The Million-Dollar Question. Kimberly Lang
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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