He managed a nod. She turned her head, but not before he caught the flash of disappointment on her face. So typical. He hated himself for not being man enough to let her go with open arms for the happiness she deserved. But he'd always been a jerk.
"I'll see you in the morning," she said politely.
"Enjoy your date."
He couldn't look. He heard the door close and reached for his beer, knowing this was for the best. He'd head to his apartment and get trashed. He wouldn't think of her, or dream of her, or pretend they had anything else to aspire to other than a perfect friendship.
Wolfe lifted the bottle and chugged it down.
COSMOS WAS A BALANCE of good food, lively conversation, and a comfortable atmosphere. The scents of garlic, tomato, and basil filled the air, and roomy tables and booths scattered throughout the dining room allowed for private conversations. The oak bar was large and busy, with groups sipping cocktails and nibbling at famous brick-oven pizzas. Kinnections held many of its mixers at the popular restaurant, so she was happy they had agreed to meet here.
Gen spoke briefly to the hostess, who led her to the table. She dragged in a breath and pushed all thoughts of Wolfe aside. Not tonight. For the first time in a while, she felt sexy, confident, and daring. The ink still stung on her lower back like a naughty reminder. Visions of falling in lust with her date, scrambling back to her place to have a satisfying bout of sex, and sharing her space with another male who was neither friend nor enemy teased her like a mirage.
No wonder women bombed so many times on dates. Talk about high expectations for a first meeting.
Gen stopped and smiled at the attractive man before her. Whoa. Very hot. He stood up quickly, smiling back, and shook her hand with a warm, firm grip she enjoyed. Light brown hair matched his eyes, which seemed open and inviting. Lean, angular features, a proud Roman nose, and actual dimples screamed out one awesome word.
Score.
She took her seat. "It's quite lovely to meet you, Gen," he said, a gorgeous accent curling like smoke around her. Yum. She couldn't seem to place the geographic location, but she wasn't surprised. She'd almost flunked history. Twice.
"Me, too. I've been looking forward to it." They settled on drinks and food, and launched into casual conversation. "Forgive me, I can't seem to place your accent."
He laughed and clasped his hands together on the table. "I'm originally from France but have been in the States for a while now. I studied pharmacology here, settled down, and never looked back. I enjoy visiting, but I consider New York home."
A pleasant glow buzzed around her. How long had it been since she'd been interested in another man? Even before David she barely dated, too busy with medical school, grades, and general achievement. His attention buffed her skin to a healthy shine better than any expensive exfoliator. "I've always wanted to visit France. I haven't traveled much."
He sipped his wine, his long, tapered fingers wrapped around the glass. "Understandable if you're a surgeon."
"Still a resident," she corrected.
"Do you love what you do?"
The question threw her. Did she? Funny, Wolfe had asked her the same thing on the dock that night. She never stopped to analyze her emotions or happiness regarding her career choice. It had always been something she was committed to and never looked back on. But lately, now that she'd stepped away for a while, a dull ache rested low in her gut, reminding her of what she had left behind. She longed for patients, and the surge of energy when faced with a case, and the calmness within the storm at the first cut of the scalpel. The world fell away, and she was reminded of who she was. Her destiny.
"Yes," she said softly, staring into his eyes. "For a while I've been a bit lost, looking for confirmation I made the right choice."
He leaned forward. "I think we all do at one point. If we didn't question, would our final choices be worth it?"
She smiled. "You speak like a philosopher rather than a scientist."
Charles laughed. "I guess I do. I've always been what you would term an old soul. I made mistakes along the way but I can't regret them."
"Agreed."
Their food arrived, and they fell into easy conversation. Besides emanating a delicious sexual energy, Charles was sharp, polite, and funny. By the end of the dinner, her heart pounded with a mad glee. She might have been out of the game for a while, but she'd bet her life they had electricity. As they walked out of the restaurant, he held her elbow in a firm grip, steering her down the sidewalk toward her car. Anticipation flowed through her veins, as sweet as the sauvignon blanc she'd drunk. Oh, how badly she wanted to take a wild leap and do something crazy. To allow her body to finally release all the constraints of her mind and past time with David. To stop questioning her ability to attract men, surrender to sex, and please her mate.
