Smoke (Archer's Creek Book 5) Read online

  “I’m not supposed to drink on the job,” he says.

  “Well, we’re just breaking all the rules today, aren’t we?” I sing-song, wiggling my eyebrows at him.

  “Just a plain black cup of Joe please,” he says, smirking at me.

  “Sure thing,” I say, dashing from the car, then tripping up the curb and luckily catching myself with my hands before I faceplant onto the sidewalk. The rich aroma of freshly brewed coffee hits me the moment I open the door and my mouth instantly waters.

  There are a couple of people ahead of me in the line, so I eye up the pastries behind a glass-fronted counter while I wait. Everything looks amazing and I’m trying to decide between the delicious looking apple Danishes or the equally scrumptious looking lemon and poppyseed muffins when the server calls me forward. I decide to order both, along with Al’s coffee and my own coconut milk latte, extra shot, extra hot.

  Drinks and goodies in hand, I carefully make my way back to the car only to find Al waiting to open the door for me. When he gets back into his seat, I glare at him. “I can open my own door, you know? You could have just stayed in the car.”

  “Hey, it’s bad enough that I’m letting you ride up front, don’t make me completely redundant just yet.”

  With a smirk, I acquiesce, handing him his coffee, then holding up the two bags in front of me. “Apple Danish or lemon and poppyseed muffin?”

  “Muffin,” Al says and I hand him the bag containing the cake, then rip open the remaining one and take a large bite of the rich apple-filled pastry.

  When Al drops me outside the office, my stomach is full of cake and my half-full coffee cup is gripped tightly in my hand. “See you later, Al.” I say, as he opens the car door for me, and I climb out.

  “Call or text me to let me know what time you want to be collected, and if you need to go anywhere for lunch, just let me know. I’ll only be in the parking garage just around the corner,” he says.

  “What? You’re just gonna be waiting all day?” I ask, surprised.

  “Riley, I’m solely assigned as your driver for the next two months.”

  “So what are you going to do all day?” I ask, a little startled that he’s going to just sit around and wait for me.

  “I like to knit,” Al says, surprising the hell out of me.

  “You like to knit?” I repeat back to him.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Well, okay then. Enjoy your knitting and I’ll see you later.”

  Al waves, then climbs back into the car.

  As I ride in the elevator up to the floor that houses the Winters Inc offices, a nervous flutter of butterflies bursts to life in my stomach. I’m not sure if it’s the work, the offices, or the man who may or may not have been flirting with me last night that’s prompted my nerves, but either way, when I push through the big smoked glass doors and walk past the reception desk and into the main office, I’m full of anxious energy.

  The office is empty, except for one of the art guys, Lee or Lane or something like that, hunched over a graphics pad at his desk. Being one of the first in calms me and I sit in the same work space I’d used yesterday, pull out my laptop and get to work.

  I feel someone tapping on my shoulder and I turn to find Dan behind me. “Riley, have you stopped at all today? You were one of the first in and I swear I don’t think I’ve seen you move since I got here.”

  Sliding off my glasses, I rub at my gritty, tired eyes and blink up at Dan, wincing when my neck cracks. I push my fingers into the seized muscles in my neck, trying to stretch them out and glance at the clock on my laptop. It’s after six pm. “Err, honestly, I’m not sure when the last time I took a break was. I tend to lose myself in the work and I’m trying to get to grips with the game and the code you have in place, so I can attempt to do something constructive in the short time that I’m going to be here.”

  “It’s only day two, Riley,” Dan says, smiling down at me. His hand is resting on the back of my chair, his fingers almost close enough to touch my exposed neck.

  “Can I tempt you into joining me for dinner again?” he asks.

  “Err,” I stall.

  “Join me for dinner, Riley. There’s nothing worse than eating alone.”

  I’m not sure if he’s talking about me or him eating alone, but before I can think about it too deeply, I find myself agreeing to his invitation, saving my work, and packing away my things while he waits for me.

  We walk side by side to a vibrant Indian restaurant, then drink Cobra lager and pick at crisp poppadum’s and a fresh cucumber salad while we wait for our food to be served.

