The Good Enough Husband (4 page)

“Sit, sit. Can we come back to you guys in twenty minutes? I only ask because you’re a regular.” She gestured at the rest of the room. “The tourists wouldn’t understand.”

“Take your time.”

Georgia blew out a breath, relieved. “Wine’s on the house.” The owner darted away to have whispered conversations with another table.

“You’re a regular?” Hannah asked.

“I don’t have the dexterity to cook on surgery days,” he said, flexing his capable looking hands. “You didn’t answer my question.”

Michael came unbidden to her mind. She pushed thoughts of her husband away. “I, uh, made a few missteps. I’m not where I thought I’d be.”

He raised a single perfectly arched eyebrow. “Which was?” Eyes the color of a stormy ocean zeroed in on her like lasers. Hannah tried not to squirm in her chair. She wished he’d turn back to the ocean. She needed that free wine, now.

“Art. I used to have a photography studio in L.A.”

“What did you take pictures of?”

“I shot faces.” A scene of them alone on the beach, him, her and her camera unspooled in her mind. “I’d love to shoot yours,” she said, lowering her voice deliberately.

“This ancient mug?” Ben scratched at his cheeks self-consciously. Didn’t he know how good looking he was?

“I’ve done a thousand pretty boys and even more beautiful women.” She searched his face with her eyes, instead of giving in to her desire to trace his features. “You have character,
and
good looks. It’s a rare combination.” Nerves shot through her like adrenaline. Where was that wine?

“Why are we here?” When she didn’t answer, he prompted fu
rther. “Together?”

Her hold on him was slipping. She wanted nothing more than to tie him to his seat. Make him see her. “I wanted dinner, reme
mber?” she said lightly. When he didn’t respond, she went for the truth. Hannah was too old to mince words. She didn’t want to play games. “I’m not going to beat around the bush. I’m attracted to you.” Her brown eyes caught his gray.

“Everything you want is not something you should have,” he said, cryptic.

“Does that mean dinner is off-limits? I wasn’t proposing marriage, here.”

“Can I be frank?” He said in a tone that told her she probably wanted anything other than barefaced honesty from him. She lifted her hands in an ‘if you must’ gesture. “You’re not my type. I’ve been on this ride before and I’d rather not do it again.”

Hannah had never thought of herself as anything but attractive. But, she’d been on
this ride
herself. It was time to pull the plug. She gathered her purse. She could find her way back on foot, even if they were shod in four-inch cork sandals. “Got it. You don’t date black women.”

2

Hannah was out the door before the waitress made it to their table with the much needed wine. Stomping all the way to his parents’ house, she chided herself for the foolish behavior. Her attraction to Dr. Ben Cooper withered like a leaf of a neglected plant. Just when she thought the world had advanced. Just when she thought the election of America’s first biracial president had opened people’s hearts, here she was flying in the face good old fashioned prej
udice. Living in liberal southern California had made her careless. Lessons she’d learned growing up on the east coast came back to her like a slap in the face.

The phone buzzed again in her pocket after she closed the front door of the house behind her. She turned it off and threw it on one of the room’s easy chairs. No Michael. Not now. If she talked to him, she knew she’d be lured right back into the marriage trap.
Granted, his infertility announcement had come at a really bad time. And she didn’t want him to think she was leaving him because he couldn’t get her pregnant. But Hannah didn’t have it in her to soothe his wounded pride, with her own in tatters.

She took off her jacket, and curled up on the couch pulling a hand-knitted throw around her suddenly chilled body. Cody, sen
sing her disquiet, stopped his gnawing, and jumped up next to her, resting his chin on her lap. She looked into his soulful brown eyes and thanked God that not every creature on earth judged her based on her looks.

The hypnotic sound of the ocean must have lulled her into a doze. Hannah grasped her stomach as it growled, assuming that was what had awoken her. She stood up and stretched, taking a mental inventory of what edible non-canine food she might have stashed in her luggage, when she heard the door jiggle. Cody raised an ear, but nary a hackle.

Ben stepped in, carrying a large paper bag in each hand.

“What…?” her voice faltered.

“Geez, Hannah, you got me all wrong.” He dropped the bags, and pulled her forward, kissing her full on the mouth. It was what she’d wanted a few hours before: warm hands pulling her face to his, hot breath scented with cloves, soft lips against hers. She wanted to melt into this embrace, and then remembered what had happened less than a mile from here.

She pushed hard against his chest, breaking off a kiss.
“Hvad fanden?
I wasn’t looking for a consolation prize.” Attraction and desire warred with anger within her. The sound of ripping paper filled the empty room.

He stepped back, looked down, and snatched the bags from the dog’s nosey investigation.

“What did you say?”

“I said I am not anyone’s experiment. If you don’t want me, that’s fine. I’m not a child.” She’d meant to say
like,
but that
want
thing had slipped out of her mouth entirely on its own.

