Читать книгу Matched To Mr Right - Kat Cantrell - Страница 13
ОглавлениеDannie hummed as she drew up proposed menus. She hummed as she perused the guest list Leo emailed her and savored the little thrill she got from the short message at the bottom.
You make a great cup of coffee.
She hummed as she waited on hold to speak with Tommy Garrett’s admin and later as she checked off several more things on her to-do list. The tune was aimless. Happy. Half of it was due to finally connecting with Leo on some small level, especially after he’d made it clear he wasn’t interested in developing their relationship.
The other half had to do with finding her niche. Growing up, her chief source of entertainment had been old movies and TV shows on the free channels, and she’d always wanted to have her own household like the glamorous women of the ’50s. It was everything she’d expected. Being in charge of her domain gave her a heady sense of accomplishment and purpose, which popped out of her mouth in song.
When Leo strode through the door at six o’clock that evening with a small, lopsided grin, her throat seized up and quit working entirely.
“I thought we’d have dinner together,” he said as she stared at him, wordless. “If you don’t have other plans.”
Dinner? Together? Why?
“Oh,” she squeaked and sucked in a couple of lungfuls of oxygen in hopes it might jar everything else into functioning. “No plans. I’ll let the cook know.”
Clothes, she thought as she flew to alert the staff Leo would be dining in. She should change clothes. And open a bottle of wine. Her foot tangled on the edge of the Persian runner lining the stairs to the second floor. And slow down. A broken leg wouldn’t do her any favors.
This was the first time she’d dine alone with Leo since they’d gotten married. It was practically like a date. Better than a date, because it had been his idea and totally a surprise. She wanted it to be flawless and so enjoyable he couldn’t wait to do it again.
In spite of a triple-digit pulse and feeling as though her tongue was too big for her mouth, she could get used to that kind of surprise.
Dannie opened her closet and surveyed her small but lovely wardrobe. She’d never owned such amazing clothes and shoes before and never got tired of dressing up. She slipped into a casual black cocktail dress that veed over her breasts, buckled her feet into the sexiest Louboutins she owned and curled her lip at the state of her hair. Quickly she brushed it out and twisted it up into a sleek chignon.
Done. That was as close as she could get to looking like the kind of wife a man would enjoy coming home to. She took her time descending the stairs in her five-inch heels and spent a few minutes in the wine cellar glancing at labels until she put her hand on a sauvignon blanc Wine Spectator had talked up. A perfect date-night wine.
She stuck the bottle in a bucket of ice and left it on the formal dining room sideboard to chill until dinner, which the cook informed her would be a few minutes yet. At loose ends, she tormented the place settings until the silverware was either perfectly placed or exactly where it’d been when she started. She couldn’t tell, which meant stop obsessing.
The cook announced dinner at last. She went to fetch Leo and found him in his study, of course, attention decisively on his laptop. His suit jacket hung on the back of the leather chair. His shirtsleeves were rolled up on his forearms and he’d already removed his tie. Rumpled Leo might be her favorite.
Leaning on the doorjamb, she watched him type in efficient strokes, pause and type again. Mentoring anonymously via chat again, most likely. She hated to interrupt. But not really.
“Dinner’s ready.”
He glanced up without lifting his head and the way he peeked out from under his lashes was so sexy, it sent a spiral of heat through her tummy.
“Right now?” he asked.
“Um, yeah.” She cleared the multitude of frogs camping out on her vocal cords. “We don’t want it to get cold.”
He typed for another couple of seconds and then closed the laptop’s lid with a snick as he stood. “That would be a shame.”
Boldly, she watched him approach, aware her body blocked the doorway and curious what he’d do about it. “I’m a believer in hot food, myself.”
He stopped a healthy distance away when he apparently realized she wasn’t budging. “I’m looking forward to a home-cooked meal. Thought I should start eating better. I’ve had too much takeout lately.”
Whose fault is that? “Just the food, then? The company wasn’t a draw?”
“Of course the company was a factor.” Something flickered in the depths of his blue eyes and heat climbed all over her.
Oh, that had all sorts of interesting possibilities locked inside. They gazed at each other for a long, delicious moment, and he didn’t look away. Or back up.
Then he gestured to the hall. “Shall we, Mrs. Reynolds?”
And somehow, that was far more intimate than calling her Dannie. Deliberate? Oh, goodness, she hoped so.
Leo’s capable palm settled into the small of her back as they walked and she felt the contact all the way to the soles of her feet. Something had changed. Hadn’t it? Was her coffee that good?
