Billionaires Don't Like Nice Girls (A BWWM Romance) Page 9

  Kent drove away rapidly, desperately hoping that Phae would be awake so he could share what he’d seen. And James. He’d have to tell James tomorrow. The sheriff would be thrilled to get a description of the man, even if that description was basic at best.

  Kent recalled what he’d seen to burn it into his memory.

  The man had been average to shorter than average in height. He wore a black stocking cap with some kind of strap around it. His long-sleeved shirt and pants were also black. He was thin and had leapt with panther-like agility. Kent had been unable to make out his face.

  Kent turned into the alley that ran behind Phae’s shop, knowing her apartment was in the rear of the building.

  He drove past slowly. All was dark, her lights off. He’d have to wait until tomorrow to tell his story. The little black dress would have to wait as well.

  He was half-amused to find himself disappointed. And he liked that Phae was the first person he wanted to tell. He pulled out of the alley and headed toward his aunt’s house.

  Captain Nice Guy. He’d spotted him. The brief scene of the man’s leap replayed itself over and over in his mind.

  He’d nearly reached his aunt’s house when he sensed that something he’d seen wasn’t quite right. The more he thought about it, the more the leaping man seemed familiar.

  Something in the picture jogged his memory, but he didn’t know what it was.

  He pulled into Miss Eugenia’s driveway and was pleased to see that she’d left the porch light on for him. Kent had called her from San Diego to tell her that he’d be getting back late and she’d been so excited about his return that he felt guilty for not visiting more often.

  He turned off the car and sat quietly. Captain Nice Guy. Something familiar. What could it be?

  He closed his eyes and froze the mental image of the leaping man. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Black cap. Thin.

  Very long legs, especially for a man.

  The pants had stretched taut across his butt as he jumped—Kent inhaled sharply and his eyes flew open.

  It couldn’t be.

  He shook his head. He had to be wrong. The idea was ridiculous. And yet, hadn’t he kept his mind open to the possibility that Captain Nice Guy might be a woman?

  Yes, a woman. Any woman other than Phae Jones. Not her.

  Think logically, he told himself. What were the facts?

  There truly weren’t any facts other than a lusciously rounded ass. Did men’s asses look like that? He didn’t know; he’d never looked.

  He recalled his encounter with the do-gooder in Miss Eugenia’s garden. There was a floral scent surrounding his attacker when Kent was tied up. At the time, he thought it must be from the flowers in the garden.

  Phae wore a floral perfume at the fair. Were the two scents the same? He couldn’t be certain. His memory of the events on that embarrassing night in his aunt’s back yard was clouded by being nearly unconscious at the time.

  What had the captain said to him? “Hey you.” No, that wasn’t it. “Hey buddy.” That was it. Buddy.

  Phae had called him buddy numerous times. He’d noticed because she’d called both him and James buddy when she was getting angry. It was a common word, though. Circumstantial evidence at best.

  In fact, all the evidence Kent could muster against Phae hardly stood a chance of being considered circumstantial.

  He flashed on an image of Phae gracefully shooting the basketball at the fair and on her fluidly jogging out of Miss Eugenia’s garden the first day he met her.

  They’d been talking about Captain Nice Guy. Kent had said he might be a woman. Phae had raced away like her fine ass was on fire.

  Kent reached for the keys still hanging in the ignition.

  KENT TURNED OFF HIS HEADLIGHTS when he pulled into the alley behind Phae’s shop. He drove slowly in the moonlight and switched off the motor before getting too close to her driveway. He coasted to a halt.

  Kent thought the vein in his forehead might pop wide open when he saw Phae’s lights were on.

  He warned himself to remain calm and not condemn her out of hand. She could be awake for any number of reasons. He picked up the present sitting on the passenger’s seat.

  He walked up to her place and knocked gently. He heard feet crossing the floor.

  “Who is it” Phae called through the door.

  He tried to sound casual. “It’s Kent. Can I come in?”

  “Kent?” She sounded surprised. The porch light came on. “Wait a sec. I need to get some clothes on.”

