by Nancy Warren
As he moved it off the chair he was about to sit in, he said, “Amputate.”
Chelsea blinked. “I beg your pardon?”
“Six across. Eight-letter word, to cut off,” he explained, smiling at her. “Amputate.”
“Oh, right. Thanks. I hope you don’t mind that I did the crossword. It didn’t seem like something you enjoyed.”
“No. I never do them. No time.”
She shook her head at him. “You and your sister with your no time.”
“Oh, come on. You can’t compare me with my sister. She’s so driven it’s insane.”
She set a plate with about seven kinds of appetizers on it in the middle of the table. Under a short cotton skirt, her summer-brown legs were bare. Her feet were in sandals and besides noting that she’d painted her toenails purple, he saw a little silver toe ring. “She’s not so driven that she’d pretend to be engaged in order to further her career.”
He grinned at her. “She would if she’d thought of it.”
When she’d settled herself on the other side of the big farmhouse table, he poured wine, then raised his glass. “A toast to our mutual success.”
She smiled at him and they both drank.
“You were a big hit at dinner the other night, by the way,” he told her.
“Really?”
He reached for a tiny pea pod stuffed with crab and some kind of sauce and popped it in his mouth. “Oh, wow, this is fantastic,” he said thickly. “Yeah, they all loved you. Piers is convinced you’d be the perfect hostess at any company function. He’s beside himself with excitement.” Piers wasn’t the only one beside himself with excitement, and he got the feeling his fake future wife had picked up on it. She leaned forward, looking eager.
“So, did you get the VP spot?”
He savored the moment, conscious that he’d pretty much rushed home to tell her, knowing she should be the first to know. “He said they can’t make anything official until Macabee retires, but he offered me the job.”
She shrieked and jumped up and ran around the table. He rose and as she threw her arms around him he caught her against him. Her body felt as good in his arms as he’d known it would. Her smell entranced him, like wildflowers and woman all mixed up with the scent of a great restaurant.
Through the thin cotton of her cherry-colored tank top, he felt her body, warm and luscious.
Her lips were curved in a smile and they were absolutely the sexiest, most kissable lips in the universe. His mouth was on hers before he had time to register what he was doing. Instinct took over, and a kind of need, to taste and hold and savor.
He felt the softness of her breasts crushed against his chest, the fine bones in her back as he held her, and the magical feel of her mouth against his.
Heat pulsed between them and the need to touch her, to take her, pounded in his veins.
As he moved in to pull her even deeper into him and take the kiss to the next level, she put her hands on his shoulders. It took him a second before he realized she was pulling away.
There was a moment of total awkwardness as they stood facing each other. Her eyes were a little wide, her breathing fast.
He wanted to kiss her again; it seemed the most natural thing in the world. He wanted to peel off her clothes and take her to bed, and he could see in her eyes that she was tempted.
But she shook her head, a quick no. Backed away. And then he remembered her stupid rules. Like the no-kissing rule that rattled around in his head like a penny in a tin can.
She sat back down in her seat and made a fuss out of offering him more appetizers, which he ate to keep his mouth busy. Since her food was amazing, the flavor distracted him, but still, he couldn’t entirely stop thinking about kissing her and all the places that could lead.
“I have news, too,” she said, looking pretty pleased with herself.
“What?”
“I got my first catering job.”
“You did?”
“Mmm-hmm. It was through your sister, actually. Some friends of hers are getting married. They’ve been living together for a while and are expecting a baby so they suddenly decided they want to get married in three weeks’ time. And I’m catering the wedding.”
“That is fantastic.” Married in three weeks, he thought. Well, the lucky couple were probably doing it like rabbits, getting so much sex they’d be exhausted by the time they got to the wedding night. That’s what it should be like when you were engaged to a sexy woman. And here he was, engaged to the sexiest woman of all, and he ached, literally ached from the lack of sex.
She beamed at him across the table. “I couldn’t have done it without your kitchen.” She reached for a tiny round of crispy cooked potato topped with goat cheese and some fancy green stuff. As she bit into the appetizer he thought of how much he liked her mouth and how much he wanted her. “We could be the making of each other.”
He had to get a grip!
Stop thinking about sex and Chelsea. Think about something else, anything.
Business, that was it. He was genius at business and maybe if he focused on that he could get his mind off sex.
Temporarily.
“Maybe I could help you in your business,” he blurted.
One sexy eyebrow rose. “You can cook?”
He shook his head. “You’re a genius in the kitchen, but how’s your marketing coming? Have you got a Web site set up?”
She wrinkled her nose. “I was planning on waiting until I have a proper kitchen.”
“Mistake a lot of people make,” he said around another fantastic bite of heaven topped with goat cheese. “Get your advertising and marketing going right away.” He licked his thumb. “Product quality is important, no question, which you definitely have here, but you’ve got to get people buying it or you won’t have a successful business. Bottom line, you won’t have any business.”
“Yeah, I guess.”
“I can help you with that. I’ve got great contacts through my work. I know a woman who does fantastic Web sites and she owes me a favor. I bet I can cut a good deal. I’ve got a good printer who turns things around fast.”
