Double Take (20 page)

He cupped her face in his hands, staring at her, his eyes filled with tenderness. “Do you trust me, Lindsey? Do you trust me with every bit of yourself—your secrets, your dreams, your dark thoughts, your fondest memories?”

She considered, but not for long. Nodding, she revealed what was in her heart. “Yes, I do.” She breathed deeply, feeling as though a weight had been lifted. “I really do. I love you so much, and I can’t imagine my life without you, which, frankly, scares me to death. And I hate being scared, damn it! I just hate—”

He cut her off, covering her mouth with his, kissing her deeply, tenderly, as if he wanted to take away her fear and her doubts and savor only the admission that she loved him. She clung to him, their bodies melting together on the edge of the ferry, close to where they’d first met. The craft might have started moving, or they might still be at the dock. She didn’t know, and she didn’t care. She’d given him the truth, and she’d admitted it to herself.

He was a man she could trust with every ounce of herself, heart, mind and body.

He ended the kiss to whisper, “I love you. I’m crazy, wildly, madly in love with you.”

She couldn’t help smiling, even as tears pricked her eyes again. So strange to be such a weepy woman after all these years of stoicism. So strange to be smiling after so much confusion.

How could she not smile, though? Mike loved her. Really loved her. This hadn’t been just a fling for him, any more than it had been for her. She felt as though someone had given her a precious gift, one she’d protect and cherish for as long as she lived.

He lifted his hand and brushed a tear off her cheek with the tip of his finger. “I love the strong, independent, powerful you. I would never want you to change. And if I’ve done anything to make you think I don’t love that wonderful part of you, please feel free to slap me.”

“Never.”

“I think you’re utterly magnificent, Lindsey Smith, and I can’t imagine spending my life with any other woman in the world.”

“Really?” she whispered, reminding herself of something she’d always told her patients—it’s great to be self-reliant. But when you find someone who you can really entrust with your body, your soul, your hopes and your dreams, you will only become stronger because of that union.

“I’ll stay here,” she told him. She couldn’t possibly leave him, not now that she knew he loved her as much as she loved him. “I’ll find a way to work from here, write a book, or travel and do lectures and then come home to you.”

He hugged her tightly, stroking her back, twining his other hand in her long hair, which was blowing on the evening breeze. “I love the idea of you always coming home to me, but that won’t be necessary.”

“What do you mean?” Suddenly fearful, she pulled away and looked up at him. “They didn’t fire you, did they?”

He shook his head. Before she could breathe a sigh of relief, though, he added, “They didn’t have to. I quit.”

She flinched so hard, she almost stumbled. He grabbed her, preventing her from falling.

“You’re joking.”

“Nope. I’m entirely serious. I promised I’d stay for the last several weeks of my probationary period, but after that, I’m gone.”

“Oh, God, no, Mike. Please tell me you didn’t do this for me. I wouldn’t be able to stand it if you went back to the police force in Chicago.” She gripped the front of his shirt, shaking him. “You will not put your life in danger for me!”

He shook his head, taking her hands and squeezing them between his. Hers were a little cold, and he rubbed them gently.

“I’m not going back to the Chicago P.D.”

“What will you do?” she asked, wondering if both of them were about to be standing in the unemployment line.

“My cousins want me to go into business with them,” Mike said.

She gasped, relief filling her from head to toe. “Are you serious?”

“Very serious.”

Not even trying to keep the relief out of her voice, she asked, “What kind of business?”

“Private security,” he explained. “Mark’s leaving the force—Noelle’s had as much as she can stand of it, too. He’s a dad now...he can’t be doing that stuff.”

She didn’t blame the woman at all. It must be hard to raise children with a man who was at that much risk every day on the job.

“As for Nick, he’s tired of doing the club thing. But it did give him a lot of private-security experience, plus he has a military background.”

“It sounds like they’ve got a plan.”

“A good one. They’ve already got clients lined up. It won’t be the same as being the chief of police in Tinytown, USA, but I won’t be on the streets of Chicago, either. I guess it’s what you’d call a happy medium.”

That sounded fine to her. In fact, it sounded perfect.

