’”

He padded closer, his footsteps on the hardwood barely audible. “You said when I looked at you I could see your soul. I wanted you to know that I like what I see.”

A surge of tingles spread through my chest. His words stole my ability to breathe, and I couldn’t sort a coherent thought out of the whirlwind in my head.

My trembling worsened. I watched the water dripping down his legs. “So—the roses—you weren’t trying to humiliate me?”

Wrapping the towel around his waist, he said, “No, of course not.” His voice rose in volume, ripe with hurt. “I searched the city for that breed of flower. They’re called fire and ice, symbolic of our—I’ll call it chemistry.”

I met his stare, his damp curls and bare skin melting me into my sensible shoes. “That’s actually … kind of sweet.” I closed my eyes for a moment. “Please don’t do it again, though. Cam is about to have an aneurism over the mess.”

“Are you free Friday evening?”

I snorted, slapping my thigh like a moron. “I’m not sure. My social calendar is pretty full.”

“Have dinner with me. I’ll cook.”

I swallowed, chuckled, but choked on it when I realized he wasn’t joking. “You mean like a date? You and I?” My finger pointed back and forth between us.

His chin quirked, but it didn’t contain his amusement. “Your powers of observation are frightening.”

“Hardy-har-har.” I rolled my eyes, a mutinous smile creeping across my lips. “I-I’m not sure that’s such a good idea. I don’t know how to trust you after you’ve been such a dick, or myself for that matter, especially when you’re in the buff.” My palm smacked against my forehead.
Fuck
. “I think your nakedness is jamming my brain-to-mouth filter.”

Another deep laugh burst out of Ben while my cheeks felt as if they blazed. The bass sound vibrated down my spine and made me shiver.

His very large hand smoothed across his six-pack while I wished he’d used mine instead. “When we met, I asked you to prove yourself to me. It’s only fair you ask the same of me. Spend time with me, and if I haven’t changed your mind about me within four dates, then I’ll admit failure and leave you alone.”

Squinting, I kept my gaze above the danger zone, which included everything below his neck. “Why do I get the feeling you’re not asking me? What happens if I tell you to go to hell? Which I should, by the way.”

“I can be very persuasive, Evangeline.” Edging nearer, he traced his fingers along the fine line of hair down his midsection. “Do you believe me?”

I reached out for him before I could stop myself. He slipped his hand over mine, pulled me closer, and pressed my fingers against his warm, smooth chest. His heart raced beneath my touch, betraying a greater excitement or nervousness his calm exterior hid. His intoxicating, heady scent filled my senses. I sighed and leaned closer until my cheek rested against the side of his jaw, smooth and still moist from his shower.

My pulse sped as I tried to command my jelly legs without success. When my voice of reason broke through the images of Ben whipping off his towel and throwing me to the floor, I jerked my hand away, holding it over my heart as I stepped back.

A low moan escaped him as he rubbed a hand along his jaw. “Your skin is incredibly soft.”

Goosebumps popped up along my arms. “You didn’t answer me. What happens if I say no to our date?” I sounded breathless.

“I would never harm you, Evangeline. But I know you’re as attracted to me as I am to you, and you enjoyed my kiss, even if you won’t admit it. I’ll wear down your resistance to me eventually. It’s only a matter of time.” A dark smile spread across his lips. He winked, pulled his towel off, and fluffed his hair with it. “Be here by seven Friday night. I hope you like Italian.”

Ben turned and walked toward the hallway he’d come from, the muscles working in his firm, round ass with each step he took. Wow. I mean, damn. Just … damn. I couldn’t tear my gaze away from his scenery until he disappeared around the corner.

I had no idea how long I stood there, grinning like an idiot. When the cogs of my brain reconnected, I scowled and bolted out the door, down the stairs, and out of his office. I did not need him to come out again and find me still there.

I closed the outer door and leaned back against it, panting.