In the dining room, Leo drew back the heavy chair and allowed her to sit on the brocade cushion before pushing it in for her. Then he expertly poured the wine to exactly the same level in both glasses on the first try—impressive evidence of how good Leo was with both detail and his hands.
Not that she’d needed additional clues the man hid amazing things under his workaholic shell. Were they at a point where she could admit how outrageously attracted to Leo she was? Or was that going past blunt into another realm entirely?
Placing her glass on the table before her, he took the seat catercorner to hers instead of across the table. “So we can talk without shouting,” he said when she raised her eyebrows.
All small, small gestures, but so huge to her romance-starved soul. Flutters spread from her stomach to every organ in her body. Especially her heart.
For whatever reason, he was trying, really trying, to give her some of his time. But what was his intent? The friendship she’d hoped for or merely a small gesture toward crossing her path?
She’d keep her wits about her and under no circumstances would she read anything into what was essentially just dinner. As they dug into Greek salads served with crusty bread, she stuck to discussing her progress on the party. The more the wine flowed, the more relaxed they both became.
About halfway through her swordfish, she brought up the one thing she’d been dying to ask since the night of their marriage. “Do you still draw?”
Leo’s fork froze over a piece of grilled zucchini. “How did you know about that?”
“Your mother told me.”
He grimaced. “I should have guessed. She still has every piece of paper I’ve ever touched with a pencil.”
Which was no answer at all. “Is it a sensitive subject?”
“No.” Carefully, he cut a hunk of fish and chewed it in a spectacular stall tactic she recognized a mile away. He didn’t want to discuss his art, that much was clear.
“So, never mind then. It’s not important,” she lied. His reaction said there was more to the story and it was very important, but she didn’t want to alienate him. “Tell me something else instead. Why venture capital?”
His expression warmed. “If you’re good, you can make a lot of money. You just have to recognize the right opportunities.”
“Are you good?”
She already knew the answer but was curious what he thought about the empire he’d built. Most of her research into the complexities of venture capital had been conducted by reading articles about her husband’s successful company before she’d even spoken to him on the phone for the first time.
“I’m competent. But I’ve made my share of mistakes.”
As if that was something to be ashamed of. He seemed determined to downplay all his positives. “Everyone makes mistakes. You’ve recovered from yours quite well. The reputation of Reynolds Capital Management is unparalleled.”
He inclined his head with a pleased smile. “It’s a work in progress.”
Fascinated with the way his eyes turned deeper blue when he engaged, she drained her wineglass and propped her chin on a curled hand. This was exactly what she’d envisioned their friendship would look like. “So how do you recognize the right opportunity?”
The cook bustled in and cleared their empty dinner plates, replacing them with bananas Foster for dessert. She lit the rum and blew it out in an impressive culinary display, then efficiently disappeared.
Leo spooned the dessert into his mouth and murmured appreciatively before answering Dannie’s question. “Experience. Gut instinct. A large percentage of success is simply showing up. I create the remaining percentage by getting there first and staying until everyone else has gone home.”
“Do you see your job as creative?” Dannie took a small bite of banana, gratified Leo liked the dessert as much as she did, but determined to keep him engaged in conversation. A full mouth wouldn’t lend itself well to that.
He pursed his lips. “In a way, I suppose. Without backing, a lot of entrepreneurs’ ideas would never see the light of day. I provide the platform for other people to tap into their creativity.”
Which was what he’d done for her—given her the opportunity and the means to be exactly what she wanted to be. A wife. If tonight was any indication, Leo had changed his mind about spending time getting to know each other. Maybe she’d get the relationship—in some form or fashion—she craved out of it, too.
“You’re the puppet master, then,” she said.
“Not at all. I never stick my fingers in the pie. Micromanagement is not the most effective way to do business. I’m the money, not the talent.”
“But you have talent,” she protested.
His expression dimmed. “You’ve never seen one of my drawings.”
“I meant you have a talent for recognizing the right opportunity.” She smiled in hopes of keeping things friendly. “But I have a feeling you’ve got artistic talent, too. Draw me something and I’ll let you know.”
She was pushing him, she knew she was. But she wanted to know him, and his mysterious artistic side intrigued her.
“I don’t draw anymore,” he said, the syllables so clipped they nearly drew blood.
Message received. They hadn’t connected nearly as deeply as she’d hoped, but they’d only just begun. One day, maybe he’d open up that part to her. “You’ve moved on to bigger and better canvases. Now you’re creating your art with completely different tools.”
Leo pushed his chair back. “Maybe. I’ve got some work to finish up. Thanks for dinner.”
