Hidden Heart (Windy City #1) Page 2

  “No, it’s not odd at all. To some, it’s just as endearing as calling him honey or sweetheart—perhaps more intimate than those words.” His voice was smooth, firm. She wasn’t sure if she had offended him, or he was trying to teach her something.

  She swung her eyes to the door of the man’s apartment and back to Royce. There was more here than she knew about.

  “I should probably get inside. I’m getting cold. Thank you for walking me home.” She nodded and began to walk up her steps.

  “You aren’t one for hugs and such.”

  She stopped midstride and looked back at him. “That’s a weird thing to say.” She faced him from two steps up.

  He looked up at her. “Not really. I noticed when we left the restaurant you didn’t hug anyone goodbye, and Alex’s kiss made you feel awkward.”

  She didn’t know what to say to him. He was right. “Not every woman likes to be hugged and kissed all the time.” She shot back at him, and he smiled. Not a pleasing smile, but one of knowledge, as though she had just told him some secret he was looking for.

  “You’re right.” He pushed off the railing. “Do you think we could have dinner together? Tomorrow maybe?”

  She looked down at him with narrow eyes. “I don’t know.”

  “I’m not proposing marriage. I’m asking you to dinner.” He pointed out with a grin. There was his dimple again.

  “Okay. One less night of ramen noodles is fine with me.” She shrugged, and he shook his head.

  “You are not as complicated as you would like everyone to believe, Jessica. I’ll pick you up at seven.”

  Before she could respond to his first comment, he turned and walked away. She watched him for a moment then ran up the steps to the safety of her apartment.

  Royce walked into his two bedroom apartment unsure of what he might find when he turned the lights on. The woman he’d spoken of at dinner had been more of serious break-up than he’d let on. She hadn’t taken the split well and was still trying to persuade him to take her back.

  Melody hadn’t been a flimsy dalliance, but she was not what he wanted for the rest of his life either. The time came when he had to break off their relationship because he could tell she was looking for more than he was able to give her. The job offer in Chicago could not have come at a more convenient time. Unfortunately, Melody had found out from a mutual friend where he had landed and began sending “housewarming” gifts once a week.

  When he called to thank her for the first gift, a new set of wine glasses, he kept the conversation short. He deliberately called during her lunch break, knowing she’d have to run into a meeting shortly after the call began. He sent a thank you card after the second gift—a set of martini glasses—and assured her no more gifts were required. The third gift, a set of shot glasses, received no reply from him at all.

  He breathed a sigh of relief when he turned on the lights and didn’t see a package anywhere in sight. He tossed his keys on the nearest table and went to his bedroom in search of something more comfortable to wear.

  He didn’t quite know exactly what to make of Jessica other than he found himself drawn to her. Her attempt to keep her attitude aloof and offer him indifference had failed. He’d noticed the tapping of her fingers on the table when she’d felt his stare on her. She’d wanted to look at him, wanted to see what he was up to, but she’d forced herself to keep her eyes elsewhere.

  The peck Alex gave her before he left had made her uncomfortable. She’d wiped the kiss from her cheek as soon as he’d turned away, and she’d looked awkward, as though her brother had just made a pass at her. She wasn’t one for open affection, no hugs to all of her friends as she left, just a simple wave of her hand. But she had reacted warmly to the couple outside her apartment building. She had watched intently as they’d had their passionate embrace, and she’d listened with keen precision as the woman spoke to her lover.

  What an odd thing to call your lover, she had said.

  He thought about how beautiful her voice would sound when she called him Sir for the first time.

  CHAPTER TWO

  The Date

  Leaves swirled in miniature tornado fashion on the sidewalk with the cool winds. Jessica stood on her steps, hugging her jacket closed. She debated on going back into her apartment to grab a scarf, but decided against it. She did not want Royce in her apartment.

  Keeping things casual would be the best thing for them both. Dinner as friends. Nothing more or less than that. She wasn’t looking for a boyfriend, and if she remained as platonic as possible, he would understand that. She only wished the weather would cooperate in her decision to wait outside.

  “Hey!” She heard his voice call out to her. He was walking down the street toward her; she had expected him to arrive in a cab. She stepped off the steps and greeted him.

  He apparently had the same idea as her about being casual. He wore jeans—and very nicely—as well as a cotton shirt beneath his black coat. His hair looked more relaxed than the previous night, not as much grooming but enough to still remind her of something hot off the presses.

  “Am I late?” He checked his watch.

  “No. No. I just wanted to get some fresh air,” she lied.

  He looked her over with a blank expression, and she fidget slightly under his gaze.

  “That’s one.” He held up a finger in the air, his left eyebrow raised. “Okay, let’s go.” He smiled, turned on his heel, and began walking.

  She stared after him for a brief moment then rushed to catch up to him. “Where are we going?” she asked when she met his stride.

  “My place. Did you bring gloves?” He pulled a pair of knit gloves out of his coat pocket and handed them to her before she answered.

