ERIC STEPPED OUT of the hot shower and grabbed a thick, fluffy towel from the warming rack. It was so good to be back in the hotel, with a real mattress and electricity and hot running water on demand.
Though he could honestly say he’d enjoyed the kayaking trip immensely. After all, he’d seen orcas. Humpbacks. Sea lions, seals, eagles and grizzlies on the final day during a fun boat ride. And he’d kissed Molly. That part left him happy and yet unsatisfied. It had been tamer than 90 percent of his make-out sessions as a teenager, but it had been amazing, too.
And now they were back in Campbell River, in the lap of luxury, in a hotel with a small gift shop that carried condoms. If it didn’t happen, it wouldn’t be because neither of them were prepared.
And he wanted it to happen. Her flip into the water and subsequent nightmare had awakened all his protective instincts. He frowned a little as he looked in the bathroom mirror. Molly was an independent, successful woman. She didn’t really need him in a material sense, but he got the feeling she did in an emotional and physical sense. His stomach plummeted. Was that what Murielle had been saying all along, and he was too stubborn to see it? Had she really wanted him and not the financial security he could provide? He’d spent so many years ensuring those he cared about had enough—a place to live, food on the table. What if he’d got that wrong?
He didn’t dare dwell on that tonight, so after he’d shaved, he pulled on a pair of jeans and a soft cotton shirt, doing up the buttons while thinking about the night ahead. Molly had said that she was going to get a massage and then have a hot bath before dinner, and he’d asked her to join him for the meal. Not with the group, but just the two of them, at their own table. There’d been a moment of hesitation, and then she’d smiled and said yes. The tour group already assumed they had coupled up; it was evident in the assessing yet friendly looks and the way they were often paired together in conversation. And who gave a damn about appearances, anyway?
He had, for a long time. But not now. At least not at this moment.
At the appointed hour he went to her room and knocked on her door. She opened it and for a moment he was speechless. She looked...amazing. Her dress was deep red and wrapped around her body with a tie at her left hip, so that the vee of the neckline hinted at her cleavage and the fabric draped over the curve of her hips. She wore heels, which put her only an inch or so shorter than him, and her hair... She’d done something with it to make it all curly, and then twisted it up somehow in the back, revealing the elegant column of her neck. And she wore makeup tonight, more than he’d seen her wear before. Her eyes glowed and her lips were plump and shiny...and he had the thought that maybe they could skip dinner altogether. He’d loved her figure in her go-to yoga pants and tops on the kayak trip, but right now she was a flat-out bombshell.
“Wow,” he said, swallowing hard, thinking he sounded like an idiot. All those thoughts and all he could get out of his mouth was “wow”?
“I wanted to dress up,” she said softly, reaching for her purse. “You don’t mind?”
“Are you kidding? Except I feel incredibly underdressed.” He should have at least put on a tie.
“Not at all. You look...”
She hesitated, and despite the makeup, her cheeks colored.
“I look what?” he asked, wanting to hear her say it. He didn’t know if tonight was going to be foreplay or torture but he was willing to go along with it and find out.
“You look nice,” she said, stepping out of the room and shutting the door.
But he touched her arm and stood in front of her, so that his body partially blocked her from skirting around him. “Nice is too bland a word for a woman with a vocabulary like yours,” he murmured. Their bodies brushed and he felt her inhale with a shiver. Oh, the attraction was still there. Still simmering.
“If I tell you what I thought, we won’t leave my hotel room. And as good as that sounds, I’m actually very hungry.”
He stepped aside as he laughed. “That I’ll believe. It’s been a long time since lunch.”
Molly looked a little surprised at how he moved aside, so he gave a shrug. “There’s no rush. We have all night. If we want it.”
She didn’t answer. But that was fine, too. When the time came, he’d be sure they were both on the same page. Eyes wide open.
The dining room was about two-thirds full, but the host led them to a table for two, seated next to a wall of windows that overlooked the forest. Twilight was setting in, so that the trees looked more like forms and shadows than branches and leaves, but that was just fine. His attention, for once, wasn’t going to be on the view.