"I've had a wonderful time meeting you, Gen," he drawled. They stopped near her Ford Fusion. "It's quite rare I have such an in-depth, interesting conversation on an initial meeting."
She loved the way he spoke, a combination of scholarly and lilting syllables, like music paired with the perfect lyrics. Gen turned and tilted her head up. His brown eyes were soft, and twin dimples winked at her in the moonlight. Ignoring her pounding heart, she leaped into the unknown and swore to enjoy the fall.
"I feel the same. Perhaps we should continue this fascinating conversation at my place?" Her voice trembled so slightly, Gen prayed he wouldn't notice. She pursed her lips just a bit to give him a bit of temptation. Hopefully. Her palms sweat. This was scary. But she wasn't far off, there were vibes coming from him that told her he was attracted.
He gave a soft, sexy laugh and took her hands. She tried not to wince at the evidence of her nervousness when he squeezed gently. "You are a delight. May I be completely honest?"
"Absolutely."
He leaned in. Her gaze settled on his full mouth. Wolfe flashed in her memory, but she shoved the image hard and fast, refusing to lose this opportunity.
"You are the total package. But after my divorce, I made myself a promise. I married the first time because I thought it was the obvious next step. She was smart, kind, and funny. But I loved her as a friend, not a passionate partner." He lifted her hands and pressed a soft kiss to her sweaty palms. "You remind me of her. We would have fun, be companionable, but there would never be the spark I need in a relationship. The raw passion I'm looking for. But of course, you feel the same way. You must also realize we don't have that type of fiery connection that makes us crazy, ache to drop into bed, and make love until we both fall apart. We just have . . . friendship."
Gen blinked. Her heart stopped pounding and paused. The wild leap into the unknown had turned into a free fall that ended in a tangle of broken limbs splashed over hard, cold concrete. Numb, she managed an enthusiastic nod. "Yes, yes, of course. I completely agree, I was just enjoying our friendly discussion."
He smiled back. "As was I. I will tell Kate we are not meant for another date, but I do hope to see you again, Genevieve. You were wonderful company for a lonely soul."
She plastered on a fake smile, managed to suffer through a peck on the cheek, and waved as he headed toward his own car. Crowds spilled onto the streets, enjoying the warm night air. White lights twinkled amid the row of trees lining the sidewalk. Her gaze caught on a younger couple wrapped up in each other, their hands stroking over each other as if unable to tear themselves away from breaking contact, laughs low and intimate, creating a bubble no onlooker or stranger could break.
Gen slid into her seat and turned on the ignition. She drove carefully back home to her bungalow, focused on the road in front. She parked at the curb, noting Wolfe's car was gone. Good. He had done as she requested. Grabbing her purse, she let herself into the silent house and flicked on a few lights. Looked around. And wondered why she couldn't seem to feel a thing.
She stood by the door for a long time. An empty beer bottle lay on the counter. Wolfe had a terrible habit of forgetting to clean up after h
imself. He'd make an awful husband, probably driving his wife insane, nagging him to put his clothes in the hamper, the wet towels on the rack, and his dirty dishes in the sink. Shaking her head, she went into the kitchen, rinsing out the bottle and putting it into the recycling bin. She wiped down the counters and loaded a few stray dishes in the washer. Maybe she'd have a nice glass of wine and relax. There was a lot on her DVR to watch.
Gen pulled out a wineglass, filled it with the leftover white she had in the fridge, and sipped it. Maybe a book. She had a huge stack and tons on her Kindle, just waiting to be read. She stood in the silence, wondering again why her mind felt so empty. Odd. Usually she had a train of thoughts mingling in chaos, except when she was in the OR. Maybe that's why being a doctor was such a turn-on. To finally turn off all those thoughts was such a relief.
David had told her many times she was too impulsive and needed to approach the world with more rational, logical thoughts. She'd tried many times to tell him when she surrendered to her gut the voices stopped and everything slid into place, but he disagreed. She'd tried so very hard to change. She had loved David, respected him, and wanted to be worthy. Never got there though.
