The Million-Dollar Question

“That’s not what I meant.”

An eyebrow arched up. “Really? What did you mean then?”

Her tone could be called innocent and inquiring, but he realized the danger underneath just a second too late to pull the words back. “It’s … well, you …” He usually wasn’t foolish enough to bring up weight and diet with any woman, but he’d already stepped into it. “I guess I expected you to order a small salad with dressing on the side.”

She snorted. “Maybe for the first course. But I spent six hours in rehearsals today. I’m hungry.”

“Okay, a large salad, then,” he teased.

Olivia folded her hands primly on the table, and as she spoke, her tone clearly said this was a speech she’d given many times before. “I eat. I have to. I work my body hard, and my body needs fuel to do that work. I stay aware of my weight, but not in an unhealthy manner. Since I’m not obsessing over it, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t either. Okay?”

Duly chastised, he nodded. “Okay.”

Then she leaned forward. “And seriously, they put blue cheese cream sauce on a steak here. How am I not going to order that?”

“Fair enough.” She talked a good game, but he’d withhold judgment until he actually saw her eat something. He worked in advertising, for goodness sake. He knew about models and the things they did to lose weight, but he had to admit that Olivia wasn’t skeletal or starving—she was very slim, yes, but she didn’t have the hollowed-out sickly look. “It’s just surprising.”

She inclined her head, and reached for her water.

“But not as surprising as hearing from you.”

Olivia’s hand froze, making him suspicious all over again. She recovered quickly, though. “I’m just full of surprises then. Honestly, I feel I’ve been rather rude not getting in touch before now. My only excuse is that I’ve been unbelievably busy the last few weeks—getting settled, with rehearsals for the fall performance, and then straight into The Nutcracker and the winter special that’s coming up in January … I haven’t had time to even think.”

He’d known Jory for over twelve years, and his sister shared many of his mannerisms, making her somewhat easier to read than the average person. Olivia wasn’t fully at ease in this conversation, which wasn’t surprising. There were many reasons—beyond the busyness of her life—not to have been in touch before now, but there was no sense bringing those up just yet. That piqued his curiosity further, but he found that he wanted to make her comfortable, nonetheless. The past was bound to come up eventually, and it would be better to have a friendly footing before that happened. “But you’re feeling more settled in now?”

“Yeah. I’m not getting hopelessly lost every time I leave the house these days, which is good. And it’s nice to be home in Florida, where I can go to the beach anytime I want. Even in November.”

Via Jory, he knew Olivia had done recent stays in Chicago and Boston, where the snow would be enough to drive any Florida native to the brink of insanity. “Which beach is your favorite?”

Her mouth twisted. “I haven’t actually gone, yet. Like I said, I’ve been busy.”

“Are you some kind of workaholic?”

“I believe that when you love your job, it’s not exactly drudgery to put the time in.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“I work a lot, and I like it. How’s that?”

“That’s a good answer. I might have to use that myself in the future.” He paused as the server brought their drinks. Then he lifted his glass to her. “And congratulations on landing the new job.”

She accepted his toast, a real smile replacing the hesitant one. “Thanks. It’s exciting. MMBC—the company—normally chooses its principals from inside, but they decided to open the search this time. I knew one of the company members from years ago when I first went to New York, and he brought my name up to the artistic director. All the stars just aligned perfectly to get me here.” She seemed as if she was just winding up, but caught herself instead, reaching for her wineglass and sitting back against the leather seat. “But what about you? Jory says your agency’s doing really well.”

“I can’t complain. We’re only three years old, and we still have some growing to do, but we’re good.”

“That’s great to hear. I’m happy for you.” Olivia stared at her glass, pondering the depths of pinot gris, and silence settled again. Then she looked up at him again with that smile he was beginning to think was definitely fake. “Jory’s coming down with my parents in a couple of weeks to see the performance.”

“I know. We’re planning to get together while he’s here.”

“Oh, good.”

“He says your parents are very excited.”