They ordered starters of crab cakes and a glass of white wine, and he let her guide the conversation around their trip thus far, an easy and enjoyable topic. While Molly ordered planked halibut for her entrée, Eric decided on a small striploin and added king crab legs to it, and then they tried new wines to pair with each dish. They lingered long into the evening, sharing long glances and smiles, moving on to talking about their jobs and their lives.
The more Molly talked, the livelier her eyes became, sparkling and teasing. He picked at his potato, wondering why he couldn’t have met her years ago. Even though he shouldn’t have, he found himself comparing her to Murielle and realized that Murielle had that cool reserve thing going on but Molly...she was warm and vibrant.
“You’ve gone quiet,” she said, leaning over and touching his hand. She left her fingers on his skin and he turned his hand over and clasped hers.
“Sorry. Just thinking.”
“About?”
“How I wish I’d met you ten years ago.”
Her eyes widened but she smiled. “Don’t say things like that, Eric. Remember, we only have a few days together. Then we have to go back. We have jobs. Responsibilities.”
“I know.”
And he did know. He ran a multibillion-dollar corporation. He didn’t have the luxury of taking a flight of fancy. Just a small detour.
“I’m glad we met,” she continued, squeezing his fingers. She looked down, then met his gaze again. “To be honest, I was starting to wonder if I had this in me.”
“Had what?” He frowned, not quite understanding.
“This sense of adventure. Of...fun. My life back home...it’s different. That night at the auction? That’s my typical evening out. A fund-raiser. A dinner with the right people, or perhaps catching up with some college friends who want to share success stories. It’s not exactly...real. Some of our clients are very high-profile.” She tapped the side of her nose and said, “Like a certain actor who has a summer home on the Cape where he lives with his ex’s best friend.”
He remembered the story. Not that he paid much attention to tabloids, but it had been everywhere. You had to live under a rock to not know who she was talking about.
It also meant that such high-profile clients meant high-profile fees. She’d bid over twenty thousand dollars on this trip. He knew because she’d outbid him by a mere hundred dollars. She certainly didn’t need a man to make her feel secure or to provide for her. Molly had accomplished that all on her own.
It was kind of refreshing, actually. Because he knew she wasn’t hanging on to him because of his money. In the months since the divorce, he’d approached every date with a sense of cynicism in that regard. But not with Molly.
“So you’re really getting out?”
She nodded. “Yeah. I’m not sure how yet. I mean, I could take time off and be fine, of course. But I need a purpose. I’d like to find that first before I pull the plug.”
“Makes sense.”
“What about you?”
He gave his head a small shake. “What about me?”
“Will life be the same for you when you go back?”
No, he wanted to answer, but he held back. The truth was, he wasn’t satisfied with his life, either, but had no idea what he’d change. There’d be no Molly. The thought dampened his mood, like snuffing out a candle. One thing he’d definitely like to do, though, was reconnect with his family more, so he said so.
“I’d like to hang out with my brothers again. See if we can’t fix what went wrong. And my mother, too.” He sighed. “Looking back, I might have contributed more to the problem than I thought. I kept telling myself that my family thought I was too good for them. But maybe—maybe I thought it, too.”
“Oh, Eric. I’m sorry. It’s not too late, though.”
“I hope not. I mean, when my dad left, it fell to me to kind of hold things together, you know? I was the oldest. For me it was all about having enough food on the table. Clothes for the boys for school. Making sure the heat wasn’t turned off in the winter.”
That was how he’d defined caring for someone. But what if that wasn’t what they wanted? Had they wanted more of him and less of his money?
“It’s a lot for a young boy to take on. I’m sure they know how hard you worked and appreciate it.”
But he wasn’t sure they did, so he turned the spotlight back on her.
“What about your family? How do you think they’ll take you leaving the firm?”
She shrugged, but her eyes grew troubled. “I don’t know. I want to believe they’ll want me to be happy. That they won’t see it as a betrayal. I know they love me. I think they’ve just never seen me for me, and like you, I’m partly to blame. I went along with what they wanted because I didn’t want to rock the boat. I was the child that lived, you see.” She took a drink of wine, put down her glass. “I can stand up to anyone in my job. But it’s different when it’s your daddy.”
