Woke Read online

  “The latter.”

  That little crevasse deepened, a twin forming on the opposite side of his mouth when his grin turned to a full-fledged, captivating smile.

  Oh, my.

  “To paraphrase you, it’s amazing how with millions of people in this city, it can be deceptively small. Twice in one day tells me we were meant to meet, so.” He shrugged.

  Had I ever thought a man’s shoulders sexy before? In all honesty, I don’t think I had, but there was something about the simple way Enright lifted his broad ones and ticked his head a hair to one side that gave off an erotic elegance and had me thinking they were.

  Before I could come up with a response, the center’s manager, Felicity Carruthers, started her welcome speech and the noisy room hushed.

  While she spoke I concentrated on my salad and tried to ignore the man at my side. Not an easy thing to do.

  The first course ended and as the wait staff brought out the main meal, Felicity introduced our master of ceremonies and auctioneer, newscaster Dan Flannery. Dabney had been instrumental in wrangling him to donate his time for the event when he’d contacted her and asked if he could do a sit down interview and a news piece about the center. She’d agreed but had stipulated recording cameras from the news network be banned while he hosted. He’d reluctantly acquiesced, something I was happy for. While I wasn’t hiding my identity, I didn’t want to take the chance of popping up on the paparazzi’s radar.

  Media attention had grown ten thousand fold since the days when I used to party-crawl from nightclub to nightclub. I’d appeared on Page 6 of the Post more times than I cared to remember, but the reporters hadn’t been as vindictive or as bothersome as they were now. I even knew most of them by name back then and they’d been respectful if not mildly intrusive.

  These days, a photo of someone who used to be a media darling and who shunned the limelight was worth a great deal of money and could garner extreme notoriety for the cameraman and the subject. The last thing I wanted to do was go viral. I was a different woman now from the girl who used to not care a whit about her actions or reputation. A totally different woman. I craved my relative anonymity and wanted to live my life away from prying eyes and newspaper headlines.

  Conversation drifted around the table, sotto voce, as Flannery conducted auction business. Some of the items donated, such as a week at a spa in Colorado and box tickets to the upcoming season at the Met went for above what the committee had expected, and I was thrilled. At this point the Ainsworth painting would hopefully go above list price as well.

  So far, Enright hadn’t bid on anything.

  “Nothing striking your fancy?” I asked him at one point. “I know you came here for a client, but haven’t you seen anything you want for yourself?”

  The heat in his gaze as he turned his attention to me rendered me immobile again as it earlier had when we’d shaken hands. Even in the subdued ballroom lighting there was no missing it. I may have been out of the dating and relationship world for a while, but I knew when a man was looking at me with longing in his eyes.

  After a moment it cooled, banked behind eyes which had turned amused as he regarded me. But I hadn’t imagined it. No, that kind of sexual expression is unmistakable.

  “None of the auction items, no,” he said, those damn gorgeous lips lifting at the edges.

  Twenty year old flirtatious me would have boldly questioned, “What do you see that you want, then?”

  I had a fairly good idea what his response would be if I asked it now, so I pressed my lips together to keep the question silent.

  A twinkle sparkled in his eyes.

  “The Ainsworth is up.” My mother’s voice blasted through me.

  “Ah, here we go,” Enright said. He turned his chair so he could view the podium he’d ignored up until now, his bidding banner clasped in his hand.

  “And now, ladies and gentlemen.” Flannery smiled as Felicity brought the painting to the forefront of the stage and held it so everyone could see it. “For our final item of the night. This is truly a treat. If you’re a Charles Ainsworth fan like I am, you know his work goes for big bucks.”

  Laughter exploded through the ballroom.

  “Maybe when they make me the network news anchor I’ll be able to afford an original.” More laughter. “Right now I can only dream of having one on my apartment wall.”

  “Moron,” Mimsey mumbled. “Get on with it.”

  My mother reached over and patted a hand over her crossed arms. “Be nice.”

