She uncrossed her ankles and leaned forward. Her palms pressed into the sofa on either side of her thighs. How could he talk about kissing her and then tell her to believe Philip Ryder could deliver magic?
“Now you want me to go out with him?” she demanded.
“Yes.”
Her fingers dug into the couch cushion. She fought the urge to reach for her drink and down the rest of her martini. If she listened to her gut, it would list the reasons Jared Mitchell wanted to play a new role in her life. He’d left more than three-dozen juice boxes on her doorstep. He’d interrupted her date. He’d kissed her.
“I think you know what you want, Lucy. You should go after it.” He tipped back his beer and took a long drink. Then he lowered it and added, “Find the magic. If it exists for anyone, you’re it.”
She met his gaze, staring straight into his bright, blue eyes. “Because I wear a costume to work?”
He stood and walked over to her. His fingers grazed her cheek and then tucked under her chin and raised it. “You’re more than a Cinderella fantasy. More than any man’s dream date. Don’t get me wrong. You are one hell of a fantasy.”
“Jared,” she said sharply. He needed to be quiet right now. Her emotions were seesawing between excitement and indignation. She didn’t want to hear words designed to turn her into a simpering, wanting mess—not from him.
The pad of his thumb brushed over her lips. “But that’s not all you are,” he continued.
His matter-of-fact tone mentally tipped the scales in favor of indignation.
“You’re . . . ” His hand dropped from her chin. “You’re you, Lucy.”
She raised an eyebrow, allowing her ire to bubble. He’d followed up “You’re more than a fantasy” with “You’re you”?
“You had me until the end,” she said.
He raised an eyebrow, his lips sliding into a slow, welcoming grin. “I should have quit while I was ahead?”
She nodded.
He shook his head, still smiling. Then he turned and headed for the door. She followed the line of his broad shoulders. She watched his easy gait. The man was a walking, talking ad for confidence. And he’d declared her “more than.”
What if Philip Ryder looks at me and only sees his handcuff fantasy?
“Jared,” she called.
He stopped in the doorway and turned to her.
“It’s not safe for you out there,” she said.
“I’ll take my chances.” Then he winked at her and slipped into the hall.
“Jared Mitchell!” Lou Tennyson’s familiar baritone echoed in the corridor outside the dining room. “Just the man I wanted to see.”
Lucy stood and rushed to the door. She peered into the hallway, but kept her heels planted in the library. “For all I know, you were spewing more bullshit,” she muttered. Then she dropped her voice and added in a poor imitation of Jared’s oh-so-masculine voice: “You’re more than a Cinderella fantasy.”
But she wanted to believe him. It had been a long time since she’d thought of herself in those terms. Had her ex ever thought of her as more than anything?
Maybe. In the beginning.
But by the end, I was the less than in his equation. He wanted me less than his new girlfriend.
That was the problem with words. It was so hard to know when they were empty promises. She shook her head, pushing away the past. With her gaze fixed on Jared, she stepped into the crowed hallway. “It doesn’t matter if you meant every word,” she whispered. “I still owe you a rescue.”
I still want to save you.
And that might prove far more problematic.
Chapter 12