IveGotYou_w3979.doc

  She stood rooted to the pavement, surprised as he took her hand in his large callused one. The last time he’d touched her was the night of Stacy and Marc’s wedding when he grabbed her hand and pulled her onto the dance floor, after she turned down his first three attempts at asking her to dance. Finally, on his fourth try, she relented, more out of pity for the man than her need to dance. That night, with her hand in his, he’d slowly led her onto the dance floor before gently taking her into his arms. In that moment, she’d experienced a strange mixed bag of emotions—from excited, to safe and secure, to finally cherished. Her unexplained feelings stemmed from the way he’d been so patient with her all night, the way he tenderly held her against him, and how attentive he’d been. All of it seemed too good to be true. Too right—especially with someone so wrong for her.

  Little did she know.

  “Amber, you okay?”

  She pulled herself together and swallowed hard as he turned and looked down at her with a questioning, lazy half grin on his handsome face.

  “Yes…fine,” she whispered, as she tried hard to smile and act normal when she felt anything but.

  All this time, the perfect guy was right under my nose. How could I not see it?

  I’ve Got You

  by

  Linda Engman

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  I’VE GOT YOU

  COPYRIGHT © 2009 by Linda Engman

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  Contact Information: info@thewildrosepress.com

  Cover Art by Nicola Martinez

  The Wild Rose Press

  PO Box 708

  Adams Basin, NY 14410-0706

  Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com

  Publishing History

  First CHAMPAGNE Rose Edition, 2010

  Published in the United States of America

  Dedication

  To my husband Peter for all his years of believing in me

  Chapter One: Lists and Requirements

  She glanced around the popular French-style eatery and bar, craning her neck to look over the after-work crowd visibly enjoying their Friday night. And who could blame them? The Brick Station, with its preserved depot interior, soft lighting and piped in smooth jazz, had also come to be one of her favorite places to frequent on weekends. The classy, mood-setting establishment was her reward after working hard all week; she easily found herself relaxing and letting go of her day-to-day legal dealings the minute she stepped foot inside. And she couldn’t help but soak up the atmosphere—the crimson brick walls stylishly adorned with modern artwork and railroad memorabilia, along with the crisp white table linens, china plates, and staff outfitted in classic bistro black and white apparel. She appreciated it all while enjoying the latest trendy cocktail with friends, during a girls’ night out, or occasionally with a date. But tonight, she seriously wanted to be anywhere but here.

  Tilting onto her tiptoes, Amber Bradley balanced precariously in her favorite four-inch heels, angling her head to the right to look past a group of businessmen deep in a conversation on sports. Their distinguished silk ties either loosened or long shed, they fired stats back and forth on the recent Detroit Lions football game. She moved her head a few inches to the left and ducked down to scan around three twenty-something females sharing a pitcher of mojitos. All this in an effort to locate her date.

  Just my luck. She spotted him ten barstools and five women down from her, hanging on some redhead’s every word. Typical.

  When am I going to realize adopting a cat and staying home on a Friday night is the better option, instead of getting my hopes up, naively thinking each man who asks me out for drinks or dinner could be ‘The One’?

  She turned away and caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror behind the bar, her adult female image reflected between the rows of pricey top-shelf liquor. It was an image that still caught her unaware on occasion. She forced herself to look again. Medium height at five-six, with long, highlighted honey-brown hair that rivaled any runway model’s, makeup just right, outfitted in an expensive silk blouse and tailored skirt with pricy to-die-for ultra high heels, she was the consummate image of a woman who was successful, had style, and could take care of herself. But inside, she still felt like the kid no one wanted.

  “Hey, it’s every guy’s dream—a hot chick holding two beers.”

  She pushed aside her ever-present shadowy demons and found herself reluctantly laughing as she glanced over her shoulder toward the familiar, gruff voice. She fully turned and smiled easily at Josh Craig, just like she always did when she ran into him.

  “Hey, Josh. What brings you here tonight?” She shook off her pensive mood and handed him one of the foaming beers she’d held ever since her date abruptly disappeared.

  He grinned warmly, readily accepting one of the drinks. “I’m just waiting for my date to show up. How about you? Since you’re holding two beers, I take it you’re not here alone?”

  “No, I’m not. To tell the truth, I’m waiting for my date to remember me,” she admitted, raising one delicately arched brow.

  He took a long drink of his beer and eyed her closely with a guarded expression. “Yeah? Which one is he?”

  “He’s the one over there who got sidetracked by the redhead. But if you ask me, I think the guy has a classic case of date amnesia, typically found in males over thirty who are unwilling to commit.”

  He followed her lead and narrowed his eyes warily. He seemed to assess her date, and from his expression, evidently he couldn’t see anything worthwhile about the jerk. A cold darkness lined his already gruff voice when he finally replied. “He looks like some kind of guy all right.”

  “You got that right,” she murmured, surprised at his menacing tone. “Actually, his name is Ted, and he’s a corporate lawyer when he’s not trying to pick up women.”

  “Do they teach you how to be a jerk in law school?”

