9781631050275TheirPerfectMatchMarshNC (6 page)

“I told you that was enough. Stand up and pull yourself together!”

Flailing, Westley managed to knock Zane’s hands away, then crashed into a row of trash cans as his feet slipped out from under him.

“Leave me alone!” he wailed when Zane reached out to help steady him. “You can thump on me all you want, but I got a right to complain! Damn woman ripped me off! Her’n her fancy computerized dating machines…nothin’ but a freakin’ scam….”

“You can complain all you want. But you can forget about grabbing a lady in a drunken rage as long as I’m around.” With a grimace, Zane stepped back and brushed the front of his shirt. Typical—he’d put on his one set of decent civilian clothes and promptly ended up in a bar fight. Now he too was decorated with the residual odor of beer and trash cans. That would pretty much rule out another slow dance with Molly, assuming she was still waiting for him inside the bar. She hadn’t been too thrilled to see him take charge of the situation after her attempts to calm Westley had failed.

Just what was that all about, anyway? It was almost like she was trying to shut Westley up.

“Not drunk,” Westley was moaning. “Can’t even afford to get drunk anymore.”

Zane watched him flounder around until he was satisfied that Westley wouldn’t find his way back to The Grapevine in a hurry. Then he took out his wallet and removed one of the plain white cards Alaric had printed up for him. “Listen, I don’t intend to talk while you’re in that condition. But believe it or not, I am interested in hearing your side of the story. When you sober up, give me a call at the number on that card. And until then, stay away from Molly Grayson. You understand?”

Westley’s only response was another moan. Crouching down, Zane stuffed the card down the front of his shirt, then stood and headed back to The Grapevine. To his relief, Molly was right where he’d left her, looking more embarrassed than angry. In the wake of the commotion, the barstool next to hers had become free. Zane slid onto it.

“You okay?” he asked, and she nodded. “Don’t worry. That creep won’t bother you again.”

“You didn’t hurt him?”

“Not a scratch, I promise. But I did give him a quick lesson in manners.”

“Thank you for standing up for me…though I kind of wish you’d let me handle him. I wanted to avoid a scene. Your getting involved only made him angrier…and louder.”

Zane had the uncomfortable feeling that they were being watched again. Sure enough, when he glanced around, he caught a few people who’d witnessed the fight whispering and pointing at them. Molly’s face burned.

Leaning over to shield her with his much larger body, Zane discreetly clasped her hand in his. “We can talk about this in private,” he whispered. “Let’s get out of here.”

“All right.”

They made their way to the door together, her fingers still tucked inside his. Zane realized he was sweating profusely. So much for saving his shirt. Between the brawl and the overcrowded room, the crisp linen had begun to resemble a mushy dishrag. Or was there another reason his skin felt hotter than a cargo ship’s boiler room?

“Um…where exactly are we going?” Molly asked as they stepped out into the street.

 “How does a mega-cup of gourmet coffee sound?”

“Great, actually. The Java Joint’s within walking distance.”

“No, I think we’ve had enough public scenes for one night. I’ll take us somewhere quiet, where you can enjoy your coffee in peace. My car’s right over here.”

“Okay.” She didn’t protest as he guided her onto a narrow side street, where a row of cars sat parallel parked.

Thanks to the street lamp above them, he caught her disconcerted expression the moment he opened the passenger door for her.

“Somehow this isn’t the type of car I’d imagined you driving.”

“What, you don’t like big fins and lots of chrome?” Zane laughed. “But you’re right. This was my father’s car. He bought it new…back in 1977 or thereabouts. Believe it or not, I’ve never owned my own set of wheels. Never needed one at sea.”

“That makes sense.”

Gingerly, Molly climbed into the deep bucket seat and smoothed her skirt over her knees as Zane slammed the extra-wide door and then circled around to take the wheel. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see her struggling to sit up straight as he hit the accelerator and eased the car into the fast-moving evening

* * * *

Zane’s apartment, like the rest of the four-story brick building that housed it, struck Molly as gloomy but functional. A small kitchenette opened directly off the living room, while half-open doors revealed a green-tiled bathroom and two modestly proportioned bedrooms, one on either side. A white-topped kitchen table and three straight-backed metal chairs clashed with a well used, brown-plaid sofa and loveseat.

