Determined (Determined Trilogy Book 1) (6 page)

Suddenly I felt a hand on the small of my back. I jumped and turned to find David behind me. At this distance, the heady scent of soap and lemon verbena wafted over me. I inhaled deeply.

“Get lost?” he teased, grinning.

“I just wanted to check out the view,” I explained, gesturing toward the window. Why was I nervous? He brought me here.

“I do love a good view,” he said, his eyes dipping down to the hem of my dress, and not the million-dollar backdrop. I blushed. Again.

I wanted to flirt back, but I couldn’t. The blood was starting to rush my system again and it was making me stupid. I looped my arm around him instead, letting my body do the talking.

“Come on, I bet you are starving.” He pulled me toward the kitchen.

The kitchen matched the rest of the house in its minimalism. More white marble and stainless steel. I silently marveled at the vastness of the space as we made our way over to a round white table, flanked by several contemporary curved chairs. The table was next to yet another window, this one looking out over SOMA, the South of Market district of San Francisco. The city was just waking up, and the few people out on the streets looked like tiny ants. There was already food on the table. Where did that come from? I look around and didn’t see any dirty dishes anywhere.

It was quite a spread. Carafes of orange juice, individual French presses filled with coffee, a large plate of cut fruit, and two plates full of handsome looking omelets. I breathed in the aromas, and my stomach roared to life. Loudly. David looked amused.

“Don’t they feed you over there in Oakland?”

“What can I say, I worked up an appetite last night,” I said, my tone humorously dry.

“Indeed,” he agreed, his eyes shooting right into me. At that moment, his phone went off in a series of beeps. He looked at it and frowned.

“I have to take this. Please excuse me. Go ahead and start.” He gestured to the food. He slid open the glass door to the terrace and slipped outside.

Running a worldwide empire must mean you’re never really off the clock, I mused, as I admired him through the glass. I recognized his stance from the night before. He looked serious and full of control, one hand shoved into his pocket. It seemed that whether it was for business or pleasure, he was a man who knew what he wanted and had no qualms about getting it.

My stomach growled again. I turned my focus to the meal in front of me. I picked up the tiny bottle of ketchup and peeled off the plastic seal and opened the cap with a quiet ‘pop.’ I used a knife to coax it out of the bottle and onto my plate and then took a forkful of omelet and ran it through the ketchup before popping it in my mouth
.
I sat there, quite contentedly, glad that I didn’t have to play down my appetite, and eagerly wolfed down the omelet and bunch of pineapple from the platter on the table. I was into my second cup of coffee when David returned.

“So sorry about that” he said as he took his seat.

“Business?” I guessed.

“Yes, but let’s not talk about that.” he replied.

“What would you like to talk about?”

“I’d like to talk about today, Samantha” His statement was innocent enough, but the directness was provocative, just like last night.
Was he like this at work?
A heat built inside me.

“What about today?” I mumbled, trying to swallow my mouth full of food. He hadn’t touched his omelet yet. His eyes were fixed on me.

“I have tickets to the symphony tonight, and I’m wondering if you’d be my date.”

Date? Me?
I swallowed again, hard. Suddenly, I needed liquid in my throat. I grabbed my coffee and gulped it down. My stomach did somersaults, and I was suddenly painfully aware of what I’d been feeling. The worry I held from last night. I hadn’t wanted to be just another notch on his belt. One of the women Curtis had warned me about. But this was progress. He wanted to see me again. Mr. Can’t Commit wanted to see
me
again.
But the symphony?
I’d never been to the symphony. I didn’t know anything about classical music. In an instant I pictured myself falling on my face as we climb carpeted steps toward beautiful people, a kind of counterfeit Cinderella; one without a fairy god-mother. All of a sudden, I felt out of my league. My last ‘date’ was at a Starbucks.

“I don’t really know much about classical music,” I said, my voice full of hesitation. I looked down at my empty plate, and contemplated stealing some of his omelet just to have something to do with my idle hands.

“Please, Samantha. What is there to know? You just sit and let the music wash over you.”
Or we could just stay in, and you could wash over me,
I mused, silently. I desperately wanted to keep him around, but was hesitant to commit to his terms.

