Northwest Romantic Comedies: Boxed Set Books 1-6

by Lia London

  “We understand,” said Crawford. “If we can get some water, we’ll be good for the night.”

  The waiter nodded and brought them a carafe of water which Crawford poured into their glasses. When the ice cubes swirled to a stop, he lifted his gaze to Maris. She’d removed her coat and now tucked her linen napkin onto her lap. The soft blue hues of her patterned blouse made her eyes pop, and when she looked up at him with a shy smile, it took him a second to realize he should say something.

  “Quite a lucky break,” he offered.

  “Amazing!” Her smile widened. “It worked out just right. This way you got to make things more fun for that little boy.” She sighed, her finger wiping the condensation from her water glass. “You brought us some good karma with all your good deeds today.”

  Crawford gave a sly smile. “You’re a pretty good girl, too. I’m sure something even more wonderful lies ahead.”

  Maris folded her hands in front of her smile and studied him. “Are you always so incredibly obvious when you’re trying to be sexy? Because you don’t have to try. You are. The over-the-top lines kind of make it all cartoonish instead.”

  Shock knocked the air from Crawford’s chest, and he sat back, gaping at her. “I’m not trying to …” The lie died on his lips, and he shook his head, unblinking. “What am I supposed to say?”

  Her knowing smile rearranged his internal organs in a mess of sensuous terror.

  “You don’t have to say anything.” She took a sip of water, then chewed her lip shyly. “Take it for granted I think you’re excessively attractive. Then, if I stare, you’ll understand it’s because I’m a woman with working eyeballs. You don’t have to convince me, so don’t ruin it all with cheesy innuendos.” Her blush acted as an exclamation point.

  Something about her last sentence confused Crawford. He closed his mouth, then let it flop open again. The water did little to soothe his dry throat, but he croaked out a response anyway. “All right. Take it for granted that I also think you’re crazy hot, and it’s because I’m a man.” He gestured between the two of them. “So, where exactly does that leave us?”

  Maris shrugged, picking up her cutlery. “Aware of the attraction, and so hopefully that much more in control of it. Now we can work on getting to know each other and leave the physical stuff on the side table.”

  “Is this something you learned in some weird women’s psychology class, or something?”

  “Why?” She cut into a piece of chicken. “Is it working?”

  “I have no idea.” He fumbled with his napkin. “What more is there to know than we’re both attracted?”

  One of Maris’ brows shot up, though her eyes remained fixed on her task of spearing a steamed carrot with her fork. “Isn’t that just phase one?”

  It occurred to Crawford he’d never pondered the existence of a phase two. He’d never really developed relationships. Only encounters. He opened his lips to speak again, but gave up, and popped a dollop of mashed potatoes into his mouth instead.

  When his eyes met hers, filled with a surprising blend of innocence and wisdom, he shook his head. “I guess not so much with the girls I’ve dated. It’s all they ever wanted.”

  “How sad for you,” said Maris. “And there you are with so much more to offer.”

  “I don’t know about that.” Crawford squirmed and stared at his plate, piled high with a sampling of nearly everything from the buffet. “I can offer you some crab cakes, or some of this jelly stuff.”

  Her smile warmed him. “See? You’re funny, too. And nice to kids and old people. All a great start.”

  “Is that what you look for in a guy?” He knew that didn’t sound sexy. It sounded desperate. His mojo was all off.

  A shadow passed over her face before she answered. “I don’t know that I’m looking yet.”

  “Yet? You’re not looking to be attached?” Crawford liked the sound of this even better.

  She surveyed the anniversary party wistfully. “Well, never say never, I guess. Who knows what or who I’ll find some day. Inspiration to go the distance.”

  Crawford drank in her profile, noting the fine laugh lines by her eyes but also the faintest crease between the brows. “Go the distance?” he prompted.

  “To get an Axel, you’ve got to be an Oralee.”

  Crawford followed her gaze, contemplating what it would take to keep a relationship for decades. He had no idea how to proceed to make a woman truly happy. Maybe that explained why he’d always stuck with the women who made no real emotional demands on him.