How long were they together before they lost their way? How had he turned so cold and vicious? She did remember hours spent in the bedroom in the beginning, but had he been faking it even then? Was he intrigued by her, but not attracted in that primitive, masculine way men needed to be truly in love? Maybe she couldn't inspire that type of lust.
Gen set the glass down carefully on the counter. Her heels clicked as she walked into the bedroom and sat on the edge of the bed. She stared at the wall for a while. Such a pretty soft blue. But Mrs. Blackfire was right. Lots of work to do on the house. It really needed a painting and some handiwork. She had time now. Wasn't a doctor. Didn't have a relationship. And no crazy one-night stands for her. She just wasn't the type, whether or not she got a Brazilian wax or a tattoo or spent hours in the bathroom trying to inspire men and their sexual hunger.
A yawning despair yanked her down hard, into the pit of depression she'd fought on and off over the past year. The realization she might never find what she longed for--a love that was whole and beautiful. A passion that transcended reality and grasped the physical body in a merciless grip of abandon. Kate had. Kennedy, too. Alexa. Lance. It was out there.
Not for her though.
Gen looked down at her sexy dress, and fuck-me heels. The generous curves that exploded out of the fabric. She touched her curls, which were already springing crazily around her head. Funny, she hadn't realized she was crying until her fingers came away wet. There went the eye makeup. She imagined streaks of mascara, giving her a raccoonlike appearance.
She battled the raging storm, but it was too much. The emotions swept over her like a tsunami, pulling her under, pieces of debris poking and shredding flesh, and then the sobs broke from her chest and she let herself go.
Gen ducked her head and cried. She cried for the loss of David. For the constant doubts that had plagued her ever since she'd given her heart to another for care, and limped away halfway broken. For her confusion, her weakness, her doubts.
For the awful, real feelings she had for her best friend.
She didn't know how much time passed, but slowly the tears stopped and the tiny piece of calm grew. Gulping in deep breaths, she allowed the last of her grief and anger and sadness to spill out of her body.
Gen never heard him.
Like the knight he was, Wolfe appeared. He sat down next to her on the bed and wrapped her in his strong, familiar arms. His blistering body heat melted Gen's ice and stiffness, and she relaxed into him, still sniffling, burying her face into soft, fragrant cotton. His lips pressed the top of her head, and his voice murmured sweet, soothing words until her gulping sobs finally calmed. For a little while, she surrendered, giving it all over to him, and in doing so, was able to let it go completely.
The lightness returned. Peace. He hugged her against his rock-hard chest, his arms bands of steel refusing to soften. She'd never felt so protected and cherished, and she fell quiet, completely drained.
"Sweetheart, are you hurt? Please tell me."
She shook her head against him, refusing to look up.
"Did he do something to you? Touch you? Hurt you?"
She shook her head hard again.
"I'm trying not to lose it and go completely apeshit, sweetheart." His body began to shake, and Gen finally realized he was barely holding on to his control. "Just tell me who did this and I'll take care of it. Give me a name."
She sniffed. "No one. I'm not hurt. Why are you here? You promised."
He let out a strangled laugh. "I tried. I got halfway home, then turned back around. Figured I'd park down the street and sleep in the car. I needed to be sure you were okay."
Her heart tore. He was so good to her, so sweet and kind, and all she wanted was for him to crave her in a crazy, primal way, to strip her, fuck her, bite her, claim her.
Gen slowly pushed him away and looked up. She probably looked scary. Ugly. Broken. Hot anger chopped through her in ragged waves. Screw this. Screw him. Screw them all.
She shut down and spoke coolly. "Thank you yet again for trying to save me, but I'm okay. No need for your armor tonight. Sorry for the drama."
His gaze narrowed. His eyes shot streams of sapphire fire. "Don't play games with me, Gen. What happened tonight on your date? Why did I come home to find you crying your heart out?"
