Almost Like Love (6 page)

“I will. Have a good time at the wedding, Ian.”

His eyes held hers for a moment. “Thanks.”

On his way downstairs, he looked at his bow tie in the mirrored wall of the elevator. Seeing it made him remember Kate standing close to him, her hands working quickly and skillfully at his neck.

He didn’t usually like women fussing over him, which was probably one of the many reasons his relationships never lasted very long. But he hadn’t minded when Kate did it.

It had seemed almost natural.

He checked his watch as the elevator doors opened. He was running a few minutes late, but he should still be at the church in plenty of time.

Mick Kalen was one of his oldest friends, and he’d been looking forward to this wedding for months. But as he stepped out of his apartment building and into the cool May evening, he wasn’t thinking about his destination.

He was thinking about the two people he’d left behind.

All through the wedding and the reception, Ian’s thoughts kept returning to Kate. A little after eleven o’clock, he was dancing with the bride’s sister, a bubbly, cheerful woman named Shelly. Their moves on the dance floor couldn’t have been more different from his dance with Kate last night.

Just thinking about it sent a wave of lust through his body.

He’d forgotten how sexy it could be just to dance with a woman. He and Kate had fit together so well . . . and because she’d been a little tipsy and a little unsteady in her high heels, she’d let him hold her close.

He could still feel her breasts against his chest and the satin softness of the bare skin at her waist. He could still smell her fragrance—not a heavy perfume, but a faint suggestion of jasmine. He remembered her
mmmmmmm
of pleasure, and the way she’d stiffened afterward when she’d realized she’d made the sound out loud.

But when his hands had tightened on her, she hadn’t pulled away. She had even seemed to soften a little, and the yielding quality in the way she’d moved against him had made his body harden in response.

“Ian? Are you all right?”

He opened his eyes to see Shelly looking at him with a concerned expression on her face.

“I’m fine,” he said, realizing that he’d stopped dancing. “I just remembered I have to . . . call the babysitter.”

“Oh my goodness, I know what that’s like. You should go take care of that right away.”

“I probably should,” he said, since the song was ending. “Thanks for the dance,” he added with a smile.

A few minutes later he was in the hotel lobby, pacing back and forth with his cell phone in his hand. If he called, Kate would tell him everything was fine and that he shouldn’t hurry back. On the other hand, if he left now, he’d be home in half an hour. It wasn’t midnight yet—it wouldn’t be too late to offer Kate a drink before she went home.

They’d already done the big send-off for the bride and groom, so there was no reason he couldn’t leave the reception now.

Forty minutes later, he was turning his key in his lock.

The apartment was silent, so he moved quietly down the hall and into the living room. Other than the ambient city light that came in through the windows, the room was dark.

It took him a moment to spot Kate asleep on the couch. He walked over and stood looking down at her.

She was curled up on her side with her cheek pillowed on her hand, her chest rising and falling gently. Her lips were slightly parted. Her feet were bare, and he was surprised to see that her toenails were painted red.

He never would have guessed that Kate Meredith used red toenail polish.

He started to feel uncomfortable. Watching her sleep seemed too intimate, like an invasion of privacy.

“Hey there,” he said softly.

She didn’t stir, and he put a hand on her shoulder. “Wake up, Sleeping Beauty.”

Her eyes opened. She looked confused for a moment; then she smiled at him and stretched.

“Hey,” she said, her voice sounding sleepy. “How was the wedding?”

Kate’s soft voice in the dark room deepened the illusion of intimacy. He had a crazy urge to kiss her hello, as if they’d been married for years.

He took a step back instead.

“It was good. How was Jacob?”

“He was great.”

She sat up and yawned, covering her mouth with one hand. Her hair had come loose from its ponytail, and it looked silky and tousled and sexy as hell.

He had to clench his hands into fists to keep from touching it.

“He doesn’t have Asperger’s,” Kate went on. “You’ve just been using the wrong approach with him.”

He was so distracted by his physical response to her that it took a moment to register what she’d said.

He frowned. “What do you mean, the ‘wrong approach’?”

“You’ve been pushing him to do all this sports stuff, and he hates sports. He’s afraid you don’t like him because he’s not athletic. You need to back off all that and talk to him about things he’s actually interested in.”

As her words sank in, his hackles rose. “How would he know if he hates sports? He won’t even try them.”

