CHAPTER ONE
RILEY
Again?
From a small table in the corner of a coffee shop in Lockton, Massachusetts, I checked the time on my phone and compared it to the clock on the wall. My date was seriously late—the kind of late that didn’t leave much doubt about whether or not he was coming.
I’ve been stood up—again.
I don’t get it. We clicked. He was interested enough to ask for my number. He asked me to meet here; I didn’t ask him. Is it me? Something I said?
Two months. Three different men. Three no-shows. It was enough to shake any woman’s confidence. Normally the first call I made would have been to my best friend, Teagan, but she’d recently gotten engaged and had headed off to Italy to celebrate and meet more of her fiancé Gian’s family. She deserved uninterrupted time to simply enjoy the experience.
Italy! A few months earlier I wouldn’t have been able to imagine either of us going anywhere we couldn’t drive to. So much had changed since Gian Romano had come into Teagan’s T-shirt printshop looking for me. My head was still spinning from how different our lives had become.
I grew up in a tough suburb of Boston, still had an apartment there a floor above my mother’s. I always felt safe in my neighborhood, but everyone I grew up with was one paycheck away from not being able to pay the rent. The area could get a little dicey after dark, but we all looked out for each other. None of them knew that I had my own driver now. A driver. Me.
It still felt unreal.
I’d only agreed to having one because it was important to my newfound brother, Dominic Corisi, a man who just happened to be richer than God and more than a little paranoid when it came to security. We’d recently discovered that we were related and were still figuring each other out. I sent a text to my driver: Mr. Tuttle. You there?
I’m paid to always be.
Could you come inside?
Of course.
A few minutes later, Mr. Tuttle walked into the shop and looked around until he located me. He removed his hat as he made his way to my table. His salt-and-pepper hair was short and neatly styled. His suit was immaculate. He had a hired-soldier presence about him that made most men take a step back, but the more time I spent with him, the less he intimidated me. I was pretty sure underneath that dead-eyed stare he was a big softie. “Is there something you require, Miss Ragsdale?”
The truth was, I just didn’t want to be alone. “Could you sit with me?”
He hesitated. “Is something wrong?”
Hands waving in the air, I said, “No. No. What could be?”
After clearing his throat, he took the seat across from me. “Would you like me to call someone?”
“No. It’s nothing serious.” I leaned forward and lowered my voice. “I’ve been stood up again. Steve Wercherlinker, or whatever his last name is, apparently wasn’t interested in sharing a coffee with me.”
Mr. Tuttle lifted and dropped his shoulders without meeting my gaze. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
I waved my hand again. “It’s okay. I mean, what can I do, right?”
Mr. Tuttle kept his silence.
“I’m usually pretty good with people, but lately I’m second-guessing myself.” I brought both of my hands to my temples. “Do you think this is happening because I’m not being honest with people? Do I have ‘liar’ stamped on my forehead?” It would have been nice if Mr. Tuttle had said no, but I kept going anyway. “I want to be honest. I just don’t want to disappoint anyone. My mother is afraid of Dominic—she gets upset if I even mention his name. I promised I’d have nothing to do with him, but how could I keep that promise? He’s my brother.”
In response to Mr. Tuttle’s continued silence, I added, “You’d think Kal would be on my side, but he isn’t. He thinks Mom is right and that nothing good will come from getting to know the Corisis. So much for twins thinking alike. Kal and I agree on next to nothing lately, and that was never us. He’s ignoring my calls now because he says listening to me talk about the Corisis just pisses him off. He thinks my loyalty should be to my mother and not to family we never even knew we had. Do you think he’s right?”
Nothing.
I nodded. “You’re right, it’s probably too complicated for you to have an answer. I just don’t know if I’m doing anything right lately.” I slumped in my chair. “I can’t even get a man to show up for a date. What’s that about?”
Mr. Tuttle stood. “Miss Ragsdale, I just want to drive, you understand? I don’t want any problems.”
“Problems?”
“It’s better if I don’t know too much.”
“Too much about what?” I rose to my feet as well and followed him as he made his way across the coffee shop toward the door. “I don’t understand.”
He paused to look down at me with absolutely no emotion in his expression. “If there’s nothing else, I’ll be with the car.”
People like me, I thought. I genuinely like most people, and they know it. Friendship, as well as finding dates, has always been as easy as that for me.
Mr. Tuttle was a tougher nut to crack, and I was seriously beginning to question if I’d lost my mojo. I stood there after his departure wondering if I should apologize or let the matter drop.
“Excuse me,” a male voice said behind me.
It was a deliciously deep voice, the kind no woman would mind waking up to. I turned slowly, fully prepared for the face and body to not live up to the promise of his voice. It wasn’t the voice of my would-be date; it was better. Everything about him was better. Tall. Dark hair. Dark eyes. Square jaw. A lick-worthy muscular neck. Holy crap.
Insta-lust. I felt wonderfully breathless and tingly.
Until I remembered the last three men who’d asked me out. I’d been attracted to them, albeit not on this level, but the last thing I needed was to set myself up for another disappointment before I figured out what I was doing wrong. “Stop right there. Sure, you’re beautiful.” I leaned in and took a whiff of him. “And you smell amazing, but I already know where this will go. I’ll say something witty. You’ll counter with a pickup line. We’ll exchange numbers and you’ll call. We’ll talk all night and you’ll ask me out, but that’s as far as it’ll go. I’ll be right back here waiting for you to show up, but you won’t. Why? Is it me? Is it you? I don’t know. Maybe men are just asshats.”
The amusement in his eyes irritated me, because I wasn’t trying to be funny. He pointed behind me. “Not an asshat, just someone trying to order a coffee.”
I glanced behind me at the line to the register. He hadn’t come over to talk to me. I was blocking his way. I stepped aside. “Sorry.” As soon as the word came out of my mouth, I knew it didn’t fit how I felt. I was still too irritated with men in general to be sorry. “No, I’m not sorry. You would have stood me up too.”
As he went to walk past me, he paused and lowered his head so he was next to my ear. His breath tickled my neck. “Sadly, we shall never know.”
Our eyes met, and there was a definite sizzle in the air. I’d dated plenty of men in my life, had sex with one or two—okay, five, but three of them were disappointing enough to not be worth mentioning. Does it count as sex if you don’t orgasm? I say no.