“They don’t get to see me in action very often because I’m usually so far away. I send videos and stuff, but it’s not the same for them. And honestly, I’m excited they’re getting to come, too. You know,” she added casually, “if you’d like to come with them to the show, I can get you a ticket.”

“Oh, hell, no.” The words slipped out before he could check them. Damn it. Insult the woman’s career. That’s always a great dinner conversation topic. “I mean, no thank you. I’m not really a fan.”

“Of The Nutcracker or ballet in general?”

“Both. No offense,” he added. “It’s just not my thing.”

“None taken. We like what we like.” She was being gracious, but he still felt as though he’d offended her. “Are you into the arts at all?”

He shrugged. “I used to have a membership to the art museum. I like the Egyptian stuff. There are a few local bands I keep up with.” Lord, he sounded like a cultural wasteland. He justified it by saying, “Getting the agency off the ground has kept me pretty busy.”

“I’m not judging.”

Her smirk implied otherwise. “Yes, you are.”

She shrugged a shoulder. “Okay, maybe a little. The arts celebrate what makes us human. They are the cornerstone of civilization and the heart of a community.”

He nearly laughed, but swallowed it at the last second. Olivia obviously believed what she was saying. “You should work in advertising. That sounds like copy straight from a fundraising brochure.”

She inclined her head. “That doesn’t make it less true.”

“That doesn’t make them less boring, either.”

Her eyes widened. “No offense intended again?” she asked.

“Of course.”

“You could still support them financially, you know.”

He shook his head. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?” she asked innocently.

“Like I’m some kind of miser. I give to charity. I just lean toward the more practical. You know, like food, housing, medical care …”

“Those are all very worthy causes.”

“Is that sarcasm?”

“No. It’s hard to enrich the mind and soul when the body is hungry. I’m sure your philanthropy is much appreciated.”

Evan felt as if there was something else that needed to be addressed. An undercurrent he was missing. But they were interrupted by the arrival of their meals.

Olivia greeted the food with a genuine, “That looks amazing.” She inhaled the aroma with a blissful look on her face before taking a bite.

The steak with cream sauce was one of Tourmaine’s signature dishes, and rightly so. Olivia obviously agreed; chewing her first bite with her eyes closed while making little happy noises. “Oh, man. That’s so good.”

He swallowed hard. He knew that look. Remembered it as if he’d seen it yesterday. But Olivia hadn’t been eating steak with cream sauce the last time he’d seen it. He’d put that look on her face.

His blood rushed to his lap with a speed that left him feeling slightly light-headed. That one look had opened a floodgate of memories—memories he’d safely locked in a box to forget until just now. But that look …

He could practically feel those long, strong legs wrapped around him.

When she opened her eyes and saw him staring, she looked a little abashed. “I said I eat. I can’t eat like this all the time, though, so I enjoy it very much when I do.”

If she was going to enjoy her entire dinner like that, he’d be dead by dessert.

Thank goodness Olivia couldn’t read his mind.

CHAPTER TWO

EVAN FOUND THAT concentrating on his food helped. Some. Tourmaine’s owner, Harry, came by, nicely distracting his attention as he introduced Olivia and she complimented everything from the steak to the music. Harry was duly flattered and invited her back to try everything on the menu.

By the time it was just the two of them again, Evan had himself basically back under control, thankfully.

They ate for a little while, the conversation carefully kept to the simple topics of the excellent food, Jory’s successes, her parents and the weather. It was oddly easy. Even fun, at times. There was the occasional overlong pause, but they didn’t last. He’d nearly forgotten how smart and funny Olivia could be, and that had only improved in the intervening years. They had very little in common—no overlapping tastes in music, TV or movies, and some widely differing stances on politics and social issues—but that worked in their favor, keeping the conversation moving and interesting. And while he might be shallow, this was what had actually tipped the attraction all those years ago and made him risk Jory’s wrath.

And it was almost enough to let him ignore that little voice nagging him now.

Almost.