She wanted him to be happy, wanted him to do what he enjoyed doing. Wanting him safe, however, outweighed everything else.

“I think the three of us are going to make one hell of a team.”

“They can be your away team,” she told him, wrapping her arms around his waist. “How about we leave the home team at just two players.”

He kissed her tenderly, whispering, “I love you so much.”

“And I love you, sweet man.”

She wrapped her arms around his waist and held tight as their kiss went on and on. Lindsey was so relieved, and so blissfully happy, she felt like she could fly.

Realizing they were at sail, heading toward the other coast, it seemed as though they really
were
flying. The wind whipped them, the water lapped at the ferry, but this time, there was no dizziness, no unsteadiness.

She was in Mike’s arms, right where she was meant to be.

Epilogue

Seven Months Later

W
AKING
UP
ON
Christmas Eve morning, Lindsey reached across the bed, feeling for Mike, but found his side empty. She frowned, then sniffed, smelling something delicious, and remembered he’d promised to make her breakfast in bed.

He knew this would be her first real Christmas, and he wanted to make it as perfect as he possibly could. His thoughtfulness, his tenderness, was on display every day.

As for the nights. Oh, wow, the nights.

She would never tire of making love with that man. Some nights were lazy and lethargic, others wild and erotic. She found herself enjoying the submissive role quite a lot. What woman wouldn’t want to be forced to stay still and take whatever amazing pleasures her lover wanted to give to her?

It was something she sometimes discussed with her clients. Now that she was back at work full-time, happily employed by a clinic here in Chicago that considered her an asset rather than a liability, she found she enjoyed her job much more. Mike’s new business was thriving, the only drawback being they both worked long hours.

But when they were home, in their cute downtown apartment, they made up for the hours apart in every way possible.

Smiling, she curled up under the covers, just thinking about all the delicious things they’d done together in this bed the night before.

She thought, and thought, and thought, and...nothing happened. “Oh, well,” she sighed. Apparently she still needed her man to satisfy her.

Frankly, though, despite the popularity of the Thinkgasm method, which had really gained traction when the interview she’d done had been picked up by the mainstream, she wouldn’t have it any other way. Nothing could ever compare to being entirely intimate and open—with no walls or barriers—with the man she loved.

But thinking about him was still
very
nice.

So nice that she had a Cheshire-cat smile on her face when Mike walked into the room a few minutes later, carrying a tray.

“Happy Christmas Eve!”

She sat up in the bed, smiling at him as he put the tray on her lap. He’d apparently gone all out, because the plate was covered by a giant metal dome, like something out of a restaurant.

“You’re so good to me.”

“I hope you like it.”

“I’m sure it’ll taste delicious.”

He grimaced. “Well, I’m not sure about that.”

“You’re a wonderful cook.”

“Yeah, but I just don’t know if this particular thing is what you want for breakfast. It’s not your average bacon and eggs.”

Her interest piqued, she reached for the handle on the top of the dome. Mike watched her closely, his eyes dancing with secret amusement, which just increased her curiosity.

She removed the cover, and had to blink a few times to make sure she was seeing what she thought she was seeing.

“Is that a...”

“Yes, it is,” he said, joining her on the bed and reaching for the object that sat alone on the white plate.

It was a ring. A perfect, beautiful ring. Platinum with a large, square-cut emerald, simple and stark, it needed no other stones or adornments to be the most beautiful thing she’d ever laid eyes upon.

He lifted it, and stared into her face, letting her see the oceans of love he felt for her.

“Will you marry me, Lindsey?”

She nodded. “Yes. Oh, yes, I will.”

He slid the ring onto her left hand then kissed her almost reverently. In midkiss, Lindsey sniffed, her eyes welling up. Damned if Mike hadn’t turned her into an emotional watering can. He could make her cry with delight, with pleasure and with utter, overwhelming tenderness.

Some analyst might conclude she’d met the man of her dreams and was wildly in love for the first—and last—time of her life.

And they’d be right.

* * * * *

Keep reading for an excerpt from SEDUCE ME by Jo Leigh.

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1

“O
KAY
, L
ADIES
.”
Shannon Fitzgerald, the founder of the newest dating trend in Manhattan, had her arms up high, holding an open box. “Are you ready?”

