Page 23 of Free to Dream
Caleb looks at me like he’s accomplished something amazing, grinning like a fool. A hot fool.
With that smile, the last vestige of my control is destroyed. The professional mask I pride myself on wearing is shredded. I feel like the brunt of a bad joke everyone’s playing on me and they expect me to get over. For once, I forget who I am and what my responsibilities are. For once, I’m just a woman. A woman whose hurt isn’t fading, isn’t being pushed aside. A woman who didn’t do anything wrong to get played. I dare him to step up and show me who he really is on the war that has been waging in my head.
Fuck it.
“Maybe too much whisky last night? Someone slip something extra into the cigars at the Havana Room? Maybe someone was a little too enthusiastic doing the reverse cowgirl, broke your dick, and the pain meds have kicked you into the realm of insane? Should you be driving to Collyer under those circumstances? Our police force can be pretty stringent on DUI.” I lean forward. “If none of those things happened, I’d love to know what explanation you have for the delusion you’re living under right now to think I’d hand over the keys to my private life to you.”
He wipes his hand across his sculptured mouth. When he takes it away, his mouth is set in a serious line.
“No drinking last night. Haven’t been to the Havana Room in quite some time. As for the crazy hot sex, well, we can get into those details now, if you’d like. I was trying to keep this somewhat circumspect.” I can’t see his eyes through the lowered dark lashes. My pulse spikes when he raises them to look directly at me. “For now.”
Suddenly, I’m mortified with myself. The line of business ethics and professionalism is gone. And this time, I was the one to obliterate the line. Not only did I just talk to Caleb Lockwood like I would my family, I basically insinuated to his face he was nothing more than a pretty face with nothing better to do than get tore up and laid. What the hell just happened with my brain?
I wonder, fleetingly, if I can excuse myself, go to the restroom and ask Matt if I can claim a temporary psychotic break to save my reputation. Picking at the threads of my jacket nervously, I take a deep breath and prepare to have my unprofessional behavior thrown back at me.
Sitting up straighter, I ask “Is there anything else I can help you with, Mr. Lockwood?” I flick up the fingers of my hand to pause him as he opens his mouth to speak. “Business related.”
“No. Nothing for now. I wanted to apologize.”
We size each other up. I begin to tap my foot. He crosses his arms. I click my nails on the table. His fingers tap on his bicep. “Well,” I finally demand.
“Well, what?” the singularly obtuse man in front of me repeats.
“Where is the apology?” I grind out.
“I brought flowers,” he says cheekily.
Ah, the glorious purple blooms waiting for me back on my desk. “Saying it with flowers isn’t going to cut it, Lockwood. You have no idea what—” I catch myself in time before I verbally vomit my family’s business all over this man.
It’s suddenly so quiet between us, it’s like someone pressed the mute button on our conversation. All the humor has left his eyes. “Tell me.”
“No.” I sound like a petulant three-year-old, but I don’t care.
“You will.” He’s back to sounding like an arrogant ass. I can deal with that. I can handle that.
I lean back in the booth and stare out the window of The Coffee Shop. Turning back to him, he gives me a quizzical look. “Just checking to see if Hell froze over since we walked in. I’d say no. It’s not that cold out.”
A bark of reluctant laughter leaves his lips. “God, that mouth.”
Caleb leans forward, elbows resting on the table. “Somehow, I didn’t get the impression you were a woman where a simple, ‘I’m sorry’ would work. I’ve been thinking of you, reading up on you.”
There’s no way I’m about to allow that one to pass. I’m about to snark out some obnoxious comment when he holds up his hand. “You make men work for it. The flowers are just the beginning. I’m just starting to make my case. I’d get on my knees and beg, but I’m saving that for special occasions.”
His eyes collide with mine. Stupid, stupid move, Cass. Despite his innuendo-laced words, part of me expected his eyes to reflect his apology.
Sweet baby Jesus, that is so not what I see.
There’s heat. I feel the blaze reach out, starting to thaw the coldest parts of me. I’m going to incinerate if I keep looking at him. I might have been able to have held out against that, but it’s the other things revealed there that start to suck me in.
Admiration.
Estimation.
Appreciation.
“What do you want from me?” I whisper, suddenly aware of the closed off environment of our booth. The relative privacy within a very public space. The thickening tension between us. Air so filled with want I could choke on it.
He gives me a slow curve of his mouth.
