“I heard through the grapevine that he’s engaged to Danielle Hughes.”
“See, you were around the university when I was.”
He didn’t confirm or deny. “You’ve got the color of my hair right, at least. I’ll give you that much.”
“Good. Sounds like I’m finally getting somewhere.”
Her happiness made him want to give her more, but he would no doubt regret giving her too much.
She was on a roll, though. “What do you do for a living?”
“I invite women over to rental houses and watch them cook. It’s a fetish.”
She really laughed at that, and he realized that she was sincerely enjoying herself.
And him. And this date. She wasn’t afraid of either one. In fact, he was bringing joy to a woman when he hadn’t done so for a long, long time, and he was doing it with only his voice.
But, again, this whole thing was temporary, and he had to keep that in mind.
After her laugh trailed off, a seemingly endless pause reigned. Was it because she realized that he’d used the word fetish? She’d given him a similar hesitation earlier when he’d laid that opening line on her—a thinly veiled allusion to coming.
But he’d only been testing her when she’d entered the house, seeing how much she was going to take from him. He’d probably been doing the same thing just now, too. Hell, he’d even been doing it during the house tour when he had told her what he knew about her. He could’ve pushed her further by mentioning her deceased sister, but he hadn’t wanted to bring up any ghosts like Hannah. And certainly not his wife, Carla.
Was he trying to unnerve Leigh, getting her to leave before she could decide to do so on her own?
But she was still here, stirring heavy cream, vegetable oil, honey and eggs into that bowl.
She said, “You know what’s funny about this date?”
Besides everything? “What?”
“It’s not that you’re talking to me on a phone or that you’re playing around with me by not showing yourself. It’s a cat-and-mouse game, and believe it or not, I get that.”
“So what’s so funny?”
She poured the batter into the pan. “Do you ever think that it’s easier to talk to someone you can’t see?”
He narrowed his gaze, hoping she’d go on.
She didn’t disappoint. “A few years ago there was a vendor I used for my produce. We used to talk on the phone all the time for business. But then our talks started to get...”
“Suggestive?” It was almost a whisper.
“Yeah. But only mildly.” She stopped pouring and looked at the phone, as if it truly were him. “Our talking never went anywhere, and all I knew of him was his voice. But somehow I felt like he knew a part of me that no one else did, just because nobody else had ever made me feel like he did before, merely by chatting with me.”
“How did he make you feel?”
She thought about it for a moment, then said, “As if I might be able to suggest something to him that I would never say in person, if that makes any sense. I never did that, though. After he shut down his business, I never talked to him again.”
As she put the pan in the oven, he thought he saw a yearning on her face that was so acute he wanted to make it go away.
It was at that moment he knew there were a lot of stories Leigh could tell him, a lot of mysteries about her that he’d like to solve.
Had he fallen in love—or lust—at first sight with her back in college at that party? Or maybe he was a fool who could indulge that lost sentimental part of him only here, in the near darkness.
Either way, he wanted more.
“When do you need to leave town?” he asked without thinking.
She’d been wiping off the counter, and she stopped. “I’m on hiatus from my show....”
As she let the words hang, he got the feeling that she just might be open to coming back for a second date if the rest of the night went well...if he didn’t put any pressure on her and they merely had dinner, with him still at a distance, still playing the game.
And if he gave her something to come back for.
* * *
THIS WAS DEFINITELY a date that would go down in the Singlehood Hall of Fame.
After Leigh had finished preparing the rest of the dinner, she had expected Callum to come-out-come-out-wherever-he-was.
But...no.
He had asked her to set aside his meal in the oven for later and to fix a plate for herself so she could take it to the dining room, where a long mahogany table was already set.
Low light from a chandelier toasted the room as she sat down with her plate and her glass of wine. She placed the phone on another stand that was waiting at a setting next to hers.
What was Callum’s agenda? Yeah, she knew he must have planned some sort of scenario, but surely it couldn’t last all night. Or maybe he was gauging how far he could take this. She’d seen that movie 9½ Weeks, and she knew that there were men out there who didn’t do paint-by-number relationships or dates.
Was he one of them?
Another delicious shiver danced over her skin. What did it say about her that she wanted to see how far he would push this thing? And why did she want to start pushing it herself?
She leaned back in her chair, holding the wine in front of her as the aroma of all her honeyed dishes tickled her senses. She glanced around the room, wondering where he was, feeling the voyeuristic thrill of this game once again. It wasn’t all that different from being on TV, knowing people would be watching you, never being able to see their expressions.
Let’s see.... There was a darkened second story mezzanine rimming the room. Was he up there? Somewhere?
“Is there a peephole or something that you’re using?” she asked.
“No.” His laugh filled the phone speaker. “You make me sound like a bad man in a horror movie, Leigh.”
“Bad in what way?”
Their conversations so far hadn’t crossed any boundaries, but she knew that she’d just put out an invitation to do some testing.
“I’m not sure I should answer that.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m not sure how much bad you can take. You were always a nice girl, weren’t you?”
“Isn’t that why you bid on my basket?”
He chuckled again, and she decided that it was really time to push back.
Putting down her wine, she leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table as she idly picked up a piece of bread. She’d set a bowl of honey nearby, and she dipped into it, letting the thick liquid drip.
“What kind of girl,” she said, her pulse tripping, “offers up the kind of basket I did to a total stranger?”
“Ah, but that was the genius of your basket. It was innocent, but...”
He trailed off when she took the bread and held it a few inches above her mouth, drizzling honey into it. Some of the liquid meandered over her lips, and she licked at it, then took a tiny nibble of bread.
Her chin was sticky with the stuff, too, but she let it stay there for now.
“You were saying?” she asked, barely recognizing her husky tone.
But