He stepped out of the elevator, took a moment to get his bearings, and then spotted her chatting with the hostess by the entrance. “Oh thank God, thank God,” he murmured to himself.
Rachael turned, almost like she’d heard him (which she couldn’t; too much background noise), and smiled. She had a great smile. And a wonderful dentist; he’d never seen teeth so straight and white.
“Did you think I wasn’t going to come?” she asked as he galloped to her side. “Shame, shame.”
“Well, you did seem a little too good to be true,” he admitted.
“I’d never stand you up. I know what it’s like and I’d never do it. Not even to someone I didn’t want to get to know.”
He stared at her. “What colossal dumb shit bailed on a date with
you
? And did you suggest they get sterilized so they don’t muck up the gene pool any worse than it is? Because the thought of someone that dumb just roaming the earth at will is terrifying.”
“Eugenics never came up,” she said dryly. “Besides, it was never going to work. At times, I’ve got a terrible temper.”
“You?” Had she even raised her voice yet? “You seem pretty laid back.” No. That wasn’t quite right. Calm, maybe. And not easily spooked, or excited. “Hard to imagine you hulking out.”
“It does happen on occasion.” She tipped him a wink. “Why, I’ve been known to
eat
men who stand me up.”
He stared again. And again. The hostess was talking to him. Why was the hostess bugging him? Was she taking a restaurant survey? Why wouldn’t she leave them alone? Was she canvassing for UNICEF? Time and place, lady, time and place. Jesus!
“Do you have a reservation, sir?”
Sure. He was positive. Absolutely they had a reservation. Table for two. Yep. Now if he could only remember his last name . . .
Eureka! “Batley, table for two, please.”
“You’ve got to stop this,” Rachael mock-scolded. “You’re going to turn my head with all the lovely attention.”
He was very,
very
tempted to kiss her for that statement alone. It seemed amazing but true: Rachael-the-goddess found flop sweat, the shakes, major horniness, and anxiety endearing.
She’d turned and followed the hostess, and he in turn followed Rachael. He tried, tried—
tried
—to be a gentleman, but she was just too slammin’. Nope, slammin’ didn’t do her justice: she was slammin’ squared. No, cubed!
She was wearing one of those dresses that looked like a big long shirt, in greenish blue, no stockings. Her rich brown hair hung at shoulder length, with a kind of ripple through it, not quite a curl. Some kind of black shoes. What did women call shoes that weren’t high heels? Anyway, she was wearing black shoes that weren’t high heels.
Then they were being seated and examining the menu. “Hmmmm. This is not bad at all. What are you thinking?”
“That it’s so great to see you,” he replied fervently.
She smiled. “What are you thinking of ordering?”
“Oh.” He immediately felt like a horse’s ass, but Rachael didn’t seem to mind (again!). “Uh . . .” He was so keyed up, he figured everything would taste like wet napkins no matter what he ordered, so he just asked for a bowl of clam chowder.
“Cheap date,” she teased.
“Yeah, but it’s my date. I asked you out.”
After a little prompting,
he reminded himself. “It’s my treat, Rachael, honest. Please order whatever you want.”
“Priiicey. Though I think
that’s
a wonderful touch.” She pointed and he turned. Dozens of FedEx shipping labels were taped over the oyster bar, proving the seafood in question hadn’t been on the premises longer than forty-eight hours.
“It is, huh? Guess that’s why they gouge us. Ten bucks for asparagus, nine bucks for mushrooms . . .”
“What?”
“Okay, I might have seen a flash of the temper you were talking about earlier because you said that really, really loudly.”
“Nine bucks? The lobster I understand. The clam chowder I—Jesus! Forty bucks for halibut? Do we get to adopt it and take it home and raise it and send it to an Ivy League college?” She glared as the waitress bounced up to the table, all smiles and sleek hair and neatly pressed pants and apron. “We’re from Boston. Boston! And you’re way overcharging us.” She turned back to him. “Edward, you don’t have to pay, truly. Please let me treat you.”
“No way. I’m loaded, baby. I’m a rich retiree. Can’t you tell?”
“The Yoda socks gave it away,” she replied, rolling her eyes. He was astounded. Rachael had, among her many, many, many attributes, a fine eye for detail.
“Did you have any questions about our menu, miss?”
“Sooooo many questions. How does your boss sleep at night, that would be question number one. And can I get the scallops without the tortilla chips? That would be question number two.” Then she coughed, and he could swear she seemed ashamed, or embarrassed. “And I’m sorry about greeting you like I did. I’m homesick and I’m being quite the bitch about it.”
“Rachael! Nuh-uh!”
“Don’t listen to him,” she told the bemused waitress. “He’s madly in lust. But I do apologize. Although I have to warn you, all the food you bring us had better be spectacular.”
“Don’t make her angry. You wouldn’t like her when she’s angry.”
“You shush.”
They ordered, the waitress left, and when Rachael gave him the full force of her dark gaze, he knew that if he never saw her again after that night, he would always, always think of her.
“A retired man of leisure . . . how nice for you. What are you, really?”
Good question. Sidekick? Besotted date? IT guy? Tourist? Vamp stalker? All of the above? None of the above?
“I took a leave of absence from Grate and Tate—”
“Not the Boston firm!”
“Uh, yeah.” He mentally braced himself for,
Oh. You’re an accountant? Um. How exciting. No, really. Um, I think the diarrhea’s coming back so let’s just hang it up for tonight, okay?
“I’m an accountant, too!