“No, the other thing.”

“Sorry,” she paused, and shook her head, off kilter again. Hannah wanted to slap herself. She had a rule about apologizing. Not wanting to appear weak, she never did it. She hated that he tossed her off her usually even keel. She made a point of being the most self-assured and confident person in any room. Then it hit her, he must be talking about her language choice. “I sometimes swear in Danish.” She often lapsed into her mother’s tongue under stress.

He stacked the bags on the counter far from the dog’s seeking nose.

“I think we need to start over.” He thrust out his hand. “I’m Dr. Ben Cooper, vet, Shelter Cove resident, and a guy who’s really attracted to you.”

Her stomach did a flip-flop. The awkwardness between them evaporated. Like two oddly shaped puzzle pieces, they snapped into place together. “I thought you said back there…” She needed to be sure.

“Ignore what I said. It’s not what I meant.” He walked around the kitchen island, unpacking bags, getting plates, and utensils. She watched his muscles bunch and release under his jacket. She wanted to die from his smell alone. The soap and cloves and leather came together in a heady cologne. She was itching to touch him again. “Why don’t we have a civilized discussion over wine and food?”

Hannah uncorked the wine bottle he produced, and poured a healthy amount of the clear golden liquid into each glass. Som
ething told her she was going to need it. He brought two delectable looking plates to the table. Not more delectable than him, but she was hungry…for food.

“Do you want the shrimp scampi or Alfredo?” He held out the plates—an offering.

Hannah sensed that now wasn’t the time to ask if the shrimp was sustainably raised, farmed or wild, or packed with artificial preservatives. “I’ll take the shrimp, thanks.”

He laid both plates on the table and went back for cloth napkins and cutlery. “Glad you’re not a vegan.”

She laughed. “Nope, red blooded, red meat eating American, here.”

Hannah tucked into her food, unselfconscious for once, too hungry to care. The only thing she’d had, before her frolic and detour to the Lost Coast, was acidic coffee and an unseasonably early pumpkin muffin. Halfway through her entree, she put down her fork, and looked at Ben. He’d hardly touched his food. Sipping his wine, he looked like he was turning something repeatedly in his head.

He was more handsome than she’d first thought. He wasn’t conventionally appealing in that classic movie star way. He wasn’t Robert Redford or Brad Pitt. He wasn’t even George Clooney. And he wasn’t Michael with his blond hair, blue-eyed surfer good looks. He was Ben Cooper. She fought the urge to squeeze her thighs together to relieve the pressure building there.

“You speak Danish?” The deep timbre of his voice broke into her silent contemplation of him.

“My mom is from Copenhagen.” Then she corrected herself. Her mom’s stay in New York City was the aberration. “Actually, she’s back there now with her second husband.”

“And your dad?”

“My black half? He lives in New York, City that is.” She paused to sip some of the cool white wine, glad for something to do other than speak. “So, if I’m not your type, why are you here?”

“I divorced a woman like you a few years ago.” The matter-of-fact words felt like a slap in the face. The only worse comment would have been if he’d said she reminded him of his father’s m
istress. A home wrecker beat out an ex-wife every time. Astroland’s Cyclone had nothing on this roller coaster ride of an evening.

“So I remind you of your ex-wife. Wow, that’s not a come on line, is it?”

He ate a few bites, then gestured toward her, taking in her whole body. “Is all of this, necessary?”

“What do you mean by,
all of
this?
” She couldn’t get a read on this man. He alternated between smooth talking stranger and snarker in chief. “I am who I am, and not looking to change for anyone.”

“Samara spent every waking moment, planning to shop, sho
pping, or planning to shop some more. She had more logos on her than a Louis Vuitton purse. It was Burberry this, Gucci that, or whatever was being hawked at Neiman Marcus that week during the lunch fashion parade.”

“Let’s see, you’ve insulted me, and talked about your ex-wife. We should go ahead and have sex to make this a triumvirate of first date no-no’s.” She took another large sip of wine. Really, she was kidding, she told herself.

“Touché.” His laugh was low and sexy. “I could make the last happen,” he said. She couldn’t tell if he was serious or mocking. She put down her wine and looked into his eyes. She didn’t think he was kidding. Hannah abruptly pushed herself back from the dining room table, sending the padded leather chair skidding in her wake.

***

Hell, he didn’t mean to scare her, but she wasn’t a naïve twenty year old. She must know what a man in lust looked like. He heard scraping and running water, and assumed she was disposing of the remains of her dinner. He wanted to turn and watch her so badly, but played it cool.

She came back, grabbed her wine glass, and headed for a small settee backed against those massive windows that sold his parents the house. Hannah was rightfully putting some distance between them. He wanted to close that distance. He hadn’t turned on the recessed lights in the living room and the weak light from the kitchen and dining room didn’t quite reach her. Ben could see the reflection of the moon on the water, but none of that weak and distant sunlight reached the house. He couldn’t see Hannah.