  “Hey, take it easy. I’m a lawyer too, remember?”

  “Yeah, and you’re the only one who doesn’t make me want to puke.”

  “I’ll take that as a compliment…I guess,” she shot back, adding in an unexpected laugh. No matter how hard she tried to deny it, Josh Craig always managed to crack her up in spite of herself. I actually find his crude and poorly timed humor appealing? Weird.

  “Never had a woman complain yet about any of my compliments,” he countered slyly. He lowered his voice and leaned closer to her, his mood lighter again.

  She grinned and looked up into his warm brown eyes. “Is that so?” she taunted, liking how they could banter with one another on occasion. “Well, maybe you’ve never had a woman complain about your compliments because they’re just speechless from your caveman charm. And now that I know your secret with women, I can’t wait to tell my girlfriends the next time we have lunch together.”

  “You and your friends talk about me a lot?” he baited, not letting her get the upper hand.

  She pursed her lips at him and knew that even as a high-profile defense attorney, she could never out-wit or out-talk him whenever they happened to run into one another. The man was an auto mechanic by trade and still managed to one-up her continuously. “Oh yeah, all the time. Let’s see, the last time we all got together, I think we discussed your lack of taste in music, your fondness for dirty clothes, the way you swing the bat
like a girl at softball games—”

  “At least women are talking about me,” he interrupted with a lopsided grin, obviously bulletproof against her teasing. “And what’s wrong with listening to STP, by the way?”

  “Oh, please!” she retaliated, and rolled her eyes in mock disgust at his taste in rock music, while a giggle threatened at his never-die attitude. At the same time, she found herself suddenly curious to know what brought him into her sphere tonight. Usually the man could be found parked on a barstool over at Hugo’s Sports Bar, with at least three beers in him already. “Not to change the subject, but what are you really doing here tonight? I know you’re waiting for a date, but this isn’t exactly your usual hangout.”

  He shrugged carelessly and glanced around the densely populated high-end bar and dining room before looking at her again. “Marc and Stacy talked me into bringing my date here. They said the place had good food.”

  “Mmm, is that so?” she murmured, noncommittal on their mutual friends’ suggestion. She guessed there had to be more to the story, since she doubted someone like Josh Craig would voluntarily come here with only that little prompting. It was more likely the man finally got a clue that there was a world outside of Hugo’s Sports Bar. She’d also bet their joint friend Marc Haines had spelled out to him that women liked to go to dinner at a nice establishment with china and linens once in a while, versus burgers, beer, and a barstool.

  He narrowed his eyes at her. “So, you like coming here or what?”

  She nodded and appreciated how he never took his eyes off her while they talked, unlike most of her dates who barely even remembered she was along for the night. She had to give the man credit for that, at least. “Stacy and I meet here for lunch or drinks after work, and occasionally I come here with dates.” Speaking of dates. She looked past his broad shoulder to a well-endowed young woman who’d just entered the restaurant. For some reason, the bleach-blonde hair and too-short jean skirt spoke J.T. Craig. “Don’t look now, but I think your date just walked in. I would describe her as busty, blonde, and chewing bubble gum. Sound right?”

  Looking uneasy, he shrugged. “I don’t have any idea—it’s actually a blind date,” he confessed, before he turned and glanced over his shoulder toward the front entrance. “I wanted to pick her up at her condo, but she opted to meet me here instead.”

  Slightly envious of the other woman, she eyed him closely. “Oh, well that was sweet of you to offer, anyway.” Unlike my date, who assumed I’d just drive myself and then wait while he tries to hook up with some redhead at the end of the bar.

  “Yeah, sweet,” he mocked, eyeing the woman.

  She pushed her own troubles aside and glanced once again to the entrance. The woman was pretty, blonde, in her early twenties, and happened to look like all his previous dates. Since meeting J.T. a year ago, she’d been privy to viewing him out with other women, so she could tell his usual escorts a mile off. They were always nice, cute—with not a lot goin’ on upstairs. She knew without a doubt his night would be filled with endless talk about past boyfriends, hair, and the mall.

  “Guess I’m up,” he announced, somewhat halfhearted, before he drained the contents of his glass. Clearly he knew what his night would consist of.

  She smiled at his sullen comment. “Don’t sound so enthusiastic.”

  He groaned in mock pain and placed his now empty beer glass on the bar, eyeing her as if he somehow wanted to call it a night already. “You gonna be all right here on your own?”

  She heard the seriousness in his gruff voice and smiled with false confidence. “Yes, of course. My date will be back any minute.”

  “Well, you know where to find me if you need me, right?”

  He caught her off guard with that one. “Oh, sure, right…thanks, Josh,” she whispered, secretly taken with his old-fashioned offer.

  He eyed her closely. “All right then, guess I’d better get on with my own date, I suppose. I’ll see you around, Amber.”

  She grinned at his doomsday expression. “I’ll probably see you at Marc and Stacy’s housewarming party next weekend.”

