Mad About You (11 page)

“So the problem is…?” KT huffed as they headed up a hill towards the Presidio.

“She won’t see me at all.” It pained him to say it. “In other words, I miss her.”

“You know what I love?” she asked, breathing heavily. “That there’s a woman in the world who isn’t falling all over herself to become Mrs. Prescott Carrington-Wright III. She must be awesome. I can’t wait to meet her.”

“You make me sound pompous.”

KT arched her brow but didn’t say anything.

“I’m not pompous. My name is, but I’m fairly grounded.”

“At least as grounded as a millionaire playboy can be.”

“Billionaire,” he corrected with a grin.

“I rest my case.” She paused at the edge of the Presidio, just under the Arguello gate. “This is where I stop.”

“You don’t want to play basketball with me at the YMCA?” he teased.

“Hell no.” She jerked her thumb over her shoulder. “I’m catching a cab back home. And by ‘back home,’ I really mean to your place.”

“I guess your mom is still pressing you about men?”

“
Pressing?
” KT gaped at him. “She’s crushing me with these demands to date. The thing is she can’t possibly understand what it’s like to be the daughter of Anson and Lara. It’s like I’m a rock princess, and they all want me for the person they think I am.”

He nodded. He understood perfectly. It was why he’d unofficially shortened his name to Scott Wright.

His friend gave him a baleful look. “It’s
so
far removed from who I actually am.”

He knocked her shoulder gently. “You’ll find someone who’ll love you for yourself and not your family.”

“Like Julie loves you?”

Julie hadn’t told him she loved him—yet. If she insisted otherwise… Well, he’d deal with that when the time came. “I’m going to marry her, KT.”

KT tipped her head and studied him. Then she nodded and patted his flat stomach. “Then you better go get into shape. No woman’s going to want a slob.”

“Careful or I’ll give Lara a map to your hiding place.” He grinned when she cheerfully flipped him off as she strolled back toward their homes.

Chapter Sixteen

Bull stood outside Gary Danko, propped to the left of the entrance. He knew he must look like he had all the time in the world, leaning against the wall with his hands in his pockets, but he watched the street vigilantly, waiting not-so-patiently for Josephine to arrive. The valet attendants must have picked up on his vibe, because they gave him a wide berth.

He checked his watch. Two minutes until.

Part of him was annoyed that she wouldn’t let him pick her up, but most of him loved that she was playing hard to get. It brought out the predator in him.

He knew he was a brute, but he was roughness covered in silk. Any woman who took him on needed to acknowledge that and appreciate it. Except he didn’t want just any woman—he wanted Josephine Belle.

A taxi slowed down on the opposite corner. Bull pushed off the wall, alert, knowing instinctively that it had to be her.

Sure enough, she stepped out from the other side of the cab. The taxi took off, and she turned and met his gaze.

He exhaled, tension draining in a rush. He didn’t give her a way to cancel the date—she didn’t want him to have her phone number, so he didn’t offer his. And he didn’t think she’d stand him up, but it’d been a possibility.

If she had stood him up, he’d have been crushed.

He took her in. Instead of her usual sexy librarian look, she looked like an uptight spinster from Eastern Europe. She wore all black, her skirt hitting halfway down her calves. She had on a gray coat that covered all of her up. She even wore mannish black-rimmed glasses.

He grinned, not taken by the ruse.
Game on.

She walked toward him, her nose in the air. Her clunky black shoes made a dull sound on the pavement. “Good evening,” she said in her sweet Southern voice, pushing her glasses up her nose.

“Yo,” he said deliberately, just to see her cute nose wrinkle. He resisted the urge to laugh as he leaned in to place a peck on her cheek.

Damn, she smelled good. He brushed his nose against her skin, inhaling her, before putting distance between them. “Love the look,” he said enthusiastically.

Her brow furrowed. “You do?”

He nodded with a straight face. “The only thing that could make it better is if you covered your hair with a scarf.”

She stared at him. He knew she was trying to figure out if he was serious or not. He smiled, liking that he had her off-balance. Taking her elbow, he escorted her toward the restaurant.

“You aren’t really taking me to Gary Danko, are you?” she asked suspiciously.