“Be here by seven,” I mocked in his voice. “Arrogant much?”

My girly bits throbbed against my will, and the memory of his kiss swept through me, filling me with fire again. I touched shaking fingers to my lips to stop the tingles. What would he do if I said no? Would he fill the building with roses next time? The entire city block? Something worse? What irked me the most was that I didn’t know if his little escapade was just another power trip for him, or if he truly had a romantic interest in me. It would drive me crazy until I discovered his motivations. How sad and pathetic did that make me?

How could I find out without him turning me into a giggling teenager every time he came near me? His mere presence had evaporated the anger I’d built on the way to his office. All he had to do was flash a little of that hot body and I’d probably sell him my soul for a penny, or maybe just for a glimpse of him naked again.

No, I was stronger than that, stronger than Mom, and I’d prove it.
Fine, I’ll go, confirm he’s the ass I’m sure he is and then tell him to fuck off.
My stomach twisted. If I did go, what would I wear? I had nothing other than work clothes and holey sweat pants. Even if I had racks of clothing around me, I wouldn’t have the first clue what would be appropriate. Fashion and I didn’t exist in the same universe together.

Brent appeared in his pink trench coat, a black attaché case hung over his shoulder, balancing a tray of coffee in one hand and clutching a Grindhouse bag in the other. When his eyes fell over me, he flashed a giant, white-toothed grin. “You dog! You stayed the night.”

A sound of disgust blasted out of me. “I did
not
stay the night. Cam called me in early and I came up here to give your boss a piece of my mind.”

Nodding with a smile, Brent set his load on his desk and bounded over, shaking a finger. “If you’re not all flushed from hot steamy sex, then do tell how you managed that lovely rosy glow on your face.”

I crossed my arms and averted my stare. “I told you. I came up here to yell at your boss.”

His laughter twittered into the room, making me smile. “Fine, keep your secrets. I’m not sure what the big deal is. I’ve snuck a few peeks at Mr. H., and I would totally hit that if I were you. Great taste in clothes, rocking bod, eyes to die for, and an ass that—”

“Brent!” I paced, rubbing my temples. I didn’t need reminders. Staring at his polished outfit of shining gray pants and a white button-down, I stopped as an idea bloomed in my head. All I needed to do was figure out how to broach the subject. “I have a hypothetical question for you. Let’s say a man was holding a dinner party and invited a woman. She doesn’t know him very well, only that he’s well-to-do. What would she wear to said dinner party?”

Brent’s pale storm cloud eyes lit up. He shrugged out of his pink coat and folded it over his arm, clearly thrilled I’d asked. “That would depend on a few details.”

Oh, lordy. Dare I ask?
Fine. “Such as?”

“What time is the dinner?”

“Seven.”

Nodding in thought, he added, “Are you going out or staying in?”

“Staying in.” I threw up my hands. “What does any of this have to do with anything?”

He dismissed me with a flick of his fingers, heavy with golden rings. “Don’t interrupt a master at work. Do you want to turn him off, fuck him, or tease him?”

“I—we’re not talking about me, remember? And I don’t know. Make him wish he’d been nicer to her, I suppose, show him he isn’t all that and a chocolate bar as he thinks he is.”

Brent rolled his eyes and counted on his fingers. “Okay, so we have a man making dinner in his well-to-do home, later in the evening, and this,” he made air quotes, “woman wants to put on a little cock tease. Does that about cover it?”

I gestured for him to get on with it. “Yeah, okay. Tell me what she should wear?”

“I’ll do you one better.” Brent bounced, leaned in close, and put his hand on my arm. “Meet me at the front doors at four thirty this afternoon and I’ll take you shopping.”

I wiped a hand down my face, worms squirming in my stomach. “I told you—”

He held up his hand. “I might be blond, but I’m more than just a pretty face. I swear on my beloved grandmother’s soul that your secret will never pass my pouty little lips. And besides, I know what Mr. H. likes so you can thank me later.” With that, he returned to his desk, straightened his top button, and sat. “Just don’t piss him off too badly or we’ll all be in for a world of hurt. If I somehow get caught in the crossfire, I’m so haunting your ass.”

