Winning Her Over (13 page)

Today would have been the perfect opportunity to introduce her to his family. Maybe her presence would have also eased the grief he was never quite able to suppress when he visited the lake house.

“Something on your mind?” his mom asked. He glanced to his left, where she’d quietly sidled up next to him. She now wore a dark green fleece pullover against the evening chill, reminding him that he was still dressed for a warm summer’s day. He needed to pull his car into the driveway at some point and grab his overnight bag.

“Would I be crazy to put in for a transfer to CMH’s Boston office?”

“What? Where’s this coming from? Not that I wouldn’t be thrilled to have you back in New England.”

“Well…” He stalled, debating how much to tell her, then decided to go all in. “Over the summer, I was seeing this girl in Boston. Brenna. She broke up with me a few weeks ago, and I haven’t been able to stop thinking about her.”

His mom’s brows went up, and he hastily added, “It’s not just about her, though. A lot of my clients are in the Boston area. And I’d also like to live closer to you, and Megan and Tom and the kids. I never see you guys,” he said with a wry twist of his lips.

“I don’t even know where to start unpacking all of that, so I’m going to start with the girl you never once mentioned before.” She frowned at him, the very picture of offended maternal concern. “Brenna, you said?”

He nodded.

“Tell me what’s so special about her.”

“Everything,” he said fervently. “She’s warm, and compassionate, and caring. And smart. And hardworking. And gorgeous. And she makes me laugh.”

He stopped listing Brenna’s virtues when he noticed the smile that had crept onto his mom’s face, crinkling the corners of her blue eyes. “What?”

“I can’t tell you how long I’ve waited for you to really fall for someone, Cal. I thought you’d never give me grandchildren, but—”

“Hey! It’s a bit early to be counting the grandkids, Mom,” he admonished her, even as the idea warmed him from the inside out.

“Well, look. About this transfer idea. My vote is going to be yes, regardless, but aren’t you worried that transferring so soon after you made partner might have an impact on your career?”

He was, but the idea he had in mind represented a positive impact, rather than a negative one—assuming he could persuade CMH to support it. He needed advice, but he didn’t want to approach anyone at the firm before his path was certain.

Cal sighed. “I wish Dad were here.”

Wrapping an arm around his waist, his mom squeezed him to her side. “I know you do, honey. I still miss him, too, every day. He would have been so proud that you made partner.” She glanced at him. “But after he got sick, he also wanted to make sure you understood that some things are more important than work.”

“I do. I get it now.”

“I’m really glad you came up today. It makes me so happy to have all of my family with me.” Then she took a step back and faced him square-on, clasping his hand in her delicate fingers. “Sort things out with Brenna, okay? Because I want to meet her.”

“I’m working on it.”

“What does she do, by the way? You didn’t say.”

He looked her in the eye, unflinching. “She’s a massage therapist. She’s got her own business on Newbury Street.”

“A massage therapist.” Her expression grew calculating. “We could definitely use one of those in the family…”

“Mo—om.” He drew out the word in mock exasperation.

“I’m just saying. My back’s been hurting lately—you could always give your old mom a gift certificate.”

“Funny you should mention that. Coincidentally, I happen to have bought a bunch of them a couple of weeks ago.”

“You did, did you?” Her eyes lit up. “Then one of them must be for me, right?”

There was no way out of it, so he capitulated as gracefully as he could. “Of course. But it may be a while before I can give it to you. I kind of have something planned.”

“You always have something planned, sweetheart. That’s why you’ve been so successful. My son, the partner.” She beamed at him, then pulled him into a fierce hug. “Congratulations again, honey.”

“Thanks, Mom.”

Then she whispered in his ear, “Now, get to work on those grandchildren.”

He smiled.
All in good time.

B
renna woke
on Friday
filled with anticipation. What would today’s present be? After Cal’s late-night confessional last Saturday, her expectations were high. He hadn’t called since then, but he’d sent a text Monday night saying he hadn’t stopped missing her the entire weekend. They’d texted or e-mailed every day since.

