License to Date (5 page)

I looked from the hostess to Brian. “Before we get started with what?”
 

“Yes, we definitely need a drink first.” He gave me a mischievous look and started to follow her. Then he stopped when he realized I wasn’t behind him. He spread his hands wide. “Trust me, you’re going to love this.”

Trust him? I didn’t even
know
him.
 

“Actually, I don’t love surprises.” I tightened my wrap around my shoulders, finding it difficult to keep my composure. “Would you please tell me what we’re doing?”

If his plans were short, I might be able to get some wallpaper peeling in tonight.

“Okay, I’ll spill the beans.” His face lit up, like he’d just won the California lottery, then he raised his arms and made gestures as if he were climbing a rope. “We’re going to rappel down the Geoffries hotel.”

I burst out laughing. “I’m sorry. It sounded like you said we’re rappelling down the hotel.”

He nodded enthusiastically. “That’s right.”

My mouth froze. “You’re not kidding?”

He shook his head. “The Descending for Diabetes event costs a grand per ticket and I won two tickets on the radio. We’re going to rappel down from the swimming pool terrace, which is on the fifth floor. Isn’t that incredible?”

“Yes,” I said, finding it incredible that he thought I’d rappel down the side of a freaking building. Staying calm, I glanced down at my silky dress, then held my finger up. “Let me just run home and change into my mountain climbing gear.”

I was so
not
coming back.

Chapter Four

“Whoa.” Brian reached out and grabbed hold of my arm before I could head toward the lobby (and out the door). “Don’t worry about what you’re wearing, Kaitlin. That’s part of the fun of this Descending for Diabetes event. Everyone rappels down the building in their evening wear.”

Making a mental note to never let my mom set me up again, I eased out of his grip. “No way, Brian. Everyone would be able to see up my dress. You should’ve told me to wear pants.”

He shook his head. “They said the harness keeps everything covered.”

The hostess reappeared—apparently having realized we hadn’t followed her—and gave us a questioning look. “Do you prefer to have your drinks on the event terrace?”
 

A drink sounded
so
good right now. Maybe two drinks. Maybe if I had enough drinks they wouldn’t allow me to go down at all. Hmm.

“Yes, the terrace might work better since we’re getting pressed for time.” Brian checked his watch, slipped his arm around me, then started forward toward the elevator.

“Brian,” I said, surprised to find my legs moving along beside him. “I can’t do this.”

“Why not?” His brows came together as he punched the elevator button and gave an exaggerated sigh. “I’ve already given the radio show hosts our names and they’re interviewing us shortly. It’s for charity, Kaitlin. Your mom told me your cousin has diabetes.”

Oh, way to lay on the guilt. “I give money every year, but—”

“Your mom also told me you were outdoorsy and adventurous.” The elevator arrived and he motioned me in.

“Really?” I sighed, knowing my mother would say anything to marry me into her country club. She would so
not
approve of a charming bartender. Shaking my head clear of Paul—who I shouldn’t even be thinking about since he hadn’t followed through on his napkin promise (and because I was on a date with another man)—I cleared my throat, then stepped inside the elevator. “How does the charity benefit if I work up the guts to do this?”

He hit the button for the fifth floor. “Each participant, or ticket, costs a grand which is donated to diabetes research. The Geoffries hotel matches every participant’s donation once they’ve rappelled down the building.”

“That’s very generous of the Geoffries.” In addition to fabulous drinks and hot bartenders (ugh, Paul on the brain again), the hotel also seemed to have a heart. Now I just needed to muster the courage to do this.

We arrived to the fifth floor and the elevator doors opened with a
ding
.
 

Brian held his arm out. “Ladies first.”

“Thank you.” I smiled politely—to mask the terror I felt inside—then stepped out onto the terrace, which was buzzing with waiters, music, and elegantly dressed guests. I might’ve been able to enjoy the festive outdoor atmosphere if I didn’t know it was only our jumping off point. Literally. “So my mother told me you’re an architect,” I said, needing a distraction.

He slipped his arm around my waist and led me toward the bar. “That’s right. I’m doing independent contracting right now, but I used to work for—”

“May I get you a drink?” A man asked from behind me.

I stiffened. That voice. I knew that voice. That husky, manly, and yes, sexy voice. I’d dreamt about that voice last night. . . .

Sure enough, when I turned around, my eyes connected with Paul’s sapphire blues. A jolt of electricity zapped through me. “You’re here.”
 

“I told you I would be.” He smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “Shall I give you my phone number now or later?”

Beside me, Brian stiffened.

So much for losing my floozy rep.

My cheeks heated. “I, er . . .”

Brian squeezed my waist, then he turned to me accusingly. “Do you know this guy, Kaitlin? Why is he offering you his phone number?”

“Brian, this is Paul.” I stepped out of my date’s grasp and gestured toward Paul who looked drool-worthy in a black and white tuxedo. Huh. The other waiters were in vests. . . Paul must be the head waiter tonight or something. “My friends asked me to get his number, actually. He’s helping out with a . . . tub caulking project.”

Brian’s scowl immediately dissipated, and he thrust his hand out. “Nice to meet you, Paul. I’m an architect and work with a lot of contractors. I’d be happy to give your number out if you’re looking for work.”

Paul shook his hand then eyed him as if sizing him up. “Nice of you to offer, but I’m only doing this project as a favor for Kaitlin. Not looking for anything else.”

Brian’s brows drew together as if he were insulted that his offer had been declined. “My firm designed this hotel, as a matter of fact.”

Uh, okay. Where had that come from? And hadn’t he just said he was an independent contractor?

Paul’s eyes narrowed, then they flicked to me. “Geoffries Martini for you, Kaitlin?”