“I am.” He nodded to the valet who held the door open for them. “It’s one of my favorite restaurants in the city.”

She didn’t look convinced.

He grinned. He was so going to enjoy this.

The hostess, Gretchen, smiled wide when she saw him. “Mr. Torres! It’s a pleasure to see you again. I hope you’ve been well.”

“Thank you, honey.” He gave her a hug. “How’s that boyfriend of yours treating you?”

She brightened. “He’s my fiancé now.”

“Smart man. Congrats.” He kissed her cheek, loving the way she beamed.

“There’s a couple seats at the bar. Want to take them, or would you like a table tonight?” Gretchen glanced inquisitively at Josephine.

Bull smiled proudly, putting his arms around his woman’s waist. “The bar would be great.”

“This way.” She walked them to the seats at the far end, secluded from the rest of the bar. Gretchen pulled out the chair next to the wall for Josephine, discreetly winking at him.

His smile turned into a grin. At the bar, he’d be closer to her than sitting across from her at a table, and putting Josephine in the corner created an air of intimacy. He’d have to send the hostess a bottle of champagne to enjoy with her fiancé.

Gretchen demurely wished them an enjoyable dinner and left them.

Josephine speared him with a confused look. “You come here often.”

She stated it, but he knew it was a question. He smiled at her and held out the menu. “They have great scallops. Want a cocktail?”

She frowned, absently taking the menu. She looked him up and down, her frown deepening. “This is one of the best restaurants in the city.”

“I like the best,” he said mildly as he opened the menu.

“But you look like you’re at home. You even dressed…”

“Yes?” He could feel her staring at him, but he kept his gaze on the menu. Let her have the opportunity to check him out, because he knew he looked good tonight. He wore slacks, a patterned shirt open at the collar, and a dark velvet jacket. He hoped at some point she’d want to run her hands on the soft fabric.

“Nice,” she said finally.

He smiled pleasantly at her. “Thanks.”

Her brow furrowed even more, as if nothing made sense.

“Let’s get you a cocktail, sweetheart. That’ll help.” He patted her knee and waved the bartender over. “Juan Carlos, my friend would like a French 75, and I’d like some Thunder Chicken. But not the classless Thunder Chicken. The high-end stuff.”

“Thunder Chicken?” Josephine repeated, seemingly despite herself.

Juan Carlos nodded. “A French 75 for the lady and Wild Turkey Rare Breed for you, Bull. Neat?”

“Please.” He leaned toward Josephine, partly because he knew it’d throw her off and partly because he loved the fruity smell of her hair, clean and soft in contrast to her severe look tonight. “What are you thinking of having for dinner?”

She set the menu aside and speared him with a flat look. “I have questions.”

“About the menu?” he said innocently, even though he knew that wasn’t what she meant.

“About you.”

“I’m an open book, sweetheart.” He held his arms out. “Read me.”

Her gaze narrowed. “How many times have you been married?”

He smiled, loving the game she was playing. “None.”

“How many children do you have?”

“Ten.” He laughed at the way she gaped. “Just kidding. I don’t have any.”

“Are you sure?”

“Sweetheart, I’m a successful fighter. If I gave them a chance, women would crawl out of the woodwork, claiming to be pregnant with my babies. So, yeah, I’m careful.”

“You don’t want children?” she asked, her brow furrowing.

“I want to have children with the right woman, if she wants to have them.” He dipped his head closer to her. “Our babies would look beautiful, don’t you think?”

She got that haughty look that turned him on so much. “That’s rather presumptuous.”

“Just asking for what I want.” He nodded in thanks as Juan Carlos set their drinks in front of them. He held up his glass to Josephine Belle. “To us.”

Her eyes narrowed, but she was too polite to turn down the toast. She sipped delicately at her cocktail. He took a swig of his whiskey, sighing as it warmed him all the way down. At her questioning look, he explained, “It’s like a punch to the face with a velvet glove.”

Her cute nose lifted in the air. “Well, then, since you’re a fighter you must love that.”

“I told you, I’m transitioning out of fighting.”

“To what? Pornography?”

He chose to be amused rather than offended, because he knew it’d irk her more. “Think I’d make a good porn star? A sweet Southern lady like you shouldn’t be having such thoughts, should you?”