No one answered. In fact, Natalie Gellar was pretty sure no one was even breathing. All twenty-four women in the room were leaning forward, though. Fingers at the ready, hope and anticipation doubling heart rates.

“On your mark...”

Five long utility tables had been pushed together into a rectangle on what was anything but a normal Wednesday evening in the St. Marks Church community room.

“Get set...”

Natalie stood her ground, shoulder to shoulder with the women around her, determined to do whatever was necessary to get the right card, the perfect card. The Hot Guys Trading Card that would change her life.

“Go!”

Shannon tossed the latest batch of cards into the center of the tables and sprinted out of the way.

As if they were attacking the first Black Friday sale table at Barney’s, everyone went nuts.

Natalie grabbed whatever cards she could reach, skimming the writing, ignoring the pictures, tossing lawyers and accountants and musicians away like so much litter. Baseball fans, football fans, hockey fans. Ah, a reader, but crap, not the kinds of books she liked. Again and again, the cards were stirred. She heard squeals, disappointed moans, clapping and apologies as people wrestled for the same cards.

The word
librarian
made her heart skip a beat, and in the category of Marry, Date or One-Night Stand, his check mark next to Marry made her hands shake. Instead of listing a favorite restaurant, the card said he loved to cook and according to Tracy Jackson, the woman who’d submitted him, he was great at it. His passion was World of Warcraft, which wasn’t her thing but she could totally deal with that. And then, oh, God, the bottom line: looking for a kindred spirit, someone who could be the Lilypad to his Marshmallow!

The reference to the sappy couple on
How I Met Your Mother
was the best gift ever. Not just because Natalie liked the show but because anyone who thought of himself in film or television terms was exactly the kind of man she was looking for. This was better than she’d hoped for. By a mile.

Now, to turn the card over. To see what Max Zimm looked like.

Her heart pounding after everything she’d read, she tried to calm down. After all, first impressions were as good as meaningless. Most everyone she found beautiful had started out as objectively nothing to write home about, but as she’d gotten to know them, they’d transformed. So even if Max had a handlebar mustache or googly eyes, she didn’t care. At all. It was the inside that mattered, not the packaging.

After a deep breath, she turned the card over. And nearly fainted.

The nerdy librarian was a stunner.

“Who is that?”

Natalie tore her gaze from the picture of Max Zimm to look at her friend Denise. She’d introduced Natalie to the Trading Cards, bless her. “He’s very good-looking, right?”

“
Very good-looking
doesn’t quite cover it. Can I—”

“No.”

Denise sighed. “Okay. But why did you pick him?”

Natalie turned the card over, hoping that she hadn’t had some kind of neurological episode. “Librarian,” she said. “Wants to get married. And he wants a Lilypad to go with his Marshall.”

Her friend snatched the card out of Natalie’s hand. “No. He. Did. Not. This is someone’s idea of a joke. Oh, my God, who submitted him?” Denise continued to stare at Max Zimm’s picture as she shouted, “Is Tracy Jackson here?”

Natalie gaped. Denise was the very picture of a demure librarian in her cardigan and cat-eye glasses, even though there was nothing else stereotypical about her. And now Natalie could add “bellows like a longshoreman” to the list of her friend’s abilities.

No one responded, so Natalie turned her attention back where it belonged. “How could a librarian who looks like him live in Manhattan without us knowing about it?”

“I don’t know.” Denise shook her head. “Although we haven’t met every one.”

“But he’d be talked about. He’d go to conferences. We can’t be that many degrees of separation from any librarian in this state. It doesn’t make sense.”

Denise lifted an arched eyebrow. “It does if he works for a think tank.”

Natalie chewed on that for a moment. “Huh.”

“He’s probably some amazing genius who works for a top-secret government agency.”

“S.H.I.E.L.D.,” Natalie said. “He works for S.H.I.E.L.D.”

“S.H.I.E.L.D. is fictitious,” Denise said. “He’s not one of the Avengers.”

Plucking the card back from her drooling pal’s hand, Natalie shrugged. “Then a S.H.I.E.L.D.-like agency. It could happen.”