“A printer, but—”
“You need it all. If you want to be a top caterer, present yourself as a top caterer. You can print off menus on the computer, that’s cool, but have a fancy folder to put them in. And some decent business cards.”
“Business cards?”
“Business cards.” He pictured something classy but forward thinking. “What’s your business name?”
“Hammond and Co.” She got that line between her brows that she always got when she was concentrating on something. “I thought of a bunch of cutesy names, but the more I thought of it the more I wanted my food taken seriously.”
“Sounds like a good strategy to me.”
She beamed at him. “Thank you.”
He was glad she was in such a good mood, and already profiting from their little arrangement, because he had another piece of news for her. One she might not love as much.
“Even though it’s not official yet, I’ve been invited to my first leadership retreat.”
“Leadership retreat? Sounds like a Bible study camp.”
“It’s more a work/play weekend where the top brass of my company plan the future, work on the strategic plan, play a few rounds of golf, that kind of thing.”
“You are so in there,” she exclaimed.
“Yeah, I know. I’m pretty stoked.” He paused, took another sip of wine. Worked up his courage. He’d been selling since his first job in a steakhouse. He was brilliant at sales, he reminded himself. “So, what are you doing weekend after next?”
She stopped chewing and her eyes grew all squinty and suspicious. “Why do you care what I’m doing weekend after next?”
“Because it’s the corporate retreat, and, naturally, the significant others are invited.” He rushed on before she could speak. “It’s going to be great. It’s in a five-star resort in the Poconos, with a sp
a, excellent meals that you will appreciate. There’s horseback riding, I think, and shopping—” he racked his brain “—and golf.”
“I believe you mentioned golf.” She stared at him for an uncomfortable moment. “I didn’t realize weekend retreats would be involved when I agreed to this charade.”
“I didn’t, either. I mean, I didn’t know it would all move so fast.” He gave her his best winning grin. “It’s all because of you. They liked you so much they’ve fast-tracked things.”
She did not appear to be won over.
“I thought it would be a few dinners and cocktail receptions. I never imagined having to pretend to be in love with you for an entire weekend.”
“Is that so tough?” he asked, stung.
She put down her wineglass. “Yes,” she answered at last. “Tougher than you can possibly imagine.”
8
HE LOOKED SO HURT AT her words that she wanted to take them back, but Chelsea was essentially an honest person and tough didn’t even begin to describe what it was going to be like to spend an entire weekend with David when everyone thought they were an engaged couple. It was bad enough sharing a town house that he was rarely in. What would it be like if they had to share a room?
The kiss was still tingling on her lips and in truth she’d barely tasted the food she’d worked so hard preparing. All she could taste was David. If she could turn the experience of kissing him into a flavor she’d be the most successful caterer in history. Who could resist the taste of passion?
Why hadn’t she said no when this ridiculous charade was first suggested to her? Why hadn’t she run far and fast to avoid an impossible situation?
It was hopeless for her to pretend to be in love with David when the truth was that she’d been in love with him since she was fourteen years old.
Sure, she’d enjoyed the company of other men, gone to bed with a few of them, but no one, however nice, good-looking, funny, or charming, had ever come close to winning her heart. Now she knew why. She didn’t have a heart to give. She’d given it to David all those years ago. He had no more clue of her feelings now than he’d had then. He looked at her like she was a monster to tell him it was horrible to be expected to spend a weekend with him. But it was as close to the truth as she could come without making a fool of herself.
“I see,” he said at last. “Well, I’ll tell them you’re sick, or working or something. I’m sure they’ll understand,” he said, with no conviction whatever.
But she discovered that what the poets said about love was true. It was self-sacrificing. For she could no more imagine him at a couples retreat all alone, when it was so important for him to make the right impression, than she could imagine walking past him if he was sick or injured.
The truth was, he needed her. And because she loved him, she said, “No, it’s okay. I’ll come with you. Of course I’ll come.” She forced a smile. “We made a deal, and I’ll stick to it.”
“We never negotiated for weekends because frankly I didn’t think there’d be any.”
She tilted her head to one side, thinking he was going to have a few surprises, too. “I never imagined that I’d have actual catering gigs while I was living here, either. I’m guessing your kitchen may be busier than you’d expected.”
“If you can live with corporate retreats and God knows what else, I guess I can live with a commercial kitchen in my house for a couple of months.”
He raised his glass. “Deal?”
She clinked her glass against his. “Deal.”
“You know, we might just squeak through this thing after all.”
He’d barely finished the sentence when the phone rang. He checked the call display, seemed to hesitate, then he picked it up. “Hello? Mom, hi. How’s your vacation? How’s Poland?”
He looked a little concerned. “You sound kind of funny.”
One of the things she’d always liked about David and Sarah’s family was how close they were. He sounded genuinely pleased to hear from his mother and if he could tell she sounded funny when she was half a world away, he had to be a good son. She got up and started clearing the table, aiming to give him a bit of privacy.
