Lost in Shadows (Lost) Page 9

  Another part of her wanted to pretend she was a wanton woman. A woman with needs who savored the zest in life. Her hair was twisted her hair into an updo, leaving little wisps down to rest on the swell of her breasts. For once in her life, she wanted to be sexy, like Marilyn Monroe. Something about Jebediah McCormick got to her. He made her mouth dry and her body ache. That little-bit-angry, little-bit-hurt look that lingered in his eyes got to her.

  “Carolina!” Her name bellowed up the staircase. “We’re going to be late.”

  She raised an eyebrow to herself in the mirror.

  “Carolina! It’s dinner, not an audience with the queen. Throw something on and let’s get goin’.”

  She took a deep, fortifying breath, blew herself a kiss, and left the room to see if gentlemen did prefer blondes. She stood at the top of the staircase and watched him pace the foyer. He wore the clothes they had bought that afternoon. Dark gray dress pants draped neatly off his narrow hips and hinted at the power in his thick legs. The black knit shirt stretched tight across his shoulders. The material shined just a bit under the light of the chandelier, giving contour to his well-developed muscles.

  “Why does it take women so fucking long to get dressed? Carolina!” he yelled again and stopped abruptly when he turned and saw her. His mouth dropped open, and he looked her up and down and up again.

  In the silence, she knew she’d made the wrong choices. The blue dress would have gone with her eyes. She should have worn her hair down. She should have…

  Channel Marilyn, she told herself. “You shouldn’t say that word. Is something wrong? Oh, you’re hungry, aren’t you?”

  He stood absolutely still as she walked down the steps.

  Channel Marilyn. The little skirt flirted against her thighs as her ankles strained in the towering three inch heels. Walking was easier if she let her hips swing. Step by careful step, she sashayed to where he stood glued to the floor, gripping the railing with an iron claw. She spread her fingers wide and pressed them against the butterflies doing laps in her stomach. “I’m sorry I kept you waiting. You’re right about being late.”

  He reached out, his fingers playing with the large curl snuggled on her shoulder.

  The spiked heel slipped out from under her. She staggered, caught her balance, and tried to pull it off like she meant to do that. “Are you coming?”

  He just stared at her mouth.

  Was there lipstick on her teeth? She ran her tongue over them. Still uncertain, she stealthily brought her finger to her mouth and polished. Channel Marilyn. She forced a small smile to her lips. “Jebediah? Are you coming with me?”

  He blinked twice and headed for the door.

  “Do you have your keys?”

  He cursed quietly as he shook his head. He dashed into the living room, took the sport coat from the back of the chair, shrugged it on, and buttoned it. He retrieved his keys from the sideboard and then firmly took her by the elbow. “Why did I have to want steak?”

  The evening was cool but not cold enough to stop her back from sticking to his leather seat. Her leg stuck to the seat. And her other leg. Inconspicuously, Carolina arched her back, hoping a little cool air would put out the fire. Then she shifted her hips, imperceptibly lifting her leg, inching up the skirt just enough to feel the touch of night.

  He glared out of the corner of his eyes, then rubbed his stubbled jaw.

  Maybe he regretted taking her out. Her hand crept up to the long line of her neck and played with a curl tucked in the notch of her collarbone. “You seem a little distracted tonight.”

  “No.” He cleared his throat to find his voice. “No, I’m not.”

  She looked over her shoulder, out the passenger window. “You just ran that stop sign.”

  He crowded the steering wheel. “Shit. You have to stop.”

  “Stop what?” When he didn’t answer, she looked away. She arched her back, peeling it from the leather once again, and turned to the window.

  The SUV drifted into the next lane. He jerked the wheel hard, cursing. She threw her arms out as the vehicle rocked—one to the dashboard, one to the center console. The force tore her legs from the leather seat. He wrapped his fingers around the wheel until the veins popped out on the back of his hands. Grunting loudly, he stared straight ahead.

