The Value of Vulnerability (17 page)

This was not good.

She did have bad taste in men. Maybe Ford was the nadir of her love life.

On the bright side, she decided, toasting her compatriots as they raised shots of Jägermeister, hitting bottom meant that after the fact, she’d be on her way up.

If Ford didn’t bury her in his backyard first.

No more serial-killer shows.

A swell of stubborn competitiveness tightened her mouth. She looked at Stephanie.

“I probably won’t, but can I bring a date Saturday?”

“You mean . . .
him? Ford?
” Stephanie applauded. “Of course! Mom would love that. My brothers will hate it.”

Brooke and Liana just stared.

“You tell your brothers that dating their sister’s friends is not conducive to smooth familial relationships,” Erin said breezily.

“Yeah, that’ll slow them down
. So you’re going for it?”

“
Thank all of you for your advice, and I’ll keep it in mind. However,” she raised the flat of her palm to Liana, “we haven’t had a third date yet. Can’t judge based on less than that. Right?”

“Drinks at a bar and lunch at his office are hardly two dates,” Liana put in.

“I’m counting them,” she said stubbornly.

“Just remember,” Stephanie said, “
if he offers you Kool-Aid, don’t drink it.”

“Yeah. Good tip, Steph. Thanks.
Chances are, though, he’s not going to call.”

***

But he did call, the very next day.

Her ego and
confidence spiked at the sound of his voice. Any more of this and she’d have trouble getting her head through a door.

A year ago, her world had crumbled. And now, everything seemed to be coming together, all major aspects of her life on a tipping point of perfection. Work was exciting again. Her family had forgiven her slight withdrawal. Friendships were solid. She liked where she lived. Was healthy and—at last—truly happy again.

So having the attention of a handsome, complicated man was heady gravy.

“How are you?” he asked in that abrupt way.

“Feeling a bit rough today. Too much holiday cheer with friends and my sister last night. Then tried to work it all off this morning at the gym. So I’m sleepy, hung over, and happy it’s Friday. You?”

“I’m struggling to remember all the conditions you put on me,” Ford said dryly in her ear.

“What conditions?”

“Something about how busy you are.”

“That’s one.”

“And not interfering in your career.”

“Two.”

“Those are all that matter at the moment. Assuming that interference might have negative connotations. What I’m attempting to find out is whether your schedule will allow you to have lunch today, or if eating will negatively impact your schedule and hence your career.”

She rocked back in her chair to grin at the ceiling. “Are you inviting me to lunch?”

“Yes, I believe that was the idea.”

“I don’t have time to go to BHG,” she warned.

“Then you are in luck. I’m in your neighbourhood. There is a restaurant of which I’m fond. Feodor’s. Do you know it?”

“Yes.” She wrinkled her nose at her clothes. Feodor’s was one of those higher-end restaurants that exuded a casual air. The clientele was as likely to be dressed in business casual as beaded gowns and tuxes. But what she was wearing didn’t even reach the bottom rung of that.

“You look fine,” he said.

She could practically hear the dimples. “All right. Thanks, Ford. When?”

“I am here now.”

“At Feodor’s?”

“Yes.”

She sat up. “Were you presuming?”

“I invariably eat lunch out. Often alone. I generally prefer it. However, I thought of you and realised this was an opportunity.”

“No, it’s great,” she assured. “Just unexpected. I’ll be there in fifteen.”

On her way out, she popped in to the Ladies’ to take down her ponytail, pleased that it hadn’t left too much of a bump in her hair, and swipe on a bit of lipstick and mascara. A far cry from how she had looked Friday night, but a step up from yesterday.

She was excited to see him, but held onto her concerns.

“Be careful out there,” she admonished her reflection, and dashed, giving Stephanie a wave on her way out.

The first warning was when she saw him from the vantage point of the hostess stand. Seated at a window table, his position would not have permitted seeing her on her approach, as she had used the underground PATH to avoid the rain, overshooting and doubling back.

She forced herself to ignore how drop-dead gorgeous he was, and just looked at him with as much objectivity
as she could muster.

Spinning his phone on the table, he wore an expressionless expression. Bland. Disinterested. As if everything was beneath notice. As if all emotions—if he had any—were internalised.

She hadn’t seen it before.

As she crossed the room, Ford looked around. Micro adjustments to his features transformed him into that slightly amused potential lover who had tried to seduce her. Made her knees weak, but alerted her good sense at the same time.

It wasn’t the transformation that bothered her. It was how little it took to achieve it. How deliberate it seemed. How practised it was.

On the other hand, how many men stood when a woman approached their table these days?

For he was on his feet now, graceful and elegant, his dark suit perfectly fitted to his muscular frame, his blue and gold tie a subtle splash of colour that enhanced his tawny eyes.

He put out a hand, and she stripped off her gloves to slide her fingers across his, her pulse leaping. “Hi.”

“You didn’t check your coat.”

“Didn’t want to waste any time,” she grinned.

Public displays of affection were obviously not his thing—he didn’t so much as kiss her cheek. But his hands managed to touch her with subtle caresses while he assisted her out of her coat, setting it aside with her scarf and gloves.

“Tease,” she muttered.

He smiled in return and pulled out a chair for her.

“Thank you.” Settling in the chair, she put her BlackBerry on the table.

He reached for it and powered it off. “So our time is not wasted that way either.”

“Not a problem. But you could have just asked.”

“Mm. True. I’m not sure why I didn’t,” he mused.

