Love Proof (Laws of Attraction) (20 page)

Why would he?
Sarah scolded herself. 
It was one day six years ago—you really think he’d
remember?  And so what if he does?
she had to add. 
Would that make up
for anything?

No, she thought, but it might at least make her feel good to know that
someone besides her parents remembered.  So far, their phone call that morning while
she waited in the Missoula airport had been the brightest part of her day.

“Good night, everybody,” Sarah said, looking at Marcela and no one
else.  She heard a few mutters in response, then left to return to her room.

It was a little before five o’clock.  She could work out, order room
service, and review more documents for a few hours.  The flight to Billings,
Montana the next morning was scheduled to leave around seven-thirty, so she
wanted to get to bed early.

But somehow the idea of doing any more work that night, especially
after the hostile encounter she had just had, left her feeling completely
uninspired.  It was her birthday—couldn’t she think of better ways to spend it?

When she packed this time, she included a travel-sized bottle of
expensive bubble bath from home, on the off chance she might be in a hotel that
week that had a decent-looking tub.  The one in her current hotel wasn’t
particularly nice, but maybe it would do.  Stick a shower cap over her hair,
roll up a towel for her neck, and soak in the scent of vanilla and lavender
while she thought about her life.

She had just sunk into the bubbles when she heard the phone in her room
ring.  Anyone she wanted to talk to would have called her cell, she reasoned,
and so she made no effort to drag herself out of the water to answer.  She did,
however, get up to turn off the light in the bathroom.  She wished she’d
thought to bring a candle.  But lying in hot, delicious-scented water in the
dark was as close to luxury as she was going to get.

***

When the bath was finally too cold to be comfortable anymore, Sarah
climbed out, turned on the light, and toweled herself off.  She wrapped herself
in the familiar white robe that hotel had to offer, then headed for the phone
to order room service.

The message light was blinking.  Sarah pressed the button and listened.

“Hi.  I thought I’d have dinner downstairs tonight,” said Joe’s voice. 
“If you’re interested, I’ll be there around six-thirty.”

Sarah glanced at the bedside clock.  She had about fifteen minutes to
get ready, if she wanted to.

If.

She rested the phone back in its cradle, then sat on top of her
bedspread.  There was nothing wrong with staying in, and potentially many
things wrong with going out.

But she couldn’t help her curiosity.  And, she admitted, couldn’t
ignore the heavy layer of loneliness that settled in on her while she bathed in
the dark.  Maybe it was all right to have dinner with him, just this once.  How
could it be any more awkward than her fainting up at the ski area and him
having to carry her to a clinic?  Or, for that matter, what could be worse than
him cleaning up after her when she’d been sick all over the bathroom?

The more she thought about it, maybe this was exactly what she needed
to balance things out again.  Buy him dinner, be pleasant, leave feeling like
she was as much of an adult as her thirty years said she should be.

And you’re lonely
, a voice inside dared to remind her.

But that wasn’t a good enough reason.  She had been lonely for a long
time, and hadn’t felt the need to do anything stupid yet.  She would allow
herself to go if she could maintain a certain distance—just like Joe said they
should.

Sarah went to her luggage to find something to wear.  And knew she
brought the perfect thing.

***

“It isn’t real silk,” her mother told her as Sarah opened her birthday
gifts over Thanksgiving.  “I think it’s rayon or polyester.”

“It’s beautiful, Mom—really beautiful.  Thank you so much.”  Sarah held
the royal blue kimono top in front of her for her mother’s inspection.  The pajama
top crossed over the chest in the center and tied at the side.  It came with a
matching pair of pajama pants.

“That almost looks good enough to wear out,” her mother had said.

Yes, Sarah thought now, it did.

Especially when she paired it with her black pumps, earrings, and a thin
gold necklace.  She smiled at her reflection, thinking how fun it was to have
this as her own private secret.  As soon as dinner was over, she could simply
return to her room, brush her teeth, and climb into bed.  It was almost as easy
as wearing sweats.

The dining room downstairs looked like every other restaurant she had
been to in any of the chain hotels.  This one had a bar, and unfortunately,
Paul Chapman was sitting at it that moment.

Sarah hid at the side of the hostess’s station until someone came to
seat her.

“Away from the bar,” Sarah requested.  “Far away.”  Then she followed
the hostess, watching Chapman the whole time as he guzzled his drink, shoveled
nuts into his maw, and stared at the TV above the bar.  If she could just get
past him, she could relax again.

But she sat in her booth for only a few minutes before she realized she
wouldn’t be relaxing at all.  Because suddenly Joe stood beside her, two
glasses of red wine in hand.

Sarah looked up, saw what he was wearing, and immediately said, “
No.
”

Twenty-two

“What do you mean, no?” Joe asked.

He stood beside the booth dressed in button-down Levi’s and a faded UCLA
hoodie.  It had to be the same one from six years ago, Sarah thought, since it
was tighter across the chest and shoulders now, and the cuffs looked tattered. 
Which meant that there was the pocket where he first warmed her hands.  There
was where he first touched any part of her.

She tried to cover her reaction with sarcasm.  “Come on, Burke, you’re
not that sentimental.”

“You don’t know that,” he said, handing her one of the glasses of wine
and sliding across from her into the horseshoe-shaped booth.  He lifted his own
glass in a toast.  “Happy Birthday, Sarah.”

She studied his face, searching for some hint of how he expected her to
answer.  He had to know that showing up there like that—wearing what he was
wearing—would catch her off guard.  And then remembering her birthday—what did
he think she was going to say?

But before she could come up with the right line, whatever it was, Burke
leaned forward and said in a low voice, “Come on, Red.  Take the night off. 
It’s your birthday—you’re entitled.”