Kate shook her head. “Of course he’s tried them. There’s not an eleven-year-old boy in America who hasn’t been forced to try sports at some point. His mom put him in Little League and peewee soccer when he was five, and he stuck with it for two years. But he hated it so much that she finally let him quit.”

Defensiveness made his voice sharp. “Exercise is important. Childhood obesity is a huge problem in this country. I want Jacob to be fit and healthy.”

“Well, sure. But team sports aren’t the only way to get exercise. Jacob really loves to swim, for example. And swimming is one of the best forms of exercise there is. Problem solved.”

“Just like that, huh?”

Kate stared at him. He knew he sounded sarcastic, but he didn’t apologize.

“It’s not only about exercise,” he said. “Team sports teach you about sportsmanship and discipline. And they’re a way to make friends.”

“There are other ways to accomplish those goals. Jacob likes chess. He could join a chess club, and—”

“A
chess
club? Jesus. Maybe he should join the math team and the A/V club, too.”

Kate’s eyebrows drew together. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I don’t want Jacob to be a social outcast. I don’t want him to get bullied or teased. Is there something wrong with that?”

He heard the edge in his voice, but he didn’t try to soften it. Who the hell did Kate think she was? She’d waltzed in here and spent a few hours with Jacob, and now she thought she knew what was best for him?

Ian had gone through a lot of different phases as a kid. He’d been the boy who didn’t fit in and the boy who did. And when he was older, he’d been a teenager who got into all kinds of trouble.

It didn’t seem likely that Jacob would go down that third path, and Ian would do everything in his power to make sure he didn’t. But between the first two choices, Ian knew which one would be easier on his nephew.

Kate, on the other hand, had grown up soft. She didn’t have a clue what it was like to be a boy who didn’t play sports. A boy who was perceived as weak.

She was still frowning at him. “Letting Jacob do the things he enjoys doesn’t automatically mean he’ll be bullied. What you’re doing is giving him the message that there’s something wrong with who he actually is. You’re trying to make him into someone he’s not.”

“I’m just trying to teach him how to survive. Of course, I’m not surprised you don’t understand that. You’ve never had to survive, have you? You were born with a silver spoon in your mouth, and I’m sure you’ve been Mommy and Daddy’s spoiled princess your whole life. You never had to struggle to put a roof over your head or food on the table. But life’s a little harsher for the rest of us, Kate. Most people have to figure out how to adapt to their surroundings. They don’t expect everyone else to adapt to them.”

Kate sprang to her feet. “Are you saying
I
expect that? That’s ridiculous. And points for the hypocrisy, by the way. I love that you’re accusing
me
of being spoiled while you’re standing in your soulless palace of luxury—and after I spent the night babysitting for you.”

She folded her arms. “I’m not a spoiled brat, in spite of your charming description of me. Is that why you cancelled my show, Hart? Because you think I’m some kind of diva? I know you never liked me, but—”

“Of course you would say that. You refuse to pay attention to ratings and financials, and then you accuse me of cancelling your show for personal reasons.” He took a breath. “First of all, it wasn’t only my decision. Everyone in upper management has to sign off on schedule changes. Your show got cancelled because it was losing market share and ad revenue, as you would know if you paid any attention in weekly meetings. This isn’t public television and we’re not running a charity. We have to answer to our shareholders and our—”

“You also have to answer to your viewers.
Life with Max
received more fan mail than any other children’s program on the network.”

“I’m not saying the fans aren’t loyal. You did two great seasons, and in this age of DVDs and video streaming, those shows will always be available to anyone who wants to find them. But we can no longer justify investing in new episodes. The decision wasn’t personal, Kate. There’s no need to get defensive or—”

“You’re accusing
me
of being defensive? You’re the one who jumped down my throat when I talked to you about your nephew.”

He felt another flare of anger. “You’ve got no right to talk to me about Jacob. You don’t know anything about him or his situation or—”

“I know he’s unhappy. And I know you’re a big part of that.”

For just an instant, the fear that Kate might be right washed over him in a sickening wave. Then anger drowned out his insecurity. “I love Jacob. I want what’s best for him. And considering that I’m a successful executive and you’re an unemployed writer who couldn’t hang onto her fiancé, I think I know which of our opinions I have more confidence in.”

