Long Slow Burn (4 page)

She took her sheet to the oven, opened the door and put the cookies in. He didn't mean to pay close attention when she bent over, but while he respected the very ground she
walked on, to deny himself the pleasure of that sight would be pure masochism.

Why had this woman hit him so hard and never let go? First time he'd seen her he'd been following Kent into his house their freshman year in high school, Kim's senior. Their family had just moved to Milwaukee from somewhere in Ohio. She'd been standing framed by the doorway between the living room and dining room, arguing with her mother, her face flushed, her eyes snapping blue heat. Nathan, all of fifteen, had literally stopped in his tracks. She wasn't the kind of woman whose beauty struck you right off the bat, but something had sure struck him like a boulder between the eyes. Kent finally had to yank on his arm to get him to move. That's how it had been right from the beginning. And the years hadn't changed those feelings, or replicated them, no matter how many other women Nathan had tried to find them with. Now his goal was to figure out this crazy fantasy or turn it into reality.

She came back to the table, pulled the next baking sheet toward her and settled into her seat with a defeated plop. Something was definitely not right. His instinct was to tell her more jokes, but his instinct when it came to Kim was usually wrong. Maybe his best bet going forward would be to do the opposite of whatever came naturally.

He cleared his throat, feeling as if he were about to audition for a part he wasn't right for. “How was your day? Did you get a lot done on the Carter proposal?”

“Another dead end.” She made a silly face, trying to hide her disappointment. “I like some things about the current design. It's balanced, good colors, chic feel, but it just doesn't pop.”

He wished he could come up with the perfect solution to take the frown off her face. He'd offer to look, but had already learned she was intensely private about her work in progress. “It's a solid start, though?”

“Yeah, I guess.” She looked miserably down at the perfect mounds of cookie dough on her baking sheet.

Was that all that was bothering her? “Something will come to you. You're very talented.”

“Thanks, Nathan.” A real smile then. “It's just nerve-racking with the deadline looming, both for the bid and for Charlotte's Web. What about your day?”

“My day.” He rubbed the back of his neck, wishing he hadn't had that fifth drink at 3:00 a.m. “It started late last night, ended early this morning. In between was some very good tequila and some very bad judgment.”

She laughed. “Sounds like a typical night.”

That was the problem. To her that did seem typical. She didn't understand that this self-destructive part of him wasn't all there was. He was trapped right now in a cycle he didn't understand how to get out of. Yet. Though he knew he would. In the meantime there was more of him to show her: that he was a good listener, a loyal friend and that he cared about her more than she knew. Probably more than was rational or reasonable.

The timer went off and she jumped to extract the first sheet of perfectly browned cookies. He lifted his nose like a puppy. “Mmm, those smell good.”

“Don't they?” Kim sniffed rapturously. “Mom's sugar oatmeal. Plain, but wonderful.”

She stood there, sparking uncharacteristically edgy energy. Nathan's instinct was to go with the cookie conversation. Therefore he'd do the opposite. “Something's up besides the website issues. Want to tell me?”

She stared down at the hot baking sheet, looking serious and shy and even more delicious than the cookies. “What do you mean?”

“I'm not sure.” He found himself gripping the spoon hard enough to bend it. “But something is different about you the past few days.”

“You're very perceptive.” She said it as if it was a surprise. She took the cookies to the counter and started sliding them onto a cooling rack, her back to him. “I went to see Marie on Friday.”

Was this about the party? “You had lunch with her?”

“No, I went to the Milwaukeedates.com office.”

Small alarm bell. He pushed another ball of dough onto the sheet. “Why?”

“I'm going to start dating.”

“No.” He realized how that sounded when she turned, startled. “No…way, really?”

“I know, shock, right?” She made a wry face before she went back to the cookies. “Little mouse-girl wants herself a man.”

“That's not what I was thinking.” This was bad. Nathan had a negative image to overcome with her; his only hope was to take things slowly. If Kim met some guy right away and was hot for him from the beginning… “You're not a mouse. More like a sleepy lioness.”

