Lie to Me (4 page)

“I think I need to do more than change.” She pushed her wet hair back from her bare face.
 

“Oh. Okay.” He frowned. “Take your time. I can wait in the lobby.”
 

She stared at him in disbelief. Most men she knew wouldn’t have had the patience to wait. The fact that he kept defying her expectations seemed promising. “You know what,” she said on impulse. “I have a better idea.”

“Oh?” He looked intrigued. And a tiny bit wary.

She relaxed her weight onto one hip, knowing the subtle shift would make her body even more appealing. “How about I take you to dinner?”

“Dinner?” His eyes widened as his gaze flicked down, then back up to her face.

She smiled as she realized he was struggling not to stare at her body. Unpretentious
and
polite, she realized. “As a way to thank you for saving AJ.”

“You want to take me to dinner?” He looked stunned. “I... can’t do that.”

“I’m sorry. I should have asked if you had plans.”

“I don’t. What I mean is...” He hesitated. “If we’re going to dinner, it’s on me.”

Relief filled her when he didn’t turn her down. “If you insist.”
 

She waited for him to take over, but he stood there, looking as if he had no idea what came next.
 

“I suppose you’ll want to pick me up as well,” she prompted.

“Oh. Yes. Of course.” He pulled his phone from his pocket. “What time?”

“Seven?” she suggested. Was he punching their date into his schedule?

“Seven,” he repeated, his thumbs moving over the phone with practiced speed. “What’s your address?”
 

“Actually, I live in the cottage behind the inn.”
 

“Okay. Got it.” He looked around. “I guess I should get out of your hair.”

“You’re not in my hair, but I do need to get ready for tonight. How about I show you out?” She explained how to find the cottage as she led him from the kitchen back to the lobby. “It’s kind of hard to find since it’s hidden by the trees.”

“A hidden cottage?” The idea seemed to delight him.

“Pretty cool, huh?” she said as they reached the front door.
 

“This whole place is freaking cool,” he agreed.

She found his boyish enthusiasm ridiculously charming. When she opened the door, he stepped outside, onto the veranda. “So, I’ll see you at seven?”

He looked a bit shell-shocked. “Apparently.”
 

“Well, then,” she said, feeling almost giddy, “I’d better go check on those brownies.”

“Right.” He nodded, but made no move to leave.

“See you this evening,” she said, and gently closed the door. Turning to lean her back against it, she covered her mouth to stifle a laugh.
 

My God, he’s cute
, she thought. Assuming all that shy, polite, awkwardness wasn’t an act. That thought dimmed her good mood.
 

Stop it,
she scolded herself.
Stop looking for a user lurking inside every guy you meet. Nice guys do exist.

Plus, it wasn’t like she’d never been out before. She’d just kept guys at a distance, as friends with benefits. Lucas had a sincerity about him that made her think he might be different. The thought made her skittish.

It’s just a date
, she mentally repeated.
 

Calmed by the thought, she felt the smile return to her lips. Yes! She had a date!

Chapter 3

What the hell am I doing?
Luc wondered as he drove back to Pearl Island that evening. He couldn’t believe he had a date with Chloe. What happened to his plan to approach her in a businesslike manner about getting his grandmother’s necklace, then getting back to work? Okay, yes, experiencing a zing of mutual attraction each time their eyes met had been a nice, unexpected bonus, but it couldn’t go anywhere. One way or another it would end; either when she remembered he was that dork she’d once thought completely beneath her, or when she found out why he’d come.
 

He should have told her his name was Luc Renard, not Lucas with no last name. Not telling her was a waste of time, he decided as he crossed the bridge onto the private island. He should just come clean. That was the logical thing to do.

But then he remembered how she’d looked at him in the kitchen, with so much interest in her amazing hazel eyes. Was he really going to bring that to a screeching halt? As Blade would say,
Not bloody likely
.
 

While Luc’s conscience squirmed a bit at continuing the deception-by-omission, Blade never backed down from a challenge, no matter the risk. What better challenge than seeing how far he could take Chloe’s attraction to him before she figured out who he was?
 

Would it go all the way? Would he let it?
 

His pulse kicked up as he imagined her standing before him in that skimpy pink bikini, and him taking hold of the string behind her neck, pulling it slowly until—

No, he told himself. He couldn’t do that to her without telling her everything. He had too much respect for her. After all, it was her outgoing, fearless personality, not to mention his awe of her athletic ability, that had inspired the female characters who populated Vortal. They weren’t helpless damsels to be rescued or quest objects to be won, but strong, bold females, designed to play the role of allies or adversaries.
 

Not surprisingly, the first female prototype he’d designed had had Chloe’s face. In the released version of the game, players of Vortal determined the appearance of their alter egos, but during the early days of development Luc had been in complete control, drawing all the characters in a sketch book, then scanning those sketches so he could bring them to life in 3D.
 

Remembering the drawings he’d done of Chloe stirred his body as well as his imagination, and he silently cursed. He needed to stay focused on the necklace and stop wasting time getting hot and bothered over something that was never going to happen.
 

Spotting the dirt drive Chloe had described, he veered off the road to the inn. As oak trees and palms swallowed him in a tunnel of greenery, he decided his best course was to tell Chloe who he was and why he’d come right off the bat. Then, over dinner, they could discuss what needed to happen for him to file a claim for the necklace. That was assuming she didn’t tell him to leave immediately.

