Wanted Distraction (2 page)

“Yes, of course,” the hostess said. “Would you prefer inside or out?”

“The patio would be great. I’m interviewing someone for a magazine article,” I told her. “A table with some privacy would be helpful. I don’t want to disturb anyone.”

Her indiscreet gaze, as it quickly roved my body and took in my curve-hugging, siren’s dress, suggested she thought I was looking for more than an interview. Ah, how right she was…

“Please follow me.” She guided me through the restaurant to the back terrace. Gesturing at a table tucked away in the corner and partially secluded by bushy trees and vibrant, amethyst-colored bougainvillea, she asked, “Will this do?”

“Spectacularly,” I assured her. “Thank you so much.”

“A server will be right with you.” She left two menus before wandering off.

I set my small handbag and my iPad case on the table. When the waiter appeared, I ordered ice water, hoping to keep a cool head with Carter, and knowing my internal temperature was going to kick up several notches at the sight of my high school heartthrob, who I knew looked even more amazing now than he had in high school—and that was saying something.

Nearly fifteen minutes later, I caught a glimpse of him following the hostess across the patio. She continually stole glances at him over her shoulder, not that I blamed her. My heart leapt into my throat and heat flooded my veins. As he approached the table, I stood on trembling legs. I wore four-inch, red peek-a-boos that complemented my one-shouldered dress, and perhaps that was a mistake because one look at Carter had me quaking in my Jimmy Choos.

Too many expressions flashed in his dark-chocolate-colored eyes to process at once. Though I was certain I saw a burst of interest, particularly as one corner of his mouth lifted in a sexy grin.

He stepped around the woman escorting him my way and politely said to her, “I’ll take it from here, thanks.”

She appeared to be disappointed she wouldn’t have the opportunity to engage him in conversation, because she hesitated a moment, then gave up and turned on her stilettos and retreated to her podium.

I could understand why she wasn’t pleased to be dismissed so quickly, so easily.

Carter was ridiculously good-looking. He was tall and athletic, yet he had a sophisticated and professional air about him. He wore a tailored business suit in black and had neatly trimmed dark brown hair. His dress shirt was crisp and white, complemented by a silk tie featuring an abstract pattern in jewel-toned colors. I had to amend my initial opinion of him. He was sophisticated and professional with the hint of a playful side, given the bold and spunky tie.

As I unabashedly eyed him from head to toe—shameless of me, I know—he took a step toward me, almost closing the gap. He was mere inches from me.

In his deep, intimate tone, he simply said, “Cherish.” The other corner of his mouth turned upward in a full smile that made my toes curl. His pearly whites gleamed under the moonlight and the soft glow of the candles nestled in oversized hurricanes scattered about the patio. “Cherish Westerly, right?”

My heart, still lodged in my throat, seemed to block my airflow so I was instantly lightheaded. I stared at him, finding it almost impossible to believe I was finally seeing him again, even though I’d been the one to orchestrate this reunion. My stomach fluttered and I was quite confident my lingering crush on him had been warranted.

While he studied me with amusement in his warm eyes, I said, “That’s right.” I was shocked he’d recognized me. I honestly looked nothing like I had in high school, and was a good five inches taller with my peek-a-boos.

I offered my hand as I told him, “It’s nice to see you, Carter.”

He surprised me once more by pulling me into a loose embrace. “I think we’re beyond a handshake, Cherish.”

“Yeah, I guess so.”

I honestly could have spent the rest of my days in his strong arms, but he released me, much to my extreme disappointment.

“How’d you know it was me?” I asked.

He made his own visual assessment, his gaze sweeping over me in no particular hurry. Shaking his head, he told me, “I’ll admit, the overall package isn’t the least bit familiar, but I’d recognize those grass-green eyes of yours anywhere.” He seemed to consider something else, though I had no idea what he thought of the “new and improved” me. Unexpectedly, a flirtatious look crossed his chiseled features as he added, “And your mouth. I’ve kissed those lips before, remember?”

I had to reach for the edge of the table with one hand to steady myself.
He
remembered? Carter Davis must have kissed dozens of women over the years, yet he recalled he’d planted one on me that still rocked my world when I thought of it ten years later?

I remained silent, processing a dozen different emotions that slammed into me at once.

His grin faded. “Guess it wasn’t as memorable as I’d thought.”

I had to laugh at that one.
As if!
“You kissed me at prom. You’d gone stag with a bunch of other football players.” I could mentally conjure the entire evening. “Boy, did that liplock give people something to talk about.” And me something to
fantasize
about.

“I’ve never put much stock into what people talk about. All I know is, you were upset about your date going off with a girl whose name I can’t remember. And when you agreed to dance with me, I wanted to kiss you until you smiled again.”

“I did. Immediately,” I admitted, though it made my face flush.

“Anyway,” he said in such a comfortable, friendly tone I nearly melted at his feet, “it’s really great to see you. I thought about you when I flew into town, wondering if you’d pursued your dream of a journalism career.”

“I did.”

“What are you doing here tonight? Meeting someone?”

“Yes, sort of,” I said, feeling a tinge of guilt over keeping Taylor’s name on the reservation, and not identifying myself upfront as being tonight’s interviewer. “It’s not a date, though.” Lifting my chin, I told him, “I’m doing the feature on you for
Scottsdale Live
magazine.”

His brow furrowed. “I thought I was meeting someone named Taylor Whitney.”

“Yeah, that’s my fault. I wanted the story after I saw that article on you in the
Republic
. I hope you don’t mind.”

His sexy grin returned, and it lit his eyes. “Are you kidding? This is fantastic.” His chest puffed slightly as he added, “So you knew all along you’d be seeing me this evening.”