He instantly rewrote the dialogue in his head:
I think accountants are the hottest thing on the planet! I continually fantasize about being spanked by an accountant! I wish you would spank me while filing my tax return! Mmmm . . . Mama likey . . .
“Are you all right?” she asked.
Go away, boner! No one hit your buzzer.
“Oh, fine. I’m fine.”
“You’re between jobs?” she asked with genuine interest (he was pretty sure).
“No, but I’ve been working since I was sixteen, Grate and Tate pay well and have super bennies, and I have no life, so I’ve got five figures in savings. I was able to take a leave of absence.”
“Hard to believe.”
“I’m frugal, baby.”
“I meant about having no life. You seem quite lively to
me
,” she teased.
He could feel the blood rush to his face. “Thanks.” Then he cleared his throat to try to cover for his hot face and said, “So what are you gonna get?”
“Laid, I hope,” she said, and that was when he spilled his water all over himself.
Fourteen
He was fumbling with the key card and dropped it and she snatched it up and then she dropped it (most likely because his hands were pretty busy under her dress) and somehow they managed to get the damned hotel room unlocked and fell inside.
His hands were everywhere, his mouth was on hers; he was groaning and so was she. She yanked and heard his pants rip.
Careful. Careful.
So far, quite the successful first date.
Hmm. I guess I’m that kind of girl now. The kind who ruthlessly seduces on a first date. Edward never had a chance . . . not that he seems to mind.
No, he didn’t seem to mind.
They had spent the evening gorging on the most overpriced seafood she’d ever had, and it was worth every penny.
The halibut: buttery and tender and flaky. His chowder (which he kindly let her taste and, when she liked it, he insisted she finish his bowl while he ordered another for himself): thick and creamy and studded with plump clams. Her seafood tower (yes! A seafood
tower
, what a wonderful thing!): shrimp so perfectly chilled they were bursting with plump meaty flavor, clams and mussels so fresh she could smell the ocean on them. Her second order of raw oysters: sweet and briny and luscious at the same time, and well over a dozen went down her throat.
And all the while, they played the seduction game.
“You’re still using the Sage program?” Edward asked, incredulous. “Do you drive around in a covered wagon, too?”
“It’s perfect for my needs,” she insisted. “You won’t get me to back down this time, Edward. Though I grudgingly admit you were right about the updates—keeping track of the fundraising can be difficult without it. But I need something that’ll serve organizations of different sizes. Besides, Sage is compatible with Windows
and
Linux
and
Unix.”
“But it—”
“Plus I need to manage finances for all sorts of locations; I did that back on the Cape and I want to continue doing it out here.” Snatch clam. Hold to mouth. Tilt head back. Slurp.
“Yeah, but—”
“Sorry to cut you off again, but I don’t want to get locked into
only
taking small business owners or
only
taking government work or
only
taking nonprofits.” She shook her empty clam at him. “That’s why it’s perfect for me.”
“What about overseas?”
“What
about
overseas?” She picked up another clam and sucked it down.
“That’s why you need the Epicor.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“You do not have Epicor.”
“I
absolutely
have Epicor, and the thing is a demigod as far as I’m concerned, okay?” Edward was on his second bowl of chowder, she was glad to see. His appetite was getting stronger the more they talked.
So was hers. But not for food.
She liked how he had obviously taken some care with his wardrobe. She liked how clean he smelled. She liked his insistence on defending his workplace tools of choice. She liked his excitement and his passion and his manners. She even liked that he would not budge on the topic of who would pay for lunch.
But she had a way to make that up to him, maybe. She could insist on a second date. Or she could . . .
“I don’t believe it.”
He smirked. “Jealousy . . . tsk, tsk, Rachael.”
“No, I’ll admit it, that’s impressive. It really does everything they say?”
“It practically cooks me breakfast.”
“Maybe you’ll show me sometime?”
“Maybe I’ll show you whatever you want anytime.”
“Ah, now that’s a pledge I will hold you to.”
“Good! And my God.” He was staring at the litter of empty shells, the stack growing ever higher. But he was smiling, and even if he hadn’t been, she would know he was pleased. “You can really put it away.”
“No worries; I’m still saving room for dessert. Baked Alaska! As long as we’re obliged to spend so much money this evening, I see no use in half measures.”
“My kind of woman. Listen, you will lose your mind when you see how it handles Cloud solutions.”
“Oh my God.”
“Not to mention customers in, what, one hundred fifty countries?”
Now it was her turn to stare. “That’s amazing. I’ve always wanted to stretch, but I run a one-woman op.”
“And cheap, for what you get.”
She seized his hand, quicker and faster than she meant to, and let go when he yelped. “Sorry. Tell me more. Talk to me about supply chain management.”
So he did. And then she started to shake. She managed to force “When?” through her teeth.
“Uh . . .” He was staring again, which she didn’t mind a bit.
Lust. Interest. Lust.
“I can show you on my laptop—”
“When can we get out of here?”
Lust. Lust. Confusion. Excitement.
“You’re not talking about my laptop, are you?”
The oyster shell she was holding suddenly broke in several pieces; in her excitement she’d squeezed too hard. “No. I’m talking about going to your place or mine and getting naked and spending the rest of the evening trying to hurt each other in various ways, with possible breaks for long showers, and maybe toast, after.” Something about discussing the latest software advancements in her field did it to her every time . . .
“You. Are. My. Hero.” He looked around and screamed, “Waitress!”
Fifteen
As it happened, neither of them wanted to waste time driving to his hotel room or her temporary apartment, which is how they ended up on the floor of room 217 in the Minneapolis Hilton, just upstairs from the restaurant.