He wouldn’t know, but he knew what she meant.
“Now,” he said, brightening his voice, “let’s leave the heavy topics behind for a better one. What’s for dessert?”
“Oh, after that meal, I really shouldn’t.”
“Why not?”
“Oh, you know the old saying. ‘A moment on the lips, forever on the hips.’” She rolled her eyes a bit, but he pinned her with his gaze.
“Molly Quinn. There is nothing wrong with your hips. Or any other part of your body, either. Trust me.”
She looked up, met his gaze and said blankly, “You’re only saying that because I’m wearing Spanx under my dress.”
“I am not. I’m pretty sure you weren’t wearing that when we were kayaking, or snorkeling, and let me tell you, I couldn’t take my eyes off you.”
She paused, and seemed to go back and forth in her mind for a minute. And then she said, “Screw it. Let’s have dessert.”
He handed her the menu with a silent promise to himself that if he had the chance, tonight they’d work off any dessert calories and more.
Damn, he was going to miss her when this was over.
Molly savored every bite of dinner, and when her white-chocolate crème brûlée came, she was determined to enjoy it, too. She ordered a glass of ice wine to go with it, while Eric ordered a cognac and also some sort of flourless chocolate torte that looked divine.
“You can taste mine if I can taste yours,” he said, peering around the candles at her ramekin. “That looks incredible.”
Indeed it did. White-chocolate shavings sat prettily atop the torched crust of the dessert, along with a bright, fat raspberry. “Deal. But I get to break the crust.”
He grinned. “Of course.”
She pierced it with her spoon and scooped up the first bite. Taste exploded in her mouth—rich creamy custard and the white chocolate that somehow had a hint of vanilla in it. “Oh, my God. Go ahead. It’s incredible.”
He took a spoonful and she watched as he put the utensil to his lips. Lord, he was pretty. Maybe she should think handsome, but his face was so perfect, his eyes so heavily lashed. More than once tonight she’d seen him catch the attention of single women in the room. And yet he seemed completely unaware.
She was still trying to digest what he’d told her about his family tonight. To go from worrying about having enough to eat to being a billionaire—what a transformation. It took a strong, determined man to achieve what he had.
When he’d tasted, he offered her his plate. “Try it. It looks decadent.”
It was. The complete opposite from her white chocolate and custard, the torte was dense and dark and sinfully delicious.
“This was such a good idea,” she said and sighed.
“I don’t know why you think you shouldn’t eat dessert. There’s nothing wrong with your figure.”
“Well, I’m not a size six like my mom. She’s worked diligently to keep it that way since college.”
“So what?” Eric took a bite of his torte, and also took a moment to enjoy it. When he opened his eyes he smiled at her. “Who needs you to be a size six? Who needs you to be anything other than who you are?”
She sat back. “You have to understand. Hearing you say that sounds so...foreign. Particularly when who I am is rarely good enough, or hinges on...”
She stopped, then met his gaze. “Hinges on me doing what my family thinks is right for me.”
“I can’t understand how this happened. You just don’t seem like the type, you know?”
“I know. I truly think it goes back to my brother. I felt the weight of all that expectation. It made me feel responsible. As if maybe, if I could fulfill the dreams they had for him, it would somehow take away the pain of his death.” She deliberated for a moment, then confessed, “He was the one who saved me in the water that day. Two months later, he was gone. He saved my life only to lose his. Tell me that isn’t cruel and unfair.”
He didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to. She knew how it sounded.
She defiantly ate another bite of dessert, and then Eric said quietly, “So you have a good case of survivor’s guilt. But you can’t always live your life for him, Molly.”
“I know. And my parents are good people. Privileged, yeah. But when he died, I remember the horrible weight of grief around the house. How my mom hugged me a little too tight at night, and Dad walked around looking as if he’d been kicked. I tried to make it better however I could. To make it up to them somehow.” She was abashed to find tears on her lashes. She dotted them away with her napkin and took a steadying breath.