“Hmph.” She flushed with pleasure even as she sent him a scowl. “I don't think so.”

“I do.” He dipped the spoon into the bowl, trying to act casual. “Any good prospects?”

“A couple.”

“Sounds promising.”
Sounds horrible.
“What are they like?”

Kim left the baking sheet on the stove, ran water over the silicone mat, wiping it down carefully. “One is an author and computer geek.”

He wanted to groan. The guy sounded ideal for her. “Good things.”

“I don't know.…”

“No?” He tried not to sound hopeful. “Why not?”

“He's absolutely gorgeous.”

Oh, just effing great. “This is a problem?”

“I don't like guys like that.”

Nathan managed to unfreeze his face. “Yeah, we absolutely gorgeous guys can be real jerks.”

She laughed, flicking water at him.

“What?” He blinked innocently, scraping up the last of the dough from the bowl. “What about the other one?”

“Dale? He seems pretty great.”

No. Dale was not pretty great. Dale sucked. Nathan was absolutely sure of that. “Yeah? What's his deal?”

“He's some kind of consultant. Travels a lot. I wrote to him already. He wrote back right away.” She came over to pick up Nathan's filled sheet; he could smell her flowery scent under the sugary vanilla aroma in the kitchen and wanted to devour her. “He's vacationing. In Jamaica.”

Jamaica.
This was bad. Nathan couldn't afford to take Kim to Jamaica. Nathan could barely afford to take Kim to Applebees. “He's probably there buying drugs.”

“Nathan!” She swept his baking sheet over to the oven.

“Who goes to Jamaica alone for any other reason? Or no, I've got it.” He pushed back his chair, turned it to face her. “He's there with his wife. Or his fourteen-year-old girlfriend. Or both.”

“You are a hopeless cynic.” The timer went off. Kim took out the second cookie sheet and put his batch in.

Yeah, a hopeless cynic, who happened to be struck dumb by his first sight of this woman over ten years earlier. A woman who still hadn't looked back. “I know how men think because I am one.”

“You're not all of them.”

He couldn't argue with that. “I'm going out with Kent and Steve tomorrow tonight. Want to come?”

“Watch you all get shit-faced and try to get laid? No thanks.”

“Kim.” He stood up, wanting some advantage, any advantage, even something that seemed like advantage. The invitation had come out of his mouth in desperation. Because he was desperate. “I haven't ‘gotten laid' like that in quite a while.”

“Not for lack of trying.”

“How do you know?”

“I hear from Kent.”

Nathan gestured in frustration. Kent exaggerated. Her brother never used to be so swaggering until he'd come back from New York and started hanging around with Steve, the Master Swaggerer. “That's not all I'm about. I've never tried with you.”

She gave him a withering look. “Like you would.”

“Why not?”

She laughed, then saw he was serious; her laughter died and she glanced at him uneasily. “I'm not exactly your type.”

“No?” They were going to bust at least this part of the myth right now. “What is my type?”

“Bubbly with big boobs and a bent for blow jobs.”

Instinct told him to take the joke further. So instead he caught a stray piece of her hair, stroking its soft length between his thumb and index finger, hoping she'd experience an unexpected and highly sensual shiver. “What if I told you my type was blond and shy with hidden passion waiting to be—”

“Hidden passion?”
She yanked her hair back as if he were about to set it on fire.

Crap. She was not experiencing anything like an unexpected sensual shiver. “Someone else said that. There's no way I would say anything so stupid.”

“Geez, Nathan.” She wasn't laughing. He wasn't, either.

“You're selling me short. There have been many women I've dated who aren't bubbly and who don't have big boobs. Many.” He gazed at her earnestly. She started looking cornered, folded her arms across her chest and stepped away from him.
Oh, no.
Scaring her was not what he wanted to do at all. He frowned. “Well…one, anyway. Maybe.”

She laughed in nervous relief and he grinned, cursing under his breath, wishing he had the guts to stay serious with her, wishing he had the nerve to set her straight. But it was still too soon. He needed time to win her. He thought he'd have plenty. But if she was going to start dating, he'd need
to regroup, find a way to get her to think differently about him much sooner than planned.