A rush of pleasure vibrated through me that he remembered my favorite drink. “Yes, that sounds perfect.”

“I’ll take a dirty martini.” Brian’s voice rose a bit too loud for a drink order.

Paul’s mouth formed a straight line. “Coming right up.”
 

Instead of dashing off, Paul scribbled on a napkin, handed it to me, then smiled at me in a way that had my stomach doing flip-flops.

“Thanks.” I watched him walk away, then glanced down at the square paper napkin in my hand. Ten digits guaranteeing my bathtub a little TLC from Kristen (or her boyfriend, depending on how she worked it). My brows drew together at the unfamiliar area code. Not Sacramento, so I wondered where he was from.

“Kaitlin?”

My head jerked up at Brian’s voice. “Huh?”

“I said it’s time for our interview.”

“But our drinks . . .”

He slipped his arm around me, leading me in the opposite direction where Paul had gone. “I’m sure the waiter can find us.”

I bit my lip, hoping that was true.

****

During our interview with the radio talk show hosts, I let Brian do most of the talking, which seemed to suit him fine. He’d spoken at length about his independent contracting business but no word on his firm or how they’d designed this hotel. Weird.
 

When it was my turn, I kept my sentences short and sweet, thanking the Geoffries and the other sponsors for their hefty donations toward diabetes research and finding a cure. Then I gave a shout-out of love to my cousin and all those who suffer from diabetes.

While we were suiting up to rappel down the hotel—hard to believe I was really doing this—and being given instructions, camera flashes went off. I could only hope the pictures would be burned (or deleted, as the digital case may be) since my silky black dress was folded around me like a diaper under my harness. A photo I wanted frozen forever? Not so much.
 

As Brian scooted off to find a glass of water, I wandered to the edge of the terrace and watched the last of the sun go down. Tightening my wrap around myself, I inhaled, then peeked over the wrought-iron railing. The steep drop made my stomach lurch. A gasp escaped. Squeezing my eyes shut, I covered my heart with my hand.

Was I really going to jump off a freaking skyscraper in downtown Sacramento? Okay, we were only on the fifth floor, but how dire was the situation for me to say
only
the fifth floor?

My chest flickered with fear, but at the same time another part of me fluttered with excitement. I was so tired of being the safe good girl. Where had that gotten me, really? Single at twenty-eight, dating for a free paint job, that’s where.
 

For once in my life, I wanted to take a chance. Do something risky.

“There you are.” Brian’s voice invaded my thoughts. “I was looking all over for you.”
 

“You found me.” I peered over the railing again, chills prickling across my chest. “I don’t know how I’m going to do this, Brian.”

He held his arms out while the extreme sports person adjusted his harness. “What’s the big deal? We’re attached to a rope.”

Turning away from my (very unempathetic) date, who was being carted off for a reason I couldn’t hear and didn’t care about, I gripped the rail and looked down again. The people walking on the garden terrace below looked so small from this high up. A cold chill trickled down my spine.

Suddenly, I felt someone come up beside me. “Having second thoughts?”

Upon hearing that husky, sexy voice, my skin immediately warmed.
 

Lifting my lashes, I peered up at Paul. “No. I haven’t gotten past my first thought, which is that I’m about to become pavement splatter.”

He chuckled. “That would be some bad publicity for the hotel. You think we’d risk that?”

Okay, probably not. “Accidents do happen.”

His electric blue eyes peered into mine. “But you want to do it. Don’t you?”

My mouth dropped open. “Have you not heard a word I said?”

“I hear everything you say.” He turned so his body was facing me. “I also see what you’re not saying. You want to do this, but you’re scared. Scared you’ll get hurt.”

Suddenly I wondered if we were talking about rappelling down a building or asking him on a date—a real one. I wasn’t sure which option scared me more.
 

The second one. Definitely.

My shoulders raised as I looked up at him. “I’m not the kind of girl who rappels down buildings.”

The wind blew a few strands of my hair across my face and he reached out and tucked them behind my ear, his eyes holding mine the entire time. “You’re whatever kind of girl you want to be.”

Yeah, he could say that because he’d never met my mom. She’d raised me to be poised and proper twenty-four seven, marry a financially successful man—I’d slightly botched that one—join a country club, pop out two children, and never let anyone see me sweat.
 

None of her plans included rappelling down a skyscraper in downtown Sac. Although she had told Brian I was adventurous. Maybe she figured, at this point in my life, I was
that
desperate. As if.

Paul tucked another stray strand behind my ear. “What’s going through that pretty head of yours?”

“Rappelling.” Living. Taking chances.
 

The entire thought sounded crazy, totally dangerous, and actually kind of
 
. . . exciting.
 

My insides warmed and energy pulsed through me. Suddenly, the chatter in the background disappeared and there was just Paul and me, standing on the dark-lit terrace high above the city and staring into each other’s eyes. . . waiting. Waiting for me to decide what my life was going to be.

My lashes lifted to where his blue eyes were studying me. I swallowed, building up the nerve to say the words. “I want to jump,” I whispered, when I really should have said I wanted to jump with him, not Brian.

The corners of his mouth turned upward. “Then what are you waiting for?”

With the decision made, my mouth spread into a smile and I shrugged. “Hook me up.”
 

****

“Who’s in charge of lowering the rope again?” I said, figuring it would be nice to say hello to the person who would (hopefully) keep me from plummeting to my death.

“Tony and I will be taking care of you,” the extreme sports guy named Dave said. “We’ll control your speed from that rig over there.”
 

I stared at the giant metal spool of rope he’d pointed to, which had a crank on the side. “I won’t be controlling my own pace?”