“I have to work today until five,” I said evasively, hoping that my work schedule might save me from potential embarrassment.

“Perfect. The show starts at seven. Thomas will pick you up at six.”

Dammit.

“I don’t have anything to wear to the symphony,” I protested, not even knowing what an appropriate outfit would look like.

“Not a problem. I will send him over with something for you,” he said, without skipping a beat. This man was able to massacre any excuse I threw at him.

“Why do you want to go with me?” Ha! Finally, a question that would frighten every Mr. Can’t Commit all over the world. I wanted to hear him say it before I agreed. I needed to hear him say it. Not that he loved me, but that he liked me. I wanted him to acknowledge the electricity between us.
Your move, David!

He didn’t say anything for a moment. It felt like the quiet stretched on forever. Finally, he turned his whole decadent body to face me, his arm perched on the back of the chair. He rubbed his jaw with one hand and stared at me. I was shaky with anticipation. He took a deep breath and the corners of his mouth turned up ever so slightly.

“Samantha, you interest me. I’d like to take you out. Why are you fighting me?”

Indeed. Why was I fighting him? God, he was gorgeous. There was a rich-beyond-words prime specimen of maleness sitting across from me, wanting to take me out on a fancy date. And I was making it hard for him. I must have been crazy. What was wrong with me? I rocketed back to earth.

“Okay. But make it five o’clock. He can meet me at work, because I’ll need to get dressed,” I replied, sealing the deal.

He exhaled and looked enormously pleased.

5

After breakfast, Thomas took me back across the bridge, to Curtis’s house. As we drove, I went over the events of the previous day in my head. Had that all really happened. What had I just done it in a pantry? This was so un-like me. Then again, he was so un-like anyone I had ever met. His control and confidence sent me spinning, and I slowly moistened as I remembered each detail.

The morning was still cool, and the outside of Curtis’s house had a very different feel compared to the night before- the windows were dark, and leaves covered the brick pathway leading to the front door. It seemed quiet inside. I didn’t want to wake anyone, but I needed to get my things. I knocked lightly on the wooden front door. No response. Crap. Maybe they were all still asleep. I tried to peer through a stained glass window, but I couldn’t see anything. Maybe Carrie was still asleep on the sofa. I decided to cut through the side yard toward the rear of the house.

From the back side of the house, I saw that Carrie was no longer on the sofa where I had left her the night before, and I worried she had already gone home. Then I spied a light on in the kitchen and walked toward it, over the deck.

Oh, thank God.
Curtis, along with Carrie and a few other guests from the night before were all seated around his breakfast table. I approached the sliding glass door and waved.

“Sammie!” I heard a muffled exclamation from Curtis as he leapt up to open the door. “Sammie, what are you doing here?” he exclaimed and welcomed me inside with a hug. He was still in a plush terrycloth robe, and everyone was devouring tall stacks of pancakes and coffee. “Come in, come in, have some pancakes and coffee.”

“Oh thanks, but I already ate.”

Carrie got up from her seat and came over to give me a hug.

“Sorry about last night, Sam, I didn’t realize I was so tired,” she whispered apologetically into my ear.

“No problem,” I whispered back.

“So I hear you got another ride home from David Keith, Sam,” Carrie said loudly, so that the whole group could hear.

Everyone was looking at me with raised eyebrows, and I quickly figured out that I had been the topic of conversation around the table this morning.

“Well, that was the plan ...” I said mildly, “until I realized I had forgotten my purse and keys here.”

“Paging Dr. Freud,” quipped Curtis, and the table erupted in laughter.

I tried to give Curtis a hard look, but broke out into a smile. Maybe I did do that subconsciously. Wow. If so, my subconscious was pretty daring. I blushed and braced my hands against my hips, continuing.

“So he offered to take me back to his place, and his driver brought me back this morning so that I could grab my things.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Curtis interjects. “Girl, you just skipped over a big part of that story.” He started with a battery of questions. “What happened once you got back to his place? Where does he live? Is it one of those mansions on Nob Hill? No, I bet it’s someplace more hip than that. His driver brought you back? Did he come? Is he here now?” Curtis pretended to crane his neck behind me.