He escaped, leaving her to contemplate whether to open another bottle of wine in celebration of a successful dinner or to drown her disappointment since Leo had abandoned her once again.
Drown her disappointment. Definitely.
She located a bottle of pinot that went better with her mood than white wine and filled her glass almost to the rim. Then she called her mother to talk to someone uncomplicated and who she knew loved her always and forever, no matter what.
“Dannie,” her mother cried when she answered. “Louise just told me. Thank you!”
Dannie grinned. Her mother’s caregiver had turned into a friend almost instantly, and the two were constantly chattering. “Thanks for what?”
“The cruise, silly. The Bahamas! I’m so excited, I can hardly stand it.” Her mother clucked. “I can’t believe you kept this a secret, you bad girl.”
The wineglass was somehow already half-empty again, but she didn’t think she’d drunk enough to be that confused. “I didn’t know. What cruise?”
“Oh. You don’t? Louise said Leo booked us on a seven-day cruise, leaving out of Galveston. Next week. I thought for sure you suggested it. Well, thank him for us. For me, especially.”
A steamroller flattened her heart. Her husband was a startling, deeply nuanced man underneath it all.
Dannie listened to her mother gush for several more minutes and managed to get a couple of sentences in sideways in spite of the question marks shooting from her brain. Were Leo’s nice gestures indicative of deeper feelings he didn’t want to admit for some reason? No man did a complete about-face without a motive. Had he come home for dinner in hopes of developing a friendship—or more?
Regardless, something had changed, all right, and her husband owed her a straight answer about what.
Sometimes talking to Leo was worse than pulling teeth, like their conversation after her text about the fake noise. Her marriage didn’t just call for blunt—if she wanted to get answers, it apparently called for Scarlett, as well. And Scarlett had been squashed up inside for a really long time.
Three glasses of wine put a good dose of liquid courage in Dannie’s blood. She ended the call and cornered Mr. Behind the Scenes in his office.
She barged into the study. Leo glanced up, clearly startled. She rounded the desk to pierce him with the evil eye, not the slightest bit concerned about the scattered paperwork under his fingers.
“About this cruise.” Bumping a hip against the back of his chair, she swiveled it so he faced her, swinging his knees to either side of hers.
Not the slightest bit intimidated, he locked gazes with her. “What about it?”
Good gravy, when he was this close to her, the man practically dripped some sort of special brand of masculinity that tightened her thighs and put a tingle between them.
“Are you going to deny you did something nice for my mother?”
“No?” He lifted his brows. “Or yes, depending on whether you thought it was nice, I suppose.”
His voice hitched so slightly, she almost didn’t notice it until she registered the rising heat in his expression. Oh, my. That was lovely. Her proximity was putting a tingle in his parts, too.
“It was nice. She’s very excited. Thank you.”
He sat back in his chair, as if trying to distance himself from the sizzling electricity. “Why do you seem a little, ah, agitated?”
“Agitated.” She inched forward, not about to give up any ground, and her knees grazed the insides of his thighs. “I am agitated. Because I don’t get why you won’t ever acknowledge the wonderful things you do.”
His gaze flicked down the length of her body and back up again slowly. “What would be the point of that?”
Her husband was nuanced all right...and also incredibly frustrating. He likely refused to take credit for his actions because that would require too much of an investment from him. Someone might want to reciprocate and make him feel good, too, and then there’d be a whole cycle of emotions. That would never do.
She huffed out a noise of disgust and poked him in the chest, leaning into it as her temper rose. “You do these things and it’s almost like you’d prefer I didn’t find out you’ve got a kind streak. Jig’s up, Leo.”
He removed her finger from his rib cage, curling it between his and holding it away from his body instead of releasing it. Probably so she wouldn’t wound him, but his skin sparked against hers and nearly buckled her knees.
The memory of that kiss exploded in her mind and heightened the gathering heat at her core.
But she still didn’t know what was happening between them—friends, lovers, more? Maybe it was actually none of the above. If she gave in to the passion licking through her, would he disappear afterward until the next time he wanted sex? Or could this be the start of something special?
“You have an active imagination,” he said.
She rolled her eyes to hide the yearning he’d surely see in them. “Yeah, I get it. You’re a ruthless, cold-blooded businessman who’d rather be caught dead than disclosing your real name to a couple of students. What’s it going to take to get you off the sidelines and into the middle of your own life?”
That was the key to unlocking his no-emotional-investment stance on marriage. It had to be. If he’d only wade into the thick of things and stop cutting himself off, he’d see how wonderful a real relationship could be. How satisfying. Fulfilling. Surely their marriage could be more than an occasional crossing of paths. He needed her to help him see that.