  “So how are you finding Houston so far?” Dan asks.

  “Well,” I say with a laugh. “So far I’ve seen my hotel, the office, two restaurants, and a coffee shop.”

  Dan blushes and looks down at his plate. “I’m sorry. I’m working you too hard. It’s a beautiful city, you really should take some time to explore. Don’t come into the office tomorrow,” he says hurriedly.

  “That’s not necessary, I’m teasing you.”

  “Oh,” he says, his skin still flushed.

  The waitress appears and places our plates in front of us. The rich spicy aroma of my curry fills the air and I sigh appreciatively.

  “How does your family feel about you uprooting to Texas? I remember you mentioned that you’d planned a visit home.” Dan asks.

  Taking a sip of my lager, I sigh. “I love my parents, I really do, but I get the feeling that they’re perpetually disappointed in me. I’m not like my sisters; I’m not a genius or an earth mother. I’m clumsy, a bit of a recluse, and I have terrible taste in men. No matter how much my mom and dad try to understand my decisions, they just don’t get why I quit a job at a huge, prestigious game design company. Obviously, I told them about coming here, and why I decided to take this contract rather than go visit my pregnant sister, but alas my mom was unsurprisingly disappointed in me.”

  “Ahhhh, parental disappointment. I know that feeling well.”

  “I thought your dad had been cool about you leaving the family business and setting up on your own?”

  “My dad was, my mom and grandmother were not. They both assumed I’d fail and come crawling back with my tail between my legs. The fact that I haven’t is of the upmost annoyance to them,” he smiles and I instantly smile back.

  I can’t help but notice that when he smiles his entire face changes and he looks younger and more relaxed.

  “God, the food here is so good. Try this tandoori lamb, it’s just incredible,” he says, cutting off a piece of his meat and holding his fork out toward me.

  I pause, and he must know that I’m about to refuse, because he pushes the fork a little closer to me. “Trust me, it’s unbelievable,” he says, his voice a little lower, a hint of persuasion hidden in his polished tone.

  Leaning forward, I slide the lamb from his fork with my teeth, taking it into my mouth and chewing. He’s right, it is incredible, but the taste is almost overshadowed by the way he’s watching me and the fact that this feels like a moment. The type of thing you read about in a book or see in a movie. It’s only been a month since Greg and I broke up, but I miss the intimate moments and not just the sex. The meals together, just sitting and watching a movie or a TV show; I miss being part of a couple. Although now I really think about it, Greg and I rarely did those things together either.

  Dan’s eyes hood slightly, and I feel the air change around us. I don’t know if I want to have a moment with this man; he’s my boss, I’m fresh from a breakup, and I don’t know him very well. I miss being in a relationship, but since Greg royally screwed me over, men have been completely off my radar. I do find Dan attractive, but my panties aren’t setting on fire just from looking at him. Maybe Greg broke me?

  Needing to shatter the tension—or at least what feels like tension—I lean back in my chair and focus on my meal. The best thing about restaurants, especially good ones like this, is that it doesn’t seem rude to igno
re your dinner companion when food this good is waiting to be eaten.

  Neither of us speaks as we finish our meals and I’m glad. Dan isn’t like any of the guys I’ve dated in the last few years. On paper he should be my type: a little nerdy, intelligent, tall but not too tall, muscled but not bulky. Greg didn’t break my heart, but he definitely bruised it, and even though Dan is as far from Greg as I could get, I’m still not sure I’m ready to take a risk on a guy, especially not one that lives hundreds of miles away from New York.

  When it feels like the atmosphere has dissipated, I ask him some innocuous questions on safe subjects, like game methodology, T.V. shows, and college. Nothing too deep or too personal and nothing that could be turned into flirty banter or tension-filled moments.

  After dinner, dessert, and coffee, Dan insists on paying the bill, despite my argument that he paid last night. By the time we leave the restaurant, the sky is dark and the city has come to life in the way that only cities do when the sun goes down.

