Rock Her (Crimson Romance) (12 page)

“He never paid child support, for either of you?”

“No,” she paused. “My mom felt that would have given him renewed access to our lives. I elected not to pursue it either.”

“I think if you bring a life into this world you should support it.”

“You heard the part where I told you he was a psychopath, right?”

“Yeah. But don’t you think he should’ve taken financial responsibility for his children?”

She turned to stare at him.

“We wanted nothing to do with that monster.” Splashing her paddle for emphasis. When the paddle broke the surface it sent a stream of water directly at Alec, soaking him. He stared at her, mouth open in disbelief, blinking the salty water out of his eyes. His hair was soaked, rivulets running down his face.

She gasped. “Oh. Oh no. I’m so sorry.” She bit the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing, but it wouldn’t be stifled. The expression on his face.

He stopped her choked laughter with a splash from his own paddle.

“Hey!” she blurted. “Stop that!”

He splashed her again, and laughing, she flung water back with all of her heart.

• • •

Alec cranked the heater down. It had taken most of the drive home from the kayak place, but they were finally warm. Damp and disheveled, but warm.

“Can I pick you up for dinner at six-thirty?” Alec asked as he pulled into her driveway, his mind half on the work he had to finish at home before he could see her again.

“Sure.” She climbed out of the car, gave him a jaunty wave and rushed down the path to the cottage.

He was on a call for work longer than expected. By the time he called to get reservations, the restaurant had nothing until eight. There was a time he would’ve used his name to get an earlier spot and boot some unsuspecting patron out of theirs. His lips twisted. Thank God he wasn’t that arrogant anymore. He’d be at her place at six-thirty. They could go out and walk around Cielito before dinner.

Hours later, he parked on the circular driveway, got out and followed the path to her little one story cottage next to the main house. Both homes had the Spanish style red tile roofs and the white stucco walls common in Cielito. The large house was huge and, from the look of it, empty.

Alec knocked firmly on the door, casting an idle glance around. Beautifully landscaped.

Kate opened the door and he caught his breath. She had swept up her hair and put on a dark purple dress, which exposed one alabaster shoulder. He glanced down taking in the short hemline and very high, strappy heels. She still barely came up to his shoulder. They could chat here, he decided with another glance at the shoes.

“Something wrong?” she asked. “Too dressy?”

“No. You look great.” He smiled. “I couldn’t get a reservation till eight. Want to hang out here for a bit or — ”

“Of course,” she said graciously, stepping aside to let him in and closing the door behind him.

He made his way into a small living room. Bookshelves filled to overflowing lined the wall adjacent to the fireplace. The room was cozy. There was an overstuffed white loveseat and matching recliner, oak furniture and across the room, a wall covered in photographs. Crossing the room, he stood in front of them. Kate joined him, standing so close he could feel the heat radiating from her and smell the lightly floral scent of her skin. A surge of lust went through him. He was becoming accustomed to that reaction.

“Your mother?” he asked, softly, gesturing to a black and white photo of a woman tenderly gazing at an infant in her arms.

She nodded. “Diana took that of Mom and Emma. Lucky for us, Diana is an amazing amateur photographer.”

Kate indicated the wall. “She took most of these.” There were black and white photos of the two girls at various ages, graduation pictures — each matted and framed in black.

“Amazing.” He spent a few more minutes examining the wall before settling himself on the loveseat.

“This place is nice.”

“Thanks. When my mom was alive, we rented a three-bedroom house closer to town. After she died, we didn’t need that much space. We were lucky to get this place.”

“Who lives in the big house?”

“The main house?” She grinned. “No one, usually. The owner was a friend of Roy’s. He bought this place for his third wife twenty years ago and she kept it after he died. She comes for a few weeks several times a year. She’s French and spends most of her time over there, but likes having someone live on the estate and take care of things. We like the cheap rent.”

“So you manage the property?”

“In a manner of speaking; there isn’t much to it. I contact her if things need to be done. She hates to be bothered with it, so I usually try to hit up Roy for the small stuff. I deal with the landscapers, the pool company. That sort of thing.”

She perched on the edge of the recliner and there was an awkward pause.