As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he wished he could unsay them. Kate’s head jerked back as though he’d slapped her across the face, and in the instant before she shuttered all expression, he saw the hurt in her eyes.

Maybe it wasn’t too late to fix it. “I’m sorry, Kate. I shouldn’t have—”

“Get out of my way, Hart.”

She pushed past him and went towards the foyer, where she put on her shoes and grabbed her purse.

He followed her to his front door, feeling like the biggest asshole on the planet. “Please let me apologize.”

She turned with her hand on the knob, her expression as cold and contemptuous as it had ever been. “I feel sorry for your nephew—he deserves better than you. He’s the one you should apologize to.”

“Kate—”

“Save it. And in case there was any doubt, I won’t need your help to face my ex at the wedding from hell. I’d rather have one jerk to deal with than two.”

And then she was gone.

C
HAPTER
F
OUR

K
ate went to sleep pissed off and woke up pissed off. When she thought about her own stupidity—putting herself in a position that allowed Ian Hart to do more damage to her ego—she wasn’t sure which of them she was more angry with.

She shouldn’t feel hurt by what he’d said. He shouldn’t have the power to hurt her at all. If she hadn’t fallen for his chivalrous act at the club, last night’s scene wouldn’t have happened.

That’s what she got for letting her guard down . . . and for letting a man rescue her. A kick in the balls, metaphorically speaking.

It took two cups of coffee with Gallifrey purring on her lap before she started to feel better.

Then her cell phone rang.

When she saw it was Chris, she almost let it go to voice mail. But he was probably calling about his clothes, and the sooner she got the last remnants of him out of here, the better.

“Hi, Chris,” she said.

“Hi.”

A brilliant beginning.

There was a long pause. Finally she said impatiently, “Are you calling about your clothes? You can pick them up or I can send them to your apartment, whichever you’d—”

“That’s not it.”

Another silence. While she waited for him to break it, Kate tried to understand what she was feeling towards him.

Two nights ago, in front of the club, her heart had soared when she’d thought Chris was calling her. Now he actually
was
calling her, and she felt . . . what?

She wasn’t sure. There was a knot of emotion in her chest she couldn’t untangle—pain and sadness and bewilderment and anger.

Chris’s betrayal had cut like a knife, the hurt made worse by the fact that she hadn’t seen it coming. They’d been dating for eight months and engaged for two. They hadn’t moved in together, but she spent two or three nights a week at his place and he spent one or two at hers, and they’d had all the ease and familiarity of an intimacy that was as much about friendship as it was about romantic love.

Romantic love . . .

Was that what she and Chris had had?

If romantic love was about being comfortable with another person, then yes.

If it was about heat and chemistry and passion, then no.

Wait. What?

Their sex life might have been a little tame, but she and Chris must have had
some
chemistry. Right?

And then, unbidden, the memory of two nights ago swept through her body, leaving tingles and goose bumps in its wake.

No, no,
no
.

She was not going to compare Chris with Ian. That was insane. Chris was the man she’d wanted to share her life with, have kids with, grow old with. Ian was the rude, arrogant, money-focused corporate bureaucrat who’d cancelled her show, roped her into babysitting for him, and then insulted her.

“Kate?”

She took a deep breath. “I’m still here.”

“Could I . . . could we . . . Would it be all right if I came over? I think we should talk.”

That was the phrase he’d used two days ago, right before he’d told her about Anastasia. But even though he couldn’t break up with her twice, she didn’t really want to see him right now.

“I don’t think so, Chris. Maybe after some time has gone by we could—”

“Please, Kate. I have to talk to you. I know you don’t owe me anything, but . . . please.”

He was right about one thing: she didn’t owe him. But maybe if she saw him again it would help her achieve some closure. “Well . . . I guess that would be all right.”

“Good. Great. I’ll be there in an hour.”

She spent the hour curled up on the couch with a book, trying not to think about Chris or Ian. When her attention drifted, she added a few more panels to the comic strip in her head called
Why Cats Are Better Than Men
.

Andreas buzzed to let her know that Chris was on his way up, and Kate steeled herself for the meeting. When his knock came she opened the door.

Chris smiled at her nervously. His light blue eyes were anxious and his thick blond hair was mussed, as though he’d been running his hands through it. “Hi, Kate.”

“Hi.” She stood back to let him in, nodding politely.