  “Thanks.” She slid her fingers into the warmth of the gloves and stuffed her hands into her coat pockets. They walked in silence for two streets before turning down a third street. She wasn’t sure about heading to his place; the dinner was supposed to be friendly—nothing serious. And what did he mean by “that’s one”?

  “Just there.” He pointed down the street toward a high rise apartment building.

  She stopped mid step and looked at the beautiful building. The marble tiling of the lobby welcomed her love of the gothic architecture that was slowly fading from the city. Lights shone from random windows giving the building the emblematic downtown appearance.

  “You okay?” He turned when he noticed her absence next to him.

  “Yeah, it’s just…well…never mind.” She shook her head and caught up to him again. “Don’t you want to go out for dinner? You don’t have to cook for me.”

  “Restaurants are too impersonal. I love cooking. And this way we will have some privacy. Good evening, Robert.” He greeted the doorman as they walked through the door.

  “Privacy for what?” She allowed caution to ease into her tone.

  “Talking. It’s just dinner.” He flashed her a smile as he pressed the button for the elevator.

  His apartment was enormously luxurious. She could not imagine living in such finery. Her one bedroom condo could learn a thing or two from his apartment.

  “I started cooking already. I just need to get the chicken out of the oven. Can I get you a glass of wine?” He helped remove her coat and hung it up in the front closet.

  She watched him warily. “Uh. Sure.” Still standing in the front hall, she looked at the abstract art pieces on the wall. “Weird how close you live,” she remarked when he handed her a glass of white wine.

  “Weird in a good way.” He winked at her and headed back to the kitchen.

  She stood in the hall for a moment alone. He was becoming more interesting and terrifying as the night progressed. His movements were so controlled. He’d thought of bringing her gloves in case she had forgotten hers—which she had. His eyes wrapped around her when they spoke, as though he were circling her, waiting to strike. Sensations of fear and comfort mingled together stalling her own thoughts.

  Takin
g a relaxing breath, she followed the warm aroma to the kitchen. She leaned against the doorway, watching him pull a tray of chicken from the oven and lay it on the countertop. Everything in his apartment seemed to be state of the art. The stove alone would cost her a month’s salary.

  “I hope you aren’t too impressed. The apartment came fully furnished,” he said by way of explanation. “I couldn’t put two pieces of clothing together properly if I had to, much less decorate an entire apartment.”

  “You seem to do a fine job of dressing yourself.” She instantly felt her cheeks flush. “I mean, you don’t look unfashionable.” She tried to correct herself.

  “Thanks…I think.” He slipped the oven mitt from his hand, looking beautiful even while standing in the kitchen. His shirt was a little tight around his biceps, but she didn’t think he would be able to find a shirt that didn’t fit him in such a way, and she was sure she could see the firmness of his stomach through the front of the shirt. The narrowness of his hips…

  She swallowed hard and pushed away from the doorway before she let her imagination get the best of her.

  “And you can cook,” she said more to distract herself than to add to the conversation.

  “Yes. My mother taught me how to make one really good meal.” He grinned at her as he began to plate the chicken.

  “Would you like some help?” She looked away from his stare. She wasn’t sure why his undivided attention should affect her in such a way, but it made her face flush every time.

  “Nope. All done. The dining room is right through that doorway.” He pointed to the second door of the kitchen—a second door! “Have a seat in the chair furthest from the kitchen, and I’ll bring in the food. Pour us a glass of wine; the bottle is on the table.” His tone held a casualty to it, but she sensed something more in it.

  An open bottle of Merlot sat on the table next to two wine glasses. She poured wine into the glasses and placed one at each chair at opposite ends of the table. It wasn’t an overly long table, so she was sure they’d have no trouble conversing during their meal, but she noticed the chair he put out for her didn’t match the rest of the set.

  The other chairs mirrored the chestnut dining table. Her chair, though just as beautiful, was a highly polished cherry walnut. Not only the coloring and design were different, but the chair was significantly smaller than the others. The height was correct, but the legs were thinner and the seat was not as wide. She was suddenly grateful for the three trips to the gym each week.

  Once she was seated, Royce entered the room with two plates. He placed one before her, and the delicious aroma of the lemon chicken floated up through the air.

  “Thank you for pouring,” he stated and took his seat across the table. He shook out the napkin and draped it over his lap.

  “Did you break a chair?” She picked up her fork.

  “No,” he answered.

  She watched him begin to eat and decided to follow suit.

  “This is wonderful.” She found herself complimenting him. “I haven’t had lemon chicken since I lived at home.”

  “You don’t visit home much?” he questioned.

  “No.” She shook her head and reached for her wine.

  “Why not?”

  “No reason to.” She sipped the Merlot. “How about you? Any family here. If I remember correctly, you said you were from around here originally?” She turned the topic before he began to ask any more questions about her family.

  “My parents both passed away shortly after I moved to New York. They were the only family I had here. They originally came from Montana, but I never knew any of the family they left behind.” He wiped the corner of his mouth with his napkin.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “About what?”

  “Your parents.”

  “It was a few years ago. A car accident.” He plucked a piece of chicken with his fork. “So, your family lives here?” The tables turned again.

