Without A Trace: Inside The Lines Part 3

"See you then," he says as I walk away.

I turn. "Don't be late." I level my gaze at him, lips curved.

He nods, his crooked grin disarming. "Never."

Chapter 7.

Second Thoughts Dating. It's the bane of my existence. I want to skip past all the awkward glances and uncomfortable silences, weird attempts at conversation, and talking over each other accidentally...I want to hop forward to the part where you're like Ella and Ian. When they're together, they move as one. He'll sit on the couch, and she'll automatically tuck her feet against him so he can rub the arch of her foot. She's barely finished her gla.s.s of wine when he's already pouring her another. She mentions texting him, and suddenly, he's sent her some romantic, s.e.xy message that turns her cheeks pink, even after settling into domestic monotony.

I want that. I don't want the messy, uncomfortable, unsure in-between. Alas, no one seems to have come up with a dating method that allows communication by osmosis. So I raid my closet, determined to find the right outfit.

"If I didn't know better, I'd say you were moving out," Noah comments from my doorway.

Clothing covers my bed and floor, outfits that I've either discarded or deemed ready for Goodwill. I stick my tongue out at him, then drop onto my bed, deflated. "I have a date."

He mocks shock. "What is this? The impenetrable fortress of Lux Trace has a crack?"

"Har, har."

"Aw, come here." Noah crosses the room, pulling me into a hug.

He's always warm and smelling of a spicy fragrance, and right now, it feels good to be held, though I'd never admit to it. And don't think I haven't eyed Noah a time or two for myself. I adore him. He's an incredibly giving, good-looking, and intelligent guy. Despite his rather wanton s.e.x life, I know he's lonely and looking for the right woman. But he's a straight arrow, and I'm a labyrinthine bull's eye. We've been friends a long time; I was actually closer to him in college than I was to Ella; he and I both took business cla.s.ses, while Ella took marketing and PR cla.s.ses. Eventually, it all evened out, and now they are both like family to me.

I give myself the moment, then I pull free. "I can't believe I'm going to say this, but I have nothing to wear on a date with a normal guy."

He pulls out my desk chair and straddles it, resting his forearms on the back. "A normal guy? As opposed to, what? I thought Evan was pretty normal."

I dig through a mound of colors on the floor, looking for my red bra. "Evan was a submissive. He knew that about himself. This guy's...not like that."

"He's not submissive? Or he's not like Evan?"

I consider his questions as I delve into my closet again, determined to find an outfit I probably don't have. Satisfied I'm hallucinating about a patterned skirt I could have sworn I purchased, I rest a hand on my pajama-clad hip and look at Noah. "Both. Neither. I mean, he's definitely not like Evan. And he's probably not all that submissive. Which means this is going to be an utter disaster, because you kind of have to love the life in order to live with it." I hold up my p.r.o.nged collar as an example of everything that won't work with this date.

"Or, it could be amazing because he's something different. You've primarily dated in the kink world so far."

I narrow my eyes at him.

"Don't give me your s.e.xy gaze, Lulu," he teases, using a pet name he only employs when we're alone. "Think about it. You've dated how many guys in the years I've known you, all of whom knew exactly what you were about, and they've been flops. Perhaps dating someone who can be, shall we say, aschooled' and atrained' wouldn't be such a bad thing."

I snort. "Oh, trust me. I've tried the training bit. All I ended up with was a guy who thought I wanted threesomes every night. Which, don't get me wrong, I enjoy, but not every night."

"Oh, G.o.d, tell me you have pictures or video to show me."

I toss my pillow at him. "Don't be a guy." I lie on the bed and stare at the ceiling, its off-white surface the perfect canvas for my frustrated thoughts. "You know what I really think the problem is?"

"Hm?"

"Me."

He rests his chin on his arms. "Come on, Lux, you just haven't found the right person yet."

"Your sister said the same thing." I sigh. "And I don't know about that, Noah. I've dated men and women, lived with several, and I always leave before things get ugly. Maybe I have a commitment problem. Or maybe I'm just not cut out for long-term relationships."

Uncomfortable silence yawns between us.

"Maybe you just need to try again," he says quietly before leaving my room. "You and Ella tease me about being a love-'em-and-leave-'em, and let's face it, I can be. But I haven't given up hope. Neither should you."

d.a.m.n Noah for being a nice guy. Determined not to let tonight get to me, as it's likely one more date that will end poorly, I look for my usual wear. If any guy wants to be with me, he's going to know what he's getting.

Chapter 8.

Fumbled Plans I'm feeling slightly less confident as I approach Radio Blue in midtown. It's a novelty restaurant, which would explain why it hasn't been on my radar. Given that a horde of children just filed in, I'm not thinking this will be a romantic setting. Which is fine. It's not like I want tonight to be all hot and heavy. But I hadn't thought I'd be playing Skeeball, either.