She glared at him and lowered her gaze to the menu.

He set his chin on his fist and grinned at her. He
loved
when she got prissy. “Do you have more questions, or can we order food?”

“Did you graduate from high school?” she asked instantly.

“Yes.” He didn’t think she needed to hear that he’d graduated from Stanford, as a business major.

“How many times have you been arrested?”

“For felony crimes or minor misdemeanors, like nudity?” He grinned at her schoolmarm glare, doubly entertaining with the glasses she wore. “Never, but I’d be happy to let you cuff me.”

Juan Carlos interrupted them with a polite cough. “Are you eating with us tonight?”

“Yes,” Bull said, “and we’re ready to order.”

Before Josephine could say anything, he ordered the five-course dinner for them to share, selecting a range of luscious food he thought she’d enjoy.

When the server disappeared, Josephine rounded on him. “What if I were vegan or vegetarian?”

“Are you?”

“No.”

“Then it’s not an issue.” He took a sip of his whiskey. “But it’d have been your fault.”

Her eyes narrowed. “How?”

“You won’t tell me anything about you. If I make a mistake, it’s because you’re withholding information from me.”

“This date isn’t about me.”

“I know. It’s about proving that I’m
not
worthy.” He sat back. “Want to try with some more questions?”

“How many women have you given that corset to?”

“One,” he said honestly. Before she could get indignant, he said, “You.”

Her lips puckered as though she’d tasted something sour, but her eyes reflected confusion.

He handed her drink over. “Have some, sweetheart, and then you can tell me when you’ll put the corset on for me.”

She took a large sip.

“My mom always told me I drove her to drink, too.” He smiled fondly. “My folks are coming out to visit me next month. You’ll love them. My mom is tiny but fierce, and my dad is a big teddy bear. Are your parents still around?”

“Yes.” She hesitated, but then she must have decided to relent and be a little more pleasant because she added, “They live in Georgia.”

“That where you grew up?”

She nodded. “I’ve been in San Francisco a couple years.”

“Isn’t it strange that a Southern girl specializes in Asian art?”

She touched her hair, pulling at a spot as if it were too tight. “My grandmama had a kimono that my granddaddy brought back from Japan in World War II, and the pattern on it enchanted me.”

He pictured her in a silky red kimono, his corset peeking from underneath.
Down, boy.
He took another sip of whiskey, trying to calm himself. “Love at first sight?”

“Something like that.”

“So you believe in love at first sight?”

Her gaze narrowed. “Don’t push your luck.”

Not a yes, but not a no either. He’d take that.

Their first course came out, split on two plates, which bummed him out a little. He’d had visions of feeding her from a shared plate.

“What are you going to be doing if you’re no longer fighting?” Josephine asked as she forked a ladylike bite into her mouth.

“I’m selling smoothies.” He knew she’d assumed he was opening a smoothie stand on the corner instead of looking for national distribution, but he figured she had to get over underestimating him on her own. “You don’t know it, but I make killer smoothies.”

She gave him a flat look. “Smoothies?”

“It’s gonna make me a fortune,” he said brightly. He knew exactly what she was thinking: that he was a fool. But she was about to get a rude awakening.

Over their next courses, he launched into a discourse on branding, market share, and projected sales that would have bored a venture capitalist. He talked about production schedules and deliverables, press releases and advertising copy. He threw in buzzwords left and right, loving the way she looked more and more confused the longer he talked—not because she didn’t understand the lingo but because she couldn’t comprehend that
he
did.

By the time their cheese course arrived, he figured he’d given her enough food for thought. “But that’s enough talk about work. Let’s discuss us.”

“Us?” she repeated carefully.

“Obviously you think don’t think I measure up, so why don’t you tell me why or how so we can deal with this head on. You think I’m like the men in your past because…?”

The confusion in her expression multiplied. He saw the doubts, that the past hour of business 101 he’d sprung on her was not the conversation she’d expected them to have.

She wiped her mouth with her napkin and set it aside. “You’re a fighter.”

“I was. I’m retiring.” An awful thought occurred to him, and he scowled. “You don’t think I’d hurt you, do you?”