by Regina Kyle
Oliver’s eyes lit up. “You have a chocolate fountain?”
“Sure do,” the man with her answered. “With all kinds of fruit for dipping. Plus, a whole bunch of stuff that’s bad for you, like sponge cake, Rice Krispies Treats, and marshmallows.”
“Marshmallows?” Oliver licked his lips. “I love marshmallows.”
“Those were my idea.” Brooke gave her mother an I-told-you-so look.
Oliver looked to Rhys for approval. “Can I, Dad?”
Rhys nodded. “You bet.”
“And you’ll give Mallory my drawing?”
Rhys patted his chest, where Oliver’s picture was tucked safely away in the inside pocket of his jacket. “It’s right here.”
Mallory’s eyes darted from him to Oliver, then back again. “You’re okay with Brooke watching him?”
“She’s your sister, right?”
“Yeah, but I thought…”
“You thought wrong.” Rhys ruffled his son’s hair and gave him a pat on the back, nudging him toward Mallory’s sister. “Have fun, buddy. And be good. Pay attention to Brooke. We’ll be back soon.”
“Okay. And Dad?”
“Yeah?”
“Try not to mess up the ’pology.”
Rhys chuckled. “I’ll do my best.”
“Don’t worry about us.” Brooke put an arm around Oliver. “We’ll be fine. By the time you two have patched things up, we’ll be riding a sugar high.”
“You don’t have to do this,” Mallory protested. Rhys made a mental note of the fact that she didn’t contradict her sister’s assumption they’d be able to patch things up. The band around his heart loosened a bit more. “It’s your wedding reception.”
“Are you kidding?” Brooke squeezed Oliver’s shoulder. “I’d rather hang with this little dude than most of the people on the guest list.”
Mallory’s mother cleared her throat accusingly.
“Fine. Half then,” Brooke amended, leading Oliver across the room, her husband at her elbow. “All right, men. Forward march. That chocolate’s not going to eat itself.”
Rhys motioned with his head to the door. “Shall we?”
Mallory’s mother started to object, but her father cut her off with a raised hand. “Go. We’ll hold down the fort here.”
“Thanks, Dad.” Mallory gave her father a grateful smile and turned to Rhys. “Come on. I know somewhere we won’t be disturbed.”
“Good.” Rhys followed her out of the ballroom and into the hotel lobby.
“Where are we going?” he asked.
“Upstairs. My mother rented a suite for the wedding party.” She stopped in front of a bank of elevators and punched the up button. “I’m not doing this in the hallway. Too many prying eyes.”
They rode the short distance to the third floor in silence. Once there, she led him a few feet down the hall, stopped in front of one of the rooms, and pulled a plastic key card from a cleverly hidden pocket in her fancy dress.
He took a minute to drink in his fill of her as she fumbled with the key card. Her blue-green dress was simple but stunning, hugging her curves like a jealous lover until it ended above the knee, leaving her smooth, shapely legs bare to the straps of her spiky heels. She was everything he wanted, everything he needed, and more. Smart. Sensitive. Strong. And adorably nervous as she struggled with the key.
He swallowed. Hard. Oliver was right. He’d better not mess this up.
After a few tries, she unlocked the door and ushered him inside. She went straight for the minibar, grabbing two bottles of wine and holding them aloft, what looked like a malbec in her right hand and a chardonnay in her left. “Red or white?”
He shook his head. He needed to be totally lucid for this conversation. Anything less increased the fuckup factor exponentially. “I’m fine, thanks.”
“White it is.” She screwed the top off, removed the frilly paper covers from two hotel tumblers, and poured.
He took the glass she handed him but set it down on a side table without drinking. “Thanks for agreeing to hear me out.”
Way to start strong, Romeo. Maybe he should have that drink after all. His game couldn’t get much worse.
“It’s the least I can do. You came all this way. Left Flamingo Key. Brought Oliver with you. After everything you said…” Mallory sipped her chardonnay. Even across the room, Rhys could see her pulse beat at the hollow of her throat. The rapid, irregular rhythm matched his. “I don’t understand.”
