Behind Your Back (8 page)

“Of course,” I say as if I’ve just realized we’re in a coffee shop. “Well, how about dinner instead?” That will give me a chance to go to my apartment, put something nicer on and get another one of my sports cars. Something less flashy this time.

“I think that can be arranged.” She sips the last of her coffee and then tosses the cup.

“Great. Where would you like to go?”

“Oh, so you’re going to make me pick?” she says as she sits back down.

“Unless you want me to surprise you. I can do that as well. Whatever you want, Saige.” I want to say her name over and over and I have no idea why.

“I like surprises.” She smiles and rakes her hair back with her hand.

“Okay then. Shall I pick you up around six?” She nods.

“Great. How about you give me your number?” she says. I pull my regular phone out and wait as she recites the numbers to me. I put them in my phone under “Redhead.”

“And do I get your number? In case something goes wrong?” she says, getting out her own phone. I rattle off the number to her. Good thing I can memorize numbers. Not as good as Hardy, of course, but close enough.

“Well, then. It was nice to meet and stare at you, Saige Beaumont,” I say, getting to my feet.

“It was nice to meet and be stared
at
by you, Quinn Brand,” she says before strutting back to her table and resuming work on her laptop.

The pleasure is all mine, Redhead.

Eight

A
s soon as I get home, I call Cash.

“And have you seduced her?” he asks.

“Nearly. We’re going out to dinner. Let the wining and dining begin,” I say as I go through my closet to pick out something to wear.

“Go with that Prada suit and the black Ferragamos. White shirt underneath. Simple and classic,” he says. It’s a bit dressier than I’d intended, but I think it will work.

“I didn’t ask, but thank you,” I say. Cash sometimes answers questions I don’t ask. I’ve gotten used to it.

“You’re welcome. Now got get her and keep me updated.” I hang up with Cash and get dressed. Good call on the suit. It sets off my dark hair and makes me look older and a little bit dangerous. Or maybe I’m getting ahead of myself.

I throw a hoodie on over the suit coat and head to the garage where my cars are. I bypass two and go for the black BMW. It’s still a nice car, but not as nice as the Ferrari.

After stripping off the hoodie, I stash it in the trunk and get into the driver’s seat.

Time to pick up the redhead.

S
aige’s apartment is on the top floor in a nice brick building. Of course, her father owns it and she doesn’t pay rent. I send her a message that I’m downstairs and ask if she wants me to come up and get her. It’s hard to know what she’d prefer.

Come on up. I’ll buzz you in.
I park the car and get out to ring the bell. The door opens and instead of climbing the stairs and getting sweaty, I take the elevator.

I hear her footsteps as she walks toward the door after I knock.

It opens and she smiles at me. My heart stops for a second.

“Hey,” she says, leaning a little to the side. It’s as if she knew I would wear black, and she’s dressed to match in a simple black strapless dress with lace around the hem. Her hair is loosely twisted up in the back, with a few tendrils caressing her neck.

Her green eyes are hooded by smoky lids and she’s got her signature red lips. All in all, she’s breathtaking.

“Hey,” I say after I’ve looked her up and down. I can’t help myself.

She smiles and her teeth are brilliant against the red of her lips.

“You clean up nice, Quinn Brand.”

“So do you, Saige Beaumont.” Her smile widens and I notice that she gets little crinkles at the edges of her eyes when she smiles. Lovely. So far this assignment has been both business and pleasure and I think it’s going to continue that way.

“Shall we?” I say, holding my arm out for her and then producing a single white rose from behind my back. It means innocence and purity, which is at odds with my true intentions.

“Very smooth,” she says, taking the rose from me and sniffing it before breaking the stem and putting it behind her ear. Now
that
was smooth. She takes my arm and we ride down the elevator and go out to the car. I open the door for her and she makes appreciative comments about the car.

“Thank you. It gets me from place to place,” I say.

I pull out and she asks where we’re going.

“I thought you liked surprises,” I say.