His
Good morning, beautiful
message buoyed her sense of well-being through the late afternoon. But as the day wound down with no further sign or word from him, her good mood began to slip. First to irritation. Then to anxiety. And eventually to resigned disappointment, as she prepped the suite after her final client had left.

She was tidying the large therapy room when the doorbell chimed, precisely at her new—and earlier—weekend closing time. She frowned. Who’d be stopping by at eight o’clock?

As she approached the suite’s glass door to let her visitor in, her mouth fell open.

Perhaps the long, presentless day had robbed her of her mental faculties. She blinked once, twice. Nope, still there. Maybe she should eat another of Cal’s snack bars. Though skipping lunch had never brought on hallucinations before.

Impressively realistic, the figment of her imagination had a colorful bouquet in one hand, a white paper shopping bag in the other, and an expression somewhere between incredulous and awestruck on his face.

With shaking hands, Brenna unlocked and opened the door.

“I can’t believe I’m actually seeing you, right here in front of me,” said a familiar husky baritone.

Okaaay. Not a figment. Her stomach dropped out like a car on a roller-coaster, and she staggered back a few steps. “Cal? Wh—what are you doing here?”

He straightened, somehow managing to look simultaneously apologetic and defiant. Not to mention breathtakingly gorgeous in dark blue chinos and a short-sleeved button-down shirt that had her attention riveted to the triangle of tanned skin exposed at the top of his chest.

“It’s closing time,” he said, “and I’m here to take you to dinner. If you’ll let me.”

Cal had just thrown down the present-giving gauntlet.

She took a step toward him. The appreciative heat in his gaze wasn’t searing her with lust, this time. His gray eyes shone instead with warmth and devotion. And she knew, if she turned him away without at least giving him a chance, she would regret it for the rest of her life.

She said one word: “Yes.”

Pure joy spread across his face as if she’d answered another question entirely.

Drawing closer to him, she smiled in return. “Let me see if I have a vase for the flowers—”

“No need.” He held up the paper bag.

“Ah, there’s my Eagle Scout. Always prepared.”

“I aim to please,” he said lightly, his usual hint of cocky smugness absent. “Looks like you need a few more minutes to finish up, and I know you need to get changed. Anything I can do to help?” His tentative question nearly melted her heart.

She held out her hands for the flowers and vase. Time to put that ikebana class she’d taken with her mom to good use.

“How about if you strip the rest of the linens from the table in here and the other therapy room. You can put them in the laundry bag in the front closet. Fresh sheets are in the cabinet over there,” she indicated, inclining her head, “and by the time you’ve got the fitted sheets on the tables I should be back.”

Brenna brushed past him in search of some scissors, too flustered to wait for his agreement. She needed a few minutes to process that, unbelievably, Cal was
here,
smelling amazing and looking even more incredible than she’d remembered.

It took her about five minutes to disassemble and rearrange the bouquet into the thick, hand-blown glass vase in a pleasing manner. Feeling calmer, she set the arrangement on the side table in the cozy reception area where her clients could enjoy it while they waited for their appointments. The bonsai Cal had given her would have to go in the larger therapy room for now.

A new fitted sheet was already on the massage table in there, and a folded flat sheet and blanket were stacked precisely in the middle of it. So she called out to him, “I’m going to get changed now, if that’s okay.”

“Of course,” came his muffled reply from the second, smaller therapy room. “Take your time.”

The warm early September morning had spurred her to put on a long, cotton dress with an oversized floral print that would thankfully be suitable at pretty much any restaurant. She brought it into the large therapy room and, after a brief hesitation, decided not to lock the door. He wasn’t a stranger, and she knew he had too much respect for her to ever barge in. But she still felt vulnerable as she changed out of her uniform—which was not what she’d ever imagined wearing in any fantasized reunion scenario.

She swapped her clogs for strappy leather sandals, shoved her soiled uniform into a laundry bag, and, with a racing heartbeat, went to meet her destiny.