“It’s called a grand gesture.” He stepped closer. “When a guy puts himself out there to show a girl how he feels.”
Her breath hitched, and she ran a finger around the rim of her glass. “And how do you feel?”
“Like an idiot for not listening to you.” He took another step, his obvious effect on her making him bolder. “You were right about Oliver. About everything.”
The mention of his son’s name reminded him of the drawing. He took it from his pocket and handed it to her. “Here. Oliver made this for you.”
She unfolded the picture and studied it, a slow smile spreading across her beautiful face. “Is this the three of us?”
“Yeah. And that’s the Statue of Liberty and Central Park and the Empire State Building,” he said, pointing to the drawing.
“So coming to New York was Oliver’s idea.”
“I’d be lying if I said he didn’t give me a little inspiration,” Rhys admitted. “But the execution was all mine.”
“You made quite an impression, that’s for sure.” She sank down onto the couch, the picture in one hand, her chardonnay in the other.
He sat next to her, close enough to feel the heat radiating off her skin but not so close they were touching. “A good one, I hope.”
“I’m not sure what it all means.”
She crossed her legs, and he tried to ignore the way her dress rode higher up her thighs. If there was ever a time for thinking with the head above his belt and not below, it was now.
“It means I need you. Oliver needs you. We want you back, Mallory.”
“As your nanny?”
“No. That position has already been filled.”
Her eyes widened. “It has?”
“Mm-hmm.” He leaned back, casually stretching his arm across the back of the sofa. “And I think you’ll agree I found the perfect person for the job.”
“I don’t know.” Mallory took a sip of her wine. “She’s got some pretty big shoes to fill.”
“He.”
“You hired a manny?”
“Not exactly.”
“Okay, now I’m totally confused.” Cute little furrows pleated her forehead, and he ached to take her in his arms and kiss them away. “Who is this caregiver extraordinaire?”
He pointed a thumb at his chest.
She stared at him blankly.
“You’re looking at him,” Rhys said.
Oliver’s drawing fluttered to the floor. “You?”
“Why so surprised? You were the one who told me I needed to spend more time with my son.”
“What about your work?”
He couldn’t wait any longer. He had to touch her. He took the glass from her hand, put it next to his on the side table, and laced his fingers with hers. “I’ve got good people working for me. Collins is overdue for a promotion. I’ll learn to delegate more. And what I can’t delegate I can do when Oliver’s asleep. Or in school.”
“School?”
“I’m thinking Westchester County.” Rhys turned her hand over and traced slow circles on her palm with his thumb. She rewarded him with a sharp intake of breath and a slight shiver. “Or maybe Fairfield, or somewhere on Long Island. Close to your parents but not too close. I was hoping you’d help me house hunt. I’ve been out of the tristate area for so long. I’m sure you know the real estate market better than I do.”
“House hunt?” She frowned again, deepening the adorable creases in her brow. “What about Flamingo Key?”
“We’ll spend summ
ers on the island. School vacations and holidays. But our home base will be here.” Rhys dropped his arm from the back of the couch to her shoulders and clasped her hand tight. “I meant what I said, Mallory. You were right. I’m just starting to get to know my son. I don’t want him to resent me as he grows up. It’s time for us to rejoin the human race.”
A tear slipped down her cheek to the corner of her tremulous smile. “You’re doing the right thing.”
“I’m not going to lie.” His eyes caught hers and held. “It’s not going to be easy. I’ve got a lot of baggage to sort through. I’m going to need some help.”
“Of course. I’ll do whatever I can.”
“For starters, you can say you love me as much as I love you.”
You could have driven a truck through the silence that followed his pronouncement. A wave of desperation washed over him.
“You heard me, right? I said I love you.”
“Y-yes.” Her chin dipped, and heat colored her cheeks.