“I do, but only when I know what they are.” I chuckle.

“Then that defeats the purpose of a surprise.”

“Hey, I’m not going to explain how my mind works. You’re just going to have to figure it out.” I ask her if the temperature is okay and she nods.

The rest of the way to the restaurant is spent in small talk. Mindless getting-to-know-you chatter. Only I already know most everything I need to know about her to do my job.

She asks me some more about my job and I give her general answers. She leans back in the seat and the white rose behind her ear keeps catching my attention. I’m not used to having a pretty girl in the passenger seat.

I pull up in front of the restaurant and the valet comes out to take my keys. I slip him a few bills to take extra good care of the car and go over to open the door for Saige.

“Thank you,” she says, giving me a smile. It’s a warm night out, so she just has a black silky shawl wrapped around her shoulders. All the black makes her white skin glow. A few freckles dot her skin here and there and I’m looking forward to see where else they exist on her body.

“Veerrrrryyyy nice,” she says, drawing out the first word as she sees where we are. I haven’t skimped on anything tonight.

“Why thank you. I’ve heard the chef here makes a roast duck that will change your life,” I say. Technically, I’m quoting Cash, who had been here a few weeks ago with a woman he was trying to seduce. It worked, so I decided to bring Saige here as well.

The hostess leads us to our table in the back. It’s sweet and cozy and away from the prying eyes of the rest of the patrons.

“So far, so good,” she says as I pull her chair out for her and she sits down.

“I’m hoping things will continue to be good.” I sit down and she raises one eyebrow.

“Just good?”

“Great?” She shakes her head. “Fantastic?” Another head shake. “Spectacular?”

“How about memorable?” she suggests. “I’ll take memorable. Memorable is better than good.”

“Yes, but memorable can also be bad. I want this to be a positive experience, if I can help it,” I say. The hostess interrupts our conversation to give us the specials and a wine list.

“I’ll have a pinot noir and for the lady…” I trail off and glance at Saige.

“The same,” she says with a smile.

“Would you like a few moments?” I say that I do and she leaves us. I already know what I want to order, but I give Saige the chance to peruse.

“So I’m guessing if you know that the duck is good, then you’ve been here before.” I know where she’s going with this, even though she keeps her tone light.

“Yes, I’ve brought a few clients here for dinner. No other women, if that’s what you’re asking. I’m currently unattached.” Her green eyes flick up to meet mine.

“I don’t care if you’re dating. I was just wondering.” No, she wasn’t. I’m beginning to sense a possessive streak in her. I like it.

“Uh huh,” I say, dismissing it. “See anything you like?”

Her eyes look up and meet mine.

“Maybe.”

“I meant something on the menu.” Her eyes narrow a little and she sets her menu down.

“I think I’m feeling like duck tonight, how about you?” I agree. Our wine arrives and I order for both of us. Saige leans back in her chair and tips her head to the side.

“Studying me?” I ask, sipping my wine.

“Trying to figure you out. You’re a bit of a mystery, Quinn Brand, but I bet you know that. I bet you know that and you use it to your advantage whenever you can.” I give her a smile.

“You’ve got me pegged, Saige.” I can’t stop saying her name. She sips her wine, but her eyes don’t leave mine. The white rose looks so pretty against her red hair.

“No, I don’t think I do. There’s a lot to you, Quinn. I can feel it. You’re like a pond where the surface appears calm, but you don’t know how deep it is until you dive in and start to let yourself drown.” I could say the same about her.

“Does that bother you?” she asks.

“No. You can analyze me all you want. It means I get to stare into those green eyes of yours.” I expect her to blush and look down, but she doesn’t. Her eyes narrow as if she knows exactly what game I’m playing. Yes, I have underestimated this redhead.

The conversation moves back onto more solid ground and I ask her about hobbies and favorite music and so forth. A lot of this information isn’t something I can find out until I talk to her.

“I’m sure you expect me to say that I listen to something deep and vintage, like Joni Mitchell,” she says.