  She had done something to upset him. Moving her legs eased the sting on her skin but not in her mind. She had been out of practice too long, and had never done it with someone she found so attractive. This was a bad idea.

  In what dream world could she channel Marilyn?

  He pulled into the valet stand and threw it into park. Her shoulder to the door, Carolina burst into the chilled air.

  The valet scrambled from his podium. “Bon nuit. Welcome to Les Chevaliers.”

  She should have left her hair down. At least the veil would have hidden the tears filling her eyes. Stepping away for a minute of privacy, she pulled a tissue from her purse and dabbed at the corners of her eyes.

  Channel Marilyn. Channel Marilyn. You can do this. You eat dinner every day. This is your one chance to eat dinner with a man who could star in a romance novel. Just eat dinner and record every moment so you can replay it every night.

  Jeb wore his game face as he exited the truck, handed the valet the keys, and covered the distance to her in ground-eating strides. Realizing he wasn’t looking at her, but past her, she followed his gaze to a group of men who openly stared at her short dress and long legs.

  She turned back to the truck, certain he would take her home. If it was what she really wanted.

  Was that what she wanted?

  The words of the article returned. Without facing triggers, she wouldn’t build new associations to positive stimuli. The same scenarios would be repeated over and over. She knew what waited at home. A makeshift meal, because cooking for one wasn’t worth the trouble. A book written by one of her clients on the effect of climate change on coastal communities. A Norah Jones CD she couldn’t dance to alone.

  But out here, there was Jeb with his hollowed cheeks and cutting gray eyes. Couldn’t she give herself just this one night? The food in her refrigerator would wait a day. Climate change wasn’t happening that fast and maybe, just maybe, he would dance with her to “Come Away with Me.”

  He stepped close. “Let’s go in. It’s cooler than I expected.”

  She looked into his game face and found an ounce of courage. “I wish I had brought a sweater. This dress doesn’t provide much warmth.” She crossed her arms and followed where he led. He still maintained that agitated expression he’d had in the SUV. “Are you all right? You seem…bothered.”

  “I expect I’m always going to be bothered when you wear that dress. Go on in while I get the valet ticket.” He opened the door to the restaurant, staring down the valet who attempted to do the same.

  She walked to the host stand and waited politely as the hostess ran her pen over the big reservation book. When the woman didn’t look up, Carolina cleared her throat and then knocked on the podium before speaking softly. “Reservation for Walker at eight thirty.”

  Dressed in black satin, the hostess smiled at her and then consulted the book. “Welcome to the Les Chevaliers, Ms. Walton. Yes, here’s your reservation. Nine thirty.”

  “The name is Walker and the reservation is at eight thirty. I specifically requested—”

  “You can wait in the bar if you like.” The woman, barely old enough to drink, dismissed her with a point of her pen.

  Carolina tapped on the stand again. “I made the reservation for eight thirty.”

  “My book says nine thirty, and I’m afraid we are very busy tonight.”

  “Is there a problem?” Jeb spoke in a bass that resonated deep in his chest, his game face in place.

  “There was a mistake.” She knew, with absolute certainty, the reservation was for eight thirty. She had carefully calculated the time needed to shop plus showering and dressing. She knew the time she called and the man’s name who
took the reservation. He made the mistake. Not her. But it was she who was leaving on an empty stomach and burning with humiliation.

  Jeb caught her elbow, keeping her at his side. “It is eight thirty…Kylie. We’ll take our table. Now.”

  Carolina caught her breath at the order in his tone. It brooked no argument, no option.

  Kylie blinked quickly, her gaze flicking from his face to the lined paper with its multi-handed scribbles. “Uh…my book says…”

  He closed the book. “Our table?”

  Kylie looked to the dining room and then to Jeb. “Just a few minutes, Mr. Walker. If you would step into the bar, you can have a drink…on us, of course, for the inconvenience.”