Because otherwise, he could lose even the hope of her, and after ten years of wasted time, he just wasn't willing to do that.

M
ARIE WENT DOWN THE
stairs from Roots Restaurant to the Cellar bar. Quinn Peters would be waiting there for their usual Friday night “meeting.” She'd call it a date, but she'd promised herself to keep any and all romantic thoughts about Quinn firmly under control, under wraps, underground. No point being a masochist by indulging in such fantasies.

She was late tonight. Ten minutes before she was due to leave, her delightful ex-husband, Grant, had called. He rarely did, but whenever his number showed up on caller ID, it was a guarantee Marie had some teeth-clenching time ahead of her. Tonight had been no exception. The louse had the nerve to ask if she'd consider returning the ruby-and-diamond channel-set ring he'd given her for their tenth and final anniversary, the one Marie called the Guilt Ring because Grant had already been having an affair with Lizzy, a woman nearly half his age.

Part of Marie wanted to give the ring back, preferably by jamming it down his throat. She wasn't, and might never be, at a place where she could happily wear it again, so why not let it shine on someone else's finger?

Because the other part of her, maybe not the most mature and gracious part, didn't want to give him anything he wanted. Ever. Because he'd taken from her a good chunk of
self-confidence, and though she'd come a long way, she was still struggling to get the rest of it back.

After she'd hung up the phone it had taken her half an hour to calm down to the point where she'd be able to face Quinn calmly and cheerfully.

Her stomach did a little flip. There he was, sitting at the long wooden bar, one empty seat beside him in the otherwise crowded room. Temperatures had flirted with fifty degrees that day; everyone seemed to be emerging from winter hibernation, restless for spring.

“Hi there.” She climbed onto the chair next to him, keeping her smile bright, hoping he couldn't tell she'd been crying. They'd settled into a comfortable weekly routine of meeting for drinks and dinner. At first she'd been surprised he'd want to spend that much time with her, especially on Fridays, a prime date night. Before they'd become friends, they'd both been casual regulars at the bar, and Marie had been fascinated by his success with women. His relaxed charm hooked 'em nearly every time. The fact that he looked like George Clooney didn't hurt.

“Marie.” His welcoming grin always turned her a little giddy. She knew better than to react that way to Quinn, but her inner whatever-it-was insisted on rebelling. Luckily, she'd stopped short of falling seriously since he'd told her how much she reminded him of his sister.

Pop goes the ego…

“What are you drinking tonight?” Not that she needed to ask. “Oh, gin martini, something new and different.”

“Why mess with perfection?” He lifted his glass to toast her. “What'll you have? My treat tonight.”

“Your treat?” Marie hung her purse on a hook under the bar. “Why, did something good happen?”

“No, actually, something bad.”

“Oh, no.” She turned with concern. He didn't look upset—he didn't look anything but gorgeous, as usual—but in her experience men could hide their feelings better than women. “What is it?”

He shrugged. “I don't know.”

“Uh.” Her eyebrows shot up. “You don't know?”

“No, but I hope you'll tell me.”

“Quinn, how many of those have you had?” She touched the base of his glass. “Something bad happened to you and
I'm
supposed to know what it is?”

“Not to me.” He flagged Joe, the dreamy-eyed bartender, on her behalf. As independent and competent as Marie was, moments of being taken care of like this were delicious. “Something bad happened to you.”

Marie gaped at him. “What gave me away?”

“You were late, you're moving more slowly than usual, your body language is tense and you're wearing heavier makeup around your eyes.”

“Sherlock, you impress me.”

“Thank you.”

“Marie, good to see you.” Joe put a coaster on the bar in front of her, his arm muscles ripped and rippling. He must spend half his life in a weight room. “What's it going to be?”

“How about a Manhattan?”

“Manhattan it is.” He gestured between Marie and Quinn. “Will you want to order food now or wait awhile?”

“Are you hungry, Quinn?” Marie put a hand to her stomach, still churning from her recent fury and frustration. “I can hold off.”

“Same here. We'll wait, Joe.”