How could you go from sharing a bed with someone to this stiff, awkward formality in less than forty-eight hours?

They sat down across from each other in the living room, she in an armchair and he on the couch. Chris crossed his legs, the way he did when he was nervous, and sat without speaking, his teeth sunk in his lower lip.

She was determined to make him speak first. He was the one who’d wanted to talk.

After what felt like five minutes but was probably more like thirty seconds, Chris finally said, “Thanks for letting me come by.”

“Sure.”

“I want . . .” He paused to clear his throat. “I want to apologize for the way I handled things on Friday.”

He was sorry for the way he’d
handled
things? “It might be more to the point to apologize for cheating on me, but okay.”

He flushed. “I didn’t mean to cheat on you. I mean . . . I didn’t realize what was happening with Anastasia until it was too late.”

If she’d thought she could hear about his other woman without a pang, she’d been wrong.

“What the hell kind of name is Anastasia?” she heard herself snap. “Is she heir to the Romanovs, or what?”

He flinched. “Anastasia is . . . Anastasia is . . .” His hands fluttered in the air a moment before coming to rest on his knees. “Anastasia is gone.”

She stared at him. “What do you mean, gone?”

“She left for Mexico this morning. Or maybe Brazil. I can’t remember exactly what she said. She . . . she’s very . . . spontaneous.”

“Is she.”

Chris took a deep breath. “I was a jerk to you on Friday. I know that. I just . . . I was starting to feel trapped in our relationship. Like I couldn’t breathe. And then I met Anastasia, and she was so wild, so free . . .”

The implication being that she wasn’t.

A sudden wave of depression went through her. Chris had said all this on Friday, and she didn’t want to hear it again. Was this why he’d come over? To restate all the ways their relationship had been boring and predictable?

All the ways
she
was boring and predictable?

“But then, after she left this morning, I did some thinking. And I realized that I can’t have it all. No one can. Maybe this whole . . . episode . . . was just my version of wedding jitters or a midlife crisis or something.”

“A midlife crisis? You’re thirty-two.”

“Well, something else, then. To tell the truth, I’m not convinced that monogamy is a natural state for humans. Especially for men. I mean, think about it. Men are programmed to spread their seed as widely as possible. To propagate the species in a way that gives the greatest chance for survival.”

Kate rubbed a hand over her eyes. Chris was a biology professor, and he voiced ideas like this occasionally. She’d always found his tendency to opine about human sexuality and natural selection sort of quirky and endearing, but she’d assumed his theories were just that: theories. It had never occurred to her that he might want to live his life according to them. To obey a biological imperative to “spread his seed as widely as possible.”

“Look, Chris—”

“Let me finish. I’m just saying that modern man has to come to grips with the paradox of his body telling him one thing and his mind another. Right? So . . . I’ve come to grips with it.”

For the life of her, she couldn’t imagine where he was going with this.

“I don’t—”

“I want
you
, Kate.”

She blinked.

He was leaning forward now, his expression earnest. “I was a fool over Anastasia, but I learned something from the experience. I’ve learned that I
can
make a rational choice to overcome mere physical urges. My mind recognizes that you’re the mate I need. The woman I can build a successful, satisfying life with. Anastasia could never be a true partner or a dependable parent. Not like you. In the end, raw physical passion is only temporary. Respect and affection are what make a marriage last.” His eyes grew moist. “I want you back, Kate.”

Two days ago she would have given anything to hear those words. Now they left her cold.

She wasn’t sure exactly what had changed in the last forty-eight hours, but she knew that the relationship Chris was describing—the relationship he was willing to settle for—wasn’t what she wanted anymore.

And she wasn’t convinced it was what Chris wanted, either. What would happen if he met another woman like Anastasia—a woman who made him feel things Kate didn’t?

“Let me be sure I have this straight,” she said after a moment. “You fell for Anastasia because she was wild and adventurous—”

“Exactly. And the sex was like that, too.”

Her hands clenched into fists. “Believe me, I haven’t forgotten that point. But now you’ve decided the fact that I’m safe and predictable is actually a good thing, and you want us to get back together. Is that it?”

“Yes.”

“And it won’t be a problem that you don’t enjoy sex with me as much as you enjoyed sex with her?”

He hesitated, as though recognizing that he was heading towards a quagmire with this one.