  “Thank you, Kylie.” He bodily turned Carolina toward the bar, his hand brushing across her back and settling on her waist. He spoke softly against her ear. “Breathe, baby. You can’t forget to breathe.” With that light touch on her waist, he steered her to the two seats at the far end. He sat against the wall.

  She smoothed her hair as she scanned the sea of faces in the bar. Any one of them could—

  “Look at me,” Jeb said, turning her chair to fully face his. “Don’t worry about anyone else. So…this is Nate’s favorite restaurant?”

  “Not really. He likes the food but not the dress. He comes here for me.” She started to peek over her shoulder, but his fingers brought her gaze back to his. The chiseled face and carved mouth gave him a ruthless air that were at odds with their elegant surroundings. “I thought you didn’t need your game face in here.”

  “Sharks.” He scanned the bar, his game face unyielding. “The place is infested with sharks.”

  She smoothed the material that seemed shorter by the minute. “Do you like my dress?”

  He shifted on the vinyl seat. He wet his lips as his gaze ranged from her face to her knees. With a frown, he shifted his hips and tugged on his pant leg. “Are you fishing for a compliment?”

  She lifted her chin, feigning a confidence she didn’t feel, but was betrayed by a hitch in her voice. “Yes. If you must know, I’m having a hard time being brave. I know I’m a graceless stork but a compliment would be very helpful right now. You don’t have to mean it.”

  He covered her hand, his thumb stroking her skin. “We had this Bible growing up. It was our favorite because it had pictures in it. Not silly pictures for kids but works of art. My favorite was the drawing of Eve. She had long blond hair, just like yours.” He fingered the ends of her hair. “It miraculously curled in just the right way to cover her most interesting parts. Her blue eyes were the color of the sky, her lips red as roses. Her full and lush body with a narrow waist gave way to hips meant to cradle a man. She was an angel, something too good and too beautiful to be on this earth.” His fingers wrapped around her hand, and he pressed it to his heart. “Yet here you are. And the real miracle is you’re here with me.”

  “Oh.” She tightened her hand, feeling the beat of his heart through the soft shirt. She couldn’t feel the stool, with being swept off her feet. She felt beautiful and sexy and desired and good.

  She should give him something back. A poem. An anecdote of her own. But nothing suited the man who held her hand over his heart. Nothing was good enough. “I wish…”

  The hostess appeared at their side, and she abandoned the blossoming thought. Jeb placed his hand on her waist again when she slid from the seat. They walked together, close and intimate, neither willing to give any ground lest the other pull away.

  He held her chair and then chose to sit next to her rather than in the preassigned seat opposite. The wait staff hastily rearranged the table and then disappeared into the dark recesses. An older gentleman appeared and offered Jeb a leather-bound sleeve. He spoke very rapidly. And in French.

  Jeb looked quickly at her. She covered his hand with hers and spoke in French, every bit as elegantly as the sommelier had.

  “Would you like to share a bottle of wine?” she asked.

  …

  Carolina looked at him with hope in her eyes. If she wanted wine, Jeb would make sure she had the best wine the restaurant had. Only problem, what he knew about wine could be summed up in “red or white.” “Pick something you like.”

  She spoke fluidly, her hands moving as if orchestrating her words. The sommelier laughed and bowed to her as he left to fetch her selection.

  “So you speak French. What other surprises are you hiding from me?”

  “I speak seven languages fluently. I can get by in a handful of others.”

  “That’s an amazing talent.” He reached for the freshly poured glass of ice water and drank half of it down.

  “It’s a necessity. I work with documents and sources in a variety of languages. I’m lucky. Learning the grammar and syntax of other languages has always been easy. And then, I have a very talented tongue.”

  He choked, nearly spitting the mouthful of water across the table. He pulled the napkin from his lap and turned away from her, unable to contain his laughter.

  She ducked her head as her fair skin lit to fire-engine red. “That’s not what I meant.”

  After a moment, he composed himself and returned to the table. His eyes were still wet with laughter. “I have no doubts about how talented your tongue is, Carolina. Did you learn all those languages in school?”