  She shook her head and a tiny grin flew over her mouth. “Why should I start now?”

  “Mr. Ainsworth has titled this work DAY.”

  “Perfect name,” mom said.

  And it was. The painting was about twenty-four inches wide by the same length, un-framed, done in oils. The Brooklyn Bridge took up most of the canvas and was backlit by shards of sunlight peeking through the cables in the background. The East River was calm, sparkles of twinkling lights jumping off the deep blues and sea greens of the water.

  “It looks like a photograph,” I said. “It’s gorgeous.”

  “Who’ll start the bidding at five thousand?” Flannery asked.

  Hands with bid number fans flew up into the air all around the room.

  “The paint cost more.” Mimsey shook her head.

  “Ten? Fifteen?”

  In no time at all, the price was up to forty-five thousand. Enright so far hadn’t lifted his fan, but had watched the bidders decrease until only three were left warring against one another. When the price hit fifty thousand, one backed out and the remaining two kept at it until Flannery said, “Do I hear seventy-five thousand?”

  I sensed Enright sit forward. He raised his fan.

  “Seventy-five thousand to a new bidder. Thank you, Sir. Now, eighty thousand?” The backup bidder shook his head. Then it was just Enright and Dominic Dupont left.

  “I thought you said he was a friend?” I whispered when the bidding got to one hundred thousand.

  “No, his father’s a client,” he said, glancing at the man who sat three tables from us. Dupont looked his way and lifted an eyebrow, a smug smile crossing his lips.

  “The bid is at one-hundred thousand,” Flannery stated. “Do I hear one hundred and five?” His pointed his gavel at Enright.

  The room grew eerily quiet, although the excitement was palpable. I found myself holding my breath as my attention, and that of everyone else’s at our table, stayed on Enright.

  I didn’t know how high he’d been instructed to bid, but it certainly couldn’t be more than this. Yes, the painting was an original, but I knew if asked, Charlie Ainsworth would have commissioned another one for less than the price this was currently asking.

  I was proven wrong when Enright lifted his fan and said in a clear, calm voice, “Two hundred thousand.”

  The silent room collectively gasped. Even Flannery looked shocked as his mouth fell open.

  Enright cocked his head and glanced over at Dupont with a look that said, “Now beat that, asshole.”

  Flannery found his voice, turned to Dupont, swallowed, and said, “I have two-hundred thousand for this original Charles Ainsworth. Will you say two hundred thousand and…five?”

  Dupont shook his head and lowered his bidding fan.

  “Sold!” Flannery slammed his gavel down and then pointed it at our table. “To the gentleman at table six.”

  It was impossible to hear through the sound of applause and chairs scraping back on the floor from people jumping to their feet. Two hundred thousand dollars was more than anyone on the committee had dreamed the entire night would bring, much less one item from the auction.

  I found myself staring at Enright, who, ridiculously, looked uncomfortable with the attention. He stood as well, raised a hand and waved, then sat back down.

  When the applause finally quieted, Flannery grinned and cupped the back of his neck. “Well, that certainly was memorable. My time is over now folks, so I’ll turn t
he microphone back over to Felicity. Thank you, all, for your encouragement and attention.”

  While Felicity made her closing remarks, I snuck a glance at Enright. He’d been tapping out something on his phone, and when he stuck it back in his suit coat pocket, a tiny self-satisfied grin crossed his lips.

  “Letting your client know he won?”

  “Yes. He’s thrilled to say the least.”

  I cocked my head.

  “What?”

  I bit down on my bottom lip. “Nothing. Just…thank you. Two hundred thousand dollars will go a long way in helping the center with operating costs. A long, long way.”

  “It’s my client who deserves the thanks. Like I said, he wanted the painting and I was instructed to do whatever it took to acquire it. But the fact that the money he’s paying is going to a worthy cause is more a bonus for me than him.”

  “In what way?”

  He shifted and leaned in closer. I found myself doing the same as if I were being pulled by an invisible rope toward him. I startled when our knees bumped under the table.