He bent over the table in the other therapy room as he tugged the last corner of the sheet into place. Holy crap, the man had a truly magnificent ass. Brenna’s teeth sank into her lower lip as she admired his backside for a second or two, a welcome jolt of heat rushing through her.

Tempting as the thought was, if she spent the entire night staring at his remarkable…glutes, she knew they would never get out of there. So she stepped up beside him and, working together, they had the suite prepped in another five minutes.

They were soon strolling down Newbury Street toward L’Avenue—she was lucky indeed, tonight. Then again, so was he.

“It’s a good thing I wore something today that’s dressy enough for L’Avenue,” she said, trying to inject a playful tone into their conversation. “What would you have done if it had been ninety degrees and I’d been wearing short shorts, a tank top, and flip flops?”

He looked at her, and the stark need reflected in his eyes created her own personal heat wave. But then he banked that scorching heat down to a manageable smolder and said, “I had a backup plan.” He smiled with a hint of his usual cockiness. “But I’m glad I didn’t have to use it.”

Out of habit her hand slid into his, and he twined their fingers together. Cal matched his longer stride to her shorter one, the back of his hand occasionally brushing her hip as they walked in step.

She knew they would have to clear the air before they could get back together. And she was not at all looking forward to it. The prospect of make-up sex, definitely yes. The process of making up, not so much.

During dinner, Cal continued to steer them toward lighter topics. He might have thought he was doing her a favor by avoiding any unpleasantness—after all, why ruin a spectacular meal with a difficult conversation? But her nerves were jangling so hard she was barely able to swallow a few mouthfuls of her pan-fried trout or the accompanying barley and wild rice pilaf or roasted asparagus spears.

Their plates were cleared, and she half-heartedly prolonged her torture with an order of chamomile tea and a plum
tarte tatin
.

While they awaited their desserts, Cal took her hands in his. To her relief and consternation, he said, “Bren, I’ve done a lot of thinking over the past month.”

He paused for so long she wondered if he were awaiting a response. But then he went on, saying the words she’d been hoping to hear pretty much since day one. “The truth is, I’m crazy about you. No more friends-with-benefits. You deserve more,” he said earnestly. “We both do.”

She wasn’t quite ready to admit she was crazy about him, too. “But what about being embarrassed by me?” It still bothered her that he’d felt that way.

He glanced away for a moment, then caught her gaze again with renewed intensity. “I still feel awful that I tried to keep our relationship separate from the rest of my life. And even worse that I made you feel bad. It’s not an excuse, but I was worried about the partnership decision at the time and… Well, it was stupid, and I regret it. I was never embarrassed by you or what you do for a living. And I hope you can forgive me.”

“So you’re not going to hide me from your colleagues or family anymore?”

“I’ve already told everyone who matters. My mom can’t wait to meet you.”

Brenna couldn’t help it; her eyebrows rose in tandem with her speeding heart rate.

“Jordie’s just looking forward to when I stop moping, as he put it. Though he’s gonna be pissed when he finds out I’ve asked for a transfer to the Boston office.”

“You did
what
?”

“Don’t freak out.” His thumbs rubbed delicate, soothing circles against the backs of her trembling hands. “I’ve been considering it for a while now, since even before I met you.”

Their server arrived with their desserts. Brenna took a bite of hers, followed by a sip of her too-hot tea, trying to quell her panic. This was too much, too fast. But Cal always seemed to see through her so easily it was a safe bet he’d know she was, indeed, freaking out.

“Why do you want to move up here?” she asked, hoping to forestall Cal’s questions about how the idea made her feel.

“Lots of reasons.”

And since he was a lawyer, she knew he would enumerate them all.

“First, my family is still in Portsmouth.” He told her about wanting to spend more time with his niece and nephew and be nearer to his aging mother, and her heartbeat began to slow as he described this first, perfectly reasonable—in fact, admirable—motivation.