“Can I get you anything?”

“I’m good, thanks,” he said and blew out a breath. Her inexperience had preoccupied him much of the day. “So, can I ask about your relationship history?”

She examined him with those enormous, unblinking, light green eyes. “If I can ask about yours.”

“That’s fair. I’m sure you know most of the dirt since you did a search online.”

She scoffed at that. “Please. That just tells me names and dates.” She took a deep breath. “It’s pretty sparse. A couple of relationships that lasted several months in college, and one that lasted four months since. It’s not like I don’t have any sexual experience, I just never had sex.”

“The four month guy?” he asked.

“A year ago I went out with a guy my friend Ava set me up with. He wasn’t over his last relationship. One night we were at the movies and we ran into his ex-girlfriend. It wasn’t a scene but it was clear they still had feelings for each other. I bowed out.” She glanced at him, waiting.

He nodded. “That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

“You?”

He settled into the couch and rubbed a hand over his jaw. “I didn’t date much in high school — ”

“But you lost your virginity, right?

“Well, yeah. Doesn’t every guy?” Smiling at her, he continued, “I was passionate about music, not girls.”

“Oh, I didn’t realize you started playing in high school.”

“Earlier than that. Mrs. Thatcher paid for piano lessons for a couple of her kids and me.” He shook his head. “Her kids were required to try it, since she was a musician: piano, guitar, voice … mostly she played at church. None of her kids were interested at all, every last one of them preferred sports.”

She nodded.

“I think that’s how I became close with the family, initially. She loved my enthusiasm. Taught me piano, then guitar.” He smiled at the memory. “She even taught me some voice stuff, which is extremely un-cool at twelve, but I didn’t care.”

Alec watched Kate play with a strand of thick red hair. She rubbed a finger across her mouth and his body reacted instantly. He shifted on the couch.

“Did you play sports?”

“I ran track, did some swimming. But mostly I just played guitar and piano. That was my passion, you know? I saved up to buy a keyboard before I saved for a car. The only relationships that counted back then were with music and the Thatchers.”

“Can I get you something? I have iced tea or — ”

“Nah. I’m good, thanks. So after high school, I moved to L.A. with Dave Thatcher. There were women, but I was serious about music. Some women want to sleep with guys in bands. That’s how it goes. I wanted to play guitar and party. My priorities were incompatible with relationships.” He put the last word in air quotes.

She laughed.

“Trust me, some of the guys in my band back then had girlfriends. They were not cool with how much we practiced, traveled, you name it.” He shrugged. “I was far too single-minded to get serious about anyone in particular. I’ve only been serious about a few women over the years.”

She nodded and he continued, “There was a woman I met in recovery, it was intense but it didn’t last long. There were a few relationships in college and law school.”

Kate was giving him a puzzled look. “Alec, you’ve been married twice.”

He rubbed a hand on the back of his neck. Couldn’t leave those out. Much as he’d like to. He nodded. “Yeah. Poppy Thatcher and Lana Larson. You probably know my second marriage lasted about eight months.”

He met her eyes. Kate nodded. “I married her in Vegas at the height of my addiction and divorced her as soon as I got sober. But Poppy … ” He fell silent, remembering.

“Poppy?” she prodded.

“Yeah. Poppy.” He lifted and lowered his shoulders. What a disaster.

Kate’s voice was gentle. “So you grew up with Poppy?”

“Yeah. She’s a sweetheart. And by then, I wanted someone in my life who was real, you know?”

Kate raised her eyebrows and shook her head, her almond-shaped green eyes intent on him.

“I was sick of the celebrity crap. The women who wanted me because of who they thought I was, not who I really am. Unfortunately, by the time I realized I wanted a real relationship, I was already too far gone into the booze and drugs to have one. Love’s no match for that. Not Poppy’s and certainly not mine. I wasn’t ready to fix my stuff and I did my best to drag her down right along with me. Luckily she was too grounded to get into it. But she spent two years putting up with my bullshit, trying to deal with me.”

She made a sound that he interpreted as pity.

