All Night Woman: A Contemporary Romance (5 page)

Holly bit her lip and looked at Adam, who shrugged.  “He’s right.  Liz will be in good hands, Holly.”

Miles appreciated the endorsement.  He looked toward the blonde –
Liz
– to see what her reaction was.  If he had expected her to look pleased with the idea, he would have been disappointed.  Her resignation came through loud and clear. 

“It’s alright, Holly.  You should get that hand checked out right away, and if Miles doesn’t mind, well... I’d just like to go home, if that’s okay with you.”

Miles added
agreeable
and
sensible
to her bio. 

Holly didn’t look entirely convinced, but she nodded and gave her friend a hug.  “Happy Birthday, Liz.  I’m sorry it didn’t end on a better note.”

Liz returned her smile, but with obvious effort.  “Are you kidding?  We’ll be laughing about this for years to come.”

“Just not tonight,” Holly said.

“Just not tonight,” Liz agreed.

A
s humiliating experiences went, the night ranked right up there at the top of the list.  Setting aside the fact that she’d over-imbibed, she had also done the bump-and-grind on stage in front of a packed audience with a couple of guys who were at least ten years younger than she was.  If that wasn’t bad enough, she had thrown up on a staff member and spent the next several hours in a police station.

And now the hottest, sexiest guy she had ever met was driving her sorry ass home.

Way to go, Elizabeth Christine Benning
.  Since her mother wasn’t there to utter the dreaded full-name admonishment, Liz stepped up and did it herself.

She sat as far over on the passenger side as possible, hoping that she didn’t smell like vomit.  She didn’t think she did; the humiliating faux pas had been pretty straight-forward and the Security guard’s shoes had gotten the brunt of it, but she’d given herself an extra spritz or two of her favorite rose-scented body spray just in case.  That and the tin of peppermint Altoids she was currently munching her way through should cover the worst of it.

He –
Miles
- smelled absolutely wonderful, of course.  His dark, rich scent – Obsession for Men, if she wasn’t mistaken – filled the truck’s interior.

Liz sighed.  She was a sucker for Obsession.  Had been ever since she first smelled it on a guy in the grocery store.  She ended up stalking him for several aisles that day, until she finally got up the courage to ask him what cologne he was wearing.  He had been appreciative.  His pregnant wife, not so much.

And why did Adam’s brother have to look like a slightly older version of Damon Salvatore?  Vampire Diaries was one of Liz’s never-miss shows.  In her mind, Ian Somerhalder’s character represented the epitome of everything a man should look like.  Just her luck that his doppelganger had to show up just when she was at her finest.

It was official.  The universe was out to get her.

* * *

T
he blonde – Liz – didn’t say much.  She remained quiet, as far away as she could physically get in the relatively small cab interior.  Miles shot occasional glances her way, thinking that maybe she had fallen asleep, but she hadn’t.  Her pretty blue eyes were open, reflecting the muted lights of the dashboard GPS.

He opened his mouth more than once, thinking a little light conversation might ease some of her obvious discomfort, but strangely enough, he was at a loss.  That was not a problem he had often; one of the reasons he was a successful salesman was his knack for sensing and being able to say what people wanted to hear.

“I’d forgotten how bleak everything looks around here in January,” he said finally, wincing when he realized he’d actually talked about the
weather
.

“Yes,” she agreed, so softly he barely heard it over the white noise of the defroster.

He waited for the standard questions: 
Oh, are you originally from around here?  How long has it been?  Where do you live now?
– but none came.  Unused to such a response (or lack thereof), he had a few questions of his own:  Was she shy?  Not feeling well?  Embarrassed?  Or just wiped out?

Never once did he consider she wasn’t interested.  He’d seen the spark in her eye the moment she’d laid eyes on him, the same spark that he’d seen in countless other women’s.

Maybe she was playing hard to get.  Some women did that, thinking that men enjoyed the illusion of the hunt.  He was on the fence about that.  Sometimes he liked a challenge; other times he appreciated the efforts of a woman who knew what she wanted and wasn’t afraid to go after it.

He couldn’t figure out into which category Liz fell.  Initially, he would have guessed that any woman willing to get up on stage with a bunch of male dancers was the bold type, but her docile behavior in his presence didn’t support that theory.

