Chapter 12

The lights were still on inside the house when Olivia dropped me back home three hours later.

“I don’t want you to be discouraged, Cathy,” Olivia said as I unbuckled my seatbelt. “This was just your first event.”

And if I had anything to say about it, it was my last.

“Tonight was a mish-mash of personality types and age groups. I invited you so you could get a feel for what’s involved in the process. I didn’t expect you to meet or connect with anyone. We need to get together privately so I can figure out the type of man you’re interested in. Then, I can set up something in the future more to your taste level.”

My taste level? Good Lord. If tonight was any indication, there were no men out there who even came close to an appetizer much less a main course.

“Liv, I don’t know if I’m ready for this. I’m busy with the practice, handling Nanny’s affairs.” I swiped my gloved hand in the air. “I’m not sure I have the energy to be involved at the moment.”

She smiled and nodded. “Going out to dinner or a movie with a nice guy doesn’t mean you have to sign a marriage contract, Cath. According to Fiona, all you do is work.”

“Well, yeah. Because I’m busy.”

Duh.

“I get that. But you can take a break every now and again, you know. Just think about it,” she added when I opened my mouth again, ready to protest.

Resigned, I nodded.

“I’ll call you in a few days, and we can grab some lunch, okay?”

“Sure,” I said.

The house was lit and warm when I walked through the front door. I thought Frayne had left the lights on so I wouldn’t come home to a dark, empty house. The moment I closed the door behind me, I realized I was wrong, because the house wasn’t empty at all.

Mac Frayne was seated at my dining room table, a laptop opened in front of him.

“You’re still here.”

Why that blue-eyed and befuddled stare meeting me through those thick lenses was such a turn on was a mystery I didn’t think I’d ever solve, but the moment his dazed gaze zeroed in on me and then cleared, his eyes widening, then narrowing, my legs got a little wobbly and my pulse jumped.

He tugged the glasses off and tossed them onto the table, his gaze never wavering from my face.

“And you’re back early,” he said, rising.

I draped my coat over my forearm, kicked off my shoes, and shrugged. “It wasn’t supposed to be a long, drawn-out evening.”

Frayne took a few steps toward me, the lines in his forehead grooving deeper. “How was it?”

“Horrible,” I said, before I could stop myself. I shook my head as I moved toward the hall closet. “That’s unfair,” I added, as I hung up my coat. “It wasn’t horrible, as much as something not for me.”

I turned and barreled into him. His hands shot out and braced my upper arms.

“Jesus. You don’t make a sound when you move.”

“A lifetime of apartment living,” he said. Once I was sure-footed and guaranteed not to fall into him again, he lowered his hands.

If I’d had any nerve, I would have asked him to put them back. Instead, I swallowed, turned, and walked toward the kitchen, as he asked, “Why wasn’t it something for you?”

I ignored the question. “I’m starving. Have you had anything to eat?”

I wasn’t surprised when he followed me.

“Not since lunch at the inn. Maureen had soup and sandwiches today, which, like everything else she’s served since I’ve been here, were delicious.”

“Mo only knows how to do delicious.” I peeked inside my fridge. “And speaking of…” I pulled out a glass container. “This is fried chicken she gave me this morning. Want some?”

He leaned a hip against the counter and cocked his head. “You don’t mind sharing?”

“We both have to eat.” I put the mashed sweet potatoes she’d sent along in a microwave bowl, then set the timer. “I hope you like your chicken cold because I’m in no mood to wait for the oven to heat.”

That darling little curl popped up in the corner of his mouth. “Cold is fine.”

“Did you read any more of Josiah’s diaries?” I asked while I pulled plates from the cabinet.

When he didn’t answer, I looked over at him. His quizzical head cock was in place again.

“What?”

“I’m curious why you won’t answer my question.”

I stared at the microwave, taking a moment to formulate my answer.

“The whole concept of dating is alien to me. I knew Danny since the second grade, and we got married when we were eighteen. He was the only guy I ever went out with, and it wasn’t even what anyone would consider dating, since we’d been together forever. Having to start all over at this age is”—I lifted one shoulder—“mentally exhausting.”

“Why did you agree to go, then?”

“Because, as my grandmother succinctly put it, it’s time to move on.”

“And you thought hiring a matchmaker was the way to meet someone?”

“I didn’t seek Olivia out. I kind of got railroaded into it.”

I explained how the situation came about while I put the food on the kitchen table. Once seated, I continued. “Before I knew it, I’d agreed to go to tonight’s”—I waved my hand in the air—“thing.”