The details gave the place away as the lair of single man, Molly decided, examining the contents of a chipped wooden bookcase in the corner. The shelves contained nothing particularly enlightening—a phonebook, a few hardbacks on marine safety and regulations, and some paperbacks, mostly techno-thrillers with nautical themes. Shoeboxes stuffed with pencils, batteries, and opened mail filled the remaining shelf space.

“Don’t mind the décor,” Zane said as he ushered her inside and hung her coat on a brass peg in the shape of an eagle’s outstretched foot. “My dad went for the kind of stuff most people keep in their garages. It’s kind of funny. When I first came back, all I could think about was redecorating. Now that he’s gone, I don’t have the heart to toss the stuff out.”

“Don’t apologize.” She accepted the seat he offered her on the sofa. The old cushions sagged under her in a way she found oddly comforting. “Actually, this reminds me of the furniture I used to decorate my first apartment. I was a senior in college, and some friends and I went around on garbage-collection day and salvaged whatever we could carry that would fit through the door. This could almost be the same couch.”

The moment she’d said the words, she wished she could take them back. “Oh, Zane, please forgive me. I must have sounded like a terrible snob just then.”

To her relief, Zane laughed and shook his head. “Don’t worry about it. I wouldn’t be surprised if my dad really did find it after you and your friends moved out. He always took pride in being thrifty. Some of his less charitable acquaintances called him downright cheap.”

“He didn’t skimp on some things.” Molly gestured toward the large-screen TV and stereo set up in the center of the room.

“Believe it or not, he bought that to avoid getting fitted for glasses. He never missed a Sox game, and after a while he couldn’t make out the numbers on the players’ jerseys anymore. That really bugged him. The stereo was my idea, since I’m not really into TV—sports or anything else.”

“Another result of spending so much time at sea?”

“Exactly. It’s mostly radio that keeps you sane out there. I used to polish my foreign language skills by listening to shortwave. After that, watching TV just seems…I don’t know, too passive. I feel uncomfortable when my mind wanders.”

“I know what you mean.” Molly didn’t want to admit how many nights and weekends she’d frittered away in front of the tube herself, trying to ignore the fact that she had nothing better to do and no one to do it with.

“So…do you like it here?”

“It’s as good a place as any until I get a few details ironed out.”

Molly glanced away and bit her lower lip. No doubt those few details included a new relationship arranged by Lovelines.

“Listen, make yourself at home while I get the coffee going.” On his way to the kitchen, Zane paused to put some jazz on the CD player. The sound of a low, sultry sax filled the room.

“Do you like jazz? The CDs are my dad’s, too.”

Zane pointed to a rack of CDs he kept stashed behind the stereo speakers. “I can change it if you like. I might have an old Elvis or Boston album here somewhere.”

“No, this is fine. I have no objection to trying new things.”

“Glad to hear it.”

Molly winced. Another accidental double entendre. Why did she keep doing that? She couldn’t let Zane Bishop unnerve her so much.

Fortunately, he’d moved on to other topics. “You know, you’re the first guest I’ve had since I got back to Providence. It’s about time I found out if my social skills are as rusty as I suspect they are.”

“I’m sure they’re perfectly adequate.” That was probably an understatement, she realized. All evening, Zane had presented himself like a true gentleman, right down to defending her honor from a drunken bar lout. Now she watched as he began measuring out water and milk for the sleek black cappuccino machine that occupied the kitchen counter.

“Was that your father’s, too?”

“No way. Dad only went for instant, black as motor oil and strong as gasoline. He had some pretty definite ideas about what constituted a man’s drink.”

While he steamed the milk, Molly glanced around at the pictures on the wall. For the most part, they consisted of ceramic collectors’ plates featuring various New England sports heroes and a few inexpensively framed prints. To her disappointment, there wasn’t a single photo of Zane in uniform, or posing on the deck of a ship.

Belatedly she realized that he’d been talking to her while he poured their cappuccinos into matching glass mugs and topped them with frothy gobs of steamed milk.

His voice held a note of strain. “So…who was that guy back at the bar?”

