Determined (Determined Trilogy Book 1) (9 page)

My heart flew, and I tried desperately to keep a grin from taking over my whole face. He continued.

“Just so we are clear, I do also have sex with some of my dates, kill me, I’m a man. I have needs.” He shrugged his shoulders and sat back on the bed. “But I never bring them here.”

His tone wasn’t angry, but he was more animated than I’d seen him. I didn’t know what to say. We sat there for a moment, staring at the foot of the bed.

“Did you know I was going to be at Curtis’s party?” I asked quietly. I stole a glance at him from the corner of my eye. I had to know.

The corners of his mouth perked up and a devilishness returned to his eyes.

I knew it. I didn’t
know
it until now, but I
knew
it all along. It was the confirmation I needed.

“Let me be clear, Samantha, it took all my strength to not sleep with you that night I dropped you off at your studio. I was willing to wait longer if you had wanted me to, but you were sending off fuck-me signals like crazy.”

“
I
was sending signals?” I looked at him, amazed at his assessment of the situation. “You bee-lined right for me at the party. And told me you wanted to fuck me.”

“Can you blame me?”

“Well ...”

“I was just being honest,” he said, trying to repress a grin.

“I like honesty.” I leaned in, locking eyes with him, smiling and hoping he understood the double entendre.

The silence dripped with sexual tension, which was then interrupted by the growling of my stomach.
Shit, again?
How embarrassing.

“Sorry!”

“That’s okay. I think we both could use some sustenance.” He picked up his phone. “Do you like raw food? I know a great place that delivers.”

“Seriously?”

“What?” He looked up at me.

“You are not seriously craving kale and tofu in the middle of the night.”

“Tofu isn’t raw, Ms. Sharp.”

“Whatever, Mr. Keith. Come on, live a little.” I leaned forward letting my robe slip open just a little. “A little illicit late night salt and fat is good for the soul.”

“Hmm.” He cocked his head to the side. “There is a Chinese place around the corner.” He started punching some numbers into his phone.

“Now you’re talking.” And I laid back into the pillows as he called in an order.

Less than twenty minutes later, his phone buzzed.

“Food is here. Care to join me for dinner?” He stood and offered his hand, which I took, gratefully.

We padded down the hall barefoot and into the kitchen. I couldn’t believe I had been there just that morning. It felt like forever ago. The space looked so different at night, the city lights twinkling below. The table was set with plates, napkins, and chopsticks, and white and red boxes were scattered in the middle.

I need to get one of these mystery housekeepers
, I thought to myself. I settled down onto one of the chairs, and David sat down, too, pulling his chair in close to mine.

I dished some broccoli and beef onto my plate and passed the box to David. This felt so easy, so right. I scooped some brown rice out of a carton, drizzled it with soy sauce, and licked an errant drop off my finger. The salt was a welcome replenishment, and I realized just how ravenous I was. I don’t think I’d eaten since breakfast. While I chowed down, David ate slowly and deliberately, spending an inordinate amount of time looking at me. I tried to make conversation between bites.

“So I read this other article about you online.”

He gave me a skeptical look.

“I told you before; I was just doing my homework.”

“I suppose that’s only fair.” An amused smile crept up on his lips.

“What do you mean?”

“You think you’re the only one who has ever researched the person they were dating?”

I looked at him puzzled for a beat, and then I started to feel suspicious.

“Wait, what exactly did you do?”

“Whoa, whoa, Samantha, nothing crazy. Calm down. My security team runs a background check on anyone I spend a large amount of time with.”

My heart leapt. He had been
planning
on spending
a large amount of time
with me? I mean, that’s what he said, right? I knew I was supposed to feel violated, but I was excited.

“Mmmph,” I grunted, trying to feign anger. “I see.”

“So what did you learn about me, Ms. Sharp? From the article?”

“Just a little about your company.” I looked down at my plate. “And that you made your initial money through gambling.” I peeked up at him, sideways, trying to gauge his reaction.

He didn’t flinch and instead shrugged his shoulders. “Well, that’s true. I studied the principles behind the table games and went to Las Vegas with five hundred dollars and came back with a lot more.” He took a bite of food and chewed thoughtfully. “But I guess it’s all the same, though, right?”