  He heard her running away. While he waited, he stepped back a few yards and surveyed the building.

  It only had one story and wasn’t particularly wide, though it was deep, with the shop in front and the apartment in back. The apartment had to be small. He disliked the idea of her living there; she deserved to live in a palace, not in a cubby hole in a building that, at best, could be considered past its prime.

  But the paint was in good shape and the tiny yard was well-kept. Certainly the store front on the other side was in good repair and looked as nice as the rest of the businesses on the quaint street. He would have expected nothing less from Phae.

  He frowned. She certainly was taking her time. Surely all she needed to do was throw on a robe … unless she had on her Captain Nice Guy gear.

  If Phae were guilty, she probably wouldn’t have had enough time to return home and change clothes in the ten minutes or so since he’d seen her, or since he’d seen someone he hoped wasn’t her.

  He waited impatiently. The minutes seemed interminably long. Finally, he heard her approaching. She opened the door.

  Phae barely glanced at Kent as she motioned for him to enter. “Sorry it took so long. Come on in.”

  When Kent saw her standing there in a long terrycloth robe, he felt certain his suspicions had been correct. “Thanks.”

  He glanced around the minuscule living room. An empty doorway opened onto a darkened hallway on the left and another empty doorway on the right side of the facing wall opened onto a small kitchen.

  Only a few pieces of furniture filled the living room. An old, lumpy-looking sofa stretched the length of one wall and an easy chair with faded brown upholstery sat beside the door. No pictures hung on the walls. In fact, the decor could best be described as extremely sparse.

  The top of the coffee table was empty, marred by numerous scratches in the finish. A circular rag rug covered the center of the slightly warped wooden floor. Everything was old but scrupulously clean.

  The only object of beauty in the room was a magnificent mahogany china cabinet that graced the wall to his right, so tall it nearly touched the ceiling. The beveled glass in the doors and the brass hardware shined defiantly in the dreary room. The piece was obviously a valuable antique. Its glistening wooden shelves were as barren as the beat-up coffee table.

  Phae had been living here for how long … three years? And the room looked as if she’d just moved in and hadn’t yet finished unpacking. Kent’s stomach clenched.

  Phae gestured toward the china cabinet. “Grandma Jones left it to me.”

  Kent nodded.

  “I know what you’re thinking.”

  “No, you don’t.”

  “Yeah, I do,” she said, staring forthrightly into his eyes. “You’re thinking that I’m a poor pitiful woman who doesn’t have enough money to decorate her home. You’re thinking that life must be hard for me, living like this.”

  Kent was uncomfortable under her gaze. “Not exactly.”

  “Don’t feel sorry for me. I have money. Grandma Jones saw to that and I make a decent living from my business. I prefer to keep things simple.”

  “I think you’ve taken simple to a whole other level.”

  Phae sat down in the brown chair, demurely holding her robe closed over her knees. “You sound like everybody else who has ever been here. I’m used to it. Sit down if you want. The sofa hasn’t bitten anyone in a long time.”

  Kent sat down
and was surprised to find it wasn’t as uncomfortable as it looked.

  “Is the rest of your apartment this … spare?” he asked.

  “Pretty much. Except the extra bedroom. That’s where I’ve got my exercise equipment.”

  “I find it hard to believe this place is big enough to have two bedrooms.”

  “Don’t push it, Kent. Forget about my house and tell me why you’re here. It’s almost three a.m.”

  He didn’t want to make her angry, so he dropped the subject of her odd apartment. “I drove in from the airport and thought I’d swing by your place on the chance that you’d still be awake. And you were. I’m surprised.”

  Phae covered her mouth, coughed lightly then said, “I’d gotten up to get a snack.”

  Kent thought she looked uneasy and too alert to have recently awakened. “Lucky for me.” He set the wrapped present on the coffee table. “I wanted to give you this.”

  “You might have given it to me at a more decent hour,” she said while reaching for the gift.

  The way her beautiful brown eyes sparkled told him she was pleased, which in turn, pleased him. “I couldn’t wait until tomorrow.”