“Are you warm enough?” he asked a couple of minutes later.

“Yes, thank you.”

She didn’t even look his way.  Not once.

“If you start feeling queasy, just say the word.”

That got a little smile out of her, but it was such a sad smile that he regretted saying anything.  And she still didn’t look at him.  “I think I’m good.”

Maybe it was just as well.  The winds had knocked the accumulated snow off of the trees lining the mountain highway, making the road surface slick enough to warrant his full attention.

But damn, she looked so sad. 

“So it’s your birthday, huh?”

She nodded.

Hmmm
.  Maybe that was part of the problem.  Women had issues with birthdays, didn’t they?  Especially milestones.  His practiced eye skimmed over her.  She couldn’t be that old; definitely younger than his forty.  Thirty, maybe?

“Twenty-nine?” he ventured, erring on the edge of caution.

She did look at him then, and for one brief moment, gifted him with a genuine smile.  She had a very pretty smile.  Unfortunately, it faded all too quickly.  “No, but thanks for that.  I appreciate the effort.”

She went back to staring out the window, and he frowned.  She acted as though he only said that to humor her.  Well, hell.  So much for his attempt to cheer her up a little.  He clamped his lips shut and vowed not to say another word for the rest of the trip.

“This is me,” she said forty minutes later.  Miles pulled into the driveway and looked up at the relatively new-looking condo, appreciating the clean, simple lines.  It was nice, though he preferred architecture with a bit more ‘personality’.  At one time, in another lifetime, he’d had dreams of designing his own buildings.  He was going to design them, Adam was going to build them. 

But it simply was not meant to be.

She gave him a polite smile.  “Thanks for the ride.  I’m sorry you had to go so far out of your way.”

“It’s not that far,” he countered.  “And you’re welcome.”  Miles got out and walked around to the passenger side.  She seemed surprised when he opened the door for her.  Even more so when he began to walk with her.

“You don’t need to walk me to my door.”

“I don’t mind.”  The street and sidewalk were well-lit and it looked like a nice-enough neighborhood, but one couldn’t be too careful.  In his opinion, a woman walking alone late at night was never a good idea.

This seemed to amuse her.  “You’re the old-fashioned type.  Like Adam.”

He shrugged.  Did he think he was old-fashioned?  No, not really.  But if she thought so, that was fine by him.  He stood protectively behind her, scanning the bushes and the surrounding area while she extracted her keys.  Damn, it was cold.  He shoved one hand into his pocket, but kept the other out and at the ready to open the door for her.

“Would you... would you like to come in?” she said unexpectedly.

It was a tempting offer, and not just for the usual reasons.  As the best friend of his future sister-in-law (maybe), she might be a wealth of knowledge, knowledge which he might be able to use to his advantage in getting his brother to reconsider his hasty decision to tie the knot.  One thing he’d learned in the sales and marketing game – always know the players, their strengths and their weaknesses. 

But she’d obviously had a rough night of it and was probably just extending the invitation as a polite thank-you for the ride.  He couldn’t use her like that, not under those circumstances.

“No, thanks,” he said.

She blinked and nodded, but not before he caught the flash of disappointment in her eyes.  Maybe she really did want him to stick around for a bit?  Or maybe she was doing the same thing he was and was hoping for a little backstory on his brother.

“Okay.  Thanks again for the ride.”

Miles decided to go with his instincts.  “Wait.  Maybe I could go for a cup of coffee, if it’s not too much trouble.”

T
he moment the words were past her lips, Liz wanted to take them back.  What the hell was she thinking?  She was tired, feeling more than a little sorry for herself, and the pounding in her head was getting worse with every passing minute.  All she wanted to do was stand under a hot shower, crawl beneath the covers, and try to forget this night ever happened.

He just drove twenty miles out of his way along icy mountain roads in sub-freezing temperatures so you wouldn’t have to spend half the night in the ER with the lovebirds. The least you can do is offer him a cup of coffee.

Well, there was that.

“I hope you’re okay with Keurig,” she said apologetically as she took his overcoat, discreetly sniffing the unique scent of cold air, Miles Grayson and Obsession. 
Alexandre Mattiussi.  Nice.
  “Since it’s just me, the single cups are ideal.”