When he decided they’d had enough of the small talk, he charged ahead. “Well, you seem to be settling in fine, so you don’t need anything from me in that area, everything is okay with the people we have in common, and,” he couldn’t help but say through a chuckle, “I don’t want to buy season tickets to the ballet. Care to tell me why we’re actually here?”

She chewed, but he figured that was more of a stalling tactic than anything else. Finally she swallowed. “To eat dinner?”

“Come on, Liv, you’ve been in town since when? August? If you’d wanted my company for dinner, you’d have called long before now.”

“Therefore, I must have nefarious reasons to do so now?”

“I wouldn’t necessarily assume your reasons are nefarious, but you must have at least one above and beyond a free meal.”

She shrugged a shoulder again.

Fine. There’d been two elephants in the room and Olivia had been talking around them both for over an hour now. If she wouldn’t address the specific why of this dinner, he’d simply address the problem he did know. He leveled a look at her across the table. “After all, the last time we spoke, you called me a cold, heartless bastard.”

She blinked, somehow caught off guard by the blunt statement. “True. I was mad and my feelings were hurt.”

At least she was honest about that much. “So why would you want to have dinner with a ‘heartless bastard’?”

“I’m trying to make my home here. I thought it’d be nice to expand my network of people outside just the dance world, and you are the only person in Miami—outside my roommate and the company members—that I know. Since I’m not the same person I was nine years ago, I’m assuming you aren’t either.” The corner of her mouth twitched. “I guess I’m hoping you outgrew that.”

“Not really,” he said, causing her to choke slightly on her wine.

“Wow.” She cleared her throat and thought for a minute. “Well, at least you’re honest about it.”

“Those aren’t exactly bad qualities to have in my line of work.”

She thought for a moment, and then nodded. “If that’s the case, then we just won’t do this again. It’s okay. You’re friends with Jory and that doesn’t automatically include me simply by extension. You have a life, and I can’t just intrude upon that.”

Well, now he felt like a heel. And the one possibility he’d been steadfastly ignoring as implausible was beginning to win out: Olivia had wanted to see him. He’d hurt her and yet she’d still gotten in touch after all this time. It was equal parts flattering and mystifying.

It was also extremely complicated. Jory had put his sister firmly off-limits nine years ago. Not that Evan blamed him. He’d been seriously messed up back then, not nearly good enough for Olivia. Hell, he probably still wasn’t what someone like Liv needed, and he had to assume that prohibition was still in place. Of course, Olivia didn’t know about any of that. It put him in a very awkward situation. There was a huge difference between an eighteen-year-old and a twenty-seven-year-old, but she was still Jory’s sister.

Maybe she was just lonely and in need of a friend. Just because he was having flashbacks to happier, more naked times, there was no reason to assume she was, as well. And while he’d broken a major tenet of the Guy Code by sleeping with her before, there was an equally important tenet of the Code that required him to look after a friend’s sister when she was new and alone in a big city. There were as many possibilities as pitfalls here. “Well, I guess if you’re fully aware I’m still a heartless bastard and are willing to accept that, then there’s no reason we can’t be friends anyway.”

Olivia’s eyes widened at the baldness of his words, but he could rest easy either way knowing she was coming in with her eyes wide open. The ball was in her court, and he was frankly very curious to find out how she’d play.

Because she couldn’t say he hadn’t warned her.

You’re a coward. A fool. A screaming idiot who should be kept on a leash for her own safety.

Olivia stared at herself in the mirror of the ladies’ room and frowned. She’d had such clear, simple goals for this dinner, and she’d failed to accomplish even one.

Instead, she couldn’t have made a bigger mess if she’d tried.

In a just and fair world, anger and hurt feelings would not fade enough over time to allow the person who caused those feelings to have the same effect on her that had gotten her into the situation in the first place. Instead of being hit with all the things about Evan she’d hated him for, she’d been overwhelmed with all the things that had sucked her into Evan’s bed in the first place.

It was easy enough to say he was charming and good-looking, but it was another to face that head-on. The way that baritone slithered through her insides, turning them to jelly; the way those blue, blue eyes could make the most casual glance feel like a caress. It was even more devastating because he wasn’t trying to seduce her. That was just his default setting, a natural part of his personality that made him catnip to women.