“I don’t . . . That is . . . it’s not that I don’t enjoy sex with you, Kate. Of course I do. But it might not hurt to try some new things once in a while. You can be a little inhibited.”

She nodded thoughtfully. “Maybe you could write down all the things Anastasia does that I don’t do. Then you could do a point-by-point analysis.”

Not even Chris could miss the bitterness in her voice that time.

He winced. “Okay, I get it. I should have been more diplomatic. But I think we need to be completely honest with each other if we’re going to make things work between us.”

The sound of her cell phone ringing stopped her from saying a few completely honest things right then and there.

“Excuse me a minute,” she said to Chris, grabbing the phone from the coffee table and heading for the kitchen.

She didn’t recognize the number on the screen, but she was so glad for the chance to cool down that she didn’t care who was calling. Even a wrong number would be welcome.

“This is Kate Meredith.”

“Hi, Kate. It’s Ian.”

Of course it was.

She slumped back against the refrigerator. “Why are you calling me, Hart? I don’t have the time to deal with you right now. Believe it or not, you’re currently the least of my worries.”

“What’s wrong?” he asked sharply. “You sound . . . Are you okay?”

She opened her mouth to deliver a stinging reply. Instead she heard herself say, “Chris is here.”

“Chris? Who’s that?”

“My fiancé. Sorry—ex-fiancé.”

“Son of a bitch.” A short silence. “What does he want?”

She should just hang up on him. It was a toss-up between Ian and Chris as to whom she hated more right now, and she had no reason in the world to continue this conversation.

But for some unaccountable reason, she did. “He wants us to get back together.”

Another silence. “Is that what
you
want?”

“God, no.” She took a deep breath. “He told me I’d make a better life partner than Anastasia, because I’m safe and predictable. Although he does think I should step up my game sexually. Try some new things once in a while.” Her hand tightened on the phone. “Now that he has some basis for comparison.”

As she heard herself say the words, she felt a rush of helpless anger. Maybe she and Chris hadn’t set the sheets on fire, but he’d never told her he thought something was missing.

Instead of talking to her about it, he’d decided to sleep with another woman. And now that Anastasia was gone, he figured he might as well go back to Kate—especially if she could be more like Anastasia in bed.

“Son of a bitch,” Ian said again. “He’s still there?”

“Yes.”

“Do you
want
him there?”

“No.”

“Got it.”

He disconnected the call, and Kate stared at the phone.

Well, that was weird. But when you balanced it against the weirdness sitting in her living room right now, it was hardly a drop in the bucket.

She wasn’t ready to face Chris again just yet. She sat down at the kitchen table and put her head in her hands.

She didn’t think it had been his intention, but Chris had triggered one of her deepest insecurities about herself.

He wasn’t the first man who’d left her for someone more exciting. Adventurous. Whatever.

It wasn’t an accident that she wrote about heroes and heroines who were brave, daring, confident, fearless—everything she wasn’t. Even as a kid she’d been better at observing life than participating in it, and she’d always lived vicariously through the characters in stories—other people’s at first, and then her own.

Her fictional heroines were larger than life. But she herself was small: timid, conventional, tame.

Boring.

A loud knock at the front door interrupted her pity party. She took a deep breath, ran her hands through her hair, and went back into the living room.

“Someone’s at the door,” Chris said helpfully.

Kate crossed the room, looked through the peephole, and froze.

It was Ian.

Not in his secret identity as Corporate Guy, but in his superhero identity as Tattooed Bad Boy.

He wasn’t wearing any earrings this time, but he didn’t need them. In his white tee shirt and jeans, with his stubbled jaw, tousled hair, and all that ink on full display, he looked as sexy and dangerous as any man she’d ever seen.

How had he gotten here so fast?

Maybe he really was a superhero. Tattooed Bad Boy, Defender of Jilted Women Everywhere.

She opened the door. “What are you—”

He stepped inside without waiting for an invitation. “Who the hell is this?” he asked, jerking his head towards Chris.

Chris got to his feet, looking bewildered, affronted, and a little alarmed. “I’m Kate’s fiancé,” he said stiffly. “Who the hell are
you
?”

Ian looked at her. “I think that’s a question for Kate to answer,” he said, his eyes making it clear that the ball was in her court. “Why don’t you tell him who I am?”