Next were a couple of dates with the FBI agent that had interviewed her and her sister, Erin, after the Hope City Marathon bombing. Her father, a former FBI agent until his retirement, had beamed when she’d told him they were going out. He was handsome and didn’t act like God’s gift to women, well-built but didn’t talk about it, a great conversationalist… but, alas, no spark. They also parted as friends.
Lots of friends, but no sparks. And she wanted sparks. She wanted someone that would make it hard to breathe when he walked into a room. She wanted someone whose eyes would find only her in a crowd. She wanted someone who’d tell her she was brave while dashing off to slay her dragons. She wanted someone who made her long to kiss him just because he was there and not because he thought he’d earned it. Yeah, I want sparks.
Another flash of the man she’d seen in the hospital the week before ran through her mind. Jesus, he was tall. And gorgeous. Like, movie-star gorgeous. A working-man movie star. Not on the red carpet in a tux although that would be nice, too. But the kind of man who looked like he could take care of himself, his buds, and his woman. Holy hell, he looked like he could take care of a woman. She hated to admit how much her brief eye-catching moment with him had stayed with her, fueling her fantasies.
“I have to admit that I’ve got my eye on the office I’d like to have. Give me about another year or so, and it should be mine.”
Caitlyn’s forced smile finally came to an end when the bill arrived, and she knew honesty was the only way she could extricate herself. She reached into her purse and pulled out several twenties. “Tom, I believe that we should split the check. It’s been lovely, but to be completely honest, I don’t feel a connection. I prefer we share a Dutch-treat meal.”
He blinked, his surprise obvious. “Oh… well, oh. Um… no, I insist on paying. Really. Um… well, hopefully, we can do this again sometime.”
Smiling, she said, “I think we’re better as friends and not as a date. Since we came separately, I’ll say goodnight now and then head to the ladies’ room before leaving. Thank you, and good luck with your corner office aspirations.” She meant those final words; after all, he should pursue whatever dreams suited him. They just weren’t important to her.
She rose from her seat, lifted her purse onto her shoulder, and weaved through the tables. Her smile felt less forced as she walked away, and the tension she’d held in her shoulders relaxed. By the time she passed the end of the bar leading to the hallway where the bathrooms were located, she heaved a huge sigh of relief.
“You really should dump someone who does that to you, you know?”
Hearing the male voice growling just behind her, she turned around. Facing a broad, black T-shirt-covered chest, she startled, leaned her head back, and peered into the intense stare of blue eyes that didn’t waver from hers. Blinking at the gorgeous man in front of her, she gasped. “You?”
His chin jerked back slightly but he kept his gaze on her.
The air felt thick between them. She licked her dry lips, swallowing deeply. Seeing him again didn’t diminish her fantasy at all. In fact, it flamed higher. Realizing he was still staring as though waiting for her to speak again, she felt the air rush from her lungs. “Um… I saw you at the hospital… in the ER… um… but what did you say to me? Dump who?”
He inclined his head back toward the table she came from. “Him. The one who gave you the shiner that your makeup still can’t cover completely.”
Her mouth dropped open as she shook her head slowly, hating the cold finger of reality that started to douse the fire she felt between them. “He didn’t… no one gave me—”
His rough voice cut through her explanation. “It was obvious from where I sat at the bar that you weren’t even talking to him. You just let that guy run all over you, and when he’s had enough, he hits you?”
The fantasy she’d imagined had now completely disappeared, replaced with white-hot anger. “What the hell are you talking about?” She glanced furtively around, realizing her voice had risen with each word, hating that her voice shook.
His eyes narrowed, his gaze still intense. “I heard the doctor give you good advice. Stop letting him use you as a punching bag.”
Straightening her spine, she clamped her lips together for a moment as incredulity slid over her. “Listen, mister. I don’t know who you are, but you couldn’t be more wrong about me.”
He stepped closer, his gaze still boring into hers, making it hard to think, much less breathe. He was much taller than she, and as he leaned over, she felt surrounded but not crowded.
“A girl as pretty as you could have any man. Putting up with one that hits you is tragic. No woman should endure that.” With those words, he turned and walked back to his friends at the bar.
Caitlyn stood for a few seconds, so stunned by the brief conversation that her feet didn’t move. When she finally became unstuck, she quickly headed into the ladies' room. Taking care of business, she stood at the sink, washed her hands, then stared into the mirror, her insides quaking. He was right, the makeup didn’t cover the bruises still fading around her eye. But he was very wrong—she would never allow someone to hit her.
Filled with fury that he’d been so presumptuous, she still couldn’t forget the way her body naturally leaned toward him, the desire to be tucked into his embrace almost overriding her good sense. “A girl as pretty as you could have any man.” He’d noticed me. It dawned on her that Tom’s gaze had lingered for a few seconds on the slight bruising around her eye but he hadn’t appeared concerned. Ugh, get a grip, girl! She threw open the door and marched out of the restaurant, refusing to see if either Tom or Gruff were still inside.
Caitlyn opened her eyes, blinking several times to clear her vision as well as her sleep-fogged brain. The sound of boots on stairs resounded throughout her apartment. Glancing at the clock on her nightstand, while still early, she’d slept later than normal.
The clomping continued, retreating this time before coming closer again. Tossing back the covers, she slid from the bed and ran to her door to peek through the security hole. She always wondered about the tiny magnifying circles that were supposed to provide security. Often too blurry to discern a person clearly, she supposed it at least gave her an inkling of what lay on the other side of the door.
From what she could ascertain, several men were going in and out of the apartment across the hall. Jerking back, she tried to remember if Margaretha told her that someone was moving today. Wincing, she had to admit that whereas she normally checked in with her landlady multiple times during the week, she’d seen her rarely in the past few days. Peering through the hole again, she had no idea which man was moving in. Could be a couple.
Feeling better than she had in a week, she touched her face, glad to discover the swelling down. Wandering into the kitchen, she started her coffeemaker. After pouring a cup, the idea of muffins hit her. The perfect welcome gift for a new neighbor. And Margaretha. And Terri and Bjorn. And for me. Realizing she needed to double her usual amount, she hastily mixed the batter and poured it into an extra-large muffin pan. She hoped whoever moved into the apartment was nice—and had good taste in music if they played it too loud.