Just Believe (11 page)

"Well? Are you going to make my day, or
leave me in loneliness and depression?"

Unbidden, a smile came to her lips as
she looked into his eyes.

"Yes?" he asked with a tip of his head,
tossing forward a lock of his wheat-gold hair.

Only for a moment did Annabelle think
about using her mother as an excuse.

"Wait. Don't decide now, when you're
irritated with me." He pulled a business card and a pen from his
breast pocket. Scribbling on the back of the card, he said,
glancing away from the card to her face, "Here's my cell phone
number. If I don't hear from you by six, I'll assume you've decided
to give me another chance. I'll pick you up at your mother's house
at seven."

Annabelle stared at the card for a
moment before reaching for it. Her fingers closed around the very
edge. She couldn't believe he made her afraid to let their
fingertips touch. Then she made the mistake of glancing up. Gaelen
held her eyes and the card tight for just a second. Releasing it
with a promising smile, he turned and strolled toward the
stairwell.

She watched him go, watched the eyes of
all the women in the hall follow him.

"Ms. Tinker?" Dr. Duncan came up behind
her in the silent shoes all the staff wore around the hospital.
"You may return to your sister's room now. We're
finished."

"Thank you," Annabelle answered,
fingering the card in her hand. The name was plain in bold black
letters on the creamy stock.

The doctor's eyes were fixed on the
card, on Gaelen Riley's telephone number. Annabelle slipped the
card into her slacks pocket. Dr. Duncan smiled shyly, caught
peeking.

"Please be careful what you say to
Erin. I think we've made some progress today," she said and turned
without waiting for a response, heading down the corridor toward
her next patient.

Annabelle glanced at the tiny woman's
purposeful progress as she pushed open the door to Erin's
room.

"So, what did the Wicked Witch say
about me this time?" Erin asked, her lips pursed in a
pout.

"That you're certifiably nuts, and we
should donate your brain to science since you're not using
it."

"Be serious, Annabelle."

"I am serious. She'll be back in
fifteen minutes to perform the procedure. You should get your
affairs in order. Can I have your Barbie dolls?"

Erin's pout rearranged itself into a
sweet smile and a laugh.

"You always could do that to me." She
sat up. "So, what did the totally dreamy Dr. Riley want to see you
about?"

"What are you talking about? When I
came in, he was sitting on the edge of your bed telling you Lucas
stories."

"He was only waiting for you to show
up. He came up here to talk to you." Erin's eyes sparkled. "I think
he likes you."

"He asked me to dinner."

"Really? Well, see?"

"Please, Erin. Think about it. His
invitation has nothing at all to do with me. He just wants to find
Lucas and he thinks I can help him. He'll probably quiz me over the
appetizer." She frowned. "Does it seem funny to you that he's
apparently not able to find his own brother? Has Lucas said
anything to you about problems they're having?"

Erin shook her head. "No. All I've
heard from Lucas about his brother is very complimentary. I think
Lucas has a bad case of hero-worship for Gaelen."

"Then why would he be afraid of Gaelen
finding him? There's more here than brotherly love."

"I don't have any idea. But maybe you
can find out on your date." Erin smiled slyly. "So, when is your
date?"

"I didn't say I said yes."

Erin flashed a look of disgust. "You're
telling me a man who looks like Gaelen Riley asks you to dinner and
you're hesitating even a second? Where is he taking you? Provided
you get smart and accept, of course."

"The Tea Room."

"You're kidding. You are
going?"

Perhaps a little investigation of her
own was called for. There was more to this whole situation than met
the eye and it was time to put her skills to the test.

"Sure I am."

Chapter Seven

Gaelen stood at the front door of the
Tinker residence at seven sharp as promised, looking like an ad out
of GQ, a fresh bouquet of daisies in his hand. Peeking from behind
the living room curtain, Annabelle went all gooey. How had he known
daisies were her favorite?

She let the lacy curtain drop and took
a deep breath to calm her racing heart. And she chastised herself
for getting all excited about this date. It was the same
chastisement she'd flung at herself as she took great pains getting
ready, even borrowing the sleeveless black cocktail dress with the
scooping neckline from her mother's closet. She hoped it would be
dressy enough.

Opening the door slowly enough to not
look anxious, but quickly enough to be polite, Annabelle pasted a
smile over her nervous jitters.

"Dr. Riley, right on time."

"I try to never keep a lady waiting."
His eyes traveled down her body, then back up. His examination,
though not leering, left her tingling in its wake. "You are
lovely."

She stared for a moment, struck dumb by
the simple compliment. "Thank you," she whispered, then rousing
some of her backbone, she added with a grin, "You're lovely,
too."

He chuckled, the rich, deep sound
sending a ripple down her spine.

Then she realized she'd left him
standing on the front porch. "Oh, I'm sorry. Please, come in." She
stepped aside, allowing him to enter. As he passed by, a warm,
grassy scent followed him. Annabelle found herself breathing deeper
to draw it in. "I'll just get my wrap and bag."

"Is your mother here? Should I tell her
I'll have you home by midnight and no hanky-panky?"

"I don't think that will be necessary.
I'm almost thirty years old. Plenty old enough to take care of
myself."

"As old as that?" He chuckled again and
seemed to be enjoying a private joke.

She ignored the sense she was missing
out on something very funny and got her things. "Okay, I'm
ready."

With a wave, he motioned her ahead of
him out the door, then waited as she locked up. His warm fingers
cupped her elbow, not guiding or directing her movements, not
helping her descend the three shallow steps off the porch, but
somehow so, well, courtly.

