Winning Her Over (9 page)

Too soon, he stirred. Then he rolled to his side, still cradling her against his sweat-dampened chest. In this moment, it was difficult to remember he wasn’t her boyfriend. Until she’d met Cal, she’d never slept with a man she hadn’t been in love with. But even though they’d burned up the sheets, it was only sex, pure and simple.

She’d just have to keep reminding herself of that. Repeatedly. Until it stuck.

* * *

F
or breakfast the next morning
, Brenna brought Cal out to the roof deck, since they’d missed it on last night’s tour. They drank coffee and ate muffins, he in low-slung pajama pants and a T-shirt, she in black yoga pants and a baby tee with Serenity Massage’s stylized lotus flower silk-screened across the front.

“I like this bower you’ve got going on up here.” He nodded at the greenery surrounding them. “It’s very peaceful.”

“Thanks. It’ll be even greener in a couple of months, once the tomatoes and cucumbers come in.” Her herb boxes along the roof deck’s railings were already starting to flourish, she was pleased to note, and a profusion of blossoms and foliage spilled from her two small container gardens. “Hey, that reminds me.”

He looked at her, an unspoken question on his face as he waited for her to continue.

“I owe you a snake plant.”

“Now, there’s a sentence you don’t hear every day.” He chuckled, and she joined in.

“Remember the plant I told you about that’s almost impossible to kill? It’s a
sansevieria
. I’ve got one downstairs, and I potted some cuttings from it a couple of months ago. I can pack one up to send home with you.”

“I promise I’ll try my best to keep it alive.” His words were solemn, but laughter danced in his eyes.

“It’s easy. Not too much sunlight, water it once a week or so, and it’ll be fine.”

“Thanks. That’s very sweet of you.” His gaze tangled with hers, slow and sticky like honey.

Brenna’s breath caught, and she glanced away from the heat in his eyes before it scorched her. The man was insatiable. And though she’d been trying not to think about it, she needed to leave for work soon. If she didn’t have a business to save, she’d stay in bed with him the whole day and glut herself on incredible sex. At least they still had tonight and most of tomorrow.

Flustered, she sipped from her mug, knowing he was still watching her. “What are you going to do today?” she asked, looking across the rooftops down to the masts of the USS
Constitution
docked in the Navy Yard.

“The firm has an office in the Financial District. I was thinking I’d walk over there and get some work done while you were out. Maybe buy a few things, so I can make you dinner tonight.”

She turned back to him. “Really?” She tried to keep all traces of her soaring heart out of her expression, though even she could hear the excitement evident in that single word.

“Sure,” he said. “You eat fish, don’t you?” His only tell was a tiny quirk of the lips. He’d kick her ass at poker, that was for sure.

“Yeah, I love seafood.” Her grin stretched stupidly from ear to ear.

After last night, she’d already been thinking he was pretty close to perfect. This revelation that he could cook, too, elevated him to demigod status after so many months of pasta with red sauce, grilled cheese sandwiches, and simple casserole dishes.

“Great. What time will you be back here?”

“Around five?”

“Okay, I’ll plan to be back here around then, too.”

“Okay.” She sighed happily, pleased at yet another sign he wanted this weekend to go well. That he wanted to impress her. How amazing would it be to have a home-cooked meal prepared by one of the sexiest men she’d ever met?

With perks like these, this friends-with-benefits thing had way more appeal than she’d expected. Maybe once they knew each other better, if they continued to get on as well they had so far, they might consider pursuing a deeper relationship.

She could always hope.

B
renna was irresistible
.
That’s what it came down to.

Their first weekend had gotten off to a rockier start than Cal had anticipated, but by the end of it, she’d actually looked disappointed when he’d left for the airport. And the sex, in a word, had been mind-blowing.

By their second weekend, they’d already settled into sort of a routine. One that involved five or six billable hours a day at the office (for him), some number of hours at work (for her), and an unprecedented amount of time wrapping their naked bodies around each other. He refused to think about the men she might be massaging while she was on the clock, the lucky bastards.

Their third weekend together, she’d suggested he borrow her spare set of keys when he was visiting her. A suggestion he imagined she’d make to a friend staying in that combination guest room-office she’d decorated in relaxing seashore colors. He’d been oddly touched by the trust this small gesture demonstrated.

Even after just these few short weeks, he found himself wanting to do things purely for the joy they’d bring her. One time, on a whim, he picked up a bouquet of sunflowers from the open-air farmer’s market he passed on his way back from the office to her place. He couldn’t remember ever making someone beam the way Brenna had when he’d given it to her.

So the next time he’d walked by the market, he’d bought a punnet of fresh raspberries for dessert. And a pint of vanilla bean Häagen Dazs at the corner store. Her blissful enjoyment of them had been a thing of beauty to watch. And her tangy-sweet kisses afterward had sparked some ideas about more creative uses for ice cream.