It was humiliating. She might not have Evan’s legions of former lovers, but she wasn’t an innocent anymore either. She’d taken lovers, had flings and summer romances, so why was Evan able to reduce her to a simpering virgin again?

Mercy.

She’d been rattled and ready to run for the door the minute she’d laid eyes on him. She should have known then that the whole idea was insane, made her excuses and left instead. But no, she just had to try.

Wandering up to a random stranger on the street and asking if they wanted to support the MMBC and adopt a dancer might have been less nerve-racking and equally as successful. And she’d probably like herself a bit more afterward than she did right now.

It hadn’t been a completely crazy idea, just one that worked much better in theory than in practice. Regardless of how sensible it sounded on the surface, she hadn’t been able to shake that uneasy feeling that swirled underneath, and she was now very glad she hadn’t followed, though.

Maybe I’m not a coward. She was a decent human being who’d got carried away for a minute, but pulled back in time. Points for that. And she’d made it through dinner without making a complete fool of herself, so bonus points could be awarded, as well.

Thank goodness Evan could be so blunt, or else she might have tried to pull off this stunt—which she was now viewing as pretty gauche and tacky. She was now going to say good-night and go home, thanking her lucky stars she wasn’t leaving in shame.

She’d sort out the other confusing stuff later. Much later, and when she was alone. She took a deep breath and squared her shoulders. Time for a dignified end to this farce of an evening.

Evan was waiting for her out front. “Thank you for dinner,” she said. “It was good to see you.” Handshake? Air kiss?

“And you. Do you have your valet ticket?”

“I walked.”

“I’ll drive you home, then.”

“It’s only six blocks,” she protested, but it sounded weak even to her own ears.

“It’s about to rain.” As if to punctuate his words, a raindrop landed on her shoulder. So much for dry Miami Novembers. It felt like revenge for her tackiness.

Was it worth a standoff? Probably not, and she’d look foolish wanting to walk home in the rain. She was just feeling ashamed of herself in general and didn’t want to drag this out any further. Of course, they could stand here and continue to argue, but the ridiculousness of that would only exacerbate her foolishness. “Okay. Thanks.”

The timing bordered on eerie, as the moment the words left her lips, a car coasted to a stop at the curb and Evan was reaching for the door. The man had to be half genie.

This car was a far cry from the beat-up, perfect-for-trips-to-the-beach Jeep he’d driven in college. Black, low-slung and convertible, it looked expensive and classy, and it suited this adult Evan perfectly.

She wasn’t surprised that the valet knew Evan’s name—she’d gotten the feeling at dinner that he was a regular here—but the fact Evan knew the valet’s name did surprise her. Her experience with rich donors had proved that most of them couldn’t be bothered with the little people. He couldn’t be entirely selfish if he remembered the names of valets and servers.

His car proved that Evan definitely had money—regardless of his modest “we’re still growing” comments and it was almost enough to make her rethink her original, now aborted, plan.

No. Now she had her mother’s voice in her head, reminding her that anything she thought might be a tacky or bad idea probably was, and she bit her tongue as Evan put the car in gear.

“Which way?”

“Left at the light,” she answered absently. The traffic was bad and the streets were crowded, slowing their progress to a crawl. She definitely could have walked home faster than this. Her original refusal seemed less foolish now, as she was trapped in a small, enclosed space with Evan, his hand only inches from her thigh as he shifted gears.

It created an intimacy she wasn’t quite prepared to face at the moment, and in the small space, the silence rapidly gained weight.

When Evan sighed, she knew he felt it, too. “Liv …”

No one but Evan had ever called her Liv. Jory called her Livvy sometimes, but Liv sounded more grown-up and more intimate, somehow. And all things considered, “Liv” carried a lot of baggage straight into the conversation.

She tried to keep it light, nonetheless. “Yes?”

Evan turned his head toward her, but his face was unreadable. “Just so you know, I’m sorry for what happened. Particularly the way I treated you.”