Way to go, Liz.  Draw attention to the fact that you’re lonely enough not to warrant a four-cup coffee maker.

“Keurig is fine,” he said kindly.

She led him through the casual living space and into the kitchen, glad that she’d had the foresight to finish up her ironing and tidy up before her night out.  He sat at the two-person breakfast bar (the only one besides Holly who had ever done so).  Liz placed the rotating carousel of single-cup brew choices in front of him.

“Pick your poison,” she told him, while she topped off the coffee machine’s reservoir with bottled spring water.  Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him spin the device once and make his selection.

“Good choice,” she said, accepting the rich, dark blend.  “That’s my favorite.”

He smiled.  He had such a nice smile, she thought with a sigh.  It revealed the slightest hint of a dimple on the left side and extended up into his eyes.  If only he were here under different circumstances.

“You look beat,” he said.  “Maybe I should be going.”

“No, please,” Liz said.  “A cup of coffee is the least I can do.”

“Tell you what.  Why don’t you go and get changed and pop a few aspirin and let me make the coffee?”

“That’s very kind of you, but –“

“Liz, go.”  The smile he gave her was enough to make her heart skip a beat.  “I think I can manage to push a button or two.”

* * *

N
ow that he was inside, he realized his mistake.  What the hell was he thinking?  He shouldn’t be here.  If he was smart, he would have just seen her safely to the door and left it at that. 

He could still slip out quietly while she was in the other room.  She would probably be relieved to come back out and find him gone.

Except... he didn’t want to.

Her townhouse was nice.  Warm.  Comfortable.  Decorated in soothing tones of light creams, sandstone marble, smooth mahogany and deep burgundies that didn’t offend his masculinity.  The light scent of roses and vanilla hung in the air, probably from the assortment of aromatic candles she had sitting on nearly every available surface.

Glancing around the cozy kitchen, he took in the spotless counters, the chef-quality knives, butcher block chopping area, and top-name juicer.  It was the personal space of a woman who liked to cook, and took her meal preparation seriously.

The only thing that looked out of place in the zen-like space was the solitary birthday card propped up against the overflowing bowl of fresh fruit to his left.  It featured a well-built, nearly naked man with the words “Happy Birthday” in cursive script across the front.  A brief peek confirmed what he already suspected - that the card came from Holly, a.k.a.,
Trouble
. 

He looked around, but saw no others.  Didn’t she have any family?  Other friends?  Had no one else known – or remembered?

Liz returned, looking much more comfortable in a pair of lounge pants and a loose top sporting a picture of a sad-looking Eeyore.  Her face was make-up free, her hair loosely braided and hanging over one shoulder. She smelled fresh, as if she had just taken a quick shower.  For one moment he felt a twinge of hope, but given her outfit, she might as well have taped a sign to her chest that said, “Not interested.”

Even more surprising - his cock twitched at the sight of her.

* * *

A
fter a quick shower (purely for her own benefit) and half a bottle of Listerine, Liz finally opted for comfort over fashion.  Miles had already seen her at her worst, and first impressions were lasting impressions.  Re-applying her make-up or donning a matching ensemble wasn’t going to change that.

Besides, it’s not like she actually had a shot with this guy.  Men who looked, dressed, and smelled like him were way out of her league.  Miles Grayson made Troy look like a boy in comparison.  Dark brown-black hair, chiseled features, light blue eyes with the hint of crow’s feet at the corners.  And the way he filled out that Henley?  The man obviously knew his way around the inside of a gym.

Her acceptance of the situation was both cathartic and liberating.  No false expectations, no ridiculous games.  She could relax and be herself.

“Feeling better?” he asked, handing her a cup of coffee.  His lips quirked as he took in her change of appearance.  Hopefully it was based in amusement and not mockery.  After the night she’d had, that might just break her.

Damn, the man looked good in her kitchen.  Self-confidence flowed from him, as if he would be comfortable anywhere.  His eyes drank her in from head to toe in one skillful sweep.  He could probably have a woman panting with just a look from those eyes.  As it was, her heart was pounding and she wasn’t even interested.