Jaded (7 page)

“Y—you can stay for little while, if you want.” Her cheeks burned and she couldn’t believe she’d said it. What about her renewed motivation? What about Luke’s obvious and inevitable flaws as her choice of man?

“Well, that would be unprofessional of me, now, wouldn’t it?” His voice held a sharp edge, but his eyes were hopeful.

“I wouldn’t mind if we kind of...broke the rules a little bit.”

He stared hard at her. “Sorry, Isabella. I made a promise.” He turned and started to leave.

She felt like she’d been slapped. Mr. Coy-and-Alluring had suddenly turned hard and unforgiving. It was almost sexy. Now she was determined to turn things around.

“Luke, come on. You know you want to stay.”

“Not really.”

Ouch.
“What if I said I’d go out on a date with you tonight?”

He paused, his hand on the doorknob. “I don’t know.”

“Just stay.”

“Why should I?”

“I don’t have anything to do, and I don’t feel like being alone.” And besides, if he left, she’d just think about him all night anyway.

He seemed to be mulling it over. “You were serious about the date?”

She hadn’t actually meant it—she’d only said it to get him to stay. “Yeah, sure, I guess.”

A smile broke out across his face. “You won’t be disappointed. I promise.”

She sighed, unable to hide her smile, while a part of her brain was screaming long and hard. “We can go out tonight, if you’d like. I don’t care.”

“Do you want me to come back later?”

She looked around the room, weighing her options. “Why don’t you help me fill in the new bookcase first?” She lifted a brow.

“Yeah, sounds good.” He took off his tool belt. “Actually, if you hadn’t come home so soon, I was going to do that for you.”

His sensitivity made her raise her eyebrows. Knowing she’d underestimated him made her feel guilty and curious. What more could she expect from him, and more importantly, what did he really feel for her?

“I’ll go get my books.” It took her several trips to gather her books from their disparate locations, and she eventually collected a wide variety of reading material that spanned from journalism guides to yoga breathing techniques to relationship advice books. She even found a couple installments to the Nancy Drew series underneath her bed.

“Okay.” She dropped them all in piles in the front room. “I think this is it. Let’s organize them by like authors first, then into separate categories.”

They knelt in front of the books and sifted through them.

Luke looked amused by some of the titles. “I take it you like to read this stuff,” he said, holding up a collection of poems by one of her favorite poets. “This is the fifth book by this chick...Greta Gilbert.”

“Of course,” she said. “Being a writer starts with reading.”

“But you don’t write poetry,” he said. “You write journalistic pieces.”

“Don’t I write poetry?” She looked at him suspiciously. “Do you have proof that I don’t?”

He looked her up and down. “Okay, then. Let me rephrase that.
Do
you write poetry, Isabella?”

“I do,” she said, continuing to separate her books according to subject matter: general fiction, non-fiction, how-tos, exercise-related, classic literature...

“Can I read some of it sometime?” he asked.

“That’s a pretty serious request from someone who hasn’t actually taken me on a date yet,” she said. “So, no.”

He looked surprised but amused. “Have it your way. I’ll try after our fifth date.”

She ignored his comment and focused on her organization.

After a few moments, Luke paused in his sorting. “
Independent Woman
...
Freedom from Men and Lies
...
How to Lose Men and Stay Man-Free
...” He looked up at her, confusion written across his face. “You’re pretty serious about staying away from guys.”

She shrugged. “Yeah. Trust me; I didn’t make the decision because things were peachy. Bad experience after bad experience gets the lesson through.”

Luke looked hard at her; she could practically feel his gaze cutting a hole through her heart. “Not all guys are bad.”

His implication weighed heavily on her—he was tacitly asking her to take a chance on him. Well, she wasn’t going to. “That may be true. But all the good ones are either taken or not interested in me.”

“Are you trying to say I’m a bad guy, then?”

She looked at him sharply. “I don’t know about you yet.”

He was silent for a moment as he shelved her books. “You could take a chance.”

“I’ve taken too many chances. But thanks for the offer.” Isabella let a moment of silence pass. “So where’d you learn to do woodwork like this?”