  “I started French and Spanish in high school. In college, I had classes, dorm mates, and distance learning programs for the others. When I lived in Washington, I would go into the different communities to hear native speakers.”

  “Your talented tongue must have enjoyed the conversations.” He winked as he teased, enticing her further out.

  A subtle smile replaced the frown. “I made a few friends. Mostly, I sat in cafes and listened. Waitresses. I liked talking with waitresses.”

  The sommelier returned, cradling a bottle in his arm as if a sleeping child. Jeb saw Carolina sit up straighter, her eyes sparkling. She spoke in French.

  “J’espère que ce millésime est aussi élégant et enchanteur que votre restaurant.”

  The sommelier bowed his head and answered. “En effet, il dépasse le charme de notre restaurant, mais je crains qu’il pâlit à coté de la beauté et la grâce de la dame qui l’a commandé.”

  He watched the tennis match between her and the sommelier. He didn’t like the blush in her cheeks as she sipped the wine and nodded in approval.

  He leaned into her, turning his most menacing face on the sommelier. “What did he say? What did you say?”

  Her color deepened. “I said I hope this vintage is as elegant and enchanting as your restaurant.”

  The sommelier gave Jeb a little bow. “I said, monsieur, that this vintage exceeds the charm of our restaurant, but I am afraid it pales next to the beauty and grace of the lady who ordered it.”

  With another flourish of words, she had the sommelier bowing again before pouring both glasses. Jeb filled the next minutes with a safe and mundane discussion of the offered dishes. He suggested an appetizer for them to share while they considered the menu, holding her hand while they talked.

  Carolina sipped her wine and sighed. “I just don’t understand why someone would break into my house, destroy it, and take nothing but my cookies, water, and a few of my client contracts.”

  He squeezed her hand hard enough to make her gasp. “What do you mean they took client contracts? You didn’t tell me that.”

  “I didn’t?” she asked, trying to pull her hand out of his. “Oh. You were sleeping. I didn’t want to wake you and then when you were awake, you distracted me.”

  “You didn’t want to—” He closed his eyes to count to ten. He made it to five. “How could you get distracted from telling me something so important? I’m awake now. Tell me.”

  “Lower your voice. Please.” She wrinkled her nose at him. “They took the first five client files beginning with the letter M. Malley. Mayer. McNaulty. Miller. Millstone.”

  He lowered his voice, as she asked, but didn’t
hide the steel blade in it. “What was in the files?”

  “Nothing useful—or interesting. They were just my copies of the contracts. They did have addresses, but most of them are professional addresses you can easily get from other sources. The contracts included the amount of my fee and expected language on rights and restrictions.” She twisted her wrist.

  He didn’t release her but did loosen his grip. “What kind of work did you do for these clients?”

  “I am researching for McNaulty and Miller. The others were fact-checking. I store my work on a cloud service. The file sizes can be large, and it is much easier to deliver materials back to my clients. I might print hard copies of certain items for working with, but I don’t have the storage space for all that paper.”

  One of the waiters silently served the appetizer. Jeb sneered at the microscopic but artistic food. This was one of those places. He wondered if he should order two dinners as he served Carolina one of the delicate crab cakes. “You took your laptop into the hidey-hole. It wasn’t there for them to find.”

  She nodded. “I was talking to Nate. I couldn’t let him go.”

  He heard the little tremor in her voice she tried to hide. He laid his hand on her arm, his thumb caressing her wrist, hoping she understood that he knew how traumatic the event had been for her. “Of course not. I’ll bet anything they were after your laptop.”

  “Somebody tried to steal my bag last week. Do you think it could be connected? I mean, my laptop was in it, and the guy didn’t go for Emmaline’s bag. Wouldn’t you think she’d be the easier target?”

  “Why didn’t you tell me before? Did Nate know?” He’d been with her nonstop for over twenty-four hours. How could there be things he didn’t know? He couldn’t work handicapped like this.