  Dan’s driver is waiting at the curb for us again just like last night and a sudden awful thought occurs to me. “Oh no. I forgot to call Al! He said he would wait and take me back to my hotel. Oh, I feel awful, he could have gone home hours ago. I need to call him now,” I cry, fumbling with my purse trying to find my cell hidden beneath all of the other crap I have in there.

  “Riley,” Dan says, putting his hand on my arm to still my movement.

  I ignore him, continuing to search for my cell and cursing my ability to clean my purse of all the crumpled receipts and empty candy wrappers.

  “Riley,” Dan says again, his other hand going to my shoulder, so his body is in front of me, his arms on either side of me.

  “What?” I snap, jerking my head up to look at him.

  “I sent Al home as soon as you agreed to go to dinner with me again.”

  “Oh,” I say, suddenly becoming aware of how close his body is to mine.

  The hand that was on my shoulder has somehow moved to my waist, and the other that was on my arms is now almost wrapped around me. As I blink up at him, I wonder how we ended up in what feels like an intimate position. Then I remember he was just trying to get my attention; he saw I was upset and he was trying to comfort me.

  I move, trying to take a step back, to free myself from his arms, but his grip on me tightens and I swallow convulsively. Dan’s only a handful of inches taller than me, so I don’t even really have to look up to see the moment he thinks about kissing me.

  We all know the look; the one a guy gives you just before he leans in to press his lips against yours. I have a moment or maybe two to decide if I want this to happen, but somehow, I wait too long. I’m too late and his soft, plump lips touch mine before I’m ready.

  His kiss is soft and sweet, but a little one-sided. He pushes his lips against mine, sliding his tongue between mine without waiting to be invited, and exploring my mouth without giving me a chance to reciprocate.

  He’s kissing me and he doesn’t seem bothered that I’m just along for the ride; that I’m not contributing to the kiss, but merely letting it happen. It isn’t a bad kiss, in fact I’ve definitely had worse, but the fact that I’m not sure I actually agreed to it makes me feel a little detached from the whole thing.

  When his lips pull back and the kiss ends, I wait for something to hit me. Anger or lust or even annoyance at his high-handedness, but instead, I get a whole lot of nothing. What does that even mean? Over the years I’ve kissed a lot of guys and the only other time I can remember feeling this disassociated from the act was when I kissed Marshall Dubowski in the eighth grade.

  It had been Homecoming, and he’d asked me to dance. My dress had swished at my sides as we swayed back and forth. When he’d given me the look, I’d pouted my lips and waited. What resulted from that pout was me losing my cherry-flavored lipgloss to Marshall’s mouth and a vivid sense of nothingness. The kiss hadn’t been bad, it just hadn’t been earth shattering either. My foot hadn’t popped like they do in the movies when the girl is kissing the man of her dreams, my knees hadn’t gone weak. It had just been a kiss.

  Dan stares at me, his eyes hooded and a self-satisfied smirk twitching across his mouth. He’s obviously pleased with himself. Maybe he thinks his seduction techniques have been successful and I’ll be on my knees sucking his cock in the back of his car in a minute. I wonder what he’d say if I told him that his kiss was just kind of meh?

  I don’t get a chance to speak before his hand moves to the base of my spine and he guides me forward, and into the back of the car. It takes me a moment to realize that his driver has been obediently stood holding the door open for us this entire time.

  Silently, I look anywhere but at him. I know I should say something, but for the life of me I have no idea what to say. I like the idea of liking Dan, so maybe the kiss felt so lackluster because I wasn’t expecting it. Or maybe the curry and beer have dampened my senses.

  As I try to list all of the ways the circumstances of the weird kiss could have affected its impact, I fail to notice the city passing by us and before I realize it, we’re outside my hotel and my chance to speak has passed. Unlike yesterday, the driver opens Dan’s door, and he climbs out then reaches his hand back into the car to help me out.

  I take his hand. It seems rude to object to such a simple gesture when he’s trying to behave like a gentleman. Then I climb out and step onto the sidewalk. Surreptitiously, I try to pull my hand free from his, just in case he gets it in his head to kiss me again, but he resists my attempts to free myself, and lifts my hand to his lips and kisses the back of it again.

