Fierce (11 page)

“Yeh. Well—I was thinking. You’ve got a sister, eh. Fifteen, you said.”

“Yes.” My
sister?
Where was this going?

“And you live in Brooklyn. And, yeh,” he said before I could say anything. “I looked it up. I’m not going to lie to you, and I’m not going to manipulate you. Not any more than I can help. Whatever we do—
whatever
we do—is going to be because you want it, too.”

“And that helps more,” I managed to say.
Whatever
we do? What did
that
mean? 

“So,” he continued, determination clear in every line of his hard body, laser-focus back on me. “Brooklyn. Sister. Nervy.” 

“Um…nervy?”

“Skittish,” he clarified. “Put them all together, and I got—daytime. Botanic Gardens. Chaperone. Me taking you and your sister out for a walk in the rose gardens, getting to know you, while I
don’t
touch your mouth, and you
don’t
talk to me about being a butterfly tied to my web.”

 “I didn’t say…tied,” I managed to say.

“No? Must’ve imagined it,” he said with a look that told me how clearly he’d done just that. “Saturday. Ten-thirty. I’ll collect you both at your apartment this time. Sound like a plan?”

Toughen up.
“You don’t do relationships,” I reminded him. 

“And you don’t do sex.” If only his eyes weren’t so intense. “First time for everything, eh.”

The buzz that had begun the moment I’d seen him again was so strong now that I had to shift, trying to soothe it. I looked at him, and knew he saw it, and knew I didn’t care.

“So…” he prompted. “Is that a yes?”

“Yes,” I told him, even though it wasn’t the word I’d come up here to say.

Who was I kidding? “No” was a word you said on the phone. You showed up in person to say “yes.” And I’d showed up. 

“And by the way,” I said, trying to force myself back into some measure of composure, “the flowers are beautiful. Thank you.”

He didn’t answer, just reached behind him for a bag I hadn’t seen, because he’d set it behind another rock, and handed it to me.

I knew without looking what it was. My shoes. 

“You don’t have to tell me you’re wearing them,” he said. “You don’t have to show me you’re wearing them. But I’d like you to take them back.”

I took the shoes. And I took the date. But I took my sister, too.

Because if Hemi was going to be that sweet, and that sexy? I was going to be toast. And I wasn’t about to take the plunge unless I thought there could be something more between us than short-term sex, however much I wanted it. Or at least I should see if I could be with him twice in a row without walking out on him before I contemplated compromising all my principles.  

So, yeah. My strength didn’t look quite up to the task. If I wasn’t going to be a butterfly, I needed reinforcements. 

Of course, Karen wasn’t one bit excited when I broached the subject of our day out to her after we’d finished our Women’s Wednesday date on the couch. Movie and popcorn, as always. 

“I’m supposed to spend my whole Saturday going to the park with you and some guy?” She looked at me as if I’d lost my mind. “Why?”

“Because…” I stumbled a little over the answer. “Because I want to go, but I’m a little…nervous. It would be better if you came, too. And besides, he invited you.”

“Why would you be nervous to go to the park, during the
day?
And what kind of guy invites your
sister
to go out with you? The 1950s called, and they want their romance back. Oh, wait. I think that was the 1920s.” 

“Could you go back to being eleven, please?” I asked, trying to laugh. “And thinking I was perfect?”

“What, like, be an idiot?” She eyed me suspiciously. “Just how nerdy is he? Or is he super old?”

“What?”

“Hope. Come
on.
He’s taking you to the
park.
To look at
flowers.
No, wait. Even worse. To look at
roses.
With your
sister.
”

“And that makes him nerdy? Automatically? Maybe he’s in touch with his feminine side.” I had to smile at that idea. There were lots of words I’d use to describe Hemi—I’d sure thought of a lot of them—but “feminine” wasn’t one of them. “And, OK,” I said, “yes, he’s quite a bit older than me.”

In fact, I wasn’t sure exactly how old Hemi was, other than old enough to have run Te Mana for the last eight years. I hadn’t wanted to keep researching him once I’d actually met him. Or once I’d actually
slapped
him. Or rather, I
had
wanted to research him, and that was why I hadn’t. If you see what I mean. 

Oh, man. You see why I needed my sister along?

She sighed. “I knew it. Hope—no offense, but you’re kind of hopeless. Hey. I made a joke. Get it? But anyway. The guys at school say you’re cute, even though you’re short and, you know, you and I—we don’t have a figure or anything. I mean, I hope I’m going to eventually, but I think you’re—”

“Yes,” I said. “Thank you
very
much. As everyone who’s dried laundry in this apartment knows, I’m a 32B, and the rest of me isn’t any curvier. Thank you for reminding me.”

“So OK, you aren’t going to be on anybody’s list or anything,” she said. “But that doesn’t mean you have to go out with a boring old guy. All right, your dinner thing last weekend didn’t go too well, but why don’t you go to a club or something with a girlfriend? If you went dancing, you might be able to hook up with somebody hot. Some guys
like
girls who are, you know, kind of…small. At least they don’t mind. Necessarily. That’s what my friend Sean says.” 

I thought about checking into Sean. I
should
check into Sean. Tomorrow, I’d check into Sean. “Because—” I gave up. “Just come with me, all right? The roses are supposed to be really beautiful, and he’ll take us out to lunch afterwards, I’ll bet.”

“Oh, joy. Color me excited. Maybe I’ll get to push his wheelchair. Anyway, I’ve got homework.”