“Then maybe they’ll be proud of you for being you, too.”
“Maybe. I think, though, they’ll see it as a betrayal. And I’m not sure how to get around that. I’d like their support.”
“You’ll have it.”
“How do you know?”
He leaned forward. “Because anyone who really knows you can’t resist you.”
Heat rushed up her cheeks. “Oh, go on.”
He laughed. “I said it and I meant it.”
They finished their dessert and then it was time for the bill. Eric signed off on it, reminding her that he’d been the one to ask her to dinner, and then put his hand solicitously along her back as they left the dining room. She leaned into the feeling of his warm palm, protective and only a little bit possessive, not shying away from the fact that they were together. And then they ambled back to the guest rooms.
“I have a bottle of red in the room. Care for a nightcap?” he asked.
They both knew he was asking her to his room for more than a glass of wine, and Molly considered the clothes she was wearing. She still wasn’t confident, but if Eric were going to see her undressed tonight, she didn’t want his first image to be that of her supportive undergarment that “smoothed out her lumps.”
“I have one in my room as well,” she replied. “Compliments of the tour company. There’s no way I can drink it all myself.”
He tugged on her hand and she turned around so they were facing. He leaned in and put his lips to hers, the touch warm and firm and surprisingly gentle.
“What was that for?” she asked, when he’d pulled away.
“Something to keep me going until we get there.” He kissed her again, until her knees felt like jelly and she found herself melting into his arms. If he kissed her like that again, they’d never make it back to her room.
Somehow they did, and she got out her key with trembling fingers. With one foot in front of the other she made it inside the room, while he shut the door with a firm click behind her.
Wine. Wine would buy her some time to get herself together.
She went to the table and opened the bottle, putting it down to let it breathe a bit. Eric stood in the middle of the room, in his jeans and shirt, looking good enough to eat. Her throat tightened. Where had all this nervousness come from? It wasn’t like this was her first time, after all. And yet the way his dark eyes settled upon her had her unnerved.
“Moll,” he said softly, and she crossed to him, slipping into his arms as he kissed her fully this time, a bit wildly, and very differently from any of the times before. This kiss was openmouthed and hot, with very little in the way of restraint. Her body shook as she kissed him back, then moved away when he reached for the tie on the side of her dress.
“Wait a minute,” she said, more breathless than she cared to admit. She stepped back and put her hands to her cheeks. “Just...give me a few minutes. Why d-don’t you—you p-pour the wine, okay?” She was stammering but couldn’t seem to stop, even when she took a reassuring breath. “O-okay. I’ll be back in a few minutes.” And with that she darted away, grabbing a slip of silk from a drawer as she rushed to the bathroom.
Inside, she braced her hands on the edge of the sink while she tried to control her breathing. A glance in the mirror showed bright eyes and dots of color in her cheeks, as well as a few strands of hair loosened from her messy topknot. She left her hair as it was, then pressed a cool washcloth to her cheeks. This was it. When she went back out there they were going to go to bed together. He was going to see her...but she remembered how he said he liked curves and she hoped to God he wasn’t lying. With trembling fingers she untied the bow at her waist and the dress gaped open. Beneath it was her body shaper, and she peeled it off, then examined herself in the mirror. She had curves—so what? And a little paunch, but then, who didn’t? Why did she need to be perfect?
She left her panties on and then shimmied into the nightgown she’d snagged from her drawer, a peach silk-and-lace one that was held up by spaghetti straps and fell to just above her knee—it was pretty and feminine and made her feel indulgent. For once she was grateful for her love of expensive underwear. It wasn’t the raciest outfit, but it wasn’t exactly her grandmother’s flannel nightie, either.
She could do this. She wanted to do this.
And so, with one last deep breath, she opened the bathroom door and stepped out. Eric was waiting with two glasses of wine in his hands, and his eyes widened when he saw her.
“Goddamn,” he breathed, stepping forward. “You’re beautiful, Molly. Maybe the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”
He handed her a glass of wine, and for once, she truly believed him.