“No problem. Your drink will be right up, Marie.” He tapped the bar smartly and turned to reach for a bottle of bourbon.

“So you get to decide.” Quinn's touch was gentle on her forearm. “Do you want to talk fun stuff to cheer you up or do you want to tell me what happened?”

Marie bit her lip. She hadn't been planning to spill, but the idea of unburdening appealed to her. Her ex had this way of making her question everything she knew to be right and true. “Grant called.”

“Oh, that sounds uplifting.”

“Like a too-tight WonderBra.” She rubbed her aching forehead. “He wants me to return the ring he gave me for our tenth anniversary, when the marriage was already over but I didn't know it yet, so he can give it to his second wife for their fifth.”

Quinn's easy, sympathetic smile turned to granite. “He what?”

“He figured I'd want to get rid of it, I guess.” She laughed at her ex's typically insensitive and self-centered logic. “I see his point, but—”

“Are you kidding me? What point? He has none.” Quinn looked murderous and James Bond tough. “A gift is a gift. Not a loan, not a ransom and not a weapon. Your ex has the emotional IQ of a clam. Except for all I know, clams are very empathetic, and he doesn't even rate that high.”

She managed a smile, relieved when Joe put her drink down and she could take that first icy gulp. The intensity of Quinn's anger was thrilling. Brave knight defending the damsel in distress. Thrilling and dangerous, because against her best instincts, that level of passion had her wondering how much this sexy knight would summon for his real lady. “Thank you, Quinn.”

“I hope you're furious as well as upset.”

She shrugged. “I don't wear the ring. I hate everything it represents, but it is beautiful. Maybe it should be enjoyed by someone.”

“Then give it to Goodwill. Sell it on eBay.” He gestured too hard with his glass and splashed gin on the bar, but didn't appear to notice. “Don't let that cheap, cheating bastard have it back.”

Oh, Quinn.
Marie took a turn with a comforting hand on his forearm, chiding herself for thinking his emotions had everything to do with her. Quinn had plenty to be furious about from the contents of his own baggage cart. His wife had cheated on him, married the other man, cheated on him, too, married the third one.… Who knew how long
that twisted cycle would go on? “You're absolutely right. I shouldn't even be considering sending it back to him. In some ways it would be a relief to get rid of the thing, but then I'd torture myself thinking of
her
wearing it.”

“Unless…” Quinn turned slowly toward her. As always, she had to clear her mind when he set that wicked grin on full blast.

“Uh-oh, what's that look for?”

He put down his drink and startled Marie by cupping her chin to bring her head closer, putting his fine, fine lips next to her ear. “Unless you send the ring directly to his wife with warmest wishes.”

“
Why
would I do that?” Shivers had gone through Marie's body that had less to do with the vibrations of his deep voice and more to do with him being so close and touching her face.

Crazy girl.

“So you can make sure she knows where it came from and what kind of truly special and generous guy Grant is to want it back, just for her.”

Marie giggled, her bad mood dissolving in the masculine scent of his aftershave and the titillating thrill of his attention. “I think imagining that situation is all the revenge I need, at least right now.”

“Wise woman.” He turned back to his drink.

“Thanks, Quinn. It helps to be able to share this with someone who understands.”

“Believe me, sweetheart, I do.” He leaned over, pressing his shoulder to hers.

The intimacy became too much; Marie had to move away, reminding herself that he was a compulsive player. Reminding herself how lucky she was to be able to claim his friendship for the past couple of months, a relationship that undoubtedly had lasted longer than any of his recent romantic brushes with women. “Now that we've dismissed my clam of an ex, how was your week?”

“My week was dull.”

“How so?” She put on her most sugary smile. “No hot babe action?”

He scowled at her. “Marie…”

“Only six or seven this week? Three the most you could get in one night?”

He shook his head. “You are too much.”

No, she wasn't enough.
She patted his shoulder. “Sorry. You know I love to tease you about your…expertise.”

“I did know that.” He hunched his shoulders, let them drop. “It's actually been a while.”

“Really?” She wasn't sure what to do with his serious reaction. Usually he joked right along with her. “How come?”