“Used to doing for yourself, I imagine.”

“Perhaps.” He signalled the waiter. “Will you have a drink?”

He was having wine, but that would knock her on her ass for the afternoon. “Just water, please.”

Ordering and so forth out of the way, she was about to engage in a bit of getting-to-know-you conversation, since most of yesterday’s lunch had been about her work. But Ford asked how the transition at Xcess was proceeding, and her enthusiasm for it swamped all other thoughts.

When that subject ran its course, she found herself talking of her friends and
(parts) of the previous night’s outing. Before she knew it, lunch was over, coffee served, and Ford had barely said anything except small prompts that kept her talking.

“I don’t normally talk so much,” she said.

“Why shouldn’t you? You have a lovely voice. Your anecdotes are amusing. In all, very entertaining.”

“Thanks. But I was hoping to learn more about you.”

“I am not nearly so interesting.” Amber eyes travelled over her. “Not in public, at any rate.”

She laughed and flushed.

Another voice intruded. “Ford?”

Ford’s expression changed again, this time to bland welcome.

So many faces he had. Microfaces. She glanced around to see a man, sixtyish, approaching their table.

The men shook hands, traded pleasantries. Ford introduced Erin. “Erin Russell, may I present David Grimes. David is a business associate. David, Ms. Russell is an IT professional with Xcess Technologies.”

Erin’s formal manners weren’t refined, but she knew that the order of introduction had just tagged her as more important than Mr. Grimes in Ford’s estimation. She reined in her ego and her grin through the conversation that might have been about margins and commodities, but could equally have been about pixies and puppies for all she paid attention.

And then Ford responded to a question from David with: “Tuesday past.”

Huh.

When David left them again, she leaned back in her chair, crossing her legs and eying Ford thoughtfully.

“What is that look for?” he asked, his expression now the Mockingly Indulgent Lover look.

“Is that a standard response? ‘Tuesday past’?”

He hesitated. Then: “Why do you think it standard?”

“Because you said the same thing to me when I asked you the last time you’d had sex.”

“Mayn’t I do two things in the same day?”

“Love the contraction, but if you’re going to toss out a ‘mayn’t’, you should mock up a British accent, too. Yes, you may indeed do two things in one day.”

Or should she have phrased that:
Two women in one day?

The reason
the pat answer was disturbing was hard to pinpoint, but pat answers combined with those revolving faces reminded her that this man thrived on control. Control of responses, facial expressions, emotions. His actions. His life.

The lives of others.

Though she hadn’t seen it today, she remembered that darkness she had glimpsed previously, and the rare frankness that threw light on his possible lies. Her brain rifled through the string of compliments he had paid her, and instantly, none of them seemed true anymore.

Liar, charming manipulator, egotist . . .

Sociopath.

“What time is it?” she asked
tiredly.

*

Something has changed.

When he looked at her, there was
a wariness about her that hadn’t existed moments ago.

Lunch had gone almost exactly as planned. He could have done without the interruption by Grimes, for though Grimes currently served a useful purpose, Ford would have preferred that Erin not meet such a creature. The man was beneath contempt. In the future, he would protect her better. It was paramount—if he kept her—that she not see the details of his life.

However, none of that explained the faded brightness of her.

He flicked back a cuff to consult his watch. “Just coming up on two. Is something wrong?”

“No. But I’ve got to get back. Thanks for lunch.”

“Erin.” He put his hand over hers, stilling her move to rise. “What’s wrong?”

She chewed her lip. “Nothing really. But I’ve spent another hour with you without learning anything new about you.”

“Aside from the fact that I find you enchanting?”

“Oh, hells,” she muttered. “While that’s sweet and all, I don’t really believe it.”

“You don’t think I’m enchanted?”

Hazel eyes narrowed with ironic amusement. “Sort of. Just not by me.” She reached for her BlackBerry. “I really have to go.”

He released her hand to slide his under the heavy curtain of her hair, clasping her nape and stroking fingertips against the slim tendon below her ear, knowing she liked it.

Predictably, her eyelids drooped and her lips parted. Her pulse leapt under his fingers.

At the feel of her skin, the weight of her messy hair on his hand, his pulse leapt also. The dark-gold locks appeared barely brushed, and bore a telltale lump of former ponytail. Still, aesthetically, it was not displeasing, and as he pushed it aside, the delicate jasmine fragrance wafted to him.

He scanned her body, clothed in yet another immodest tee—this one plain black, with no lettering—and snug black jeans faded to dark grey. As he watched, her thighs squeezed together convulsively, and nipples bloomed.

All served to give him a hard on, which added coarseness to his voice:

“Play hooky,” he said. “Play hooky with me.”

“Really tempting,” she croaked. “But it won’t do my career any good.”

His hand shifted to thumb her soft mouth. “It doesn’t matter.”

She blinked at him, and the glaze of arousal faded into wry amusement. “Maybe not to you.”

Damn these constant missteps with her!

“I meant that you are an important enough asset that an afternoon’s absence should not impact your job significantly. Besides,” he
said, “you aren’t staying with that job.”

With a dash of mockery, she patted his cheek. “No, but I’m planning on staying with my self-respect. Which, as it happens, is tied to my work ethic. Not to mention that I’m not in the habit of playing hooky for a bit of afternoon delight. Especially with a stranger,” she added.

“Are we strangers?” He smiled fully and was gratified to see the instant response in her eyes and hear a slight grunt of appreciation. “Isn’t this our third date?”