I realized my appearance spoke volumes. This wasn’t just a random run-in, with me coincidentally all dolled up. There was no coincidence in sight, and that point was clearly not lost on him.

Pulling out the chair I’d previously occupied, he gestured toward it. Then leaned in close and said in a low voice, “I would’ve been happy to get together with you without the interview as an excuse.”

My heart fluttered. I sank onto the plump cushion and let him scoot the chair in for me. Though I was instantly a bundle of nerves, I insisted, “I really am here for the interview.”

He chuckled softly, and the sensuous sound reverberated deep within me.

When he took the seat across from me, the waiter swooped in with another ice water and asked, “Can I bring you anything else, Mr. Davis?” Obviously a fan. Though he quickly caught his faux pas of snubbing me, and added, “Or you, Miss?”

I smiled and waved a hand. “Water’s fine with me.”

“Same here, thanks,” Carter said.

Our server reluctantly drifted off, but before I could pose my first question to Carter, another man approached our table.

“I’m so sorry to interrupt, but my son and I are 49ers fans and I wondered if I could get your autograph for him.”

Carter was the epitome of gracious manners. “Sure. What’s his name?”

“Billy.”

He used the pen the man handed over and signed the napkin with the hotel’s name and logo on it. Returning both, he said, “Tell Billy I said thanks for watching.”

“He’s sixteen and plays ball too. This’ll mean a lot to him.”

The fan left us to rejoin his party of men dressed in Dockers and polo shirts with name badges pinned at their chests. All likely at the resort for a conference.

I said, “That happens frequently, I suspect.”

“Makes it difficult to have a private conversation in public, but I can’t ignore the people who buy the tickets to see the team play.”

How humble of him to have used the word “team”, rather than to say, “To see
me
play.”

Carter hadn’t changed a bit. I had always liked how down to earth he was, even when he’d been the most popular boy in school. Our senior year, he’d joined our newspaper staff a few days after the semester had started. With such a dismal turnout—only four people had signed up for the journalism class that put out the paper—it seemed we’d fold that year. But then Carter and a few others had wandered into the newsroom and a staff had been formed.

Carter had taken on the position of sports editor, though he’d had no journalistic skills or training at the time. I’d rolled my eyes and thought, Just because you’re a jock, doesn’t mean you can
write
about sports. How wrong I’d been!

He’d come to me for guidance right off the bat, not the least bit embarrassed to admit he had no idea what he was going to do with an entire page assigned to him. After telling me he had no experience, but had always done well in English classes, he said he was serious about making the sports page something worthy of the award-winning paper we’d had the last couple of years. I was the editor-in-chief and wanted that tradition to continue as well. I’d made major contributions over the previous two years and we’d gained unprecedented recognition that had, in turn, resulted in a number of our staffers receiving scholarships for college. I’d hoped to follow in their footsteps.

I’d found Carter’s modesty enchanting, and his studious side refreshing. And I particularly liked his ambition. Since we’d had a bare-bones staff, he’d had to write all of the articles for his page, which meant covering games he starred in without being biased. He’d conquered the sports page as successfully as he had the gridiron.

I had a feeling his background in journalism made him more open to press conferences and interviews, and amiable with reporters and fans.

“So,” he said, breaking into my wayward thoughts, “you work for a magazine now. That’s great.”

“I enjoy it. I went to ASU on a scholarship and then did a stint with the
Arizona Republic
for a couple years before landing the job with
Scottsdale Live
.”

He eyed me a moment, then asked, “Why didn’t you let my agent know you were taking over the article? Or contact me about it?”

That was a tough question to tackle without divulging too much or being dishonest. “It all happened suddenly. I saw the newspaper article on you and that was when I learned you were coming home. I sort of wanted to…surprise you.”

With another low chuckle, he said, “Mission accomplished. Not only am I blown away you’re the one interviewing me, but my mind is still reeling over how sensational you look.”

Heat tinged my cheeks again. The man easily made me hot and tingly all over.

“Thank you,” I said, relishing the compliment more than ever before, because it came from him.

I’d always hated that I’d been a late bloomer. Tonight, however, I didn’t mind so much. I was happy to shock him, because it seemed to cause him to look at me with fresh eyes. He appeared to have no preconceived notions, as I’d feared would be the case if he knew in advance I’d be here this evening.

“High school seems so long ago,” he mused. “And what a crazy few years.”

“Fun for the most part,” I conceded, but didn’t say more. I preferred to move on from that topic, but Carter didn’t.

Cocking his head to one side, he said, “I thought you enjoyed high school. Everyone knew who you were and liked you. I did too.”

I shook my head. “You didn’t think I could take care of myself. No one did.”

A painful confession to make, but it slipped from my lips anyway. I reached for my water, suddenly wishing I’d ordered a glass of wine instead. Something to help calm my nerves.

With a faraway expression in his rich brown eyes—because he seemed to be reminiscing in his mind about the “good-old days”, he said, “I remember the quarterback from another school took a liking to you at a party once.” He laughed, though it had a hollow sound to it. “I was not happy about that.”

I’d forgotten the incident. I said, “You pulled me aside and told me not to date him. You didn’t really say why, just that you had a bad feeling about it. I never did go out with him, based on your comment.”

“I’m sure it would have been fine. He was actually a good guy. I just…didn’t want you dating him.” This seemed to perplex or concern or disturb Carter. I couldn’t tell which emotion clouded his eyes, but he dragged a hand down his face as though he really had disliked the idea of me seeing someone else.

I gazed intently at him for a moment, then boldly ventured, “You didn’t want me to date at all, did you?”

“No,” he said without hesitation. “Though that is an extremely selfish and stupid thing for me to say—or to have felt back then.”