The cottage came into view so suddenly he had to stomp on the brake and swerve left to keep from hitting the steps to the front porch. Once his heart settled after the near collision, he took in the brown shingle siding and green roof that made the little house almost invisible amid the trees. Through the tropical undergrowth, he could see a spacious side deck that probably offered a great view of the cove.
 

Chloe emerged onto the porch as he climbed from the car.
 

“Right on time,” she called as she locked the door, then came bounding down the steps all bright smiles and bouncing hair.
 

Wearing a hot, red sundress.

Holy crap!

That a former tomboy like Chloe even owned a sexy dress took him aback. Other than that afternoon, when she’d been wearing next to nothing, he’d never seen her wear anything but baggy clothes that hid the budding figure beneath. The dress she wore now hugged womanly curves while the square neckline showcased a hint of cleavage. Had her tomboy ways vanished completely?

“Wow, look at your car.” She stopped on the bottom step and planted her hands on her hips to check out the Porsche. She wasn’t a tall woman, but the wedge-heeled sandals made her tan legs look a mile long. “Late seventies SC?”

With effort, he recovered his ability to speak. “Yeah, uh, seventy-nine.”

“Thought so.” Grinning, she strode forward and climbed in without giving him time to come around the hood and open the door for her. When he remained standing where he was, as if rooted to the ground, she leaned over to peer up at him through the open driver’s side door. “You getting back in?”

Hell, no
, he wanted to say. He feared he’d pounce on her instead of confessing. He didn’t want to blurt the truth out too fast, though. She’d likely climb out, slam the door, and tell him to get lost. He’d never get her to help him claim the necklace that way.

Besides,
Blade’s voice argued,
the woman’s clearly dressed for a date, eh? Spoiling that is hardly the way to put her in a receptive frame of mind. Why not bide your time? Soften her up a mite first?
 

Deciding the idea had merit, he climbed in. Taking hold of the wheel, he tried to look straight ahead, but his gaze drifted sideways. Noticing how the hem of the red dress had inched up her thigh, he cleared his throat. “Nice dress.”
 

“What? This old thing?” she said in an exaggerated Southern accent. When he made a somewhat strangled sound of approval, she laughed. Her eyelids lowered as she took in the lightweight sweater he wore over a button-down shirt with the tails showing. “I take it you’re into fashion.”

Her observation sounded almost like a question, but her voice held a hint of disapproval. That threw him. Had his Style App failed him? Or was there some other reason she didn’t like what he was wearing? Or was he just imagining disapproval? God, this was why women in the real world freaked him out. They spoke in some code that wasn’t based on logic. There was no X equals Y. It was always X equals Y unless it equals Z, or A, because you said J, which means M. Who could follow algorithms like that?

Rather than chance hanging himself with the wrong answer, he started the car. “So, where are we going?”

“I vote for Chez Lafitte. Best seafood in town. If that’s okay with you.”

“Always trust the locals.” He turned the car around and drove back to the main road. “I take it you like cars.”

“Mustangs are my weakness. My father bought me a sixty-four and a half Rangoon Red convertible with a white rag top for my high school graduation present.”

“Nice gift.” He arched his brows, not at all surprised, though, since he knew she came from money with a capital M.

“Having him come to the ceremony would have been nicer,” she said offhandedly.

“Your dad missed your graduation?” Now
that
surprised him.

“My parents divorced when I was really young and my father travels a lot.” She shrugged. “Which means a whole lot of guilt offerings for me.” She beamed as if having her father miss her graduation hadn’t been a big deal. “I’ve gotten some good ones over the years.”

Luc frowned, trying to imagine his parents missing any of his major life milestones. He couldn’t. Unconventional as they were, they’d always been there for him, whether they agreed with his choices or not.

“Tell me about this baby.” The way she ran her hands over the tan leather seat to either side of her bare thighs had heat pooling in his groin. He nearly groaned as he wondered how he’d make it through the evening without developing an embarrassingly obvious erection. “She looks straight off the showroom floor. Was she like this when you found her?”

“Not hardly.” Pulling his thoughts away from Chloe’s hands on his body, he remembered the day sales for Vortal Version Three went so viral they crashed the server. He’d decided he deserved a car worthy of his success. A man who made his fortune creating worlds couldn’t buy something off a showroom floor, though. He needed something custom. Something that represented the company he’d built from scratch: a car that had once been dismissed as hopeless but was now powerful, fast, and envied. “I rescued her one step away from the scrap yard.”

“You restored her yourself?” Admiration lit up her face.

“No.” He chuckled at the thought, not just of him having time to tackle such a job, but of a klutz like him picking up a blow torch. He’d probably burn the garage down. “I took her to a restorer who specializes in vintage sports cars.”

“Looks like you added a few aftermarket touches,” she said, eyeing the MP3 docking station and navigation screen in the dashboard.

“A few,” he admitted, smiling at the understatement.
 

To his relief, Chloe kept the conversation flowing effortlessly, mostly about cars, as he drove across the wooden bridge back to Galveston Island. Harborside Drive took them quickly into the historic district, where the low sun gilded the façades of the Victorian architecture. Pedestrians strolled in and out of art galleries and antiques shops.
 

He ducked his head to get a better look. “Good to see the old part of Galveston survived Hurricane Ike.”

“No kidding. You should have seen the place right after the storm, though. It was like being in the French Quarter after Katrina.”
 

“Hmm.” He considered her comment as a possible opening for him to confess. “You were in New Orleans during Katrina?”

“No, but I grew up there. My uncle still has a townhouse in the French Quarter, so I went to help him and Aunt Alli with the cleanup.”
 

“Really? What a coincidence.”