  He narrowed his brown eyes and gave her another one of his warm, lazy grins. “You women have a party for everything.” He sounded amused. “But I guess I’ll be there all the same.”

  With that, she watched his tall figure walk through the crowded bar to the waiting woman, who giggled loudly on cue at something he said, then immediately hugged onto his arm as they made their way into the restaurant portion of the establishment.

  At least someone’s going to get lucky tonight.

  With a long, deflated sigh, she turned away and placed her now warm beer on the gleaming mahogany bar top. She then straightened her back, signaled the bartender, and ordered an Apple Martini, what she’d originally wanted. Somehow Ted—her now MIA date—had talked her into having a tap beer with him instead. So much for that plan.

  As she waited for her revised drink, she compulsively reordered the bar napkins into a neat stack and right angled a tray of drink garnishes, before she forced herself to turn around and glance through the crowded bar area again. Only this time, instead of looking for her no-good date, she found herself looking for Josh—and observed that he and the woman had disappeared out of sight. For some reason, the thought of him and that woman spending the evening together, and possibly sleeping together, sent an unexpected thread of regret through her. She supposed it was because he was such a nice guy, she could never understand why he continually went out with the wrong women. Granted the man was laidback, lacked any ambition whatsoever, seemed to always be recovering from a hangover, and had probably never heard the word investment—but he still deserved to date someone who had a little more happening in her life. Someone smart, witty, educated, who could still look reasonably hot.

  Someone like me.

  No! Not me. Not in a million years.

  J.T. Craig? I must be nuts. The guy is perpetually covered in car oil and thinks having his date watch him play softball with a beer afterwards is a great night.

  But the man is here tonight, and he’s surprisingly cleaned up, dressed nice, looks like he finally got his unruly black hair cut, he’s shaved for once, and kind of smells good.

  All right, he did knock me for a loop when I turned around and found him behind me with that sexy grin on his face. It’s no surprise the guy cleans up well; I suspected for the past year, after meeting him at Stacy and Marc’s wedding, that the guy could voluntarily be civilized under all that car grease and coveralls. Even without any prompting from a woman or an excuse of a wedding, if he really wanted to.

  But he still wasn’t what she was looking for.

  ****

  The woman wasn’t what he was looking for.

  Yeah, good one. Just keep tellin’ yourself that.

  Josh turned the wrench another quarter turn and tightened the bolt into place, while all around him the noisy five-stall repair garage was busy with the usual Monday morning grinding, drilling, and loud, echoing clangs that by now had become background noise and second nature to his ears. So much so that he could easily block it all out.

  Especially when he was thinking about a woman.

  He tightened another bolt and leaned further into the car engine, at the same time remembering how she’d looked Friday night at The Brick Station. The way her long, silky, golden honey-brown hair had been tousled around her shoulders and down her back, those killer green eyes turning him on, how her breasts looked awesome all pushed up in that low-cut blouse, and how goddamned good she smelled every time she moved next to him.

  Get a clue, jackass—the woman doesn’t know I’m alive.

  She never has and never will.

  Amber Bradley was way out of his league.

  He knew that from the first minute he laid eyes on her a year ago at Marc and Stacy’s wedding. Smart, beautiful, and educated, the woman was all about her career and on the fast track to finding the perfect mate equal to her. So he told himself right aw
ay not to get any expectations of them ever hooking up. Hot, sexy, professional types weren’t going to get involved with guys like him: working-class, blue-collar, everyday Joes who punched time clocks and looked as if they did by the end of the workday. Still, she was nice enough when they were around one another. But she was never going to see him as anything more than Marc and Stacy’s mechanic friend from the wrong side of town. The upside of the situation was it had taken the pressure off—in the end, he could just be himself around her, since there was no way he’d be getting naked with her anytime soon.

  Instead, she had it bad for jerks in three-piece suits. The woman definitely had a knack for picking the biggest losers to go out with, and the one on Friday night topped the heap. It was all he could do to keep himself from going down the bar, grabbing the guy by the neck, and tossing his sorry ass out the door. But he’d promised himself no more bar fights, so the alternative had been to take a deep, pissed-off, frustrated breath, grit his teeth, and wonder when the woman was going to wise up and start dating somebody who treated her right.

  He finally finished the car engine he was working on, grabbed a shop towel, and wiped the ever-present brown oil and grease from his hands before he closed the hood of the vehicle, again thinking about the other night. Whether he was horny or not, his blind date just didn’t do it for him on any level. For the first time ever, he’d turned down a female’s offer to spend the night at her place. In all fairness, he had to admit the woman had done her best to get him interested throughout the evening. That was obvious just from the way she kept rubbing his thigh under the table at dinner and how she giggled at everything he said. She even suggested taking their date back to her place right after the bill arrived at the table.

  “Hey, J.T.,” Cooper called through the noisy garage, pulling him back to the present. “How was the date? Did Brenda live up to my description?”

  He turned and eyed his coworker, Cooper Gerhardt, who was working on a pick-up truck two bays over. The guy was all heart, would do anything for a friend, and obviously didn’t know how to keep his big mouth shut.