Besides, I'd be lying if I said I hadn't been reviewing the night with Ari over and over in my head. Or using Fin as a stand-in for some pretty hot daydreams. So the bright blue neon tubing and cartoon characters on the restaurant's sign are proving a bit off-putting.

Not to mention, I wore standard Lux-wear: gun-metal patent leather pants with a cobalt blue silk sh.e.l.l and a close-fitting, black motorcycle jacket, finished off with high-heeled ankle boots and a few silver pieces of jewelry. I went with my hair long and loose, and I toned back my makeup to a subtle eye and peachy pink lips. Tasteful? Practically virginal compared to my usual getups. For Radio Blue-which I suspect has a children's arcade in the bas.e.m.e.nt-perhaps not.

He's waiting for me at the door. When he sees me, his gaze focuses on my face, for which he gets major bonus points, but his awe is evident. "Ye're stunning," he says softly, then he leans down and busses my cheek.

"You're not too bad yourself." In truth, he's stunning as well. He wears a pair of black pants that are probably part of a well-tailored suit, with a deep plum sweater that sets off the green-blue of his eyes. Given that he'd look delicious in a paper bag, I'm challenged to keep my own eyes above his shoulders.

The noise of the restaurant invades the moment as the doors open to emit a cacophony of children screaming and laughing.

"This might have been a poor choice," he comments as we walk towards the door.

"No, it's fine." I shake my head, as I don't want to make him feel bad. When we step inside, however, a "poor choice" doesn't even begin to describe it. Synthetic bleeps and loud canned music a.s.sault our ears as the bright, primary colored lights of the restaurant flicker in an array of patterns. There's a huge "exploratorium" to our left, outfitted with countless video game machines, and a restaurant with a bar upstairs. Directly behind us is a ball pit, with small children leaping through a sea of colorful plastic orbs, shrieking with delight and dismay.

The hostess wears blue furry ears and has whiskers painted on her face. "How many in your party?"

I glance at Fin, who looks supremely embarra.s.sed.

"Should we go somewhere else?" When I say nothing, he nods. "We should. Thanks," he nods to the hostess, and then lets me lead the way out of the restaurant.

"I'm sorry," he says as we're walking out. "I feel like an a.s.s."

I chuckle. "This doesn't bode well for the rest of the evening."

At that, he sobers. "I apologize - I dinna know-"

"No, I'm sorry. That was harsh, and I meant...it doesn't matter. I apologize." I pull together a smile. "Let's start over, shall we?"

His handsome face shows relief. "Unfortunately, I dinna know where to suggest next, not being from around here."

"I think I can come up with something. This way."

One of the benefits of living close to the city all of my life-I was born in New Jersey-is that I know a lot of people, and I'm familiar with most of the neighborhoods. I send a couple of texts while we walk to the subway stop.

Two stops later, we're above ground and stepping inside Le Chateau Lauxmont. A privately owned, chic bed and breakfast, it also houses one of the best kept secrets in the city. Once inside, you feel as though you've entered a quaint, French farmhouse, resplendent with tarnished antiques and local art. The steaks are certified Kobe, and the chef is known internationally for his skill. There's also a waiting list for Friday nights several months out, so that we are able to slip inside and get a table...let's just say, it pays to have connections.

"Shall we?" I glance at Fin, who looks appropriately impressed.

"Indeed." Fin offers me his arm, and I take it, feeling my stomach jump a little at the contact. His forearm feels like solid steel beneath my fingers. I secretly wish he would have worn short sleeves, though the cool October evening prevents that.

Once we're seated, Fin winks at me. "From now on, ye'll always choose the restaurant."

I laugh and twirl a strand of hair around my fingers. "You say that like you already know there'll be a second date."

He leans forward. "Since ye're still sitting with me after all my f.u.c.k ups so far, I'm hoping I can talk ye into it." His dimples show as he grins.

"We'll see, Fin...what is your last name?"

"MacKenzie."

"Wow. You are Scottish through and through."

"Aye. Weel, would ye expect less?"

"So, then, Mr. MacKenzie, tell me your tale." I peel off my jacket, and I notice his eyes tracing the outline of my shoulder ink.

"That's a fair piece there, and a beauty. I thought so when I first saw it, though I couldn't see it clearly. What is it, if ye don't mind me asking?"

I turn sideways so he can see the full image. "It's a peac.o.c.k." The body of the bird is on my shoulder blade, and his feathers curl around my shoulder in a blaze of color.

He reaches out, his fingers trailing over the image. The touch surprises me, but he doesn't seem to have the same reticence that most people do about touch...or perhaps because I've seen him naked, the typical rules don't apply. Either way, the heat of him sends a thrill down my spine.