Ben bussed the table, and turned out the kitchen lights, thrusting them into darkness. She didn’t say a word. He wanted to drag her off that leather seat and cover her body with his. He wanted to feel her breasts against his chest, and the rush of her breath as the shock of his actions caught her off guard. He wanted to rip off those damned velour pants and panties, feel her tight little ass in his hands. It had been too damn long. Pushing the fantasies from his mind, he kept up the gentlemanly facade.

Not wanting to lose the intimacy of sunset, Ben turned the ro
yal marine tripod lamp to its lowest setting. Nor did he want her to see how hard he was getting thinking about all the ways he could touch her smooth golden skin. He was glad that the lamp’s burlap covered shade kept most of the room in shadows. He placed his wineglass on the floor, and joined her on the small leather couch. Ben imagined she’d picked that particular piece of furniture to increase the distance between them. If he were a polite guy, he’d have sat opposite her on the plush couch that probably still held her scent, or on one of the wingback chairs his mother had swathed in nautical print. But he didn’t want to be that far away.

He heard, rather than saw the wine disappear from that glass i
nto her luscious mouth. He looked at her in time to see her tongue darting out to lick her full lips. That tiny movement alone nearly pushed him past control. The feeling he’d tried to ignore in his car was back with a vengeance. A low buzz sounded in the morgue quiet room, breaking the sexual tension. It was Hannah’s phone again.

“Are you really a CIA agent? I don’t think I’ve heard anyone’s cell ring that much.” To his ears, he didn’t sound like the wolf he was hiding under the civilized clothing.

The husky sound of her laughter shot straight to his groin. It matched the timbre of her voice, low for a woman and sexy as hell.

“Undercover agent? No, I’m really an ex-Realtor. In this down market, my clients won’t let me go, expecting me to work the same miracles I did in a better market.”

It all clicked into place; the luxury SUV, the designer clothes, the incessantly ringing phone. He felt like a colossal ass for misjudging her. Even in college towns like Ithaca or Davis, every real estate agent drove a long, elegant Mercedes or wood appointed Lexus. Even when the families were only looking at modest track houses to call home. He assumed all the excesses of real estate agents were fueled by the belief that if people thought they were successful, that would bring them success. For some reason, people didn’t want to buy a house from someone who drove a Hyundai or Kia. Guiltily, he had to admit, he probably wouldn’t either.

“I think I misjudged you,” he finally said aloud.

He pulled the wineglass from her hands, and set it on the windowsill behind them. This time when Ben leaned in to kiss Hannah, she didn’t push him away. He settled himself in for a slow exploration. He slid one hand into that thick, glorious hair, so unlike his own, and put the other hand against that swath of skin that had been tempting him all night.

As her open mouth accepted his willing tongue, Ben realized how much he’d missed this. He hadn’t kissed or touched another person in such a long time. This kiss, this slanting of his mouth over hers, this dueling of tongues, made him want to jump out of his skin with the anticipation of seeing and touching her golden brown body. He slid his hand up, so glad she’d removed the jacket, and unerringly found her nipple, erect. He changed the angle of their mouths as he grazed his thumb across the peak of her right
breast. He swallowed Hannah’s gasp of pleasure. He moved even closer on the small couch, pulling his hand from her hair to slide it down her back and over her small, firm ass. It was better than he had imagined.

***

Hannah broke the kiss, glad for the twilight invading the room, even with the lamp’s weak light. The darkness hid any shred of guilt. Her relationship with Michael was over the minute she’d closed the door of the Newport Beach house. She was a thousand percent sure this was where she wanted to be right now. But, she desperately needed to take a minute to be as sure of him as she was of herself. Her heart couldn’t handle another mistake.

“Ben,” she said, pushing against his chest again. She needed some space to think—to make sure that he was thinking with his big head. She hadn’t reached the ripe old age of thirty-seven wit
hout knowing who she was and what she wanted. The last few years had reinforced her decision to go with her gut with every future decision. Relying on her brain had wasted the last years of her life. Sure, with age one lost perky breasts, and the ability to stay up all night. But what she gained in wisdom was worth the loss. What she knew now, was that she wanted this man, no matter how brief their acquaintance. “Are you sure you want this? Now? With me? I’m not interested in you using me to work out issues with your ex-wife.”

He grabbed her hand and pushed it against the hardness under his slacks. It was a crude but deadly accurate barometer of what he was feeling in the moment. Hannah molded her hands to the shape and length of him even though she knew it would be wiser to pull away. Ben had the wisdom to lift her hand from his zipper, and
shifted his body back toward other end of the settee. “I don’t know what in the hell I’m doing,” he admitted, his voice hoarse with want. “You tempt me, Hannah. You really tempt me.”