  Goose bumps pebble up my arm. Why am I reacting to a chaste peck on the back of my hand, but felt nothing for the full-blown make-out session we had outside the restaurant? The look he gives me as he lowers my hand is pure seduction and my stomach flutters in response. As he moves away, my body arches toward him. Now, I want him to kiss me; I want to know if I’ll feel something. But I don’t reach for him or call him back. I watch as he walks away, climbs back into his expensive, chauffeur-driven car and leaves.

  That night my dreams are full of spine-tingling lust and lackluster kisses, interspersed with reenactments of all of my disastrous high school dances and visions of Greg laughing at me as half-naked women paw at him. I’ve never needed coffee more when I stumble out of the hotel the next morning, my eyes barely open and my hair twisted into a messy bun held up with two pens.

  “Morning, Al.” I mumble, as I climb into the front seat of the car.

  “Morning. Rough night?” he asks.

  I growl a low pained sound at him, and he laughs in response.

  “Here, looks like you could use this,” he says, pulling a large takeaway coffee cup and a bag from a storage box on the floor.

  “Marry me,” I say, eagerly taking both things from him and immediately lifting the cup to my lips and taking a long pull.

  “Not sure how my wife would feel about that.”

  “I’ll share,” I murmur, excitedly peering into the paper bag that’s holding a delicious looking cinnamon bun.

  “There’s a Danish in the box, if you’d rather have that,” he says.

  I’m already taking a bite as I shake my head; the rich, sweet, cinnamon frosting filling my mouth.

  “So good,” I say between bites.

  Al chuckles again, then settles back into his seat and pulls into the morning traffic. I’m pleased to find that I’m again one of the first into the office. Lee, the art guy is here, or maybe he hasn’t been home yet, because I swear he was wearing that exact outfit yesterday. The light is on in Dan’s office, but his door is shut and I have absolutely no intention of going to knock on it.

  Carrying my half-full coffee cup, I settle down at the workstation I’ve now claimed as my own, pull out my laptop and get to work, making notes about the running order, the bugs and glitches I can see and my recommendations on how to correct them.

  I love my job and before I know it, my stomach is
growling, and my cell phone says that it’s almost six pm. I’m meeting Rosie in an hour-and-a-half and I need to go back to my hotel to get showered and changed.

  I type out a quick text to Al, asking if he’s still about and if he would mind running me back to my hotel. Despite his insistence that he’s basically at my beck and call, I still can’t get used to the idea of having him just sit around and wait until I need him to take me somewhere. Surely, he could be doing something more productive, or at least more relaxing than just sitting in a car.

  Dan has been ensconced in his office all day, and honestly, I’m grateful for the reprieve. I don’t for a minute think that he’s the type of guy who would try to seduce me into bending over the edge of his desk, but I still wouldn’t feel comfortable with even his most innocuous flirting here in the office.

  Rising from my desk, I lift my arms above my head and stretch out my tight muscles. Working from a desk is nowhere near as comfy as working in my pjs from my bed, and after only a couple of days my body is definitely feeling the difference.

  Closing the screen on my laptop, I slide it into my purse and stack together the notes I’ve made so far, sliding them in next to it.

  “Riley, are you done already?” A voice asks from behind me.

  Turning, I come face to face with Dan, a small scowl tipping the edges of his lips down in displeasure.

  “Yep, I’m done for the day,” I say, not feeling like I need to justify why I’m leaving when everyone else in the office comes and goes as they please. “Ten hours is my limit at a desk,” I laugh.

  “There’s a great Italian a couple of miles from here. I’d planned to work for a couple more hours, but I can call my driver and have him come pick us up earlier.”

  The assumption in his voice instantly makes my hackles rise. “I actually have plans tonight.”

  His eyebrows rise in surprise and he takes a step toward me. “Oh, I thought you’d never been to Houston before.”

  It’s really none of his business what I do with my time outside of work hours, and I’m not sure I feel inclined to explain to him what I’m doing at all, but I still blurt. “I haven’t.”