After a month and a half, he could definitively say this was nothing like his previous friends-with-benefits relationships. He’d never cuddled with those women. There had been no second and third rounds between the sheets, no waking up together and sharing breakfast. No flowers, no dinners. This…whatever it was with Brenna, was veering wildly off course into uncharted waters.

And it concerned him. Cal didn’t have time for the distraction of a girlfriend right now, especially a long-distance one. Not with the partnership decision looming over him.

Even worse, why did she have to be a massage therapist, of all things? Not that he hadn’t appreciated the spectacular scalp rub she’d given him a couple of weeks ago while he’d been reviewing a junior associate’s research memo. But he worried that her profession might come across as unseemly to some of the partners who would soon be voting him in—or out.

The partners didn’t need much reason to say no. The economy hadn’t bounced back yet from the recession, and even at the best of times, fewer than five percent of associates were given the nod.

He had to be one of them. Failure was not an option.

Not just because he’d worked hard in law school and even harder during his eight years at the firm. Not even because he respected his colleagues, loved his job—despite the crazy hours—and generally appreciated his clients.

When his father died nearly six years ago after losing a valiant battle against cancer, Cal had vowed to do whatever it took to become a partner at CMH. His hours had been above average before then, but after his father’s death, Cal had become one of the firm’s highest billing associates. Even though his father had worked at a smaller firm, making partner at CMH would honor his dad’s memory and cement a lifelong and unbreakable connection to the man whose loss he still felt—not just as a father, but as a mentor and friend.

So he wasn’t going to throw away the past decade and a half of blood, sweat, and tears, for a girl. Not even one who made him desperate for Friday to arrive each week, just so he could see her again.

No, it was better not to get too emotionally involved. He needed to stick to the straight and narrow of the partnership track and try to keep things with Brenna firmly in the friends-with-benefits category. That’s why he was revising a brief on Saturday night, instead of sitting with her on the sofa and employing the scientific method to determine the most effective distraction from her chick flick.

He didn’t realize she’d eased behind him until she started massaging his neck and shoulders.

“Oh, Christ. Right there.” His head lolled forward as she dug into the pair of knots between his shoulder blades.

“Whatcha working on?” she asked, pressing and tugging on his tense muscles.

“Brief for a preliminary injunction,” he murmured.

She tended to him in silence for a minute, apparently while reading over his shoulder, because her next question was just about the last thing he expected her to ask. “Someone violated a non-solicitation clause?”

His head came up, and he swiveled to face her. “Uh-huh,” he said slowly, observing her expression. “You weren’t a lawyer before becoming a massage therapist, were you?”

She stepped around to his side and backed away a pace or two, her hands in a white-knuckled clasp. “No. Not a lawyer.”

“But you were something, weren’t you.” It wasn’t even a question.

An unexpected bitterness laced her tone. “Yes. I was
something
.” Her chest rose with a deep breath. Then she dropped a bombshell. “I used to be a management consultant. With McKinsey.”

He must have looked like a carp on a fishhook, mouth opening and closing with no sound coming out. “Wh—what?” he finally managed. “Wow. That’s…impressive.”

“Yup. I’m a Stanford grad who washed out of McKinsey to become a financially struggling massage therapist.”

Cal ignored the dare in her sarcastic words, too busy getting irrationally pissed off that she’d withheld all this information from him. He launched himself up, out of the chair. “Wait—you went to
Stanford
? Where I went to law school? And you never said anything?”

She took another step backward. “That’s right. Not that you ever asked.”

Okay. She had a point, but… “Why didn’t you tell me before?”

Crap. That had sounded way too pouty. He folded his arms across his chest, waiting.

She mirrored his gesture. “It wasn’t relevant. Does it matter where the woman you’re sleeping with went to college? Or how she used to earn a living?”

He wasn’t touching those queries with a ten-foot pole. Struggling to keep his tone even, he instead answered her questions with one of his own. “So, why tell me now?”

She waited a beat before answering. “Because I wanted you to know.”

There was something he was missing here. Something she still wasn’t saying. “But
why
did you want me to know?”

Another pause, before her gaze slid away. Her voice was softer, sadder this time. Resigned in a way that made the hair on the back of his neck stand up. “Because maybe I’m getting tired of not mattering.”

Well, shit.

This moment—right here, right now—might well be the first step on the path to career ruin. Yet at the same time, it was unavoidable. He’d be the biggest asshole in the world if he put his own needs first and just let her keep feeling that way. Lonely. Worthless. Like he was only interested in her for sex. When his overpowering desire to comfort her told him that wasn’t true.

“Hey.” He opened his arms to her. There had to be a way to walk this tightrope without falling into the abyss. “C’mere.”