She had to swallow her shock. That certainly was the last thing she’d ever thought she’d hear. She’d given up hope of an explanation or apology years ago. “Thank you,” she managed after a long pause.

He seemed genuinely surprised at her response. “For what?”

“For saying that. It means a lot.”

He shrugged a shoulder as he changed lanes. “I know it doesn’t change anything, but I can still regret my behavior. The apology may be years too late, but it is sincere.”

It was oddly much easier to have this conversation side-on, instead of having to look directly at him. She kept her eyes front and said, “For an admitted bastard, that was a nice apology.”

She cut her eyes toward him just in time to see the corner of his mouth twitch as if he found that funny. “Thank you.”

I won’t ask for details. Asking would sound pathetic and whiny. And there was a very good chance she wouldn’t like what she would hear. “Can I ask why things ended the way they did between us?” she said, wincing even as she did.

“Beyond the fact I’m cold and selfish?”

This time, she did turn to face him. “You’re saying there’s not one?”

He looked at her as though he was sizing her up and coming to a decision. Then his eyes went back to the road as traffic began to move again. “Not that I’m willing to share.”

“Like that’s not going to drive me crazy now,” She muttered, really not caring what it might sound like to him.

“If I tell you it was genuinely me and not at all you, would that help?”

He sounded sincere, and something panged inside her, reminding her of the sweet side of him she’d seen and gone cow-eyed over in the past. Jory had been uncharacteristically closed-mouthed about Evan’s background, but she’d known his childhood had been difficult and that he spent time at her parents’ house because he was estranged from his own family. She easily painted him as wounded, and being naive and smug and influenced by too many romantic movies, she’d cast herself as the woman who’d heal the misunderstood bad boy’s heart. “Maybe. But—”

A skater shot out in front of them, nearly invisible in the mist and dark, and Evan jammed on the brakes, throwing her against her seat belt. His hand flew out at the same time, landing painfully on her chest, and the effect of both managed to knock the breath out of her. The skater didn’t even look back as he sped away.

Evan cursed, then asked, “You okay?”

“Yeah.” She purposely looked down to where Evan’s hand was still pressed against her chest, pretty much copping a feel. Evan moved his hand quickly, without comment and without the decency to look even a little abashed or surprised at where it ended up. She, however, felt branded, the imprint of his hand seeming to linger. In hindsight, she should have worn a bra tonight whether she needed it or not. “Dude has a death wish,” she said to break the tension she felt even if he didn’t.

“You were smart to walk. Traffic down here is abysmal.”

“It’ll clear some once you turn.” The sudden stop had sent her purse into the floorboard, and she leaned over to gather the contents back up. Her lipstick, though, had rolled under the seat and she had to contort herself to get to it. Realizing the solution to both her physical and emotional situation, she gave one last stretch and got it, then sat up and said briskly, “I can walk from here, save you some time.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

So much for that idea.

As she promised, the traffic was thinner on her street, and Evan pulled up in front of her building a minute later. “These are nice condos. I’m glad you’re not doing the starving artist thing.”

“I ate half a cow covered in cream sauce for dinner, so I think we’ve already covered the ‘not starving’ part,” she said with a laugh. “And I have a roommate to help cover the rent. It’s a great location for me. It’s fifteen minutes on the bus to the studio, and I can walk pretty much everywhere else.”

She had her purse over her shoulder and a hand on the door, and that horrible how-to-end-the-evening tension returned. Evan’s face was partly shadowed and unreadable, giving her no help there. Not a date, not friends, not business associates…. She didn’t know the protocol.

To her ever-loving surprise, Evan got out of the car and walked around to open her door. Her jaw was still hanging open as he extended a hand to help her out.

For someone who purported to be selfish, he’d been raised right when it came to good manners.

That shock, though, caused her to stumble as she climbed out, pitching herself straight into Evan’s arms. He caught her easily, his arms strong and solid around her. He was warm, and damn it, he smelled good. Her heart jumped into her throat.