“Nat, he’s already got the ability to stun with his looks. What else do you want?”

“Okay, true. Maybe he’s new to the area. He could have been working anywhere. Europe, even.”

“Who is that?” Iris Corcoran, a friend who was brand-new to Hot Guys Trading Cards, shouldered her way between Denise and Natalie. “And does he have a twin brother?”

Natalie just smiled and gripped the card more tightly.

“I thought you didn’t care about looks,” Iris said.

“It’s not the front of the card that has me dazzled. It’s the back.”

Denise snorted.

“Fine, it’s the front, too, but I would have chosen him anyway, no matter what he looked like.”

“It sure doesn’t hurt that he could be on the cover of
Gorgeous Guy Monthly,
” Iris quipped.

“He may look like a movie star, but don’t let it go to your head. There are all kinds of guys here.” Denise held up the card she’d picked. The man was pleasant-looking, slightly balding, with a very nice smile. “He plays the clarinet for the American Symphony Orchestra.”

“He’s cute,” Iris said. “Frankly, I’m just thrilled that every single guy on a card has been personally submitted by someone in the group.”

“I know, right?” For Natalie, the trading cards were truly a godsend, especially for a woman like her, who wasn’t gorgeous, cared more about her work than her social life and tended to be a homebody. “Now that Oliver’s out of the picture—”

“Oh, my God,” Iris said, wincing. “I meant to call when I heard you guys broke up.”

Natalie waved the wince away. “I’m fine about it. Better than fine. I had a feeling he was going to propose and instead of being happy, I was dreading it. When it finally happened, he didn’t even bother with a ring. Said I should go pick one out myself. As long as it didn’t cost more than forty-two hundred dollars. Talk about a major wake-up call. I don’t know how I let it go on so long, really.” She smiled at the too-good-to-be-true card she’d picked. “Max may be stunning, but if he’s not the right man for me, I’ll put the card straight back in the pile.”

Iris squeezed Natalie’s forearm. “Great attitude. One I intend to adopt as soon as I’m eligible. Don’t get me wrong, I like that members have to submit men they know before they can select cards, but I can’t wait! I already know three guys who want to be Hot Guys.”

Denise leaned toward Natalie. “You decide to put that card back into the pot, I want to know about it first.”

Just as she was going to respond, a woman she’d seen but not met leaned into their small huddle. “Someone asked about Tracy Jackson?”

“You’re Tracy?” Denise asked.

“No, but she’s a friend.”

“She’s not a practical joker, is she?”

“Tracy?” the woman asked as if the question itself was nuts. “No. She’s... No. She’s really straightforward. She would have been here, but she’s at a meeting in Toronto. She submitted two of her friends, though. I haven’t met either one, but if Tracy likes them, they’re bound to be top-notch.”

Natalie relaxed. Not all the way. She would still call Tracy and get more information before she called Max. That would give her time to build up her courage.

“I’m Sandy, by the way. You’re Denise, right? You work at the Columbia University library?”

Introductions were made, which was a good thing. It pulled Natalie back down to earth. Almost. She still couldn’t get over Max’s looks, but looks only went so far. He still needed to live up to the back of the card, which was no mean feat.

* * *

H
E
SHOULD
GET
UP
,
get showered, dressed, call someone, do something. According to the TV weather woman, anyone who wasn’t outside frolicking under the clear blue sky was an idiot. It was day three of Max’s three-week vacation, so he could do whatever the hell he wanted. After three years of operating on adrenaline, frolicking wasn’t anywhere on his list. But he was hungry.

Max sighed as he gazed upon his best companion and constant source of succor: his 56-inch LED high-definition television. He couldn’t remember what baseball teams were currently playing. After slipping in and out of sleep ever since he’d crawled onto the couch following a full nine hours in his bed, that wasn’t a big surprise. Actually, he had no idea what the standings were, who was on the injury list, or if the Mets had any chance for glory. There’d been no fantasy baseball this year, or last year. Not for him, anyway. It was tragic. Some fan he was.