“So, again, why wasn’t it for you? I don’t know a lot about speed dating, but from what I’ve heard, it’s popular among millennials. Along with right-swipe hookups.” The jagged shake of his head told me all I needed to know how he felt about the way people met these days.

“And that’s the problem.” I pointed my sweet-potato-laden fork at him. “I’m in the wrong age bracket. Call me old-fashioned, but I prefer to meet someone and get to know them organically and over time, not try and stuff the story of my life into three minutes before an egg timer beeps. Even though I didn’t participate, I was tense and stressed watching the others who were. It all seemed…desperate to me.”

I stopped, mortified I’d admitted it, because in truth, that’s what I’d been feeling watching the group tonight.

From the moment we’d arrived at the restaurant, I could tell I’d made a big mistake. The women present were all older than me, had hungry, hopeful gleams in their eyes, and when they caught sight of me, a few of their stares turned hostile. I was all set to beat a hasty retreat when Olivia’s hand at the small of my back propelled me forward.

Part of the restaurant had been cordoned off, a half-dozen tables for two set up in a semicircle. Six women, six men, I assumed.

What was that saying about what happened when you assumed something?

A quick glance back at the hostility bowling my way and I realized it wasn’t because of my outfit or my age, but the fact I had the wrong chromosomes.

With me included, there were eight women. I was better at words than math, but even a five-year-old knew that left a smaller number of men.

With a gentle prod, Olivia shoved me toward the gaggle of women. For the first time in my life, I understood and sympathized with how Daniel must have felt walking into the lion’s den.

“Ladies,” I said, with a head bob and a forced smile.

Silence came back at me. I could stare down the most antagonistic of witnesses in a courtroom without flinching, but for some reason, all my courage flew south as these women glared at me through overly made-up, amateurly applied smoky eyes.

I swallowed the golf ball of fear in my throat.

“How’s everyone doing tonight?” I asked.

Lame, I know, but I was truly out of my element.

“You’re new,” a voice said. “Haven’t seen you before.”

“Y-yes. I’m a…friend…of Olivia’s.” If they thought I posed no dating threat, I figured they wouldn’t disembowel me.

“You joining in tonight, then?”

“Just an observer,” I assured her.

“Hey, aren’t you Fintan O’Dowd’s oldest?”

Another quirk of small town living, especially with a well-known parent: everyone knew who you were and who you were related to whether you knew them or not. Since I didn’t recognize the woman asking, I nodded.

“Thought you was married.” Yup, accused was the correct word.

“I was. I’m a widow. My husband died…was killed. In Afghanistan.”

Immediately, their collective animosity flew right out the restaurant’s front door. They approached me in a cluster, cooing and clicking their tongues in sad support of my plight.

If I’d known that was all it took to get them to put away their invisible pitchforks and blunderbusses, I’d have led with it.

And yes, I know that’s dramatic, but their facial expressions up until then were fifty shades of scary.

A few moments later, Olivia clapped her hands and called us to order.

I stood with her off at the side while she read the rules and held a stopwatch. A small bell sat on the table in front of her. At the first ding, the room went into motion.

The seven women all took their seats while the five men inspected them like hunters evaluating prey, and then made their way to the tables of their choice. I felt bad for the two women who sat solo.

“Don’t worry about them,” Olivia said, when I voiced my concern. “Everyone will have a chance to meet. You want to sit down at one of the tables and give this a go?”

Having a root canal without anesthesia while simultaneously getting my fingernails removed had more appeal. I declined, nicely, and said I just wanted to watch.

“I imagine living in a smaller community, it’s difficult to meet people you don’t already know in some capacity,” Frayne said after I told him what had happened.

I could add wise and sage to the words I used to describe him.

I nodded.

“So.” He took a long pull of water. “You haven’t been involved with anyone since your husband was killed?”

“No. I’ve been busy with my practice, with settling Eileen’s estate, with Nanny.” To my ears, the excuses sounded lame, much as I feared they had when I’d voiced them to Olivia. “Have you, since your wife died?”

He looked down at his plate, then back up at me. “No.”

The haunted shadows were back in his eyes.

“Unlike you, I didn’t get married young. I wasn’t even considering marriage before Cheyanne came into my life. She was a…force.”

There’s a description you don’t hear every day.

“She was the cover designer for one of your books?”

He nodded. “We met at the publisher’s office, discussed the book and her ideas for it. Then she asked me to join her for coffee. Coffee turned to dinner, and within a week she moved into my apartment. Three months later, we were married.”