  They ate in silence for a few moments.

  At last, Crawford ventured a different kind of compliment. “I could see you as an Oralee someday. You’ve already got her sweetness.”

  Maris blushed into a bite of salad.

  Reaching with his fingertip, he traced lines on her forehead and cheeks. “Add a few wrinkles here and here.” Crawford froze, beguiled by the glow of her skin. “Sure,” he said. “You’ll be a pretty sweet old thing someday.”

  Maris had hoped that voicing her little speech about physical attraction aloud would help her control the yearning to be near him, but when his fingertips lightly brushed her face, her stomach dropped, and she flew up into the clouds. For the rest of the meal, she tried to weigh herself down with food, but with each locked glance, she sprung higher again until she feared he’d have to tether her to the ground with a strong kite string.

  Even so, she feared any kind of intimacy with him. If his mere touch set her insides twirling, what would a kiss do?

  And he was used to more. She had no clue what to do in that department, and even if her moral standards allowed it, she would be afraid of suffering by comparison.

  As they walked slowly back up to the Tree House, she kept the conversation steered in his favor, letting him share funny stories of mishaps at photo shoots and the goofy celebrities he’d met.

  He surprised her with the news that he’d been selected for the first season of Who Wants to Be a Soap Star representing Team Northwest, but then he grew vague about why his cuts never aired. Something about one of the judges wanting to keep him as a boy toy. He stumbled into silence as they reached the steps.

  “You’re not even out of breath,” said Maris as they climbed the hill to their Tree House. “Have you ever taught fitness classes? You’d be perfect. You wouldn’t even sound winded while you gave instructions.”

  Crawford grinned. “Need me to carry you over the threshold? Everyone thinks we’re married anyway.”

  Before she could answer, he swept her up into his arms. Maris squealed and kicked a little, but quickly wrapped her arms around his neck for balance as he ascended the last few steps.

  He paused. “Uh.”

  “What’s wrong? Am I getting too heavy?”

  “Not even.” He made a quarter turn and stared at the door. “Uh.”

  Maris gave him a light punch. “Are you going to put me down?”

  “No, but I need you to get the key out of my pocket.”

  “What?” The idea of delving her hands into the pockets of his jeans sent her heart racing. “Not!”

  “Come on. It’s a card key. Right pocket of my coat.”

  “Oh.” Relief washed through her. “Coat pocket.”

  He snickered. “I’m not asking you to get all personal with me …yet.”

  She reached into his bulky outer pocket and quickly grasped the card key and tucked it close to her nose. “Now put me down, or you can’t have this.”

  In a rapid move, he lifted a knee to sustain her weight, snatched the card key, and unlocked the door. It happened so quickly that she wrapped her arms tighter around his neck to keep from falling.

  Crawford gave her an irresistible grin. “Now that’s more like it.” He swept her into the darkened room before letting her slide to her feet.

  With her pulse clattering in her ears, she stood pressed against him in the dark, sure he could hear her heart doing backflips.

  “Lights?�
�� she croaked.

  He leaned toward the switch behind her, tilting her gently against the wall inside the door. “If you insist.”

  The lights came on, and she stared up at him. Again, she mentally rehearsed the speech about getting past physical attraction, but it didn’t slow her breathing. Or was she breathing at all?

  Pulling away from her, he unzipped his coat. “Kick off your shoes and stay for a while.”

  Desperate to regain control of her body, she raced for the futon couch and flopped sideways on it like a kid preparing for a marathon of Saturday morning cartoons. “Okay, dibs on the couch.”

  “Do I get the remote?”

  She snatched it from the end table and tucked it under the flap of her coat. “If you can get it away from me.”

  Crawford raised a brow, and a second later, he knelt beside her, tickling her waist.

  Breathless and afraid of her own desire, she tossed the remote at him. “Here!” She exhaled and removed her coat with trembling fingers. “What kind of stuff do you like to watch, anyway?”

  “Whatever you want,” he said, setting the remote out of reach. “Want me to make up some coffee first?”

