Coach Love(11)

“What is all this? I have work to do.”

The smarmy, patronizing expression on his face lit a match to the smoldering pile of her fury. He tried to pull her to his side again but she moved away, pressing against the car. The thought of him touching her anywhere at that moment made her want to hurl. Of course, being hung over didn’t help. Swallowing hard, she attempted to level her gaze and calm her voice.

“I can’t walk out of there just because you want me to. I have a job—”

“Oh, sweetheart, that’s only for a few more months you know that. We discussed this. Once we move, the commute won’t make sense for you. Besides, you won’t need to. Remember?” He flashed those amazing blues at her, his full lips still split in a grin. The urge to punch him in his patrician nose made her clench her fists in an effort not to.

“I never agreed to—”

“No more arguing. I’m not in the mood. But I am in the mood to surprise my lovely future Mrs. Lowery with a romantic afternoon. That work for you?”

She sighed and crossed her arms. Her head still spun from the aftermath of the myriad bad choices she’d made the night before, including consuming double her usual amount of wine. She winced against the onslaught of memory—the rest of the night had been such a strange blur of awful and wonderful.

“Hon, you all right?”

When he enfolded her in his starchy, woolen embrace, she couldn’t muster energy to resist anymore.

“What happened last night?” His low, soothing voice nearly lulled her into a confession. “Did you have to nursemaid Tricia through another silly infatuation or what?”

Cara took a long, calming breath and settled her mind around the fact that she could never confess anything to this man. The guilty, messy, barely remembered hookup with her longest-running boyfriend must remain safely buried.

“No. Drank too much I guess.”

“Well, luckily for you, I have a relaxing afternoon planned,” he said, reaching around her to open the passenger side door. “Leave it all to me, sweetness.”

“But, my car,” she trailed off, not really meaning the protest anymore. At that split second nothing sounded better than to let Kent take over in his usual, efficient fashion.

“We’ll worry about it later.” He crouched down next to her open door. “I want to show you a good time today. You game?”

She nodded, resigned, as he brushed the inside of her wrist with his lips making her shiver. He’d bought some pre-packaged, upscale picnic items from Brantley’s, the deli-restaurant her friend Jen from high school owned with her sister Diana. The sisters made the best barbeque in town from the game Diana hunted and dressed herself and were building a small empire of farm-to-table products that restaurants all over were latching onto for their high quality, organic wonderfulness.

It made her uncomfortable when he did all the serving for the meal. Kent worked hard and earned every penny he made but liked to be waited on as opposed to the reverse. But her knowledge of him was so limited, he could still surprise her with the odd comment or seemingly out-of-character behavior.

Their courtship had definitely given whirlwind a new name. She’d grown numb to it, stunned, like a bird that had whammed into a plate glass window by accident. So she accepted the food, which consisted of the girls’ barbeque venison on rich pretzel buns, some kind of locally sourced nacho chips with Brantley’s famous salsa and decadent, rich brownies. After accepting a glass of champagne, Cara set it aside when the smell of the fizzy alcohol made her stomach do an alarming series of flips.

Kent encouraged her to settle against him, once he’d stripped off the suit jacket, tie, and dress shirt and sat in his blindingly white undershirt and dress slacks. Something about his smell—a combination of cotton, leather, and money—oozed the sort of security she had never known. What had she been smoking, or better yet drinking, to think that a roll in the proverbial hay with her erstwhile boyfriend had been a good idea, when the consequences of that meant she’d lose this?

Kent had secured a perfect spot under a huge tree, no big surprise. The breeze and shade, food and lingering aftereffects of the night before had her drifting and drowsy. But her conscience kept needling, reminding her that she should value what she had in front of her and stop looking over her shoulder for what she’d rejected years ago.

“Babe.” Kent’s voice rumbled against her back. “I’ve got great news.”

“Hmm?”

“I found the office space and negotiated with the owner. Right where I wanted it in Old Louisville in one of the converted houses.”