  “Just my mom. My parents are divorced. Dad moved to Ohio with his mistress—now fiancée. My sister married and moved to Europe; her husband’s in the military. And my brother moved to California to marry some surfer chick.” She avoided his eyes while handing over the information.

  “Do you see your mom often?” he prodded.

  “No.” She pushed her food around the plate. “Too busy pining after a love that didn’t last.” The fork pinged against the plate as she dropped it to the table.

  “Well.” He sighed heavily. “Aren’t we depressing!” He took a swig of his wine and grinned at her. The dimple made its appearance, and she wondered if it remained on his cheek while he was kissing.

  The idea of his lips pressed against hers made her body react; a familiar tingling in her panties drew her attention to her thoughts. Shoving the idea of anything more substantial than dinner from her mind, she refocused on his words instead of his lips.

  They finished their meal with small talk about upcoming events in the city. She mentioned a few writers groups in the city he might enjoy. His pleasure was expressed with more than a simple grateful grin; it looked more to her like he was touched she would remember his original goal of being a writer.

  “Did you ever dream of being something else besides a paralegal?” He picked up his plate and brought it to the kitchen. His nod to her plate gave her the impression he wanted her to follow him, and she did.

  “I stopped dreaming a long time ago.” She rinsed her plate off in the sink and laid it gently on top of his.

  “Before you stopped.” He pushed, handing her a towel to dry her hands.

  “When I first started college, I majored in English. I wanted to either be a high school English teacher or an editor at some huge publishing house in New York,” she admitted with a laugh.

  “What changed?” He scrapped the last of the potatoes into a Tupperware container.

  “I don’t know.” Her smile faded, and she pushed away from the counter to retrieve her wine glass from the dining room.

  “That’s two.” She heard him say as she grabbed her glass.

  “What’s two? What was one?” she asked with obvious annoyance in her voice.

  “If I tell you, you might run away.” He shut the door to the dishwasher and leaned against it. He crossed his right foot lazily over his left and folded his arms over his chest. She felt a mingling of attraction and irritation.

  “I’m not afraid of you,” she told him and tried to find a casual stance to mirror his own. Giving up, she stood holding her wine glass and stared at him.

  “I’m nothing to be afraid of. I’d never hurt you,” he assured her in a soft voice.

  She sighed and looked away.

  “So?” she prompted when he didn’t continue.

  “One was the little lie you told me about wanting fresh air. You didn’t want me to come up to your apartment. Not because it’s not clean. I’m sure I could eat off the floor, but because you think if I go up to your apartment, this becomes more than a friendly dinner.” He sounded too comfortable in his confidence.

  “And two?” she demanded, gripping the stem of her glass more firmly.

  “Two was the little lie about you not knowing why you changed career paths. How could you not know? I’m not stupid, Jessica.” He uncrossed his arms and placed his hands on the countertop at his sides.

  “Fair enough. So you’re keeping count of the little white lies?” She stepped toward him and put the wine glass on the counter.

  “Not counting. Strikes.” He clarified, and she looked at him with confusion.

  “Strikes, as in three strikes I’m out?” It was her turn to cross her arms over her chest. She wasn’t sure if she should laugh or be infuriated. So many times she had found men to be lacking honesty and this man was giving her a strike for every tiny insignificant white lie she gave.

  “No, not out.” He shook his head, not taking his gaze off of her.

  “Then what?” She rolled her eyes.

  He cleared his throat. “At
strike three, I’ll want to punish you,” he stated with as much ease as though he had just told her the color of her shirt.

  “Punish me?” She decided on laughter. “I’m sorry, but no one punishes me.” She waved a hand in the air. “Maybe I should just go.”

  “I told you that you’d run away,” he called after her when she reached the doorway.

  She paused and turned back to him. “I’m not running away. I’m leaving a very weird dinner,” she stated blandly.

  “I said I would want to punish you. I didn’t say I would punish you. You haven’t given me permission to do so, yet.”

  They stared at each other in the hallway. Royce looked casual and patient. Jessica felt confused and torn.

  Her cell phone rang, ending the standoff. She dug it out of her pocket and declined the call.

  Shaking her head, she said, “I thought I’d met every type of guy out there.”

  “Do you remember the couple we saw last night outside your apartment building?” He took a softer route.

  “The girl and the taxi? Yes.” The couple had remained on her mind since seeing them.

  “That girl would have most likely been punished at the very first lie. I say that because they seemed to have a very strong protocol between them.” He sounded as though it should make sense to her, but it only confused her more thoroughly.

  “He would hurt her?”

  He shook his head. “Not hurt. Punish. It’s different.”

  “Punish how?” She heard herself asking. Everything suddenly seemed foggy to her. She could hear them talking, recognized her own voice, but she felt outside herself. Yet, something sparked in her, something that felt real and tangible, and she couldn’t place how.

  “Well, that’s different for everyone. Some spank, some take away privileges.”

  “Spank? As in hit?” She threw at him.

  “No. As in spank,” he clarified with a bit of force. “Why don’t we sit in the living room?” He held out his hand to her.