But, even as she tried very hard not to eavesdrop, she couldn’t help but hear David’s side of the conversation and, since he didn’t bother to leave the room, she supposed he didn’t care if she heard him. Then she heard a snatch of dialogue that had her turning to stare.
“Got an e-mail from Norma in your book club? Is that the nosy woman who lives in my block?”
At that moment they locked gazes.
“What did she say?” She caught a note of panic.
“That’s ridiculous. Of course I don’t have a woman living with me. Naturally, you’d be the first to know if I had a girlfriend.”
She glanced at him and found him looking pale, like he was in the middle of a really powerful horror movie.
His face twisted. “I’m not saying she made it up, it’s—” He glanced up at her in appeal. “I—”
She could hear the upset, almost hysterical babble coming from the receiver. Oh, this was so not good. She knew David’s parents. They didn’t deserve this.
She walked over and whispered, “Tell her the truth.”
David ignored her. Nothing new there, he’d been ignoring her for years.
“Mom, no. Look, it’s not what you think.” He grabbed his wine and gulped down half a glass. “Mom, it’s Chelsea Hammond, you know, the nice girl who lived with the Dennises? She needed a place to stay and Sarah asked if she could stay here for a while. It’s great. She’s a fantastic cook and it’s only temporary.”
His mother spoke again and she saw David turn his head in the direction of the windows and glare. “That woman was hanging out her windows watching me and Chelsea come home all dressed up? Does she never sleep? Maybe she should read one of the damn book-club books instead of spying on the neighbors.”
She shook her head at him. He was hopeless. Hopeless.
“We were not kissing. I don’t care what she thought she saw.” He let out a huff of frustration. “I might have had my arm around Chelsea, I can’t remember, but—” His mouth dropped open. “How can you say that about your own son? I do not use women.”
“Hah,” she said, and not nearly as quietly as she should have.
He looked panicky and kind of sweaty and finally cracked like a guy who’d spent the night in police interrogation. “Okay, okay, so we’re seeing each other. Just casually, Mom. It’s not serious.”
The hysterical babbling was calming down now, sounding more like a happy fountain from Chelsea’s perspective.
“Yes.” He laughed, a short, sharp snort. “Oh, she certainly is the nicest girl I’ve ever gone out with.”
So he knew that, did he? And found it ripsnortingly funny.
She wanted to smack him.
To control the impulse she turned back to the kitchen. One thing she really, really missed was having an underpaid grunt to clean up after her, sweep the floor every few minutes and, best of all, wash her dishes. It seemed, when you were a one-woman catering firm, that you washed your own dishes.
She was going to have to get successful enough fast to hire a grunt. She started stacking dishes that needed hand-washing. At least it gave her something to do with the energy burning within her. Behind her, David and his mother continued chatting and she made enough noise that no one could think she was eavesdropping.
“Just a second. Ah, Chelsea?” He looked up, appearing more guilty than when he’d forced her to agree to a weekend corporate retreat. “My mom wants to talk to you.”
For a moment she considered refusing. But then she remembered how nice to her Mrs. Wolfe had always been. It was sad that she’d given birth to the spawn of Satan, but that wasn’t her fault.
She stalked forward and grabbed the phone he was holding out.
“Hello?”
“Oh, Chelsea, I heard you were back in town, but I only just found out you and David a
re seeing each other. Of course, I haven’t seen you in years, but unless you’ve changed a great deal, you were like a second daughter to us when you lived next door.”
Chelsea felt emotion swell in her chest. “Oh, Mrs. Wolfe, I feel the same way. I mean, you were always so nice to me, exactly like a second mother.”
“When Lawrence and I get home, we’re going to have a family dinner and get all caught up.”
“A family dinner sounds wonderful. Enjoy the rest of your vacation.”
“Don’t run away now, will you? Not before we get back. I’m so happy to think of him with a good woman for a change.”
“Thank you.”
When she got off the phone she realized that she loved David’s parents almost as much as she loved him, and for a lot better reasons.
They exchanged glances. “I cannot believe that woman’s been spying on us and reporting to my mother. Internationally. It’s like living across the street from Interpol.” He sipped the last of the wine in his glass. “You don’t know what my mother’s been like since they both retired. It’s like she’s obsessed with weddings and babies. Her finding out about you living here is not good news.”
“She’s happy to think of you with a good woman for a change.”
He looked outraged. “She said that? My own mother?”
“Her very words.”
“I—”
“‘Oh what a tangled web we weave, when first we practice to deceive,’” she quoted. “What?”
“Sir Walter Scott. On the dangers of lying. I’m pretty sure you helped me with my homework back in sophomore English. Remember?”
9
WHAT’S STOPPING YOU from meeting me?
Sarah stared at the words glaring at her from her computer screen. What was stopping her?
She left the cursor blinking and went in search of something to eat.
There were all the obvious reasons, like men in general being bad news. The men her clients ended up divorcing, men like the current scumbag who’d hidden his assets offshore along with his current girlfriend. Or the male lawyers she spent too much time with, or David, her own brother who’d rather invent a fantasy fiancée than try to have a relationship with a real woman.