Again, he thought about going out. A simple proposition at face value, but, in fact, it would require him to make a series of decisions. What to wear, where to go, how to get there, whether to go alone? Try to hook up? He was exhausted just thinking about it. After such a long stretch of the hardest, most consuming work he’d ever faced, he didn’t want to make another decision for the rest of his life. With one very big exception: what to do about his future.

It wasn’t rhetorical. He really had to decide, and soon. Huh, he’d meant to call his dad again, get his advice this time instead of just saying a quick
hey,
but seeing as it was the middle of a workday, he figured he’d wait until that night to phone him.

The tort case had devoured his life, and that included not checking in regularly with his folks. They’d told him not to worry about it, but he missed them. And his brother. Mike was busy, too, with his newest art gallery. At least they texted from time to time.

Reaching behind him, Max adjusted his pillow and an unfortunate turn of his head made him realize he should have made the effort to shower several days ago. His sloth was all Manhattan’s fault. The only exercise he’d gotten since he’d come home to rest was walking to the door to get his deliveries. Takeout, groceries, fluff-and-fold laundry. A person could get anything in this city, any day, any time. He loved the hell out of it.

What he also loved was burgers. His stomach gurgled and he snatched his cell phone from the coffee table. When he caught the actual time, his stomach made another loud protest and he hit speed dial fourteen. After ordering an Alpine Burger and fries from Paul’s Da Burger Joint, his hand dropped to his side like a dead weight. It wasn’t possible to be this tired for so long. Maybe he was sick or something.

Or maybe he’d just worked hundred-hour weeks for three goddamned years with virtually no time off.

He grinned as he put his phone back on the table. It had been worth it. Every hour. Because right now the senior partners at Latham, Kirkland and Jones were deciding just how much money they were going to spend to make him happy. Happy enough to stay put. To ward off the headhunters, who’d already come calling. His firm had won an unwinnable case, due in large part to his ideas and hard work. The whole damn seafood industry was falling all over itself sending gift baskets and champagne to the office. Even better, they’d been congratulating him. Personally.

So, yeah. This break was not just going to rejuvenate him, it was going to make the firm sweat while Max considered every option available. Equity, naturally, but at what percentage? A new office? Use of the executive suite in London, absolutely, and the Malibu house in California.

Once he hauled himself off the couch, the shower appealed greatly. Stepping under the hot water relaxed his muscles and felt amazing. It even helped remind him that a real life was once again an option. At least until the next megacase.

Maybe later he’d venture out to his local watering hole. He liked Swift for its laid-back atmosphere, the good-looking women, excellent beer selection and...hell, the good-looking women were all that mattered.

By the time he finished shaving, his arms felt heavy and his desire for action had diminished. The bar would be there tomorrow night. And maybe by then he’d be his old self again.

* * *

W
ITH
TEN
MINUTES
to go until she had to leave St. Marks, Bobbie, a hairdresser Natalie had met at last month’s meeting, pulled her aside to talk about the card Natalie had submitted. Randy was a friend of her tenant, Fred Mason. Both guys worked for the Museum of Modern Art and the three of them had bonded over their mutual love of cards and board games. Randy was a rock-solid, wonderful man. She’d actually entertained the idea of a romantic relationship with him, but he wasn’t for her. He didn’t care much for movies, which was a deal breaker.

After Natalie had offered a bunch of assurances about Randy, Bobbie whipped out her cell phone and called him. They had a date set up in under five minutes. Obviously thrilled, Bobbie looked at her card again, and then headed back to the other side of the room. Natalie didn’t rejoin her friends, however. Not yet. She pulled out her Android. Toronto was in the same time zone, and it was only 7:00 p.m. Tracy Jackson might have time to talk.

“Hello?”

“Tracy, this is Natalie Geller from Trading Cards.”

“Oh, hi. How’s it going?”

Natalie cupped her free ear to block out the laughter and chatter in the room. “Great. I hope I’m not disturbing you.”

“You’re not, but I’m waiting for a car that’s going to be here any minute. Did you pick one of my guys?”

“Max Zimm.”

“Oh, he’s wonderful. Exactly as advertised, I’m not kidding. Really. You’ll love him. Oops, my ride’s here. Sorry.”