“Whoa, guys!” I motioned for them to slow down, holding my hands up. I loved Curtis and all his ebullience, but sometimes it was awkward to have a friend who was also your boss. “Nothing happened. I fell asleep, we had breakfast. That is all.” I made placating motions with my hands.

Carrie cut in with a touch of best-friend concern in her voice.

“Were you safe, Sam? You didn’t go anywhere dangerous did you?”

“Yes, yes, of course. We literally only went between his car and his apartment.” Carrie looked relieved.

Curtis continued, making a keen effort to reign in his enthusiasm. “So when are you seeing him again?” Leave it to Curtis to cut right to the chase.

“Uh, tonight.” I glanced around at the table, which was peppered with smirks and wide-eyed astonishment. I looked at the ceiling. “He is taking me to the symphony.”

Curtis couldn’t contain himself. It was like he was living vicariously through me. “Of course he is. Of course he is!” he said as he clasped his hands together.

And all I could think was
‘I had sex in your pantry.’

~

I managed to peel myself away from the formal debriefing squad and collected my things quickly enough to get shuttled back to the gallery in time for opening the doors at eleven. Saturdays at the gallery are pretty low key, mostly window shoppers come through and if I’m lucky I can get in a few enjoyable conversations with patrons. Today was unusually busy, which was awesome. The new show that had opened two days before was bringing in a lot of new customers, and I was grateful. It kept my mind off the night before and the night ahead. Towards the end of the day, the phone rang.

“Kinsler Gallery, this is Samantha, how can I help you?”

A friendly, even-toned voice answered. “Hello Samantha. This is Evan.”

Evan ... I tried to place the name.

“Evan Carmichael. We met at the opening?”

“Oh right! Before I got drenched, right?” I joked.

“Yes, that’s right,” he replied, calmly, with humor in his voice. “We didn’t get to finish our conversation.” A pang of guilt hit me, but I chose to ignore it.

“Oh, that is true, I am sorry about that. What can I do for you, Mr. Carmichael?”

“Please, call me Evan.”

“What can I do for you, Evan?” I parroted back.

“I was wondering if you’d want to swing by my gallery this week. Perhaps we can talk a little about the art business. I have a proposal for you.”

Ugh. There was that ‘talk art’ statement again. I hated it the first time he said it, and I still don’t like it. But if this was going to be my career, I needed to network and make connections. Curtis told me that all the time.

“Um, sure, how about Monday morning?” I didn’t have to open the gallery until noon.

“Monday morning is perfect. Shall we say 10:30 at my gallery? We can grab a coffee. I promise not to spill it on you.” I could hear him cracking a smile over the phone.

“Sounds great. See you then, Evan.”

“Looking forward to it.” The phone clicked.

Hmm. I wasn’t sure exactly what I had just signed up for, but I shrugged, figuring this was just how these things go. I returned to my closing duties.

The dark of night was in full effect as I turned off the lights and locked up the gallery. Thomas was outside at the curb, waiting with the black SUV. Despite being a self-professed public transit devotee, I found myself thinking I could get used to this.

“Miss Sharp,” he greeted me, opening the door.

“Thomas,” I said warmly as he helped me into the car.

We got back to my place quickly, and as Thomas helped me out of the car, he handed me a set of shopping bags, including a long garment bag with a hanger at the top.

“For you, Miss Sharp. Compliments of Mr. Keith.”

“Thank you, Thomas.” I took the bags and eyed them carefully as I walked along the path to my studio. I was curious to see what David sent but decided to take a shower first. I hung up the garment bag and turned on the hot water. I didn’t have time to wash my hair, so I threw it up and wrapped a stretchy headband around it to keep it out of the spray. I soaped up, shaved my legs, and dried off in record time. Wrapping myself in a big towel, I opened the bags.

I started with the smallest one. I pulled out the tissue paper to find a set of delicate gray lace panties and a bra. I probably should have found a gift of lingerie presumptuous, given that this was our first official date, but they were exquisite. I put them on. They were as light as the tissue they came in and very feminine. Nothing like the boxer briefs I’d been sporting all day. They fit perfectly.
How did he know my size?
And when did he have time to do all this shopping?
I wondered, remembering the white dress. I turned my attention to the garment bag and unzipped it slowly.