She hesitated before allowing him to draw her into his embrace. Her reluctance gut-punched him.

He inhaled the scent that was uniquely hers, before pressing a kiss to the crown of her head. “Of course you matter.”

She heaved out a sigh against his chest, her slender arms tightening around his waist. “Look. I get that we still don’t know each other all that well. But since we started this thing, we haven’t even tried to talk about anything important to either of us.”

Cal didn’t have to think about it very long to know she was right. They’d mainly talked about innocuous things like work anecdotes, the Red Sox, current events, where to eat dinner. She’d asked about his family once, but he’d quickly changed the topic to something else. Anything to keep her from getting under his skin.

“And I know you want to keep things casual,” she continued. “But I don’t know if I’m wired that way.”

He froze, then resumed stroking down the narrow taper of her back, her hair rubbing like raw silk against his fingertips. He’d been kidding himself earlier when he’d thought they could remain friends-with-benefits, given how they both seemed to be feeling. Although he had no idea how else to categorize what they were to each other.

One thing he was sure of, though. “I’d be lying if I said you were only a casual fling at this point.”

They stood like that, holding each other, letting the meaning of each other’s words sink in. Then she turned her head, pressing her forehead against his chest. His shirt muffled her next question. “So, what do we do now?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “Keep seeing each other, see where it goes?”

That could work, if he could finesse the timing. A slow build with Brenna until the partnership decision was announced a few months from now. Given how the two of them had started off, it probably made sense to spend some time getting to know each other better anyway. No need to tell anyone he was dating a massage therapist while they were still figuring things out.

“We can try that.” She pulled away just far enough to allow their eyes to meet.

“And in the meantime, why don’t you fill me in on what I missed of your movie while I shut down my laptop, and then I’ll join you for the rest of it.”

The brief could wait until tomorrow, while she was at work. It had only been an excuse, anyway.

“Okay,” she said, finally sounding more at ease.

A few minutes later they were settled on the sofa, Brenna’s upper body draped across his shoulder and chest. After shifting her to a better angle, he gently brushed her dark hair aside.

The pale triangle of skin exposed at her nape was too tempting to resist. She shivered as his lips grazed the spot. Then, tentatively, he slid his fingers up through her hair. He might not be a trained masseur, but he did have strong hands. Surely even a nonprofessional head rub would be welcome.

“Ahhhh.” Her sigh of appreciation lodged somewhere in the vicinity of his chest.

He’d been shortchanging her. And she’d noticed and delicately called him on it.

His fingers kept moving, slowly circling, trying to mimic what he remembered feeling when Brenna had done this for him. The air conditioner droned in the background as she snuggled more deeply against him.

He could do better at getting to know her, as a person and not just as a bed partner. He
would
do better. She deserved at least that much.

Failure, he was gradually realizing, was not an option.

* * *

T
he numbers didn’t lie
.
And they were telling Brenna that if something didn’t change soon, Serenity Massage wouldn’t even make it through the following spring. Just in time to have to explain her colossal failure to a bunch of judgmental classmates at her tenth college reunion. If she even bothered to go.

Her face felt hot just thinking about it. If she’d had a dying tech start-up instead of a massage therapy business, her classmates would commiserate with her over their Bombay-and-tonics and probably try to network her into a new situation.
Better luck next time. I’m sure you learned a lot from it.

Instead, she knew exactly what they would be thinking. The same thing Gregory had said with a derisive bark of laughter when he’d dumped her no-longer-high-powered ass. Or the variation proffered by her mentor—well, her former mentor—at McKinsey, when she’d burst into his office and told him about the radical career change she wanted to make.
Why on earth would you throw away your degree on
that
?

Why was it so hard to understand that not everyone defined success the same way?

Failure wasn’t a foregone conclusion, though, at least not yet. There were a couple of things she could do to keep Serenity Massage on life support a little longer. Because she knew precisely how her budget had gotten so unbalanced in the past month and a half. It was Cal. Or rather, keeping up with him when he came to visit.

Brenna knew it wasn’t realistic, but she wanted to contribute more or less equally to their relationship. Being a kept woman wasn’t her style. Cal was already flying up to Boston every weekend, bringing home expensive ingredients for the meals he sometimes cooked her, and taking her out for the occasional lunch or dinner. Buying luxuries like fresh strawberries or fluffy bagels and cream cheese and keeping a welcoming six-pack of some obscure microbrew in the fridge seemed the least she could do.

That wasn’t the only way she’d been jeopardizing her financial solvency, though. No, she was also slowly killing her business on the revenue side of the equation. She’d been heedlessly cutting back her hours on weekends so she could spend more time with him. Just an appointment or two, here and there. But taken together, they’d added up.

The situation wasn’t sustainable. Brenna knew that. It was just hard to want to do anything about it when she was already falling for him.