“Fraternizing with the enemy, huh?” Chapman’s booming voice interrupted
as he shambled toward their table.  “Or is it cavorting?”

Keeping his gaze on Sarah, Joe slowly leaned back.  “Both.  Want to
join us?”

Sarah widened her eyes at him, but Joe ignored her.

“Sure,” Chapman said.  He made a move for Sarah’s side of the booth,
but Joe stopped him.

“No, why don’t you sit over here, Paul.”

Joe made room for Chapman by scooting closer to Sarah’s side.  She
pressed her foot down hard against the top of Joe’s.  He pretended not to feel
it.

But he reached beneath the table for her hand, and gave it one quick
squeeze before letting go.

“I’m celebrating,” Chapman announced.

“Why’s that?” Joe asked.

“You two are going to have to start getting along without me.  I made a
deal yesterday.  Thanks to Sarah here, I’m going home.”

Sarah didn’t feel like asking any follow up questions, mainly because
she knew she didn’t need to.  Paul Chapman was one of those people who viewed
any conversation as an opportunity to monologue.

“I told them, ‘If you expect me to start spending even more time out of
the office and traveling to even more cities just because that psychopath Sarah
Henley’—no offense,” he added, which Sarah thought was uncharacteristically
sensitive of him, “—‘thinks she’s going to show everybody up and act like some
hot shot just so she can bill every last dime out of this case before it settles
. . . ’”  He paused to take a sip of his drink.  “‘…then you’re either going to
have to pay me a bigger bonus this year or let me farm it out to one of the
associates.  Because I am
done
here. 
Finito
,’” he said, in what
Sarah thought might be an attempt at Italian.

Joe’s hand was on hers again under the table.  He gave it another quick
squeeze, perhaps signaling something, Sarah thought, but instead of letting go
this time, he held on.

“So they’re sending out one of the underlings, starting next week,”
Chapman continued.  “Good luck with that.  Those new kids don’t know what the
hell they’re doing.”

The server showed up then, and took their orders.  Joe still held
Sarah’s hand.

“That’s all you’re eating?” Chapman said after Sarah asked for several
sides of vegetables.  “No wonder you’re skin and bones.”

While Chapman instructed the server in the proper preparation of his
meat, Joe pretended to study his menu so he could whisper to Sarah behind it.  “I
like the way you look.  Always have.  But especially now.”

“What happened to keeping your distance?” Sarah whispered back.

“I decided to take tonight off, too.”

Sarah allowed herself to hold his hand a moment longer, then drew it
away.  Joe let her go.  But he widened his legs just enough to make contact with
hers.  And she let him.

This wasn’t the dinner she had dreamed of for her 30
^th
birthday.  Exhibit A:  Paul Chapman, back to droning endlessly about himself. 
Exhibit B:  Joe Burke, sitting close enough to her now she could feel the heat
radiating off his body and that familiar pull of gravity that made her want to
slide over one more inch, two, until she could drape her leg over his, let him
run his hand up her thigh, up to where there was already evidence that she
wasn’t as immune to him as she pretended, and her body had its own ideas about
what kind of special birthday treat it might like—

Sarah deliberately moved away from Joe again.  He might be taking the
night off, but she couldn’t.  Couldn’t afford to.  Not now, not ever.

Not without losing too much in the bargain.

***

Sarah yawned.  She made a point of never drinking on these trips
because she knew she’d feel too fuzzy-headed in the morning.  But she didn’t
mind feeling that way now, thanks to the wine, especially since it helped turn Chapman’s
monologue into white noise in the background while she concentrated on what was
happening underneath the table.

She wasn’t sure which of them moved first—it could have been either—but
it wasn’t long before they sat leg to leg again, Joe’s hand resting comfortably
on top of her thigh.

“Right,” he’d say to Chapman, or “Yep,” while at the same time letting
his hand roam upward on Sarah’s slick pajama pants, the heat inside her
building with each centimeter he climbed higher, until finally she had to
capture his fingers and push them back to safe territory.  They sat there that
way for a while, fingers intertwined while they ate and drank with their
outside hands—Sarah trying to maneuver her fork left-handed, which was a
challenge—and then Joe’s hand began drifting upward again and Sarah had to
guard the gates.

It was a tease and a seduction and a game they both knew, but Sarah had
little desire to stop it.  Maybe it was the wine, maybe it was the birthday, or
maybe it was just the fact that she had let him get this far, and she didn’t
care anymore where it went.  Not tonight.  Just this once.

He stroked his thumb across the top of her hand now, the movement slow
and rhythmic, and Sarah had to clamp her lips together to keep the moan from
escaping.  His touch felt as arousing as if he turned to her in the booth,
spread her kimono top open, and took her breasts with his hands and his mouth.

Joe must have noticed her yawn.  She had tried to be as obvious about
it as possible.

“Listen, Paul,” he said, “I’m going to have to call it a night.  I
don’t have your kind of stamina.”

Chapman obviously liked that.  He chest almost visibly puffed out.

“How about you, Sarah—had enough?” Joe asked.

“Plenty,” she said.

Joe signaled for the check.  As soon as it arrived, Sarah reached for
it.

“Not on your life,” Joe said, snatching it up.  He released Sarah’s
hand so he could pull his wallet out of his jeans.

Chapman sat there, making no such move.

But Joe wasn’t shy.  “Come on, Paul, let’s have your credit card.”  He
held out his hand and waited.

Chapman dug out his wallet and took his time pulling out the card.  He looked
over at Sarah.  “What about you, Henley?  Or are you pulling the female thing?”

“She’s pulling the female thing,” Joe confirmed.  “Dinner’s on you and
me tonight.”

“Unbelievable,” Chapman muttered.

Joe ignored him and handed the bill and both credit cards to the
server.