“Let’s say I found the misconception entertaining.”
“Glad I could amuse you.”
“Trust me, Curli, you did.” His eyes met hers, their sparkle so bright and smug Chloe would have glared in return had her stomach not chosen that moment to do a somersault. She felt like an idiot. Her and her big grand gesture. “No wonder you told me to give the coffee to the man across the street.”
“Figured he could use the warmth more than me.” Moving closer, Ian lifted the sweatshirt from her chin. The fabric tugged the skin where the cloth had dried in place, causing her to wince. “Sorry,” he said, tossing the garment aside.
“For the chin or for misleading me?”
“Both. Now, tip your head back so I can clean you up.”
Although annoyed, Chloe did what she was told. A second later, Ian’s fingertips brushed across her throat. She jumped, her frazzled nerves making the touch feel far more intimate than it was.
Ian sensed her discomfort. “Shhh.” His thumbs stroked her pulse points. Again, intimate, but soothing. “I need to see how deep the cut goes.”
As he spoke, he leaned in tight. Once again, Chloe found herself breathing in coffee and wood, strong, manly scents that calmed her nerves. His hands were softer than she expected. Given his gruff exterior, she would have guessed them to bear signs of exposure and hard labor. These fingers, however, had the surface of silk, with a touch to match. Hard to believe they belonged to the same strong hands she’d seen gripping a coffee mug this morning. Until he fanned his thumbs along the base of her throat, that is. Then she felt every ounce of their strength thrumming below. Controlled but ever present.
“You know,” he said, his breath ghosting warm across her skin, “that was one of the reasons I ran after you. I wanted to set the record straight.”
The sting of a wet cloth pressing against her cut kept her from responding. “Wasn’t fair to keep stringing you along the way I was, especially after you made such a nice gesture.”
“Nice, but irrelevant.”
“Being irrelevant doesn’t erase what you were trying to do.” He rinsed out the towel and began dabbing at her chin again. “Good intentions should be acknowledged.”
His answer brought back the odd fluttering sensation from earlier. She wanted to press her hand to her stomach, but their position made doing so impossible. Somehow, while cleaning her cut, he’d moved so close his knee had wedged itself between her legs. Or had her legs parted for his knee? She felt the seam of his jeans pressing against her flesh, making annoyance increasingly difficult to maintain.
“One,” she said suddenly, grabbing the first distraction that came to mind. “You said setting the record straight was only one of the reasons you ran after me. What was the other?”
“I already told you, I wanted to apologize for being a jerk. I had no business biting your head off.”
“Why did you?”
The only sound was that of water being wrung from the towel. “Long story.”
And guessing from the sour way he spoke, not a very pleasant one. “Want to share?”
“Ever wish you could turn back time?”
Having expected him to say no, his question caught her off guard. “Beyond tonight?”
“Yeah,” he replied, tossing the cloth into the bowl. Water splashed over the sides, leaving a puddle on the table. “Beyond tonight. Muggings don’t count.”
Then what did? Relationships? Bad decisions? “All the time,” she answered. More than he could possibly know. She gave a soft laugh, trying to inject a little humor into what was otherwise a pathetic situation. “You met Aiden.”
“True enough. What on earth did you see in him, anyway?”
“A really sexy Irish accent. What can I say?” she added, when Ian arched a brow. “I’m shallow.”
“Aren’t we all?” he replied with a smile.
Right now, the shallow part of her had noticed the shadows behind his eyes. The darkness alternately marred and enhanced their blue color, giving his gaze depth. “So why are you turning back time?” she asked him. “Don’t tell me you have relationship issues.”
“I’ve got issues up the ying yang, Curlilocks.” His hands cradled her jaw again, tilting her head backward. “Let’s see what we’re dealing with.”
“Will I live, Doc?” She really wanted to ask what he meant, but those were the words that came out.
Ian was quiet as he studied the wound. Amazingly, his touch was even more gentle than before. Between the featherlight contact and his breath blowing warm at the base of her throat, Chloe found herself fighting not to break out in a warm shiver.