"That's fine work. Does it signify something for ye?"

I sit back, toying with the edge of the menu as I choose my words. "The peac.o.c.k loses his feathers every year after mating season. Then, when it comes time to rustle up some female attention, he regrows them. So they've been seen as a symbol of renewal in some cultures."

His full lips quirk up at the corners. "So that's what it means to ye, then? Renewal?"

"It's like a rebirth, or being given a second chance to get it right, if you will." I narrow my eyes. "And I recognize a stall tactic when I hear one. Out with it - what's your story?"

He chuckles. "Aye, well, there's not much to tell. I'm from just outside of Edinburgh, a wee town called Kirkliston. Verra small. So when I went to university, I got see a bit of the world-at least, outside of my hometown. My da owns a small cleaners, and Mum's been working with him since they opened it. Never was much money for travel and the like, so I stayed close."

The waiter takes our drink order, and Fin waits politely until the small man leaves. "So the only real travel I ever did was playing football-well, ye call it asoccer' here in America. I played quite a bit, and that's what I did for some time in school. Still do."

"So you're a soccer player? Er, football player, I mean?"

His cheeks pinken. "Not exactly, no. Well, I mean, aye, I do play soccer-for a local team, mind ye, not anything extravagant. I'm actually a horse trainer. Or at least, I fancy myself as such."

"Wow." I look at Fin in a new light. "That's not what I expected. I thought you were an underwear model," I tease, enjoying the flush that covers his cheeks.

"Aye, well, that...ye know, Stephen gets me into these things, ye understand? He told me I'd get some nice clothes out of the deal. He never mentioned I'd be photoed in my knickers."

I laugh, admittedly enjoying his discomfiture. "Stephen can definitely get you into trouble." The waiter returns with our drinks, and I take a sip of my pinot grigio. I'm anything but a wine sn.o.b, and this pinot is dry and crisp, with hints of apple. After a moment, I raise a brow and ask, "So, what did you think you were getting into last weekend?"

If he was red before, he's turned into a beet now. He covers his face with his hands, groaning comically. "Oh, G.o.d, ye had to ask. I hoped ye'd not, as I don't even have a good answer."

"Oh, come on, at least tell me what Stephen said to get you to say yes."

He digs in his pocket, coming up with his phone. "It isna what he said that sold me." He swipes over the screen, looking for something, and then hands the phone to me.

He'd pulled up his texting app.

Dude, need a favor.

I don't think u will mind helping me out.

U know the s.h.i.t we talked about? I need u 2 be me. Trust me-u won't be sry.

The next text is a picture of me, though it isn't one I've seen before. I must have been at a party, and from the little bit I can tell from the background, it might be from Stephen's birthday party last year. I'm laughing, looking at the camera, and I'm wearing almost no makeup. It's the first time in a long time that I've seen myself look...well, perhaps more me, and less Mistress Hathaway. My gray eyes are mesmerizing in the photo, and though I've never seen myself as any great beauty, this photo...well, I must say, it's flattering.

Now whose cheeks are pink? I hand him the phone and finger my bread plate. "So you thought you were going to have s.e.x with me?" I try to keep the accusatory tone out of my voice, but even so, the tension between us heightens.

"Not exactly." His burr intensifies with his chagrin. "Look, Lux, I dinna know ye, and when a friend sends me a photo of a beautiful girl and suggests I might get to see her up close...well, I dinna ask questions."

I nod, biting back a grin. "Fair enough. You do know what Stephen does, though, right?"

"Erm, I have a general idea, aye."

My estimation of him goes up. "Well, then, I'm impressed. Not every guy would jump into those shoes."

"I wasna ajumping into his shoes.'" Fin's voice goes up a decibel. "Christ, the man will sleep with anyone for a bit of coin."

Which is true. Stephen is-technically was-an escort. He still plays that card on occasion, though most recently, he's turned his "coin" into an investment portfolio. He's part-owner of Monsieur and designs some of the fashions.

"It wasna the first time I'd seen ya, ye ken. He'd mentioned ye before. A bit of a crush he has on ye, I think." He tucks the phone away, then chances another glance at me. "So I've seen quite a few photos."

"Seriously? Like he's a total creeper?" I act more surprised than I really am. Stephen's had a thing for me for some time, and I like him. But not like that.

"I wouldna call him a acreeper,' no, but he likes ye verra well. Listen, he sent me yer photo, and I thought if the worst thing to happen to me in New York City was that I got to bed a bonny la.s.s, I'd be a lucky man."

I giggle, as he purposely thickens his accent, and any tension evaporates. We order dinner and chat about general things, like what brought him to the States.

"My mentor, John Littes, offered me an apprenticeship," he says between bites of steak. "Since I haven't been able to figure out what I want to do after uni, I figured I'd take him up on it."