“You don’t even know that yet,” I pointed out. “It’s
Wednesday.
”

“Trust me. I’ll have homework that’s better than going to the park with you and your elderly boyfriend. Or whatever he is. Your elderly…
suitor.
”

“Nice job on the vocab. Bring your homework along, then, since it’ll be so boring. You can sit on a bench and read, and if we
do
go to lunch, you can solve equations while we play Scrabble and argue in hushed tones about acceptable two-letter words, and he consults his pocket dictionary.”

“Wow,” she said, rising from the couch with a sigh. “You’re kind of my role model, you know that? Adulthood is just looking better and better.”

When the buzzer sounded on Saturday morning, I jumped, then went to the intercom and pressed the button. 

“Yes?” My voice came out much too high, but fortunately—or unfortunately—it wasn’t Hemi who answered. 

“This is Charles. Here for you.”

“His name is
Charles?
” Karen asked in disbelief. She shoved her black-framed glasses up her nose, stood up, picked up her backpack, and sighed. “OK. Here I am. Sacrificing myself to Charles. Because I am such a good sister.”

I smoothed my hands down my yellow flower-patterned sundress, buttoned to the hem with tiny yellow flower buttons. Which I’d worn because it was my favorite, and because it was simple. 

Truth in advertising. Hemi was going out with one totally unimpressed fifteen-year-old in baggy shorts and a T-shirt, and one short, 32B, broke woman from Brooklyn who was up to his weight in absolutely nothing except her determination not to be a butterfly. Let’s see what he made of
that.

“His name isn’t Charles, actually,” I told Karen as I picked up my bag and locked the apartment door behind us. “That’s his driver.” 

“His
driver?
So he’s, what, old
and
rich?”

“He’s—never mind. You’ll see.” 

Of course, I should have told her who he was. But I hadn’t. Anyway, it would probably only be for today. 

Then why are you going? 

Never mind.
I hurried down the last of the four flights with Karen following behind. 

I was prepared for the black Mercedes double-parked outside, and for the man in the black suit holding the passenger door for us. At least I’d thought I was. Hemi had told me he’d be sending a car for me. And I’d get used to the idea that I was being chauffeured. Sometime. Maybe.

What I wasn’t prepared for was Hemi.

“Holy
shit,
” Karen breathed beside me. Because as it turned out, she wasn’t prepared for Hemi either. 

It’s just a T-shirt
, I told myself desperately.
It’s hot.
Which was way too true.

He was leaning against the back fender of the gleaming expanse of sleek black German automobile, the dark sunglasses he wore against the glare of midday making his expression impossible to read. His powerful arms were crossed over his chest, the ridges of muscle on his forearms standing out in stark relief against his bronzed skin, with a good six inches of swirling deep-blue tattoo showing beneath the sleeve of his chocolate-brown T-shirt. 

All in all…it was a whole, whole lot of “all in all.”

He straightened as we approached, came forward, put a hand on each of my shoulders, and bent to kiss my cheek. It was nothing but casual, and it wasn’t one bit casual. I felt the touch of his hands, his lips, like they were branding me, because he was. I knew it, and I could tell that he did, too.

I trembled, and knew he felt it, but he just stepped back, took off the sunglasses, and said, “Got a good day for it, eh.”

“Yes,” I managed to say. “Karen, this is Hemi.” I looked at him, willed him not to take it any further, not to give her his last name. The minute he said “Te Mana,” she’d make the connection, and somehow, I didn’t want that to happen. I didn’t want her to know that he was…not even my boss. My
CEO.
But still, I knew I wanted her to meet him as…him. As a man. The same way I wanted to see him.

Well, a man with a gorgeous Mercedes and a driver. And the best tattoo I’d ever seen in my life. And let’s just not discuss his body. Or his face. Or how he moved, and how he looked at me. But other than that. 

“So…not…old and nerdy!”
Karen hissed in my ear as Hemi stepped back.

I realized that Charles was still patiently holding the car door, but I’d hesitated a moment too long, and Karen was climbing in. Charles snagged her backpack from her in a deft motion and set it on the front seat, and that left me, inevitably, moving over into the middle seat. My usual spot anyway. Perils of the petite. 

“We could have her sit in front,” Hemi murmured in my ear as he slid in beside me. “Give us a bit of privacy, eh.”

“Or we could have
you
do it,” I said. 

Was I cool, or what? Well, no, I wasn’t, but I was doing an awfully good job of pretending, for somebody whose side was pressed up against way too much hard male flesh. “Not starting out too well, are you?” I managed to say.

“Dunno.” When I sneaked another peek at him, he had that hint of a smile around his eyes. “Waiting for you to tell me. I’ll hear soon enough, I’m thinking.” 

Karen was nudging me again from the other side. “You could have
told
me.” It was a whisper, but I was sure Hemi had heard. “Is this the guy you went out with on Sunday? I thought you weren’t going to see him again!” 

“OK.” I signaled with two hands. “Time out.”  I looked at Hemi. “This is the ‘time out’ sign,” I informed him. “In football.”

The crinkle was still there around his eyes. “Thank you,” he said solemnly. 

“This is ridiculous,” I said. “I can’t hiss at everybody all the way to the Botanical Gardens. And, yes,” I told Karen, “this is who I went out with Sunday night.”

“When you came home at
nine,
” she had to point out. “And said it was—what was that? Oh, yeah. A
disaster.
And were
crying.
”

“I was not crying.”