They were beautiful, with long, masculine fingers and nails trimmed all the way back to the quick. They gave the impression of strength and competence. But then, he’d been a quarterback, hadn’t he?
“I make you nervous, don’t I?” he asked.
She squeezed her hands together and remembered how futile it was to evade Topher Martin’s questions. “Yes,” she said.
He didn’t ask her why. He lapsed into another silence as he drove through the heavy traffic and the downpour.
She fervently wished he would turn on the radio. The silence was so thick she could hardly breathe. She needed to end it. But how? All she managed was an inarticulate “Um.”
“What?”
She cast around for something to say that wouldn’t get her into too much trouble and said the first thing that popped into her mind. “You might want to be aware that Caleb Tate is trying to reach you.”
“I know. He’s left messages at the inn.”
“He came by yesterday and wanted me to give him your phone number.”
He glanced at her, surprise on his face. “You didn’t—”
“No. I don’t give away client information.”
“Thanks.”
“So you don’t want to talk to him?” she asked, suddenly curious about Topher’s relationship with Caleb.
“Who? Caleb? No. He’s a jerk.” There was a hardness to Topher’s voice that sparked a little flame of hope in her breast. Maybe they had never been friends.
Should she tell him that Caleb did more than try to intimidate her? No. Topher wasn’t her protector, and she wasn’t gullible enough to fall for the he-man myth. Not that Topher classified as a he-man these days. But he probably still thought of himself that way.
“Well, just so you know, Caleb is hot to get in touch. He’s a member of the South Carolina General Assembly now, and he thinks he’s entitled to your attention.”
“No. He just wants my money.” The words were hard as Topher pulled to the curb in front of the carryout place. “I’ll get—”
“No,” Jessica interrupted. “I’ll run in and get it.” She opened the door and escaped into the deluge. The cool, moist air cleared her head as she dashed from the SUV to the door.
She needed to get a grip. She was starting to like Topher Martin, and that was unsettling in the extreme.
* * *
The rain beat against the roof of Topher’s car and hammered at his conscience. Caleb Tate was an asshole, and he’d done nothing about it back when he’d been captain of the team. Maybe it was time to remedy that failure.
He didn’t really remember Caleb calling Jessica a slut, but he did remember a lot of stupid, sleazy things the star running back had done. And his endless locker room talk.
He’d be willing to bet that Caleb was the source of those rumors about Jessica. The thought turned his stomach.
Tonight Caleb was probably up at the yacht club with a lot of Topher’s old sailing buddies. They’d be drinking beer and swapping stories. A little part of him missed all that. Not Caleb, but the camaraderie that he’d never have again.
He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. Would he rather be up there at the club now, getting drunk and telling stories?
No.
He would rather be here, talking to his architect. Trying to figure out why he felt as if she’d been put in his path for some higher purpose. He didn’t believe in a higher power. He wasn’t religious. He hadn’t had a near-death experience that made him grateful for the life that had been spared the night he’d almost killed himself in the Ferrari. Or even after his harrowing experience out in the bay the other day.
And yet Jessica tugged at him, as if there was some mystical string connecting him to her. She was good for him. Hadn’t he showered and shaved and dressed up for this dinner? He hadn’t dressed up for anyone in months.
He turned in time to watch Jessica dash through the rain to his car. For once he didn’t envy the people in his old life. He would much rather be on his way to her place. He couldn’t help but stifle a smile at that thought.
He made her uncomfortable. Was it because she blamed him for the rumors? Or because he’d touched her without permission? Or was it something else—the connection that had sparked between them when she’d handed him the scrap of paper with her address written on it?
A deep rush of longing overwhelmed him, and he gripped the steering wheel. It