His eyes lit up. He leaned back on his heels as he looked at the bookcase. “It’s sort of a family trade. All my uncles have been doing it their whole lives, and I got into it when I was really young. I don’t really get the chance to do it too often these days. You’re the first customer I’ve had in awhile where I’ve even had the chance.”

“So this is something you do for your clients?”

“Nah, I just sort of try to see what people need and give it to them.” He winked at her, the beginning of a smile on his lips. “I had this material left over. And it’s a really nice wood; I can’t just toss it. Plus, you being such a smarty pants, I figured you might like it.”

Her cheeks burned as they shelved the rest of her books, her mind racing as she mulled over the interesting facets of the man beside her. He cooked, he was thoughtful, and he could build with his hands. Not to mention the other obvious qualities the guy had. When Isabella stood up, she said, “We can have a nice night out tonight. Just a harmless, friendly date.”

He stood up and pressed himself close to her, the familiar haze of passion darkening his eyes. “But I don’t want it to be just friendly.”

She steeled herself against his advance, trying to block out the feel of his body against hers. The image of him between her legs, rubbing those juicy, pink lips against her skin, sprang to her mind. She didn’t know what to say to him. As she opened her mouth to speak, he whispered, “But, of course, if that’s what you want, that’s what it’ll be.” Before he pulled himself away, he brushed his fingertips over her cheek.

“Great. Then we understand each other,” she muttered, struggling to recall what was so wrong with him touching her.

“I’ll be back in an hour—how does that sound?” He picked up his tools again and started for the door. “Then we can have our nice...
friendly
...date.” He winked at her as he pulled the door shut behind him.

***

An hour later, Isabella put the finishing touches on her makeup. She smoothed down her short, black skirt, adjusted the tight-fitting, cleavage-baring top she’d chosen, and slipped her feet into a pair of heels. She spritzed herself with her sexy-smelling perfume and headed downstairs.

She’d curled her hair a little bit to give it volume. She tousled it slightly, smacking her lips in the mirror. Butterflies darted around her stomach—she couldn’t believe she was actually nervous.

The doorbell rang and she scurried to get it. She prayed the night would go well, and that there wouldn’t be any of that fighting that seemed to erupt between them like an electrical fire amidst an otherwise normal day. Deeper within her heart, she prayed he’d put his hands all over her and take her to bed.

She pulled open the door and Luke smiled back at her, hands behind his back.

“Good evening.” He presented a small bouquet of roses. She gasped.

“Wow...” She took them from him, unsure of what to say. “Thanks. They’re really nice.”

He stepped inside, gazing at her. “You look great.”

Isabella blushed. He knew how to start things off. “Thanks.” Luke also knew how to dress the part—black pants perfectly showcased his butt, paired with a simple white button-up under a black sports jacket. He looked insanely delicious, but what was ever more tempting was the fact that she knew what lay underneath all the clothing. The thought drove her crazy.

“You look nice too,” she said, turning and walking to the kitchen. “I’m gonna put these in a vase.”

He followed her into the kitchen, silent, as she found a vase, filled it with water, and arranged the roses.

“So what do you think you want to do tonight?” He was staring at her with an intense gaze that suggested he might be perfectly content staying here and pursuing a more risqué activity.

“Dinner? And then we can...come back here?” She was horrified at the words spilling from her lips, but found almost no way to control herself. She wanted to do this, she realized. No matter how much she told herself she wasn’t attracted to him.

A flash in his eyes told her it had been exactly what he’d been thinking.

“I know where we can go,” Luke said. “It’ll be a surprise.”

He held out his hand, and she took it tentatively. He led her outside and into the driveway, where his sleek black convertible was waiting.

“Nice,” she murmured, and then quickly equivocated. “I mean...uh...”

“What? It’s okay if you have good taste in cars.” He grinned as they sat inside.

“Just painfully aware of how materialistic I sounded,” she muttered. “Kind of a fear of mine.”

Luke shot her a glance. “Babe, you’re not too materialistic. I’ve had conversations with girls for
hours
about what everyone else is wearing and how much it costs. You have nothing to worry about.” He paused, as if weighing his next words. “You actually have things to say, which is nice.”