Was I really going to have dinner with Mr. Hathaway … alone … in his apartment? My mind answered with a flash of his body, water trickling down his stomach, followed by an echo of his deep laughter and his words,
I like what I see.

I took a deep breath, exhaled. Yep, I was really going to do it, but only to show him he didn't have the power over me that he thought he did. Seriously.

Hell.

Brent linked his arm through mine and tugged me along the center corridor of the mall. Glass storefronts filled with skinny clothing-covered mannequins in awkward poses lined either side of us. I concentrated on the hordes of people around us to keep my discomfort about the shopping venture off my face, and thanked my lucky stars he’d stopped skipping beside me.

“I still can’t believe you gave all of your roses away.” Brent’s gaze followed a man walking in front of us who wore tight leather pants.

“I didn’t give them all away, and besides, how would I have gotten eight million roses home on the bus?” The hypnotic wiggling of the guy in the leather drew my attention too.

Brent snorted, waved a hand at me. “I’d happily have driven them to your place for you.”

I stopped, raised an eyebrow. “Brent, you drive a Volkswagen Golf, not a tractor-trailer.”

He shrugged and grinned. “We could have made a few trips. You know, made a fun night of it.”

Brent wanted to spend time with me? That was a first. I didn’t have many friends. Or any, for that matter. “Well, it’s too late now. Once Cam sent out the e-mail, a swarm hit the IT office like piranhas on a bleeding leg. Paul said Jeremy cowered in the corner until they were finished fighting over who would get which vase.” I snickered. “Pisses me off that I wasn’t there to see it for myself.”

Brent gasped and folded his hands over his mouth before jumping up and down and pointing to a sign farther down the corridor. “Illiana’s. That’s where we’re going, my favorite boutique, like, ever.”

Squealing, he grabbed my hand and yanked me forward. I pulled against him, but he had more strength then I’d imagined his slim body could contain. When he didn’t relent, I gave up and jogged along with him, grinning at his flailing arm and bright eyes. We walked through racks of clothing, right to the back. Muttering to himself, he shoved me into a dressing room, followed me in, and shut the door.

“Okay,” he said, fanning himself with his hand. “Let me have a look at those legs.”

My lips folded down at their corners. “I most certainly will not. Why would you want that?”

The question earned me a grunt and an eye roll. “I need to know what length of skirt to look for, silly. If you’ve got smoking legs, we’re going to use them to our advantage.”

“Oh no.” I shook my head and held up my hand in an over-my-desiccated-corpse gesture. “Not only no, but hell no. I don’t do skirts, Brent.”

Mouth gaped open, he squinted and propped his hands on his hips. “You mean, like ever? You’ve never worn a dress?”

“Never have, never will.”

Brent tapped his foot, fists propped on his hips. “You can’t tease a man in slacks, Evangeline. Do you want my help or not?”

“Slacks?” A sudden laugh bubbled up my throat. “Who says slacks other than my grandmother?”

At first he narrowed his eyes, but they softened and he chuckled with me. He nudged my shoulder. “Shut up. Now drop the,” he made air quote, “pants and let me see those legs. Don’t be shy. You’re not exactly my type.”

His corny wink made me laugh again. “Fine, Mr. Bossy Pants.” I undid my belt, unzipped, and stepped out of my dress pants. As he stared at me, I posed with my hands on my hips, turned and then swept them across my thighs like a game show model.

“Hell, girl! You’ve got curves, and I don’t mean in a bad way. Yee-haw. Short skirt it is.” He rubbed his hands together, then scowled. “Speaking of your grandmother, I think you put on her underwear by accident. Tell me you have something other than those old cotton nasties?”