He turned to her, and she felt those discerning brown eyes studying her carefully.
Do not squirm.
“That would depend on the season. If it were summer, I’d say one of the outdoor concerts the symphony puts on at Park City. We’d bring our own blankets and wine and lay out under the stars.” She worked to keep her jaw from dropping open. It was exactly her idea of a night out. Had Kate told him? He continued, “In the winter? Maybe a show at Capital Theater and dinner or… Actually. Scratch that. Hockey. Yes, definitely hockey, and dinner would be nachos and hot dogs from the concession stand.”
“Hockey?” That hadn’t been anything near what she’d expected to hear. “Now you’ve overplayed your hand. I don’t even like hockey.”
“Have you ever been to a hockey game?”
She paused. “Well, no. But I don’t have to see the game to know I wouldn’t like it.”
“Which is why it would be memorable. And how can you possibly know you don’t like something that you haven’t tried?” He shot her a disgruntled look. “My point is, I think we can both agree that, contrary to me, you get a thrill out of the unexpected.” For some reason, it struck her that he said this in an almost admiring tone. “And then I’d probably offer some dessert after,” he added, and she glanced over to see a smirk touch those lips. “At my place.”
She laughed. “I’d just bet you would.” Only, the thought of heading to Cruz’s for some dessert and all that it might involve actually sent a jolt of excitement through her. And a little terror.
In Cruz’s hands, she didn’t know what she might be capable of.
She noticed he was still staring at her and she felt her cheeks warming, almost as if he could read her mind and knew what delicious things she’d envisioned. She cleared her throat. “You definitely seem to have it all down to a science. You hook the girl in, then when she’s positively enamored with you and orders the embroidered towels from Pottery Barn with your names entwined, you cut her loose and move on to the next hapless victim.”
“Yes, that’s exactly what I do,” he said in a droll tone, turning his attention back to his computer. “And above my headboard are the nicks I’ve made for each conquest.”
“Come on. You’ve almost said as much yourself, and I quote, ‘Things have gotten a little busy at work and I wasn’t able to give her what she was looking for,’ which is code for”—she lifted her hands from the steering wheel a moment and made air quotes—“a serious relationship. You run at the first sign someone wants something more than a casual fling.”
He truly looked perplexed. “Well, of course. I want to be honest with them. My life, my immediate and future plans, they’re wrapped up in Sorensen Construction right now. It’s best to be upfront with the women I date. Becca made it clear she wanted to take things to another level. Something I’m not prepared to give her or anyone at this time in my life.” He said it, however, almost as if he’d never have the time.
“Wow, you sure are a romantic.”
“Just realistic.”
“Have you always been like this? Wasn’t there anyone who you ever wanted something more with?”
“Not since I was seventeen. Seventeen, naive, and hormonally challenged.”
She didn’t know if she felt sympathy for him or wanted to kick him. “How is wanting to spend your life with someone naive?”
“I’ll tell you another time,” he said in that smug way of his. And for a second she imagined some poor moony-eyed teenaged girl handed her heart by Mr. Sensitive. “Just remember we weren’t all born with a silver spoon in our mouths, the world at our feet. Look, I have a conference call I need to make in another hour with Dick Eastman and want to have some figures ready. Can we table our discussion for the time being?”
“Fine. Whatever.” She returned her attention to finding a song on the radio. Why did he have to bring it back around to her and the fact that she came from wealth? They were talking about love here. Or whatever came close to it. The subject was definitely not over.
Because she was curious now as to what happened to the naive seventeen-year-old Cruz Sorensen that had made him the cynic he was now.
Chapter Six
Cruz held the phone up, dread building in his stomach. Where were the service bars? Any bar. Anything to ensure he could make this call. He hadn’t worked his ass off the past few years to culminate in this one deal, only to have it fall apart because he couldn’t make the final phone call.
Ten minutes ago he’d had full service. He should have just had Payton pull over then. But he’d known how important it was to both of them to close the miles between them and that wedding.
“Anything?” she asked him.
He let his silence confirm the fact.
Three minutes passed. He only had two minutes until he was supposed to make that damned phone call.
Then, there it was.
One—no, two bars now. “I’ve got something.” He looked at the road ahead of them. No sign of a road or turn off. “Pull over.”
“What? We’re on the interstate. I can’t just stop here.”
“Look, it’s imperative I make this call now, and we don’t have the luxury of waiting for the next exit.” He kept his tone even, but there was a steeliness beneath it. She sighed and turned on the blinker.
A horn blared from behind them as their car slowed down, and Payton swerved and let out a squeal of terror. “I hope this call is worth more than our lives.”
He continued to stare at the phone and no sooner had the car stopped than he had thrown the door open and was stepping out. He glanced back to see Payton shaking her head at him before turning her attention to the radio.
A minute later, Dick Eastman was on the phone, his voice that familiar booming sound equal parts friendliness and confidence. “I’ve looked over all the final numbers you’ve proposed.” Even with the noise of cars passing by, Cruz could hear paper rustling. Dick was old school, preferring hard copies in his hands over email. “And even though it’s not the lowest offer I have on the table in front of me, your numbers are reasonable. But as you know, it’s your company’s quality guarantee that has made this easy for me.”
Cruz was careful not to sound too eager. “Glad to hear that, Dick.” Using the man’s first name still felt odd to him, but Dick had all but insisted. “I assure you quality is paramount in all of our ongoing concerns. We have a deal then?”
Dick paused and the seconds ticked by abnormally long. A gust of wind brought a swirl of dirt up around Cruz’s feet. “Well, son, the pen is right next to me now and I can say that this thing is almost as good as yours. However…”
Cruz’s hope that had spiraled a moment ago sank. That single word couldn’t be good.
“One thing you probably know about me by now is that a lot doesn’t get past me,” the old man continued, and Cruz could picture Dick sitting in his massive office in a pinstripe suit and cowboy boots propped up on the desk. Like he’d seen too many Dallas episodes—new and old—and considered himself a regular old J.R. Ewing. He just needed a ten-gallon hat to finish the picture. “I like to keep my finger on the pulse of everything and everyone that could impact me and mine. Family, that is. And I know for a fact that you’re en route to a family event somewhere south of the Rio Grande. With my son’s fiancée, I hear.”
Shit. How the hell did he know already? In the back of Cruz’s mind he’d hoped that eventually his acquaintance and partnership of sorts with Payton would reach the old man’s ear in a positive way, confirming that Cruz was a man to be trusted. But to hear old Dick Eastman already knew was a little…disconcerting.