“Trust me, I don’t deserve any sympathy. I cheated on her, lied to her. I cut her heart out and stomped on it. I did everything to drive her away and eventually she got some sense and left.”

“I’m sorry. For both of you.”

“Yeah. I’ll always be ashamed of the way I treated her. She was this small town kid, young, sheltered — ”

My God
. Kate was the same age Poppy had been when he married her, twenty-five. They were both beautiful, innocent, small town girls. What was wrong with him? He needed therapy. He was on the verge of intimate involvement with someone too young and much more innocent. If he did get back into music, he would be making the same mistakes he’d made a dozen years ago. He would have come full circle. Would he ever learn? Were these his only choices? No strings relationships or ill-fated involvements with naïve women? What a nightmare.

Lost in thought, he knew he must be staring at her with a look bordering on horror. How had he never seen the parallels between Poppy and Kate until now?”

“Alec?” she asked, her voice registering concern.

He stood abruptly without meeting her eyes. “I’ve got to go.”

She stood too, astonishment evident in her expression. “What?”

“I’ve got to go.” He moved to her and kissed her on the cheek. He was out the door in the blink of an eye.

The next morning Alec lay in bed. He rubbed his hands across tired, burning eyes. He’d barely slept. Had he really left like that last night with no explanation? Here he’d taken two days out of his crazy schedule to see Kate and work on his music. At least half of his plan was coming to fruition.

Should he call to apologize for flipping out? She was young, sweet, and too damn innocent. The chemistry between them was undeniable, extraordinary, even. But was that enough? He was accustomed to a certain type of partner, a worldly one with few expectations and no attachments. He grimaced. Kate would want strings, exclusivity. Could he do that?

The timing sucked too. His first priority was to make some career decisions. Lately his job was a series of endless frustrations, dealing with the fall-out from the millionaire egomaniacs who were his clients. Asher was fond of saying that shrinking violets didn’t make good rock gods. The people who wanted that life were almost without exception neurotic, megalomaniacal, or exhibitionists, or as Asher liked to say about himself, some spectacular combination of all three. One of the partners at the firm suggested he pick up a few movie or television clients. He shuddered. Underneath it all, wasn’t he just rearranging the deck chairs? Law had served its purpose. Surely it was time to resuscitate his music career.

An apology was in order.

Finally he texted her:

Sorry for the freak out.

There was no response. Nothing for five minutes. He jumped onto a work conference call, but for the life of him could not follow the conversation. Something about a contract. Every minute he looked at his phone. Was the volume off? Did he have signal? He never acted like this — as if he were fourteen. What was it about this girl?

“Alec, are you with us?” asked one of the lawyers on the other end of the phone. It had been a half hour since he texted.

“Uh, Noah, yeah. Can you repeat that section?” Alec asked. When his phone finally buzzed, he dove for it, almost falling out of his seat.

You ok?

His thumbs moved rapidly across the phone.
Dinner tonight?

Five second delay, then
Dinner here 7

He typed:
Bring something?

Just you.

His palms started to sweat.

The doorbell rang minutes after seven. A roasted chicken warmed in the oven, a salad sat in the fridge, places for two were set at the tiny kitchen table by the window. Two pints of ice cream were in the freezer for dessert or for Kate to drown her sorrows if he bailed again. She hated to admit it, even to herself, but his abrupt the departure the night before was a relief. Here was the real risk. The risk to her heart. Risk she had always avoided. He had been brutally honest about his track record. He dated women like the blonde in his house that day, not women like her.

His past was a series of casual affairs and philandering, and yet, despite all that, she was half-way in love with him. This beautiful, damaged man could smash her heart to bits with little effort. But part of her needed to see him again. Needed him. Reaching down inside for courage, she took a deep breath and went to the door.

He stood there in jeans and a t-shirt, tulip bouquet in one hand, teal box from Jessica’s, a local bakery, in the other. She gestured him in with a trembling hand. He was such a large presence in her tiny house. Tall and broad-shouldered, he dwarfed her little entryway. She backed up a step, overwhelmed. Her gaze searched his as he extended his offerings. She took them with a murmured thanks and went to the kitchen to put the flowers in water, dropping the bakery box on the counter.