“What do you mean?”

“My business. Venture capital. It’s gambling. You take ideas and the seeds of small companies and add a lot of funding. You never are one hundred percent sure of the outcome.”

“I guess so.” Hmm. David, the gambler. I wasn’t sure how I felt about that. I decided to change the subject.

“That man tonight, Robert? He seemed very appreciative of you.”

“They appreciate my money.” He smiled and brought a hand up to play with my hair.

“You have lovely hair, Samantha.”

He is trying to distract me.

“Thank you. It’s good of you to donate to a hospital.”

“It’s a very important cause to me.” His words were vague but full of meaning. He reached for a carton of noodles.

“Why is that?” I asked carefully, sensing that this was an area I should tread lightly. But I wanted to know more about him; hell, I wanted to know everything about him. I looked at him, and urged him on with my eyes.

“UCSF is one of the leading cancer treatment centers.” He paused and fixed his gaze on the space above my head. “They took very good care of my mother, while she was dying,” he finished quietly.

I didn’t know what to say. He hadn’t volunteered much about himself up until now. And this was not something small either. In a way, I was shocked. I had just assumed someone like him would have had an upbringing that was flawless and without strife.

“I’m so sorry,” I offered quietly. “How old were you when she passed away?”

“Ten.” His voice shrunk so much it almost disappeared. He held his chopsticks still and moved his eyes to the dark window.

My heart died a little for him. For a child to lose their mother is heartbreaking at any age, but I pictured a young little David, and I felt the sadness in his voice.

“Was this your birth mother?” I asked, remembering that he was adopted.

“No, this was my adoptive mother” He wasn’t looking at me. His posture was still strong, but he appeared different, more vulnerable. He continued to stare out the window into the dark, and I didn’t try to steal his gaze. The moment was too intimate, like a confessional chamber at church. But I pushed on, gently, desperate to learn more about this man.

“And what happened to your birth mother?”

“She was a single mom. We were in a bad car accident when I was five. Guy fell asleep at the wheel and crossed over the median.” He paused and looked down at his plate of food. “I lived, she died.”

I let out a little gasp, and listened quietly as he unraveled in very matter-of-factly.

“I lived in Louisiana at the time, and there were three nurses on my floor when I was in the ICU. Everyone knew I was an orphan. One of the nurses and her husband had been trying to conceive for years with no luck. She had issues with her ovaries. So they adopted me. We spent one more year in Louisiana, before moving to California so my dad could become chief of surgery at UCSF.”

“But if your mother couldn’t have kids, what about ...?” I trailed off, hoping that my questions weren’t too pointed.

“Jenna was a surprise. And so was Jake a couple years later.” A smile started to sneak onto his face. “I remember my parents both being so happy.” He sighed.

I kept quiet, hoping he would continue.

“The cancer came quickly. Three months, and she was gone.” He picked up his chopsticks, paused, and put them back down.

“My God.” My heart shattered. For a moment, I could see past the confident, masculine exterior and into the soul of a young boy. A boy left behind by his mother, not once, but twice. Life should not be so cruel to a child. I looked up at him, and wanted him now more than ever. He gazed into my eyes, the normal blaze replaced with deep, broken passageways. I wanted to explore them, heal them. I leaned in to him gently and put his hand in mine.

“Jenna was three, and Jake was just a baby. I’m the only one who really remembers her.”

“You must miss them both.”

“I do. Every day.” He sat up straight in his chair and picked up his chopsticks, and refocused his eyes on mine. “Now, Samantha, I’ve shared something about me, but I would really like to learn more about you.”

I looked at him, perplexed.
Really? You can just drop the subject of your dead mother like that?
This guy sure was a puzzle.

“What would you like to know?” I said, meeting his request. I wasn’t sure what I could tell him that would be of interest. Truth be told, my humdrum life, up until about two days ago, would have barely registered on the Richter Scale.

“Everything,” he said, his eyes trained on me.

“You already ran a background check.”