Molly sighed. For a moment, she’d almost managed to forget that unpleasant scene. “His name is Walter Westley,” she replied with a grimace. “And yes, he did sign on with Lovelines for a while. Normally, I keep the identity of my clients confidential, but he certainly had no problem broadcasting that information to everyone in the bar, so I guess his privacy is a moot point now.”

“I take it he wasn’t satisfied with the services.”

“That’s probably a fair analysis. I’m sorry things didn’t work out for him, but I did my best. In fact, I had my reservations about taking him on in the first place, but I wanted to help him out. It just proves that no good deed goes unpunished, as my grandmother used to say.”

“Yeah, I saw enough of Mr. Westley to guess why he might not be popular with his dates.” Zane walked over and handed her one of the cappuccinos, then settled onto the loveseat with the other. The cup was so large—and hot—that Molly held it in both hands while she gingerly sipped the steaming liquid. “So tell me…do you get many dissatisfied customers?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Please don’t be offended. It’s just that I was thinking about the whole dating service thing…the mystique, if you want to call it that. People probably come to you with such high expectations that there’s really no way you could satisfy them all. And if anything can strip the human soul down to its rawest, most sensitive layer, it’s finding a mate.”

The imagery his words conjured in her head—especially the part about stripping a client down to his barest essentials and
mating
—made a shiver race up the back of Molly’s neck. The involuntary twitch that resulted sent hot coffee sloshing over the lip of her mug. She scarcely had time to gasp in pain before Zane was on his feet. “Damn, I knew I should have let it cool off. Here, let me help.” Quickly, he lifted the wet mug from her reddened fingers, set it on the table, and hurried to grab a dishtowel.

“It was my fault,” she said, mortified, as he blotted her palms dry. “I wasn’t paying attention. I’m sorry about the mess.”

“Never mind that. It’s nothing.” Frowning, Zane touched the towel to the hem of her skirt and slowly patted his way down to her drenched knee. “I’m far more concerned about this. You’re not burned, I hope.”

“No.” The slight pressure of his fingers against her flesh made her jump again, though not with discomfort this time. “It wasn’t that bad, really. I’m fine…except for my pride, of course.”

Just for a moment, Zane paused and let his hand sink against her leg. Molly felt herself suck in a breath. Fresh tremors, perfectly timed to match his pulse, coursed through her body and pooled deep inside her middle.

The concern in his steel-gray eyes caused Molly a twinge of guilt—though she had no intention of telling him that it was an image of him naked, not the temperature of the coffee cup, that had caused the spill in the first place. “Please, Zane, don’t give it another thought. Dwelling on it just makes me feel worse.”

With a sigh, he moved his hand away. Then, still watching her intently, he returned to his seat. He left her the towel. She pretended to wipe at her skirt hem for a moment, which gave her an excuse to keep her head bowed.

Since she was still looking down, she sensed, rather than saw, the smile tilt his mouth. “I guess this answers my question about my hosting skills. Rustier than I ever suspected.”

“Not at all. You’ve been wonderfully attentive.” Another surge of guilt tugged at her conscience, so Molly abandoned her pantomime cleaning and picked up her coffee again. “And the cappuccino is wonderful, too. Thank you for going to so much trouble.”

“So it’s better than what we would have gotten at Java Joint?”

“Head and shoulders above it.” Finally, she did look up and caught him in mid-grin. The effect was even more powerful than she’d expected.

“That reminds me. There’s something I’ve been wanting to do all evening.”

His movements were so swift, so decisive that Molly barely had time to register them. One moment he was seated across from her, his long legs casually stretched out in front of him and one powerful arm slung over the back of the loveseat. The next, he’d moved onto the sofa behind her and lifted both hands to her shoulders. As he began to lightly knead the base of her neck, Molly could almost hear her tense muscles cracking. Instinctively she let out a murmur of pleasure.

“I could tell how much you needed this. You’ve been like a coiled spring ever since I sat down beside you at The Grapevine. When the wine didn’t do the trick, I knew I’d have to resort to more furtive tactics.”

“Mmm.” The deepening pressure of his fingers on her knotted sinews sent drowsy billows of pleasure through Molly’s entire nervous system. Settling back, she surrendered to the fresh intoxication of his touch. “Let’s just say it’s been a really long day.”