  Phae carefully lifted the lid and placed it back on the table. Her hand rested on the tissue paper. With her other hand, she negligently pushed back a shining lock of hair that had escaped from her loose ponytail.

  She smiled at him. “Give me a hint.”

  “Nope. See for yourself.”

  She pulled back the paper and lifted out the dress. Holding it up by the thin straps, she cocked her head sideways and her finely shaped brows drew together. “What is it? A leg warmer?”

  “No. It’s a little black dress.”

  “You’re kidding.” She continued to inspect the garment.

  He leaned forward and took the dress. He’d thought she’d be reticent about wearing it, but this was ridiculous.

  He grasped the sides of the dress and pulled. “See? It only looks tiny. It stretches.”

  Phae grinned and retrieved the dress. She slid her hands inside and stretched the garment. “From what I can see, it doesn’t stretch far enough.”

  “Try it on and see.”

  “Um, it’s not only too narrow, it’s too short.”

  “No it’s not. Women in cities wear this type of dress all the time.”

  “Yeah, on street corners.”

  Kent frowned. “It’s not that revealing. You’re out here in the country and not aware of what’s in fashion.”

  To his surprise, Phae smiled. “I get it. This is a joke.” She tossed the dress back in the box. “Good one. I actually thought you were serious for a second.”

  “I am serious about it.” Kent tried to think of a way to persuade her to try it on. He gave her his best wistful look. “I hoped you’d wear it when I fix dinner for you. I thought a new dress would make the evening more special. I suppose the dress might be a little small, but I didn’t know your size and had to guess. At least try it on.”

  Phae’s brows lowered. “No way. I don’t dress like a tramp for anyone. Especially not someone who thinks he can manipulate me so easily.”

  “I don’t know what I was thinking. Nothing’s ever easy with you, is it? Never mind. I didn’t mean to offend you. I hope you won’t cancel our dinner because of this misunderstanding.”

  She shook her head slowly. “No. I won’t cancel. But I won’t wear that dress, either.” She covered her mouth and yawned. “It’s late, and you should go now.”

  He rose from the sofa. “Guess I’ll see you tomorrow night then. Is six too early?”

  “Not tomorrow,” she said quickly, too quickly in Kent’s opinion.

  “Why not?”

  “I have plans. A class. I take a martial arts class in Rollinsburg.”

  She was lying. He knew it. She’d lifted her chin the tiniest fraction when she spoke. It was exactly what she’d done at the fair last week when she tried to save face by telling him that their kiss hadn’t affected her.

  “Oh,” he said. “But we were at the fair last Friday and you didn’t have a class then.”

  Her chin tilted upward. “I cancelled,” she said smoothly as she opened the door for him. “That’s why I need to go tomorrow. I shouldn’t cancel two weeks in a row.”

  “Then I guess we’ll have to make it Saturday.”

  “Sounds great. Call me and tell me what I need to buy,” she said with a genuine-looking smile.

  “No. I’ll get it. Do you have enough cookware in there for me to cook the lasagna?”

  She looked thoughtful. “Probably not.”

  “I’ll bring what I need, then.”

  He studied her, standing tall and proud in her dumpy little apartment. She was magnificent, but he reminded himself, she was also hiding something.

  “See you Saturday at six,” he said gruffly as he walked out the door.

  “I’m looking forward to it.”

  He raised his hand in a curt gesture of farewell and headed to his car. He heard her softly close the door.

  As he drove back to his aunt’s house, he thought of how Phae had lied about taking a class Friday night. Although he didn’t have any actual proof that she was Captain Nice Guy, she certainly hadn’t given him any reason to think she wasn’t.

  One way or another, he intended to uncover the truth. He’d be watching her tomorrow night. That much was certain.

  “Your lies just earned you a shadow, Phae Jones,” he vowed.

  Chapter 11

  PHAE WAITED UNTIL SHE COULD no longer hear Kent’s engine before she breathed easily. He’d seemed upset when he left, but she didn’t know why. Her refusal to try on the dress seemed the probable cause, but she didn’t think that was it.