He added another one to the list. “Second, work.” Wanting to better serve his New England-based clients also made sense, and his ambition to start a litigation department in Boston for his firm impressed her. Maybe this was just a happy coincidence of purposes.

“And that brings me to my third reason,” he said, his focus squarely on her. “You.”

Her heart leapt right back into her throat.

“I want to see if we can do this for real, not just on weekends. It would make all the difference knowing we could be with each other every day, if we want to. I know I want to.”

He swallowed before continuing, his emotions clearly running high. “It just feels right.” Softly, he asked her, “Does it feel like the right thing to you, too?”

It was where she’d hoped they would end up all along. A wellspring of joy began to bubble up, but she capped it, wanting to make sure she understood what he was suggesting first. “It does, but… You’re just talking about moving to Boston, not moving in with me, right?”

He laughed. “Of course I’m not planning to just move in with you. Oh my God, that would be so presumptuous.”

“Yeah, I thought so, too,” she said as relief gave way to playfulness. “But best to make sure, you know?”

“Finish up that dessert, babe,” he prodded, his eyes darkening like a summer storm. Apparently he was eager to get to the make-up sex, too.

She took another bite, letting the complex flavors spread across her tongue. Now that she seemed to have survived making up with Cal, she could enjoy the tartness of the plums paired with the cool, spicy sweetness of the cinnamon ice cream. The sugar rush helped dampen the lingering aftereffects of her anxiety, too.

“Want a taste of mine?” Cal offered her a spoonful of his triple-chocolate mousse, along with a lashing of the Grand Marnier whipped cream that accompanied it.

She accepted it, throatily humming her approval. “I should’ve gotten that one. The chocolate is just so…intense.”

“If it does that to you, I’m more than happy to trade.” His voice was as rich and velvety as the mousse. “As long as you let me watch you eat it.”

“I wouldn’t mind another bite.”

He offered her another spoonful, his own lips parted with anticipation.

Her eyelids fluttered shut as she took the spoon between her lips. As he withdrew it, she moaned softly. Truthfully, she was hamming it up a bit, though it really was one of the most incredible things she’d ever tasted.

“Okay, we’re going now.” He abruptly signaled their server.

“But these desserts are so good,” she protested, her eyes dancing as he asked for the bill.

“You can finish up while I get the check.”

She took another bite of her own dessert, waving her spoon at him. “Culinary masterpieces like these are meant to be savored, not wolfed down.”

“I’m feeling pretty wolfish, right about now.”

Brenna’s wanton side finally resurfaced after a month in hibernation. She leaned toward him. “Are you hard for me, baby?” she cooed.

“I’ve been hard for you since the day I met you,” he muttered, looking around. “Where the hell is that check?”

“While we’re waiting, I think I’ll have another bite of this gorgeous plum tart.” She slipped the spoon between her lips, licking off a trace of ice cream suggestively. “Mmm. You want a taste?”

Cal looked about ready to lunge across the table and sample the dessert from her lips. Her nipples hardened at the thought of his imminent loss of control.

He noticed—of course he did. “Ohhh, Brenna, don’t do this to me.” His leg jiggled up and down against her knee in his agitation.

Their server finally appeared with the check. Cal immediately sent her off with his credit card, telling her they were in a hurry. Understatement of the century.

Brenna arched her back slightly, pushing her small breasts out so they strained against the fabric of her dress.

Cal was captivated by the display. “You are so gonna get it when we get home.”

“That’s good,” she retorted. “’Cause I really, really need it.”

The sound that came out of the back of his throat sounded remarkably like a growl, and her eyes widened. Then she noticed his flared nostrils and the perspiration dampening his temples. He looked like an enraged bull who’d scented his mate in the next paddock and was ready to break through the fence separating them. Oopsie. Maybe she’d gone overboard with the teasing?

His command was gritted out from between clenched teeth. “Not. Another. Word.”

She smiled coyly, but said nothing as he paid the check. He’d find out soon enough how wet she already was for him. Turning this controlled, confident man into a quivering mass of testosterone and lust was going to become one of her favorite pastimes.