“That was just to cross things off the list. What I want to know, what I am really interested in, Samantha, is what the rest of you is made of.”

I wasn’t sure where to start, so I rattled off the standard stats, hometown (Saratoga), college (UC Berkeley, Art History major). He listened intently, fixed on me. When I started to talk about my family, a tinge of guilt and nervousness took over.

“My mom is a retired preschool teacher and my dad is an aerospace engineer, and works at the NASA Ames Research Center.”

“Do you get along?”

“We do.” I couldn’t help but smile. My parents gave me a pretty idyllic childhood. “My mom always pushed me academically, but I’m thankful for that. My dad is more low-key. They balance each other out.”

He stared at me, smiling.

“Mmm. I’d like to meet them some day.”

Whoa. Did David Keith just say he’d like to meet my parents? This guy moved quickly. I was not sure what to say, but he saved me by asking more questions.

“Siblings?”

“I have a younger sister, Erin. She has Down Syndrome, but she is the sweetest. She lives with my parents and goes to a special school for adult students with disabilities.”

David smiled, so I continued.

“She cracks me up. Lately she’s been on a word kick. In fact, do you know what consecotaleophobia is?”

“What?”

I held up my utensils. “Fear of chopsticks.”

“I’m glad I don’t have that phobia.”

“Me neither.” I stuffed some noodles into my mouth. “Because I like Chinese food too much.”

David cracked up. Seeing him laugh was rare and quite a treat.

“How long have you worked at the gallery?”

“About six months. Curtis hired me right after I graduated last June. I had been an intern for about three months before that.”

“You must be good at what you do. Do you like it?” Why did I get the feeling he was fishing for something?

“Yeah, mostly. I love Curtis, and Eve is sweet. The sales part, not so much. Sometimes I want to do more, something with real meaning. I was actually a sociology major before I switched to Art History.”

“So, what is the goal? To own your own gallery? Or do you want to do something else?”

This conversation suddenly felt like I was explaining myself to my parents.

“Maybe. I’m not sure.” It was true. I had always been very ambitious, and to be honest, this was one of the first times in my life I wasn’t absolutely sure which direction I was headed. “The gallery scene is very competitive. I’m just beginning to explore the possibilities. For now, the part time work is good, because I can volunteer and have time for other things. Actually, on Monday, I’m having a meeting with the owner of the Carmichael Gallery; I met him last Thursday at the opening. I don’t know what it will lead to, but I figure it is good to be open to possibilities.”

David’s eyes darkened.

“Is that the man you were talking to when we met?”

“You mean when you staged the intervention?” I chuckled. “Yes, that was Evan Carmichael.”

“I don’t like him.”

“Do you know him?” It was starting to seem like David knew most of the Bay Area.

“Yes. No,” he paused, “I know of him.” He continued, “I’ve just heard rumors.”

“And we both know how accurate rumors can be,” I teased him, as we were both keenly aware of our conversation an hour before. “He seems normal enough. Besides, it’s just coffee.”

“Just be careful, Samantha.” His face got serious. “I’m not normally the jealous type, but something about you brings out new sides of me.”

7

I woke up, and it was still dark. Huge, heavy blackout drapes covered the floor to ceiling windows in David’s bedroom. I laid there for a few moments, spooned by him, reveling in the feeling of our bare bodies together. I reached out and was just about to grab my clutch from the nightstand. I took out my phone to check the time. It was nine, and I was supposed to meet Carrie for brunch at 10:30 in Berkeley.

Ugh
, I thought.
I guess this means I have to get up.

I moved slowly, gently unwinding myself from David, and walked over to the windows. I was surprised to find that I was sore.

I guess last night was quite a workout
. I smiled at the thought and tugged open the drapes just enough to peek outside. Sunlight dampened by fog streamed in and David roused.

“Hey,” he said softly, rubbing his eyes. “Come here.” He beckoned me back to the bed.

I galloped back and flung myself on top of the covers.

He reached over to the nightstand and pulled on a pair of dark-framed glasses.

Oh. My. God. I didn’t think he could look any sexier, but those frames gave him a boyish, bookish quality that I found hard to resist.