He pulled her hand to his lips and peppered it with kisses. “I don’t take those words lightly. I’ve only said them to one other woman. And I never thought I’d say them again. Then you crashed into my life like an asteroid and changed everything.”
“An asteroid.” She lifted her face. The start of a smile playing about the corners of her mouth and the light dancing in her eyes boosted his hopes, even though she hadn’t said the words he longed to hear. Yet. “Sounds deadly.”
“Not this one.” He reached up to cup her cheek. “This one saved me.”
“But…”
“No.” He put a finger across her lips. “No buts.”
“What if…?”
“No what-ifs either. We don’t have to have all the answers today. As long as we’re willing to find them together.”
She bit her lip and blinked back fresh tears. He mentally crossed his fingers that they were tears of happiness. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity but was probably only a few seconds, she brought her lips to his and kissed him, so soft and fleeting he almost thought he’d imagined it. “I’m game if you are.”
“Oh, I’m game all right.” To hell with soft and fleeting. He hauled her into his lap, cradling her.
“You’re crazy.” She clung to his shoulders, her nails biting into his skin through his thin shirt.
“So my elaborate plan to win you back worked?”
“I loved it.” She pushed his collar aside and nuzzled his neck. “I love you.”
Relief, sweet and sharp, flooded his heart. Words weren’t enough to express the depth of his feelings, so he didn’t bother to try, preferring to rely on the tried and true maxim that actions spoke louder. He parted her lips with his, slipping his tongue inside to find hers. They’d been apart less than a month, but they kissed like it had been years, locked together, their whole bodies involved. Mouths moving, chests melding, hands wandering, needy and desperate.
“Rhys,” she protested when he let her up for air. She reached behind her to tug on the hem of her dress, which had risen almost to her waist in their frenzied groping. “My dress…”
“Is lovely.” He smoothed a hand over the sleek curve of her ass, bare save for her lacy pink panties. “And it will look even better on the floor.”
“Are you forgetting your son is downstairs? Along with my entire family?”
“What can I say?” He tucked a piece of hair that had escaped from her updo behind her ear. “When you do that thing with your tongue, I can’t think about anything else.”
“What thing with my tongue?” She batted her eyelashes, the picture of faux dewy-eyed innocence.
“You know full well. The thing where you trace my earlobe. It’s very distracting.”
“You’re saying this is my fault?” She stood and adjusted her dress, the hint of laughter in her voice robbing her words of any sting.
“No.” He rose to join her, making his own necessary adjustment to the crotch of his pants. “I’m saying we’ll finish this later.”
“I’m going to hold you to that.” She stepped into her heels, which she must have kicked off during their make-out session. “But the logistics won’t be easy. The reception’s not over for a couple of hours, and my mother will kill me if I leave again. Oliver’s going to be bouncing off the walls from all that chocolate. And I hope you have a hotel suite, because I’ve been staying with my sister and her husband and…”
He wrapped his arms around her waist and lifted her off her feet, silencing her with a kiss.
“Don’t worry, sweetheart.” He let her slide down his body slowly, intimately, feeling every inch or her with every inch of him. “We’ve got the rest of our lives to figure it out.”
Epilogue
“All right. Time to wrap up.” Mallory wiped her hands on her apron and surveyed her class of third and fourth graders at Pots ’n’ Pans. The school had been filled almost to capacity since its grand opening six months ago, and today’s collection of tiny chefs was no exception. Things were going so well, she was even considering adding a mommy and me class next term for toddlers. “Great work, everyone. Don’t forget to clean up your stations before your parents get here. And take your cinnamon rolls home to share.”
“What are we making next week?” Jayne, a redheaded spitfire who always sat in the front row, piped up.
“French toast on brioche bread with fresh strawberries and homemade whipped cream.” Mallory rounded the room, making sure all ten kids in the small personalized class were following her instructions and using the safe kitchen practices she’d drilled into them in the first few sessions of the eight-week course.