  “Do they have herbal tea or cocoa?” She followed his movements to the kitchenette, wishing his jeans didn’t fit so well. “I don’t want to be up all night.” She closed her eyes to settle her nerves. Lying back, she hatched a plan, and by the time he arrived with two hot mugs, she had slowed her breathing enough to feign sleep.

  At least she hoped so. Then maybe he wouldn’t make any moves on her.

  “Maris?”

  She felt his hand on her shoulder, gently pressing.

  “Maris? Did you fall asleep on me?” He gave a strangled laugh, and his voice dropped to a whisper. “Wow. Long day, huh?”

  She sensed him step away, and a moment later, heard him moving around in the bedroom. Her eyes flew open. Would he carry her there and try anything?

  He returned a minute later. “Maris?” His voice grew even softer. “Are you really out for the night?”

  She concentrated on looking as placid and still as she could, keeping her breaths even.

  A weight came over her body, and she knew he’d set a large blanket on her. He even slid her boots off and tucked her feet gently under the cover. Lastly, he lifted her head and slipped a pillow beneath her cheek. It took all of Maris’ concentration not to grin at the tenderness of the gesture.

  The color changed behind her closed lids, and she knew he had dimmed the lights. How thoughtful! Her heart swelled. He really was a nice guy.

  Holding her breath, she waited with expectancy. Surely, he would seal the night with a goodnight kiss to her forehead. She waited, sensing him near, and resisted lifting her face towards him.

  “Sweet dreams, beautiful Maris,” he whispered.

  And then the door to the bedroom clicked shut.

  Maris’ eyes popped open, surprised by her own disappointment.

  But who was she kidding? A man so experienced with women would not want someone like her.

  She nestled under the blanket and confessed to herself that she wouldn’t have wanted it to be too chaste a kiss, so it was probably better that he’d left her untouched after all.

  Chapter 6 ~ Taking Risks

  “Good morning, sleepy head,” said Crawford, tousling Maris’ hair.

  She gave a soft moan and opened her eyes a crack. They popped wide when she saw him standing bare-chested in his Joe Boxer pajama bottoms. “Craw—um. Hi!”

  Crawford managed not to smirk with satisfaction, but he knew the image would linger in her mind for the rest of the day. He sauntered over to the kitchenette. “You want something to eat yet?”

  Her arms appeared, followed by her head peering over the back of the futon at him shyly. “What time is it?”

  “About 7:30,” he said, his gaze fixed on her while he poured himself a glass of water. “You were tired last night.”

  Maris flopped back out of sight except for her toes stretching off the end of the futon. “I’m not really a morning person.”

  “Not much of a night owl, either, are you?” He chuckled. and let his gaze take in all of her as she stood to stretch some more. Her blouse and hair were rumpled from the sleep, but even with her make-up mostly smudged off, she had a sweet flush to her skin. He got stuck studying her lips too long, trying to decipher their expression and possible flavor when she cracked a smile.

  “Sorry. I must look terrible first thing in the morning. I’ll go freshen up.”

  “You don’t look terrible, trust me. I’ve seen worse.”

  Her nonverbal response told him that was the wrong thing to say, and he realized as she disappeared into the bathroom that he should not have alluded to seeing other women first thing in the morning. Ladies were funny that way. Even when they knew they weren’t the first and only, they never wanted to acknowledge it.

  “Did you sleep okay last night?” she asked from behind the door.

  “On a cloud.” He smiled. “The bed’s super soft. You should try it tonight.”

  “What do you feel like doing today?”

  Crawford chewed his lip and pressed a palm to the bathroom door. What he felt like doing didn’t require leaving the Tree House. “Whatever you want.”

  “Golf?”

  Crawford groaned. Golf had never really been his thing. “Whatever you say, Miss Conway.” He padded back over to the counter where the landline phone sat. “I’ll call down now to see about tee times.”

  Maris opened the door, peeking her head out. His breath stopped when he caught sight of her bare shoulders. She bit her lower lip in the most adorable way. “Um, I bet they’d let us wear jeans on the course, huh?”