“The chase is losing its appeal.”

Marie frowned at his profile. She'd never seen him like this, defenses nearly breachable. “Why do you think that is?”

“Primarily because of what I was catching.”

“Germs? Viruses? STDs? What?”

He chuckled. “That's why I love you, Marie. You are smart, funny, compassionate and truly disgusting.”

“Thank you, dear.” She felt a blush rising and was mortified, which made her blush hotter. Men of his ilk should not be allowed to say “I love you” unless they meant it. “Go on about leaving the chase. I really do want to hear why you think it's not satisfying anymore.”

“Well.” He finished a sip, put his glass down, smoothed the edges of the napkin under it. “I'm thinking it might be time for a deeper connection. One that's longer lasting. Maybe a rela—”

“Uh-oh.”

“A rela-a—” He clutched at his throat, made a horrible choking noise. “Rela-a-a—”

“—tionship?”

“Thank you.” He mopped at his brow. “One of those.”

She rolled her eyes and laughed at his act, feeling sick underneath. She shouldn't be making this about her, but if
Quinn got a girlfriend, she could lose him, would probably lose him. She'd have to face how much he'd come to mean to her. And why she was no longer putting any serious thought or effort into matching him up with Darcy. “Congratulations, Quinn. This is a great step forward.”

“Thanks.” He moved restlessly in the chair. “So when do you take
your
great step forward?”

“Me?” His question startled her; she laughed shortly. “I'm not interested in getting married again.”

“Did I say married?”

“No, I know, I know.” She waved his comment away, wishing he'd change the subject. “Right now I'm not interested in any of it.”

“Hmm.” He tilted his head, eyebrow quirked suggestively. “Not in any of it?”

Marie's face caught fire again. What would he do if she said she was dying for sex? Probably recommend a friend. Some dumpling-shaped guy more appropriate for her. “I'm happy alone. It's going to stay that way for a good while longer.”

“Okay, then.” He emptied his martini, put the glass down, signaled to Joe. “I'm having another drink. You want one, too?”

She felt rebuked and wasn't sure why. “Not yet. Maybe food?”

“Sure. Menu, too, Joe? Thanks.”

The couple beside Quinn got up and left. A new couple sat down, arms around each other, heads together, giggling. They were probably in their late twenties, a dozen years younger than Marie, more than fifteen younger than Quinn. Marie wanted them to be exactly that carefree and happy together for the rest of their lives, and it saddened her that the odds weren't great.

“Hey.” She punched Quinn playfully. “You want to tell me why you shut down all of a sudden?”

“Sorry.” He turned in the chair so he was facing her. “I'm on edge tonight.”

“I 'fessed up earlier. Your turn now.”

“Nothing really.” He shrugged. “Probably just that I'm ready for spring and spring isn't ready for me.”

She rolled her eyes. “Honey, it's March. This isn't Florida. You've got months yet.”

“That I knew.”

“What else, Quinn? There's something.”

“I was just thinking.” He twisted his mouth. “That maybe we could have done some relationship-type things together.”

Joe put down the second martini and menus—perfect timing, because Marie's heart stopped until she realized what Quinn must have meant. “You wanted to compare notes on dating?”

Quinn thanked Joe and handed her a menu. “Yes. Compare notes on dating. Misery loves company, right?”

His facial muscles had loosened, but his voice still held an edge. She wished he would confide in her. Maybe a conquest had gone wrong? A woman had turned him down? Maybe two? Enough to make him lose confidence?

She couldn't imagine Quinn anything but confident. Especially with women.

“I can't go down that road, Quinn.” In any other difficulty she'd be first in line offering him support and a figurative shoulder, but she wouldn't be able to stand hearing anything about him trying to date seriously.

“It's fine.” He buried himself in his menu. “So how's the matchmaking business going with Kim?”

Marie slumped in defeat. When all else failed, bring out the change of subject. Okay. She'd go with that. She shouldn't be wasting energy wishing he felt comfortable enough with her to share whatever it was. That was for another woman someday, apparently sooner rather than later.