“Wow. Talk about whirlwind romance.”

His lips pulled in at the corners. “I don’t know if that’s how I’d describe it.”

“Three months from meet to marriage? Colleen would label that whirlwind, and be thankful she didn’t need to plan the details of the ceremony. Nanny Fee would probably sigh—theatrically, because it’s Nanny, after all—and say it was a romance novel come to life.”

“More responsibility than romance, I’m afraid.”

This time I was the one who pulled the head-cock move.

“Cheyanne was pregnant.”

“Oh.”

“Yes. Oh. I did what my parents called the honorable thing and asked her to marry me. In truth, I was surprised when she said yes. Neither one of us was in love with the other.”

He took a long pull of his water while I digested that little piece of info.

“I told her I fully supported whatever she wanted to do with the baby, but I was delighted when she told me she was having it. After we got married and Mabel came along, our lives were, I thought, content.”

Until she died in a car crash with her lover in the front seat, her daughter in the back.

“Anyway.” He shook his head as if clearing it. “Since I’ve gotten out of rehab, I’ve been putting one foot in front of the other every day. Doing everything I can not to fall apart and start drinking again. Having this commission is helpful in keeping my mind occupied with something other than the accident and the aftermath. Plus it’s gotten me out of New York and my apartment.”

In a weird kind of way, our lives were very similar. He’d lost his family, discovering a devastating secret with their deaths, and I’d lost my husband to enemy fire. The difference was I’d already known the secret Danny had kept from me before he died.

“Memories don’t have to be sad,” I said, rising, my empty plate in my hand, and walked to the sink. “My grandmother taught us remembering the good stuff from the past is helpful in moving us all forward.”

This time when I turned around, I wasn’t startled when he was right behind me.

After placing his plate and utensils alongside mine in the sink, he leaned back against the counter, dropped his hands into his pants pockets, and shot me that adorable head tilt, his gaze piercing. “Your grandmother is a wise woman.”

“About most things.” I shook my head. “Some would call her overly involved in her granddaughter’s lives.”

“I envy you that.”

My heart broke a little for him. From what he’d said, and what I’d surmised, his wife and daughter had been his world, his parents uninvolved. He’d mentioned no friends other than his agent. What a sad existence, to be so alone.

Maybe it was the wistful pitch in his voice or the feeling of loneliness lacing it that I understood so well. Maybe it was what Colleen had called the saddest eyes she’d ever seen. Or maybe it was the way he took care with, and cared about, everything except himself. Whatever emotion sparked it, I gave voice to the question plaguing me all evening.

“I need to ask you something.”

“Okay.”

I licked my lips and, as a shout-out to Nanny, girded my loins. “At Shelby’s office, you told me you’d wanted to kiss me that day in the museum but hadn’t because I was married.”

His brows tugged together as he nodded. “At the time I thought you were. And like I said, there are rules about things like that.”

I returned his nod.

He tilted his head a bit.

I swallowed and took a chance. “Do you still want to?”

“Kiss you?”

“Yes.”

He huffed out a breath, ran his hands through the hair at his temples, and then folded his arms across his chest. “More than I want to take my next breath.” With a swift headshake and mirthless laugh he added, “I think I proved it before your sister arrived.”

The answer I’d hoped for. “Okay, then.”

Before I lost all my nerve, I closed the distance between us, unfurled his arms, and hooked them around my waist like I’d dreamed of doing earlier.

His eyes narrowed. “Cathy?”

With my own hands flattened on top of his chest, his heart banging against them, I told him, “I’m no good at games, Mac. I never learned how to play them. I’m a simple girl, so I’ll say this plainly.”

I took a breath, my gaze locked on his. Neither of us blinked. Or moved.

“I want to kiss you, too. For the record, I want to do a whole lot more than kiss you. But I’d like to start there and see where we go.”

“You—what?”

Actions, I’ve always felt, speak volumes. Instead of clarifying with words, I showed him what I meant.

And what I wanted.

The moment my lips pressed against his, my feet left the floor as Mac lifted me up fully against him. One firm tug and I wound my legs around his waist as I’d done the last time I was in his arms, the hem of my cocktail dress riding high up on my thighs to my hips.

With my butt supported and cradled in his warm palms, Mac turned and sat me down on the counter, stepping into the space between my thighs. He never broke contact with my lips.

Now that I’d had a sampling of how delicious he tasted and what an accomplished master he was at the art of kissing, I wanted to learn more. My head fell back as he changed the angle of the kiss and delved deeper, his tongue taking possession of mine, our breaths blending.