  She glanced around the living room. She’d ignored everyone’s admonishments about her monkish style of life, but seeing her home through Kent’s eyes had been different.

  He’d been shaken by the place, and his reaction affected her in a way no one else’s had. Suddenly, she could see how shabby the furniture truly was.

  She walked to the easy chair and ran her hand over the worn upholstery. When she moved into this apartment nearly three years ago, she couldn’t afford new furniture so she’d raided her parents’ storage shed and found the chair, sofa, coffee table and even the old rag rug.

  It seemed in fine enough condition back then. Besides, these were furnishings from her childhood. How could she be expected to see them as they actually were?

  She sank into the chair. She’d been so nervous the past week, thinking and rethinking about what had happened between her and Kent at the fair. She’d gone on a cleaning binge to distract herself.

  Her living room didn’t look this bare a week ago. In her cleaning frenzy, she’d thrown away magazines, old paperback books and anything else for which she couldn’t find a future use. She’d done the same in the other rooms of the apartment.

  Still, she hadn’t dragged all that many bags out to the dumpster. Maybe her mother was right and Phae should buy some pictures and knick-knacks to brighten up the place.

  No. She wouldn’t do it. She liked her apartment this way. It was too tiny to clutter up with junk, and the less stuff in it, the bigger the place felt. She refused to destroy her well-being to placate a man.

  She picked up the little black dress. She smiled wryly as she surveyed the scrap of stretchy fabric. It was hard to believe that he actually thought she’d wear the thing. If she wore it out in public, she’d get arrested for public indecency.

  As she picked and pulled at the thing, she doubted she could even get it over her head let alone the rest of her body. When was the last time she’d worn something sexy? Chicago, probably. That was how long ago it had been.

  The morning she’d left the city, she’d so desperately wanted to destroy all evidence of her life in Chicago that, except for a few pairs of jeans and a couple of sweaters, she’d given all her clothing to Goodwill.

  When Grandma Jones died, she’d had
to purchase a dress for the funeral, and it remained the only nice piece of clothing hanging in her closet.

  Phae tossed Kent’s ridiculous gift back into the box. She should throw the thing away. She gathered it all up and stomped to the kitchen.

  The box was halfway into the trash can before she stopped herself. The dress had probably cost a fortune, and besides, Kent had given it to her, so she should save it if for no other reason than a sentimental one. She retrieved the dress then discarded the box.

  By the time Phae entered her bedroom and flipped on the light, she’d managed to convince herself that she should at least try on the thing before condemning it to a long, light-deprived life in her closet.

  There was no way it would fit, she reminded herself. Over the head or over the hips? She wrestled with the garment. Definitely over the head.

  She yanked and jerked and stretched the dress, then yanked and jerked and stretched some more. Finally, with a loud grunt, she pulled it down over her hips.

  Trying to push more of her bosom into the top cups, she stepped in front of the bureau mirror. She stopped cold. Her hands dropped to her sides.

  Was that woman in the mirror really her?

  She ran to her exercise room, snatched up her small stepper bench, then returned to her bedroom. Standing on the bench, she could better see her whole body.

  She looked incredible, if she did say so herself. Her legs were sleek and long, her stomach flat under the stretchy fabric, her hips softly rounded, and her waist was smaller than she remembered.

  Her defined, yet feminine shoulders were accented nicely by the thin spaghetti straps. And talk about cleavage. The dress was so tight across her chest that it looked like she’d spill out if she took a deep breath.

  When had this happened? She hadn’t looked this good in Chicago. She used to avoid any type of clingy fabric, but not because of her weight. In fact, she weighed about ten pounds more now than she did then.

  Muscle tone. That was the difference. Back then, she’d been working seventy to eighty hours a week at Fullerton and had no time to even think about exercising.

  It was unbelievable. She hadn’t paid attention to how she looked the past several years. During all those hours she’d spent working out, she’d worried more about strength and endurance than appearances.