The Will (Magdalene #1)(14)

She’d divorced my grandfather before I was born and he’d died before I was old enough to know him.

She had shared about him, of course, when I was much older and could take the stories she had to tell, stories she told in order to try to explain my father’s behavior and why I, too, seemed to make poor choices when it came to men.

Not excuse it. Explain, “for understanding a soul, buttercup, can settle a soul.”

It hadn’t settled mine but I’d hoped it settled hers.

It was, however, my understanding that in order to be done with him, Gran had left my grandfather and done it taking nothing with her.

She’d also worked, doing so until she was seventy-eight years old. She was the receptionist for a doctor’s office. She’d loved it. They’d loved her. And she’d been so sharp and sprightly, she had no problems working well past retirement age and only quit so she’d have more time to cook, knit, play bridge with her cronies and meddle in everyone’s affairs.

But apparently her parents, who had a fabulous home on the water, also had a goodly amount of money to bestow on their daughter for there was no way she made that kind of money as a receptionist at a medical practice.

And as I stared into the dark night, I found all this disquieting.

It wasn’t that my grandmother was wealthy and I didn’t know it. I was glad she was comfortable but I knew that. She’d never given me any indication not to think precisely that.

That said, the fact remained that there seemed to be a good amount about my grandmother I didn’t know and I thought I knew her very well.

But that wasn’t all it was.

I just couldn’t put my finger on exactly what it was.

“May I join you?”

I turned my head, looked up at the man standing beside me and recognized him from inside the restaurant. Prior to retiring to the veranda with my liqueur, I’d eaten alone inside. He, wearing a quite nice suit, had eaten with three other men in what was clearly a business dinner.

He was not unattractive. However, unfortunately for him, I worked for Henry Gagnon, who was extremely attractive, and I’d that day met James Spear, who was extortionately attractive, so this man most definitely didn’t compare.

But that wasn’t the reason I didn’t want him to join me.

On the whole, I preferred my own company and had since I was a little girl. I had friends, all of them were good friends, but they were few.

Truly, the only two people in my life who I spent any amount of time with and shared anything deep with were Henry and Gran.

I also wasn’t in the mood for company. I had a variety of things on my mind. I wanted my mind to be on those, not on trying to pull up meaningless conversation with a stranger to pass the time.

And lastly, I was in no mood for sex and it was clear he was approaching because he was interested in me.

If the need arose, I’d take a lover and I’d do this no nonsense, finding a man who I was attracted to, who suited me and then I’d take him to my bed. On occasion, this activity would be repeated or I’d exchange contact information and when I was again in his locale, I’d seek him out.

Mostly, however, I took care of myself. I found this more efficient and, in most cases, more enjoyable.

This was because intimacy wasn’t easy for me and although the act of copulation was often quite pleasant, it was rare a man was very good at it and when he was, by the time I would return to where he was, he’d be taken.

This man, I could tell by just looking at him, wasn’t very good at it. Although he was confident enough to make an approach, there was something about his manner that reminded me of Terry Baginski. An arrogance, which meant he’d undoubtedly be selfish in bed and that was never enjoyable.

The problem with this was, his arrogance was such that I’d learned a man like him was not easily put off, certain he could talk me around to his way of thinking.

And after the last several days, I simply didn’t have it in me to talk him out of what he was certain he was going to get.

This was why I lied.

“I wouldn’t mind you joining me, however, I’ve a man in my life who would.”

“Ah,” he replied on an easy smile. “And would this man be averse to me buying you another liqueur?”

I studied him through the dim, romantic lights strung around the edges of the veranda, wondering how he could ask such a question since I’d already told him the answer.

“Indeed, I believe he would,” I shared, pretending to sound like I was disappointed and doing a poor job of it on purpose.

It wasn’t poor enough for whatever he heard in my voice made him pull up an Adirondack chair next to me and sit in it.

“If I were that man, I probably would be the same,” he told me after he was seated.

I decided to say nothing.

He didn’t return the favor and his voice lowered when he went on.

“Then again, if I were that man, I would be more averse to allowing you to dine alone.”

He’d seen me in the restaurant. This did not surprise me since I’d seen him there as well.

“He’s busy this evening and I had a taste for lobster bisque,” I replied.

This was a mistake and I knew it when I said the word “taste” and his eyes dropped to my lips. His gaze returned to mine and he declared, “If I were that man, if you had any taste, I would see to you getting it.”