She let the compliment seep into her, somehow proud of the fact that a man like Luke would notice that about her. A knot of happiness formed deep in her belly as she reveled in the fact that for at least one evening, she was the hot number on the sexy blond’s arm, whizzing through the humid night air and dancing happily along that line of friends and something more.

As they drove, Luke took her hand in his. Her hand sizzled where their skin touched, and the effect radiated through every limb in her body. “By the way, hand-holding is a completely harmless, friendly activity.” He looked over at her and winked. “I checked.”

She couldn’t fight him there. It was just what she wanted those hands to
do
that wasn’t so friendly or harmless.

After a few minutes, they pulled into the parking lot of Mario di Napoli’s, a family-owned restaurant big on glitz and even bigger on good food. Inside, a waitress led them to a cozy little booth with white linen on the table and a small candle in the middle.

“Got anything in mind?” she asked after the waitress had left and they were looking over their menus.

“I’m always one for spaghetti and meatballs,” he said, smiling boyishly. Isabella’s heart fluttered.
Keep it harmless and friendly,
she reminded herself.

“Good. I’m sold.” She looked over the menu a little bit more. “Ooh! And lots and lots of breadsticks.”

This seemed to amuse Luke. “My kind of girl!”

When the waitress came, they placed their orders and then settled in for a one-on-one intimate discussion.

“Tell me about your life,” Luke said suddenly, leaning in closer to her. “I want to know.”

She smiled wryly, loving this new side of Luke. A cocky hunk who asked questions about women? Was she dreaming this? “Why?”

“Because I want to know.”

“Okay, fine. I’m thirty years old, I have a gorgeous younger sister, my mother is a scatter-brained fashionista, and my parents buy my love with gifts. That sums everything up.”

“But you didn’t say anything about why you hate men so much.”

“Oh, did I forget to mention that? Every guy I’ve been with has walked all over my heart. And I’m sick of it.”

He watched her thoughtfully for a few moments. “That’s not very nice.”

“You’re telling me.”

Stroking his cheek, which Isabella noticed to be unshaven, he said, “I can’t understand why someone would do that to you.”

“Well Luke, I’ve struggled with that problem myself, and I just can’t figure it out. So, you know what? Screw it. Screw all guys.”

“Even me?” He cocked a sweet smile.

She hesitated. “Even you.”

“You didn’t sound so sure.”

He was watching her with such an intense, level gaze it was hard to keep eye contact with him. She didn’t like how his eyes made her insides quiver and skin prickle.

“Tell me about yourself,” she said, switching the subject.

“I work in construction.” He smiled.

His vagueness made her uneasy. There was so much more hidden beneath that smile.

“And?”

“I’m thirty-one years old and I... I live in a shitty apartment.”

“Okay, better. Anything else?”

“When I was younger, I modeled.”

This didn’t surprise her. “Why did you quit?”

“I wanted to go to school and be an engineer.”

She stared at him. “Really?”

He nodded as though he was used to the reaction people had when hearing that. “Can’t imagine me for an intellectual, right? I dropped out of college before I could get my degree.”

She was plagued with curiosity. “Why?”

He hesitated, as though uncomfortable talking about himself and his past. She sensed he didn’t often open up to people, and wondered how many of his friends and coworkers even knew these things about him. “The economic situation at home fell through. There was no way I could pay, so I went into good ol’ manual labor. No harm in earning a hard day’s work, ya know? It’s turned out to be more fulfilling than I thought.”

“Where did you grow up?”

“Here in Florida. I was born in Wisconsin, where my parents lived—but then they got divorced, and I came to live with my mom here. I was a punk when I young, all throughout my modeling career. I finally matured once I started going to college,” he said. “Early for most men.”

She hated to admit it, but the guy was intelligent. He had looks
and
brains. It was more than she’d bargained for and her mind was absolutely spinning.

“Listen, you told me you were in the mafia earlier, and that’s cool, but I don’t believe you. So what is this international life of mystery that you lead?”