Kat Cantrell - Matched To Mr Right

Boldly, she watched him approach, aware her body blocked the doorway and curious what he’d do about it. “I’m a believer in hot food, myself.”

He stopped a healthy distance away when he apparently realized she wasn’t budging. “I’m looking forward to a home-cooked meal. Thought I should start eating better. I’ve had too much takeout lately.”

Whose fault is that? “Just the food, then? The company wasn’t a draw?”

“Of course the company was a factor.” Something flickered in the depths of his blue eyes and heat climbed all over her.

Oh, that had all sorts of interesting possibilities locked inside. They gazed at each other for a long, delicious moment, and he didn’t look away. Or back up.

Then he gestured to the hall. “Shall we, Mrs. Reynolds?”

And somehow, that was far more intimate than calling her Dannie. Deliberate? Oh, goodness, she hoped so.

Leo’s capable palm settled into the small of her back as they walked and she felt the contact all the way to the soles of her feet. Something had changed. Hadn’t it? Was her coffee that good?

In the dining room, Leo drew back the heavy chair and allowed her to sit on the brocade cushion before pushing it in for her. Then he expertly poured the wine to exactly the same level in both glasses on the first try—impressive evidence of how good Leo was with both detail and his hands.

Not that she’d needed additional clues the man hid amazing things under his workaholic shell. Were they at a point where she could admit how outrageously attracted to Leo she was? Or was that going past blunt into another realm entirely?

Placing her glass on the table before her, he took the seat catercorner to hers instead of across the table. “So we can talk without shouting,” he said when she raised her eyebrows.

All small, small gestures, but so huge to her romance-starved soul. Flutters spread from her stomach to every organ in her body. Especially her heart.

For whatever reason, he was trying, really trying, to give her some of his time. But what was his intent? The friendship she’d hoped for or merely a small gesture toward crossing her path?

She’d keep her wits about her and under no circumstances would she read anything into what was essentially just dinner. As they dug into Greek salads served with crusty bread, she stuck to discussing her progress on the party. The more the wine flowed, the more relaxed they both became.

About halfway through her swordfish, she brought up the one thing she’d been dying to ask since the night of their marriage. “Do you still draw?”

Leo’s fork froze over a piece of grilled zucchini. “How did you know about that?”

“Your mother told me.”

He grimaced. “I should have guessed. She still has every piece of paper I’ve ever touched with a pencil.”

Which was no answer at all. “Is it a sensitive subject?”

“No.” Carefully, he cut a hunk of fish and chewed it in a spectacular stall tactic she recognized a mile away. He didn’t want to discuss his art, that much was clear.

“So, never mind then. It’s not important,” she lied. His reaction said there was more to the story and it was very important, but she didn’t want to alienate him. “Tell me something else instead. Why venture capital?”

His expression warmed. “If you’re good, you can make a lot of money. You just have to recognize the right opportunities.”

“Are you good?”

She already knew the answer but was curious what he thought about the empire he’d built. Most of her research into the complexities of venture capital had been conducted by reading articles about her husband’s successful company before she’d even spoken to him on the phone for the first time.

“I’m competent. But I’ve made my share of mistakes.”

As if that was something to be ashamed of. He seemed determined to downplay all his positives. “Everyone makes mistakes. You’ve recovered from yours quite well. The reputation of Reynolds Capital Management is unparalleled.”

He inclined his head with a pleased smile. “It’s a work in progress.”

Fascinated with the way his eyes turned deeper blue when he engaged, she drained her wineglass and propped her chin on a curled hand. This was exactly what she’d envisioned their friendship would look like. “So how do you recognize the right opportunity?”

The cook bustled in and cleared their empty dinner plates, replacing them with bananas Foster for dessert. She lit the rum and blew it out in an impressive culinary display, then efficiently disappeared.

Leo spooned the dessert into his mouth and murmured appreciatively before answering Dannie’s question. “Experience. Gut instinct. A large percentage of success is simply showing up. I create the remaining percentage by getting there first and staying until everyone else has gone home.”

“Do you see your job as creative?” Dannie took a small bite of banana, gratified Leo liked the dessert as much as she did, but determined to keep him engaged in conversation. A full mouth wouldn’t lend itself well to that.

He pursed his lips. “In a way, I suppose. Without backing, a lot of entrepreneurs’ ideas would never see the light of day. I provide the platform for other people to tap into their creativity.”

Which was what he’d done for her—given her the opportunity and the means to be exactly what she wanted to be. A wife. If tonight was any indication, Leo had changed his mind about spending time getting to know each other. Maybe she’d get the relationship—in some form or fashion—she craved out of it, too.

“You’re the puppet master, then,” she said.

“Not at all. I never stick my fingers in the pie. Micromanagement is not the most effective way to do business. I’m the money, not the talent.”

“But you have talent,” she protested.

His expression dimmed. “You’ve never seen one of my drawings.”

“I meant you have a talent for recognizing the right opportunity.” She smiled in hopes of keeping things friendly. “But I have a feeling you’ve got artistic talent, too. Draw me something and I’ll let you know.”

She was pushing him, she knew she was. But she wanted to know him, and his mysterious artistic side intrigued her.

“I don’t draw anymore,” he said, the syllables so clipped they nearly drew blood.

Message received. They hadn’t connected nearly as deeply as she’d hoped, but they’d only just begun. One day, maybe he’d open up that part to her. “You’ve moved on to bigger and better canvases. Now you’re creating your art with completely different tools.”

Leo pushed his chair back. “Maybe. I’ve got some work to finish up. Thanks for dinner.”

He escaped, leaving her to contemplate whether to open another bottle of wine in celebration of a successful dinner or to drown her disappointment since Leo had abandoned her once again.

Drown her disappointment. Definitely.

She located a bottle of pinot that went better with her mood than white wine and filled her glass almost to the rim. Then she called her mother to talk to someone uncomplicated and who she knew loved her always and forever, no matter what.

“Dannie,” her mother cried when she answered. “Louise just told me. Thank you!”

Dannie grinned. Her mother’s caregiver had turned into a friend almost instantly, and the two were constantly chattering. “Thanks for what?”

“The cruise, silly. The Bahamas! I’m so excited, I can hardly stand it.” Her mother clucked. “I can’t believe you kept this a secret, you bad girl.”

The wineglass was somehow already half-empty again, but she didn’t think she’d drunk enough to be that confused. “I didn’t know. What cruise?”