All Fired Up (8 page)

The belt clicked into place and she sat back, unaware of the war he fought to control his body.

“Ready?” she asked, snapping her seatbelt back into place.

“Aye.”
For more of you.

He had only just let go of the dashboard when she parked the vehicle and turned off the engine.

She grabbed her purse. “I’m just going to run in and get a coffee and I’ll be right back out. Do you want one?”

Grimacing, he shook his head. “I do not like that drink, but I will come with you.”

“I’ll just be a minute. Why don’t you stay here and listen to the radio?” She turned the key and punched the power button. A soft wailing filled the car.

He frowned. “What is that noise?”

“Jazz.” She turned a knob and the volume decreased. “I take it you’re not a fan.”

“I will come with you.” He reached for the door but she stayed his arm with her hand.

“Look, I need to talk to a friend. Alone. Please, stay here.”

He sighed and leaned back, a resigned look on his face. “As you wish.”

Calleigh gave herself a pep talk the entire way into Patois but a nervous tingle still rippled across her skin when she entered. Coffee was the last thing she needed. She glanced at her watch. Almost ten after eleven. Good. Knowing Brad, he’d been there since ten ‘til.

She spotted him sitting alone at a table for two near the old brick fireplace, drinking a mimosa. A huge bunch of blood-red roses rested on the place setting opposite him. The unhappy scowl on his face did little to detract from his dark good looks. She doubted his disposition would get any better when she gave him the ring back.

The scowl upended to a smile when he saw her approaching. He stood, picking up the roses. “I’m so glad you came. I wasn’t sure you would. These are for you. You look great.”

She ignored the flowers but felt a rush of satisfaction at his compliment. Alrik had been right.

Brad pulled her chair out. She pushed it back in. “I’m not staying.”

Pressing the bouquet into her arms, he kissed her cheek. “Baby, please, let’s talk about this.”

He smelled good, woodsy and familiar. “There really isn’t anything to talk about.” She set the flowers on the table and pulled the ring box from her purse. “I just wanted to give this back to you.”

His smile vanished when he saw the blue box in her hand. “Don’t say that. I want to talk this out, to make things right. Sit, please. I don’t want to throw us away like that.”

She set the ring box on the table between them. “It’s hard to think about
us
when all I can think about is you and Jeana.” She grit her teeth and blew out a breath. “My cousin? Of all people, you had to pick her to screw around with? I wish she’d never introduced us.”

He collapsed into his chair and rubbed his forehead, the muscles in his jaw twitching. “How many times do I have to apologize?”

“None. Not any more.” She shook her head, trying to keep her voice steady. She would not cry. Not here. Not in front of him. “You have your ring back. Please stop calling me and let me get on with my life. Please.”

“It’s your ring, Calleigh.” He slid the box toward her side of the table. “I gave it to you as a token of my love. That hasn’t changed.”

He looked up at her, his hazel eyes liquid. “Can you honestly say you don’t love me anymore?”

“I don’t want the ring.” Her voice cracked, betraying her emotions. Time to leave.

She turned to go but he stood and grabbed her hand. “We belong together, Calleigh. Please forgive me. Give me a second chance. I need you. My heart needs you.”

The warmth of his fingers curled around hers brought pleasant memories to the forefront of her mind. He sounded sincere. She could talk for a minute. She sat, and he followed suit, smiling again.

He brought her hand to his lips and kissed it. “Thank you.”

She smiled reluctantly. She shouldn’t be doing this. “You’re welcome.”

A waiter approached. “Welcome to Patois. May I take your order?”

“I’ll have a latte in a to-go cup, please.” It was the last thing she’d let Brad pay for.

“Another mimosa,” Brad said. The waiter left.

She sighed and pulled her hand back. “Let’s not play games, okay? What I feel doesn’t matter anymore.” She lowered her voice. “You cheated on me and I don’t think I can get past that.”

He steepled his fingers and tapped them against his chin. “I’m not the only one to blame here, you know.” He waved his hands in the air, as if trying to chase the truth away. “Jeana did the seducing. Blame her. I’m surprised by how willing you are to give up on us. I didn’t think you were a quitter.”

He leaned back, elbow on one arm of the chair, the French cuff of his shirt sliding back to reveal his Cartier Roadster. Not a single chestnut curl strayed from his perfectly coiffed head. “If I didn’t know you better, I’d think you’d met someone else.”

“If you didn’t know better?” She frowned. “What does that mean?”

He sighed as if reluctant to speak. “You’re a mouse, Calleigh. A lovely mouse, but a mouse all the same.”

She crossed her arms. “I’m not a mouse.”

“No? Baby, how many men did you date before me? How many?”

She swallowed hard, fighting tears. “I barely had time to make friends, let alone find men to date. If it wasn’t for Jeana, I wouldn’t have even met you.” And how she wished she hadn’t. “I had responsibilities. You know that.”

“Stop using your mother and the studio as an excuse.” He downed the last sip of OJ and champagne.

The waiter returned with a to-go cup of coffee for her and a mimosa for Brad. “Are you ready to order?”

“Give us a few more minutes,” Brad said.

“Yes, sir.

“I’m not staying.” Calleigh shoved back from the table, coffee in her trembling hand. She turned, almost running into another patron as she hurried to leave.

“Calleigh, wait. I love you,” Brad called after her.