They didn't speak as he accompanied her
down the walk to his car, which she hadn't noticed.

Boy, did she notice it now.

"Oh, my," she whispered. "An Aston
Martin, just like James Bond used to drive."

His reply was a satisfied smile as he
opened the door. She folded herself into the low-riding car. The
leather covering the dash and the seats shone. The chrome gleamed.
Why it should be so, she didn't know, but she felt a twinge of
jealousy at the tender care he lavished on the machine.

Gaelen got in and started the engine.
It caught on the first try and purred like a well-fed jungle
cat.

Again he smiled, obviously pleased she
appreciated his baby.

They drove in silence, but Annabelle
didn't feel uncomfortable. That in itself struck her as odd. She
didn't date much, and certainly none of the men she'd gone out with
were in Gaelen Riley's class.

"You know," he said, breaking the
silence, "I was a little afraid you'd call and tell me not to come
tonight."

The honest uncertainty in his voice
surprised her. She wasn't sure how to respond. He relieved her of
the responsibility with a grin.

"Should I confess now or after dessert
that I've had my cell phone turned off all afternoon?"

She laughed. "I refuse to believe you
were nervous about this."

He cast her a glance. "I've been very
nervous. And I'm very glad you are here with me now."

Annabelle gazed at him, a silly glow
warming her. She'd just met the man. She had reason to distrust his
motives, yet here she was drinking in his deep, sexy voice and the
words that were balm for an ego too often bruised.

Obviously he was what her mother called
a real ladies' man. He knew what to say and how to say it to get
what he wanted. Annabelle wasn't fool enough to think herself the
object of fascination he wanted to make her think she
was.

Her head spun with all the convolutions
of the situation. Couldn't she just enjoy the evening?

He pulled up in front of The Tea Room,
parking in a spot right at the front door. Was the man charmed or
something? There were never free parking spaces on Franklin Street.
She watched him drop coins into the parking meter and then come to
open her door.

"Here we are, mademoiselle." Offering
his hand, he helped her out of the low-slung car and, she was
certain, saved her dignity in the process.

Annabelle tried to pull her hand from
his, but he held her, looping their arms and smoothing her fingers
over his forearm.

"Dr. Riley, how are you tonight?" the
maître d' asked, reaching for two menus from under the desk. "Your
usual table?"

Gaelen pressed his lips together and
glared, just for an instant at the man. "No, Ivan. I think we'd
prefer something a little more secluded."

Ivan flicked a glance over Annabelle
and winked--winked--at Gaelen. "Of course," he said in a perfectly
smarmy, New York-waiter way. "This way, please?"

Annabelle wondered at Gaelen's reaction
to Ivan's remarks. So, he came here a lot. It was a great place,
one of the few in Chapel Hill not populated by students. It wasn't
surprising a professor who saw plenty of his students during the
day would prefer a place he'd not be likely to run into them. She
found herself looking around, trying to figure out which one was
his usual table.

"Your menu, miss?" Ivan slid the menu
in front of her face. "Your server will be with you momentarily."
Again Ivan winked at Gaelen and sauntered off.

"What was all that about?" she asked,
studying her menu, pretending not to really care.

He did her the courtesy of not trying
to pretend he didn't know what she was talking about. "I come here
quite often."

"So, where's your usual table?"
Annabelle smiled to make the question seem less important to her
than it actually was.

"There," he tipped his head back, "by
the front window."

There was only one table by the front
window. A table for two.

"Not very intimate."

"No, it isn't."

"So, do you sit there
alone?"

Where in the world had that question
come from? she wondered.

"Not usually."

The words jabbed through her
heart.

Luckily, they were interrupted by the
waiter getting their drink orders. Annabelle had a chance to cover
her reaction.

And fuss with herself for being so
stupid. Of course a man who looked like him, talked like him, drove
a car like he had, wouldn't spend very many dinners alone. And she
reminded herself--again--she was perfectly aware of his motive. He
thought she could lead him to Lucas.

One more thing to remember, as well.
She wasn't here to spend a wonderful evening with a fascinating,
gorgeous man. He must know what Lucas was so worried about. That
affected her sister, so it was her business, too.

"Miss Tinker?"

She raised her eyes from her
reverie.

"Your drink?"

"Oh, ah, chablis."

The waiter nodded and left them alone
again.

Brazenly, Annabelle plowed ahead, as
though the interruption and her own introspection had never
happened. "Why do you sit there, then? When you're not alone, that
is?"

"I'm something of a show-off. I like to
show off the women I'm with."

A knife couldn't have sliced her any
deeper.

"Of course," he covered quickly, "there
are times when I like to keep the woman my own secret for a while."
He took her hand in his, stroking her fingers.

"I'm flattered," Annabelle lied,
pulling her hand away.

Darn it all, why should she be hurt he
didn't flaunt her in the window for all Chapel Hill to see and
envy?

* * * *

Damn it all! He'd hurt her. She'd
withdrawn like a snail rolling up in its shell, in spite of his
clumsy attempt to cover his mistake.

How was he to get what he needed from
her if she clammed up on him?

And what would she say if he told her
he was hiding her back here in the shadows? Could she understand he
was protecting her? And himself?

He directed his anger at Lucas. This
was what came of dallying with mortals. Lucas would sure as hell
get a lecture on the dangers of not sticking with your own kind
when this was all over, if for no other reason than Gaelen felt he
was earning the right.