  With his voice low and wildly arousing, and his gaze centered squarely on my face, he said, “It got me to put a name to, and share a meal with, the beautiful woman I haven’t been able to get out of my head ever since I bumped into her this morning. Any price was worth it for that. I was prepared to go as high as needed.”

  To say his words filled me with pleasure would be decidedly too tame. My toes curled inside my Kate Spade kitten heels and I found myself unable to sit still in my chair as excitement flowed through me mixed with a healthy dose of lust. I tried to pull my gaze away from his, but honestly, it was impossible. I couldn’t not look at him. It was as if I’d been mesmerized and compelled to stare at him.

  His lips were parted a fraction, and this close to me, I had the mad urge again to lean forward and press mine against them.

  Because I could see myself actually doing it, I called up the little amount of willpower I could summon and shifted back a bit before I embarrassed myself in front of a table full of people, one of whom was my mother.

  He continued to hold my gaze prisoner, that appealing half grin still in place.

  From somewhere deep down my twenty-year-old self sprang forth, unbidden and unexpected.

  “Why Mr. Enright, are you flirting with me?”

  He leaned even closer and asked, “How am I doing?”

  His gaze never moved from mine until forced to by Flannery siding up to our table.

  “Excuse me,” he said to Enright, “Dan Flannery.” He stuck out his hand, which Enright took.

  He didn’t introduce himself back.

  “What can I do for you, Mr. Flannery?” he asked, instead.

  “I was wondering if perhaps I could get a few minutes of your time. I’m doing a news piece on the center and the auction and I’d love to interview you and ask a few questions.”

  Enright pulled back and regarded him. “Why?”

  Flannery’s brows pulled together. “Excuse me?”

  “I don’t have anything to do with the center, I’m merely a guest here tonight. Shouldn’t you be speaking to Ms. Carruthers? She’s the manager and I believe the chairperson of this event.”

  “Yes, but you’re the person who just paid almost a quarter of a million for a painting.”

  Enright shook his head and rose. “Sorry. I don’t give interviews.” He buttoned his jacket and then extended his hand to me. “Shall we?”

  I didn’t even think about not taking it.

  When my hand was tucked in his, he said, “Excuse us,” to Flannery and then propelled me away from our table. I snuck a glance over my shoulder to see the newscaster’s gaze follow.

  Without a word said between us, Enright escorted me out of the ballroom. When we were back in the foyer he stopped and dropped my hand.

  Can I tell you how much I wanted to slip mine back into it? The thought was so uncharacteristic I almost laughed out loud.

  “I’m sorry about that,” Enright said, and slipped his hands into his pants pockets. “But I couldn’t think of a better way to get away from that guy.”

  I almost told him I wasn’t bothered being used as an escape plan, but when I said it in my head, it sounded a little too…risqué.

  “Not a fan, are you?”

  “It’s not him, personally. Flannery assumed I’d bid on the Ainsworth, wanted it for my own. Since that’s not the truth and I’m obligated to protect my client, I didn’t want to get into it with him. If I’d told him that, I’m sure he would have pressed for a name. My client wants to remain anonymous.”

  “I can respect that.”

  “Thanks. I appreciate it.”

  He smiled down at me and for a moment I lost track of time. What was it about this man that sparked such a response in me? Sure, he was good looking. But most of the men I knew were. There was nothing extraordinary about his looks. Except, maybe, for his eyes. The colors twirling about in them were fascinating. At the Till I’d thought them a deep green. Standing now in the foyer, I detected shards of gold and flecks of amber mixed in.

  Fascinating. That’s what they were. And they were focused solely on me, which added to their charm.

  “Have dinner with me,” he blurted. In the next instant his ears grew pink and he dipped his chin a bit.

  He was either surprised he’d asked or embarrassed, I couldn’t figure out which. When he cupped the back of his neck and folded in on himself a bit, I figured it was equal parts of both.

  In situations of discomfort I’d found taking a cue from the Aurora of old served to lighten the mood.