“You already have a scar,” he said after a moment.
“Took a header going in for a layup. College ball,” she added for clarification.
“A six-foot-tall woman playing basketball. There’s a stereotype.”
“Six feet and a half inch, thank you very much.” She lowered her chin, a mistake, since she found herself nose to nose with him. The shiver she’d been fighting broke free. “And playing ball helped pay for school.”
“Lucky you.”
“Suppose that’s one way of looking at things.” If you call being born with pterodactyl-length arms lucky. “I didn’t really have a choice.”
“We all have a choice,” he said.
“What does that mean?”
Busy pawing his way through the bandages, Ian didn’t answer right away. “Exactly the way it sounds. We always have a choice. We don’t always make the right ones.”
“You can say that again,” she replied. “I’ve made enough bad decisions to qualify as an expert.”
“Nonsense, you’re just a baby. Talk to me when you’ve made as many mistakes as I have.” He tore open a Band-Aid. “Then you can call yourself an expert.”
Chloe recalled her thoughts this morning, about whether Ian had battled karma. Apparently he had, although not as victoriously as she’d supposed.
“All done,” he announced, stepping back. He was referring to bandaging her cut, but intuition told her he meant the conversation, as well. The abrupt end left her as unsettled as his touch.
Made her wonder if she wasn’t dancing around a mistake herself.
CHAPTER THREE
“DO YOU LIE to everyone you meet, or did I win some special kind of prize?”
Engrossed in letter writing, Ian almost missed the question. He looked up to find Chloe towering over his table. She’d dressed for dramatic effect today, with her hair pulled back and a pair of large sunglasses accentuating both her cheekbones and her bandaged chin. Instantly, the memory of her skin beneath his fingers sent awareness rolling through him, and he had to squeeze his pen to keep from reaching out to touch her again. She was too attractive for her own good. The type of woman the old Ian would have pursued with a passion. Wined her, dined her and charmed those boots right off. On second thought, he’d charm off everything but the boots.
Damn the conscience that came with sobriety.
“Would you mind starting the conversation again?” he asked her. “I missed the beginning.”
“Ian Black Technologies.”
Ah. His not-so-secret identity. “Someone’s been playing on the internet.” He wondered how long it would take for her to dig up his story.
“Your name sounded familiar, so I went online to find out why, and there you were, larger than life. Ian Black, technology entrepreneur extraordinaire.”
“Extraordinaire’s a pretty strong word. More like a guy who had the right idea at the right time. Still doesn’t explain how I lied to you.”
Her sunglasses rose and fell, signaling an arched eyebrow or two. “You said you owned a coffee shop.”
“I do.”
“Conveniently leaving out the part about the global defense company. A lie of omission is still a lie.”
“Maybe I like keeping a low profile.” The sunglasses moved again; an eye roll this time, he suspected. “Besides, I didn’t omit anything. Or didn’t you read the part where I got kicked out of my own company?”
“My ad agency works with a lot of large companies. CEOs get replaced all the time. Corporate politics, change in culture. Doesn’t alter the fact you’re hardly as down-and-out as you led me to believe.”
Fascinating. She might the first woman he’d ever met who was annoyed because he was rich. She was also terribly naive if she thought his eviction was solely because of politics or culture change. “If you work in advertising, you know there’s also such a thing as corporate spin. Believe me, I earned my ouster.” Given how bad things got, he was lucky he’d held his office as long as he did. “As for the omission...I already apologized for misleading you. Defense contracting is part of my past. I prefer to focus on fixing my present.”
“Fixing?” she asked.
“Told you, I made a lot of mistakes.” He pointed with his chin at the two paper cups in her hand. “One of those mine?”
A blush made its way up those cheekbones, adding a shade of pink to the tawny color. “Apparently I didn’t learn my lesson last night.”
“Last night was sweet.”
“Don’t you mean naive?”