But she kept going. She didn’t want him to see how his words stung. She knew they were true. Men didn’t exactly hurdle each other to get at her, and she certainly wasn’t a Don Juanita like Jeana.

What if Jeana
had
seduced Brad? Family or not, the woman definitely had a little barracuda DNA in her. Maybe Calleigh was lumping too much of the blame on Brad. But what did it matter? He’d still cheated on her. Nothing could change that.

Blinking back tears, she tossed the coffee into the nearest trash can on her way back to the car. A deep breath steadied her nerves. Through the windshield, she could see Alrik’s eyes were closed. She heard muted singing before she even got in. Opening the door, the bellow of some Wagnerian opera assaulted her. Definitely not the station she’d left it on.

“How can you listen to that noise?” she snapped, cranking the volume down.

He glanced at her. “You were gone a long time. Where is your coffee?”

“I chatted longer than expected. I didn’t feel like coffee after that.” She started the car then busied herself with backing out. He didn’t need to know the sad, pitiful details of her love life.

He narrowed his eyes and grunted softly.

“Look, it’s no big deal,” she said. “C’mon, let’s go get you something a little hipper than a sweatshirt and jeans.”

The mall fascinated Alrik even more than she thought it would. He wanted to go into every store but she kept him moving until they got to Macy’s. After riding the escalator twice to make him happy, she got him into the men’s department.

Every clerk who went by was either dressed like they didn’t care or was female. She was not about to leave him in the hands of another woman.

“Excuse me, could you help us?” She finally located a man who looked to be in his early thirties. From his artfully disarrayed hair to his pink and orange mitered-stripe shirt and red leather pants, she knew she’d found the clerk she’d been looking for. The sweet way he smiled at Alrik confirmed her thought. A little queer eye for the Viking guy. Perfect.

“What can I do for you, doll?” The man addressed Alrik more than her, a twinkle in his eye.

Alrik glanced at Calleigh.

She patted his arm. “My friend here needs some new clothes and I’ve got to go buy a birthday present. Do you think you could help him find something suitable to wear to a family function?”

“Meeting the parents, are we?”

“Meeting the uncles. But close enough.” Should she mention he also needed underwear? She didn’t want to get the clerk killed. Maybe she would just pick that up herself.

“So is this a down-home or downtown kind of get together?”

“A little of both. It’s actually a birthday party for my uncle and he’s a fashion photographer so the outfit has to be hip or he’ll pick it apart.”

“A fashion photographer? Who?” Curiosity danced in the clerk’s eyes.

“Seamus McCarthy,” she mumbled. She was not in the habit of dropping her uncle’s name.

Two waxed brows shot up. “
The
Seamus McCarthy? The one responsible for that fabulous Versace campaign?”

“That would be the one. Can you help me?” Why wasn’t she surprised this guy knew who her uncle was?

“Honey, it would be my pleasure.” He winked at her and glanced at Alrik. “Literally.” He laughed as though they had suddenly become best friends.

She turned to Alrik. “I’ll be back in about half an hour or so.” She leaned a little closer and spoke so only Alrik could hear. “Be on your best behavior, okay? Don’t hurt him.”

Alrik looked a little unsure but nodded. “Aye.”

She caught the clerk’s eye before she left. “Nothing too crazy, okay?”

“Not to worry, sweetheart.” The clerk waved a hand at her before turning to Alrik. “Come with me, handsome. We have work to do.”

Judging by the look Alrik gave the man, she hoped half an hour wasn’t too long.

After twenty minutes of wandering around the mall, the only thing she’d seen was a pair of shoes she thought Alrik might like. Trying to come up with a gift for her uncle was about as easy as holding sand in a sieve.

What Seamus didn’t already own, he either didn’t want or would buy when he did. Not the easiest man to shop for. Reluctantly, she settled on a black Cole Haan alligator belt, wincing at the price. Not the most exciting gift, but at least it was practical. The pope would sign up for a butt lift before her uncle stopped wearing black.

Bag in hand, she left accessories and headed back up to the men’s department, wondering how well the clerk and the Viking were getting along. She glanced around. No blood on the carpet. So far so good.

She followed the arrow on the sign for the fitting rooms, thinking that was the best place to track them down. It was. The clerk was just coming out with an armful of clothes.

“There you are! Wait ‘til you see our boy. Looks good enough to eat, if I do say so myself.” The clerk pursed his glossed lips, clearly pleased with what he’d done.

Alrik walked out and stopped when he saw her, standing directly in front of the three-way mirror.

Her jaw went south at the sight of him.

He wore toffee-hued suede jeans, which thanks to the mirror behind him, she could see hugged the curves of his backside like cling wrap on Jell-O. An expanse of bronzed skin shone in the vee neck of the ivory ribbed sweater draping his upper body. The thin knit outlined his tapered torso perfectly.

The clerk leaned over. “Honey, your mouth is hanging open. But I can’t say as I blame you. Do you know the boy doesn’t wear underwear? Aye carumba!” He fanned himself dramatically.

Aye carumba, indeed. She pulled her chin up, wondering if she’d drooled on herself.

“Is this to your liking? There are other clothes…” Alrik motioned back toward the dressing room.

She cleared her throat. “Really, other clothes?”

He looked disappointed. “I will change.”

“No, wait.” Taking a few steps closer, she ran her hand through her hair and tried to breath. “You look…good, great...”
phenomenal, outstanding, lick-able
“...in those clothes, but I wouldn’t mind seeing the other stuff on you, too.”