  “We just had dinner.”

  Whether it was my remark or the smile I tagged on to it, it did the trick. He grinned back at me, those gorgeous eyes crinkling in the corners, and his discomfort lifted, along with his shoulders.

  “I meant tomorrow night. Or any night you’re free.” He moved a step closer and then took my hand again. “Like I said before, meeting you twice in one day must mean something and I’d like to explore that.”

  “Coincidence,” I said.

  “Karma,” he countered, his voice going to that soft, sexy timbre again making my insides quiver and my knees knock together. It had been a long, long time since either of those responses had come from me and I needed a moment to evaluate them and take a beat.

  I was attracted to him, yes. And it was obvious he was to me. But I hadn’t been with a man in any way, shape, or form since I was twenty. The only men I routinely came in contact with now were doctors and physical therapists, hired to help get me back to a semblance of my former self. I’d been focusing on getting my body back in shape, my mind back to working order, and my life to the stage it should have been at the age of thirty-five.

  What I’d avoided was forming relationships with anyone other than my family and health providers. Even being on the women’s center auction committee was something I gave a great deal of thought to before agreeing. Only two people in the center – Dabney and Felicity - knew my history and they’d vowed to keep my secret.

  So much had changed since I’d last been with a man. I’d missed the entire right swipe generation while I was asleep. But in all honesty, Kincade Enright was the first man I’d felt attracted to since coming back to the land of the living. I was still a little hesitant, though, of jumping with both feet back into the dating arena when I didn’t know the rules of play anymore.

  “How about we start with something simple, first,” I found myself saying, “like meeting for coffee?”

  He cocked his head while one corner of his mouth lifted up. I was privy to those gorgeous dimples creasing his cheeks again. My heart stuttered a few beats.

  “Why are you grinning at me like?”

  “Because you said first, which implies there will be a second, and then a third time, and…” He lifted his free hand, the other still holding mine. When his eyebrows wiggled at me, their implication clear as day, I couldn’t help but be charmed.

>   “Give me your phone,” I said, pulling free of his hold and extending the hand out.

  He lifted it from of his pocket, swiped it open to the contacts section and handed it over.

  “I don’t usually give this out.” I was shocked at my own honesty as I typed in my private cell number before giving the phone back to him.

  He slid it back into his pocket without looking at it, his attention still zeroed in on me.

  “Text me and we can discuss a time and place to meet,” I said.

  “For…coffee?”

  Damn those dimples. They could be a girl’s downfall.

  I nodded. “First.”

  When they deepened I stopped breathing for a moment. If Dabney hadn’t interrupted us just then to have Enright pick up his painting, I think I would have suggested we go have coffee right now.

  I caught a glimpse of my mother and Mimsey exiting the ballroom and excused myself.

  “We’re ready to leave,” my mother announced.

  “And we’re heading to the Carlisle for a drink,” Mimsey added. “Want to come?”

  “I think I’ll head on home. It’s been a long day and I’m beat.”

  I regretted saying the words the moment they left my lips. My mother’s eagle eyed gaze made itself known again as she peered at me, concern and worry washing over her face.

  “I’m fine, Mom. Between setting up here and then my workout at the rehab center, this has been a longer than usual day. That’s all.”

  “You’re sure? No headaches, or…anything else?”

  I kissed her cheek and whispered against her ear, “Stop. I’m okay.”

  “Maybe I should go home with you,” she said.

  “The girl says she’s fine, Callie,” Mimsey said. She raked her gaze across my face. “Looks fine, too. Stop fretting and say your goodbyes.”

  “Go on, Mom. Go have fun. I’ll see you when you get home.”

  “Don’t wait up for me. If you’re tired have Maeve make you some tea and go to bed. I’ll check in on you when I get back. Call Murphy to come pick you up.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” I kissed her again, then Mimsey. “You’re a good girl,” Mimsey said for my ears alone.

  I grinned. “I’m trying.”