“I’ve learned it’s best not to assume in life,” I say. I never assume if I can help it. “So who do you like?”

“Well, I
do
like Joni Mitchell, but I listen to everything from Lorde to Maroon 5 to Taylor Swift to The Civil Wars to Frank Sinatra. I’ll listen to anything, as long as it’s good.” I like that and I completely agree.

“What’s your favorite song?” I ask. She rolls her eyes.

“That’s such a silly question. Your favorite song right at this moment isn’t going to be your favorite song at another moment. And my favorite song when I was ten isn’t the same as it is now.”  I put my hands up, as if surrendering.

“I was just curious. You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.”

“What’s your favorite song?”

“‘Fire and Rain’ by James Taylor.” The words are out of my mouth as if they aren’t under my control. I didn’t mean to tell her that. I meant to tell her something by U2 or Queen or Jimi Hendrix. Not the real thing.

“James Taylor? Interesting. Do you play guitar?” I shake my head. I’d always wanted to learn, but could never bring myself to do it. I’ve brought Saige close to uneven ground that I don’t want to tread on. So I turn things back on her.

“I told you mine, now tell me yours.”

She purses her lips and then sighs.

“Fine. It’s ‘Take Me to Church’ by Hozier. And I liked it before it was all over the radio, by the way.” I chuckle. That is a good song. I can’t fault her taste.

This particular restaurant plays soft piano music over a loudspeaker and I have an idea.

“Would you excuse me for a moment?” She nods and picks up her wine, taking a sip. Her creamy throat ripples as she swallows.

I go to the hostess and ask her for a favor. I also hand her some cash to help her agree to help me out. I go back to the table to find Saige finishing her wine.

“What was that about?”

“Nothing.”

The piano music clicks off and changes to Hozier’s ‘Take Me to Church’. Saige recognizes the song and smiles at me, her eyes crinkling at the corners. Good. I’ve pleased her.

“Would you like to dance?” I say, holding my hand out.

“This isn’t really a dancing song,” she says.

“Dance with me anyway,” I say, and she gives me her hand. I pull her into me and she fits against my body so well. Curves matching valleys, her give, my take. She exhales, as if she’s surprised by something.

“What?” I ask as I put my hand on her lower back.

“Nothing,” she says and I start to sway her back and forth to the beat of the music. She’s right, this isn’t a song for dancing, but I don’t care. Her fingers grip my shoulder and I inhale her perfume. It’s spicy and sweet. Like her. I wish her hair were down.

People are probably staring at us, but I don’t care. All I care about in this particular moment is the beautiful woman in my arms and how easy it is to get her to do what I want her to do. To lead her. She’s pliable, soft. But something tells me beneath all that, there’s something sharp and unyielding. Like a blade sheathed in silk. We sway together and I try not to think about how close her hips are and how much I would love to fuck her while listening to this song.

Her heart pounds against my chest. A frenetic drum that seems to spur my own into faster action. She sighs softly and melts even more into me. For just a moment, all I see is her, all I feel is her, everything is her.

And then the song ends and she’s smiling and I notice that she has four barely-there freckles on her nose.

“Thank you. That was wonderful.” She’s pulling herself from my arms and it takes a moment for me to let her go. I shake my head to clear it and smile back at her. We sit down again and our meals arrive.

I wait until she cuts a tiny piece of the duck with her knife and spears it on her fork.

“You scared?” I ask as she studies it.

“I’m not scared of anything,” she says before putting the fork in her mouth and then drawing it out slowly. She chews for a moment and then nods.

“It’s delicous.” I pick up my napkin and spread it on my lap before I start to eat.

“You’re a good dancer,” she says, taking a sip of her wine. I stare at the red residue of her lipstick on the glass for a second.

“That wasn’t exactly dancing. You should see me with enough floor space and a good song for waltzing,” I say, giving her another smile. It’s difficult sometimes, maintaining the balance of smiling too little or too much. Too little and you seem cold, too much and you don’t seem genuine.