  Crawford blinked. “You want me to check about a dress code?”

  The air between them, even clear across the room, sparked with electricity. Her eyes brushed over his body, and he could almost feel their touch. In five or six strides he could be at the door—

  “Nah, just wear your jeans.” She gave him a lazy, smiling blink and closed the door again.

  Crawford exhaled, dazed by the magnetic pull she had on him.

  ***

  “I’ve got to warn you, golf isn’t really my game,” said Crawford, hefting the rented golf bag over his shoulder.

  Maris beamed. “Then we will once again be evenly matched. It’s another one of those things I have to play to entertain donors and big company execs, but I stink at it.”

  As they walked past the high nets guarding the driving range, Maris asked, “Want to take some practice swings?”

  “Nah.”

  “That confident, huh?” She flashed a grin, continuing towards the start of the course.

  “It’s more like I’m that sure it won’t help.”

  Maris adopted a thoughtful pout. “You really don’t like playing?”

  Crawford drank in her pretty face, full of concern. He didn’t want to lie, or complain, or do anything to ruin the trip. “As I said before, I don’t like looking like an idiot in front of a beautiful woman.”

  Her blush sent a thrill through him, her innocent air holding a power over him. “What if she looks like an idiot in front of a beautiful man?”

  His lips curled upward on one side. “I’m pretty sure you could never look like an idiot.”

  Maris’ face bloomed with pleased surprise. “You’d be the first person to say that ever. At work, I’m the resident punchline of everyone’s dumb blonde jokes.”

  “There’s no way you’re dumb.”

  “You’re so sweet.” She gave him a soft punch in the gut. “And delusional.” She raised her eyebrow. “And strong! Geez, no soft, cuddly, teddy-bear hugs from you, huh?”

  She dropped her bag to the ground and reached for a pair of gloves.

  Crawford’s hand went to his stomach. No one had ever disparaged his washboard abdominals before.

  Maris let out a happy gasp. “Oh! I have a great idea! We can play After the Manner
of the Adverb!”

  “I’m sorry, what?”

  She spoke distinctly. “After the Manner of the Adverb.” With a shrug, she signaled him to drop his bag, too. “It means we pick adverbs and golf that way.”

  “I don’t get it.”

  Maris pulled a ball, tee, and club from her bag. “For example.” She strode up to the green, placing the tee and ball. “You pick an adverb, and I’ll hit the ball that way.”

  “Um.” Crawford’s self-assurance shrank. “You’re going to have to tell me again what an adverb is. I slept a lot in English class.”

  “You know, all the L-Y words. Happily. Sadly. Angrily.”

  “Oh, okay. I get it.” He set down his bag. “But what’s the point?”

  She lifted her club onto her shoulder. “Well, if we get creative enough, we’ll both look totally stupid, but it’ll be way funny. Come on. Give me an adverb.”

  “How about sleepily? Since you were so tired last night?”

  Maris snickered. “Okay, I deserved that.” She gave an exaggerated yawn and paced in a wide circle, her shoulders and head drooping, and her club dragging behind her. When she lined up to take her shot, she let herself flop forward, resting her arms on the handle of her club. A second later, she let out a loud snore, and Crawford doubled over laughing.

  She stood up and flashed him a grin. “Got the idea?” She squinted out to the flag. “Now I hit the ball all sleepy, too.” Her swing showed good form until the ball connected, and then she collapsed in a snoring huddle on the ground, curled up like a puppy.

  Crawford dropped to his knees, crawling over to her. “Wake up, Sleeping Beauty. You need to hit the ball again. It only got about 100 yards.”

  Maris rolled over and leaned back on her hands. “Oh darn. Then the game will take longer.”

  Crawford grinned, admiring how the grass behind her complimented her hair and eyes. “I don’t mind if you don’t.” He stood and held out a hand to lift her to her feet. “What’s my adverb?”

  She made a show of tapping her chin thoughtfully, leaning into him a little. “I think you should try … awkwardly.”