If she stayed close to him, she'd only humiliate herself. Beg him to want her, and then there'd be no going back. She swiped at her eyes and got up from the bed, needing the distance. "Just let it go. I'm a girl, dammit. Sometimes I cry, and I like to do it in private without an audience." She turned from him so he couldn't see her face. "I don't want you here tonight."
"Tough shit."
She spun back around and gasped. The rage was good and clean and sweet, pushing away her silly tears and the pity party she despised. "You have no right to interfere," she snarled. "I gave you space when you wanted to go fuck your date! I didn't ask you a million questions or invade your privacy."
"You didn't find me crying either. I know you, Gen. I've watched you cry over hurt animals, abused children, and those awful chick flicks I hate. This was different. This was a cry from your soul, and I'm gonna find the motherfucker who did it and kill him."
Her eyes widened at his casual statement. Possession and determination carved out the lines of his face. He still sat on the edge of the mattress, staring at her, refusing to cower or give in to her demands. What a good . . . friend.
She took a step forward and practically spat in disgust. "I told you, nothing happened. It wasn't David or Charles or anyone, and I'm not talking about this anymore. Get out."
"No."
"Get out!"
"No. Did he try to make a move on you? Did you freak? I knew this wasn't a good idea. You're not ready for sex without commitment, and if he couldn't handle it I'll teach him a lesson for the next time."
She snapped. Somewhere the thread had gotten plucked so thin there was nothing left holding her to sanity. A sheen of pure red hazed her vision as she teetered on heels too tall and cool for her and gave him the humiliating truth.
"I was the one who wanted him!" she screamed. "You want to hear the whole story? He was perfect. Charming. Sexy. I felt more powerful and energized than I have in a while, so I invited him to my house to sleep with me. And you know what he said? Wanna guess?"
Wolfe remained silent, his gaze trapping her and refusing to let go.
"He said no thanks! He said he married the first time and ended up divorced because he didn't feel a wild passion for his wife. Said she was nice, and a good conversationalist, and funny. Everything I was. But not sexy. Not enough to tempt a man to lose his mind and heart to her. So there's that. I failed again. I'm good as a companion, and a colleague, and a friend, and that will have to be good enough." She let out a wild laugh and pushed her
curls back, not caring anymore that she was a mess. "So David was right, and nothing's going to change it. Not a stupid tattoo, or a matchmaking service, or a wax."
He made a move to get up, but she lost it, knowing once she spotted the pity in his eyes she might never be the same. "Don't you dare feel sorry for me! I need you to leave. I'm begging you to go out the door and give me time. Tomorrow I'll put myself back together and everything will be fine." Her voice broke but she pushed on. "I just need some time alone. To process. Please, Wolfe, please just go."
She had nothing left, so she turned and walked toward the window. He didn't move from the edge of the bed. Didn't breathe. She pressed her forehead to the cool pane of glass and prayed to finish this awful night in isolation. Tomorrow she'd get her shit together and it would be okay. But tonight all bets were off, and she felt dangerously out of control . . . on the pinnacle of something so fierce she didn't know how to handle it.
The mattress creaked. Shoes hit the floor. She held her breath and waited for the blessed silence, but instead of heading out, he stopped right behind her. His body heat roped her in and pulled tight, like a helpless calf at the rodeo. She held the windowsill in a deathlike grip, sensing him closing the distance inch by precious inch, until his chest pressed against her back.
"Look at me."
The rough growl was full of danger, command, heat. She was helpless to disobey, leaving the safety of the window to turn and face him full-on. He reached out and tipped her chin up.
Blistering, raw lust shot from his eyes. As if they were glowing from under the sea in the Caribbean, she tumbled into the depths of a gaze that promised everything with a Warning: Danger label attached. His grip tightened, refusing to allow her to retreat, and he crowded her space by taking another step between her thighs. The sill dug into her lower back. His scent drowned out everything but the need to touch him, feast, taste--the delicious mix of lemon and soap and cotton surrounding her.
"I need you to listen closely, because I'm only going to say it once. Understood?"
Her lips parted. This was no friend. This was a deadly man with an agenda. Transfixed, she nodded, unable to form words, mere prey beneath the command of a dangerous predator.