“Sounds delicious.” Rhys’s voice made her head swivel toward the classroom door. He stood framed in the entryway, looking sexier than any man had a right to in slim-fit jeans and a crisp white button-down shirt rolled to his elbows. She put a hand to her throat. Even after almost a year together, he never ceased to make her breath come a little quicker and her heart beat a bit faster.
“Where’s Oliver?” she asked, bending to help one of her increasing number of male students wrap his plate of cinnamon rolls. She’d always thought it strange that boys were steered away from the kitchen and toward more supposedly masculine pursuits like playing sports or building model rockets when so many of the top chefs were men. One of her prime objectives at Pots ’n’ Pans was getting more boys to see that cooking was not only fun but unisex. “I thought we were taking him to karate together after I close up shop.”
“Change of plans.” Rhys moved to one side to let the first of the students out the door and into the waiting room, where Gwen, the newly hired receptionist, would make sure they were reunited with their family members. “He’s with your parents. They’re taking him to the dojo and then dinner at Dave & Buster’s.”
Mallory’s mouth fell open. She was surprised it didn’t hit the floor. “My mother agreed to set foot in an arcade?”
“Are you really that shocked?” Rhys stepped into the room as the last few students filed out. “Her soon-to-be grandson has her wrapped around his little finger.”
She pulled out the chain from under her blouse and fingered the eight-carat emerald-cut diamond ring dangling from it. She wore it that way—close to her heart—when she was working. No use risking it getting caught in a mixer or winding up in one of her students’ creations. “I guess I can’t blame her. She’d pretty much given up on being a grandmother. Brooke and Eli aren’t in any rush to have kids. And I…”
She broke off, looking down at the ring still in her hand. Rhys put his arms around her, drawing her into his warmth, and brushed his lips against hers. “Don’t. We talked about this. You know how I feel. I have everything I want with you and Oliver. And if we decide to expand our family, there are lots of ways to do that.”
Like the Grinch at the end of the perennial Christmas cartoon, Mallory’s heart swelled in her chest, threatening to burst free from her rib cage. She stood on tiptoe to wind her arms around Rhys’
s neck and threaded her fingers through his hair. “What did I do to deserve you?”
He lowered his head for another kiss, this one longer, more heated than the last. “Rescued me from a life of loneliness and solitude.”
“That’s right.” She smiled up at him. “I did.”
“Oliver’s sleeping over at your parents’ place, so we’ve got the whole night to ourselves.” He ran a hand down her back, stopping just south of her waist. “Any ideas how we should spend it?”
“I’ve got a ton of stuff to do for the wedding.” She fought for focus as his hand drifted farther south, cupping the curve of her ass. The big day was only a few weeks away, and she still had to finalize the seating arrangements, write her vows, get the head count to the caterer… “And I’m nowhere near ready to move. I haven’t even started packing yet.”
She and Rhys had agreed it wouldn’t be appropriate for her to live with him and Oliver in the Oyster Bay home she’d helped them find and furnish until after the wedding. Her parents wanted her to move back into the guesthouse on their property, but Mallory had asserted her newfound independence and put her foot down, renting a cozy studio apartment in easy distance from Rhys and her new storefront in picturesque downtown Cold Spring Harbor.
“No.” Rhys put a finger to her lips, quieting her. “No wedding stuff tonight. And no packing. Tonight is for us.”
She kissed his palm and held it against her cheek. “What do you suggest?”
“I thought maybe dinner at L’Ecole. I’ve reserved the chef’s table.”
Mallory would have jumped for joy, but she didn’t want Rhys to stop touching her. The heat of his palm on her face had tingles skipping down her spine to her nether regions. “Are you serious? It’s almost impossible to get in there. And I’ve been dying to study Chef Ip’s preparation and plating.”
“So you’ve said. About a thousand times.” His thumb stroked her lower lip, and the tingles turned to tremors. “Then I thought we’d follow that up with a walk on the beach and a night in my bed.”
She sighed and relaxed into him. “That sounds perfect.”
“It will be perfect when you’re in my bed permanently.”