Pulling back from the mind-blowing kiss, his forehead grooved, his eyes squinted in the corners as he peered so intently at me he had to be able to glimpse my soul.

“Cathy.” His hands cupped my jaw.

Every nerve in my body was spliced raw from his touch. I squirmed on the cold countertop and lifted my thighs higher around his waist, tugging him in closer.

“Are you sure this is what you want?”

“What? You?”

When he shrugged, I swear his muscles snapped.

“By your own admission, you haven’t been with anyone since your husband died,” he said. “Saying I don’t want to take advantage of it sounds a little ridiculous and archaic, but I mean it. I want you to be sure this is what you want. That I’m…what you want.”

It was my turn to take his face with my hands. When I settled them across his cheeks, he snuggled into them and placed a sweet kiss across one palm. My heart simply sighed.

“I could ask the same thing of you,” I said. “Are you sure you want to do this? With me? Do you want…me?”

“I can’t find the words to tell you how much.” One corner of his delicious mouth lifted as the skin around his eyes pulled in at the corners. “Which is asinine, considering what I do for a living. But yes. I do. I want you. So much.”

He touched his forehead to mine and released a sigh filled with such longing, it literally sang through the air between us.

Or maybe that was me.

“Well, then…” I trailed my hand across his jaw, little pleasure pulses tripping across my fingers from the scruff there, and quipped, “It seems both sides are in agreement. I don’t see the problem with proceeding.”

His face went blank for a moment, and then a quick, free, and utterly charming smile bolted across it. “That sounds an awful lot like lawyer-speak.”

“Obviously, because I’m a lawyer. And I’m done talking.”

With that, I lifted my chin back up and reclaimed his lips. If I thought about it, I could probably trace this uncharacteristic boldness straight back to Nanny’s influence. The woman was nothing if not audacious and daring in her romantic life, two things I’ve never been nor even considered before meeting this man.

In the time it takes for a finger snap to echo, Frayne skillfully seduced my lips apart and then, with a slow, steady, and determined exploration that left me panting and aching, proceeded to make me forget I was anything other than a woman. Lawyer, daughter, widow, be damned.

I was a woman who wanted…craved….hungered for the man my legs were wound around. And from the feel of the material straining below his waist against me, he was ravenous as well. I squeezed my thighs tighter.

He dropped his hands to my thighs—my naked thighs—the roughened pads of his fingers pressing into them. Behind his back, my toes flexed.

I slid my hands up and around his shoulders, cupping his neck all the while nipping and sipping at his delicious lips. The thought sailed through me that I could get used to a daily diet of the taste of this man.

Frayne slid his mouth across my jaw, trailing tiny, wet kisses down the column of my throat. When he took my ear lobe between his teeth and bit down, my butt vaulted up from the counter.

“Your skin is like velvet,” he whispered as he cuddled my ass in his hands. “I’ve never felt anything as soft in my life.”

“Good genes,” I managed to say, while he nuzzled the hollow behind my ear. How I was even able to form a sentence was mind-boggling.

His shoulders shook, and when I pulled back to see his face, my heart stuttered. The dark and sad shadows in his eyes were a memory, replaced now with a glow that turned the pale blue to a brilliant crystal. His mouth was plump and wet—Holy Mother!—and the corners were lifted, two deep and adorable dimples crevassing his cheeks. The thatch of hair had fallen across his brow, delicately shading one eye. I reached up and feathered it back with my fingers. My hand settled across his cheek and temple as I did, and once again Frayne nuzzled against it, as if seeking warmth and solace. The gesture was so tender, so damn endearing, I sighed before I could stop myself.

This man, this damaged, mercurial, heartbroken man, stirred a myriad of emotions within me I was powerless to fight against. His abhorrence of my profession provoked anger and outrage. The tenderhearted manner he exhibited toward my grandmother filled me with a sense of intense joy. The single-minded and focused way he went about his research awed and impressed me. And the attention he gave to everything but himself made me want to pull him into my arms, hold on tight, and do everything I could to care for him and show him how special he was.

Frayne touched my heart in ways no man ever had. The realization was both profound and terrifying.

If I’d learned anything in life, though, fear could either paralyze you or propel you into actions you never knew you were capable of.

The kiss he gave me now was gentle and soft, his eyes open and focused on me. A question flashed in them, and I answered it the only way I could.

The only way I wanted to.

I gave him a gentle shove. When he moved, I slid out of his hold and stood, barefoot, on my kitchen floor.

“Come on.” I grabbed his hand and tugged him out of the kitchen.