Leo’s frame tensed and slowly he rose from the chair, pushing into her space. “I like the sidelines.”
Toe-to-toe, they eyed each other, the impasse almost as palpable in the atmosphere as the swirl of awareness. “Why did you book my mother on a cruise?”
He shrugged, lashes low, shuttering his thoughts from her. “I thought she would like it.”
“That’s only half the truth. You did it for me.” A huge leap. But she didn’t think she was wrong.
Their gazes locked and the intensity shafted through her. “What if I did?”
Her pulse stuttered. Coffee, then dinner. Now this. What was he trying to accomplish? “Well, I’m shocked you’d admit that. Before you know it, we’ll be buying each other birthday cards and taking vacations together. Like real couples.”
Like the marriage of her dreams. Just because neither of them had expressed an interest in a love match didn’t mean it was completely impossible to have found one. What better security was there between two people than that of knowing someone would love you forever?
He threw up a palm. “Let’s don’t get out of hand now.”
She advanced, pushing his palm into her cleavage, burning her skin with his touch and backing him against the desk. She wanted to bond with her husband in the most elemental way possible. To complete the journey from A to B and see what they really could have together.
“I like getting out of hand.”
“Do you have a response for everything?” His fingertips curled, nipping into her skin.
“If you don’t like what I have to say, then shut me up.”
His expression turned carnal. He watched her as he slid an index finger down the valley between her breasts and hooked the neckline of her dress. In a flash, he hauled her forward, capturing her lips in a searing kiss.
On legs turned to jelly, she melted into it, into him as he wrapped his arms around her, finally giving her what she’d been after since she walked in. Maybe since before that.
Greedy for all of him, she settled for the small, hot taste of Leo against her mouth. With a moan, she tilted her head and parted his lips with hers. She plunged into the heat, seeking his tongue with hers, and he obliged her with strong, heated licks.
His arms tightened, crushing her against his torso, aligning their hips. Need soaked her senses as his hard ridge nudged her. She cupped the back of his neck as his hand snaked under her dress to caress the back of her thigh.
Yes. As seduction techniques went, he could teach a class.
Soft cotton skimmed under her fingers as she explored the angles and muscles of his back. Delicious. Her husband’s body was hard and strong, exactly as she liked, exactly perfect to keep her safe and satisfied at the same time.
The kiss deepened and the hand on her thigh inched higher, trailing sparkling warmth along with it. She tilted her hips in silent invitation, begging him to take those fingers wherever he so desired.
But then he pulled away, chest heaving, and spun her to face the wall, his torso hot against her spine.
“Daniella,” he murmured in her ear, and his fingertip traced the line of her dress where it met the flesh of her back, toying with the zipper. “I’m about to pull this down and taste every inch of you until we’re both mindless. Is that what you want?”
Damp heat flooded her and she shuddered. “Only if you call me Dannie while you do it.”
He strangled over a groan and moved her forward a confusing foot, then two. “I can’t do this.”
“Don’t say you don’t want me.” So close. Don’t back off now. She whirled and tilted her chin at the bulge in his pants she’d felt branding her bottom. “I already know that’s not true. You don’t kiss someone like that unless you mean it.”
“That’s the problem.” Breath rattled in his throat on a raw exhale. “You want me to mean it in a very different way than I do mean it. I’d rather not disappoint you and that’s where this is headed. Making love will not change the fact that tomorrow I’m still going to work a sixteen-hour day, leaving little time for you. Until both of us can live with that, I need you to walk away.”
He was blocking himself off from her again, but for a very good reason. The rejection didn’t even bother her. How could it? He was telling her he didn’t want to treat her like a one-night stand.
That set off a whole different sort of flutter.
“I’m walking.” For now. She needed a cooler head—among other parts—to navigate this unexpected twist to their marriage.
She skirted the desk, putting much-needed distance between them.
Raking a hand through his hair, he sank into the chair with a pained grimace. “Good night.”
“This was the best date I’ve ever been on.”
With that parting shot, she left him to his paperwork, already plotting how to crack that shell open a little wider and find the strong, amazing heart she knew beat beneath. He thought they were holding off until she was okay with no-emotional-investment sex, but he was already so emotionally invested, he was afraid of hurting her.
That’s what had changed. Somehow, she had to help him see what he truly needed from her.
If a large percentage of success happened by showing up and then outwaiting the competition, she could do that. Yes, her competition was an intangible, unfathomable challenge called work, but the reward compensated for the effort.
Time for a little relocation project.
