"You'll be alone." He didn't want to come to her house. She didn't want him there. She should be relieved, but no. The words were out before she could stop them. "Nobody should be alone on Thanksgiving."
Max's smile widened. "Cat has this thing about strays during the holidays, Riley. She'll hound you until you say yes."
"Been alone most of my life," said McKendrick. "It's the way I like it."
If Cat had a nickel for every time she'd heard macho statements like that, she could singlehandedly pay off the national debt. But it was different this time. He means it, she thought, and it struck her as a terrible shame. There was something shadowy in his gaze, something bittersweet and lonely, and despite her better judgment Cat felt herself melting.
"Mr. McKendrick?" She sounded cool and collected, amazing when you considered the strange rush of emotion that filled her heart. "You'll come for Thanksgiving dinner, won't you?"
He nodded.
She smiled.
He met her eyes and for a moment she thought she saw them years from now, looking back at this moment as the one that changed their lives. She drew in a deep breath, trying to regain her equilibrium in a world that was shifting more rapidly than she could handle. She'd never understood the concept of love-at-first-sight. Everyone knew love grew slowly, cautiously, built on a foundation of friendship and respect. This was lust. Nothing more than lust. She had to remember that.
"So it's on?" Max asked.
McKendrick held her gaze. "It's on."
Max barely restrained a whoop of excitement. So did Cat. She had to make her escape before she made an absolute fool of herself.
"Three o'clock," she tossed over her shoulder as she raced for the door. "Max will give you directions."
And then she ran for her life.
***
Riley McKendrick whistled low. Tall, willowy, with sleek golden brown hair that brushed her shoulders like a caress. He'd been expecting a frumpy writer who spent her life in fantasyland, not a flesh-and-blood woman who looked as if she'd like to take a juicy bite out of life. "Thanks a lot, Max," he muttered after Cat Zaslow disappeared down the hallway. "You might've mentioned she was a knockout."
Max stared at him as if he was speaking Greek. "Cat? A knockout? Never noticed."
"Time to get your glasses checked," Riley said with a laugh. "That is one helluva woman."
"Cat's not a woman," Max said, in what had to be the single dumbest statement of the year. "She's a client." Riley shook his head, trying to banish the memory of the way her hips had swayed beneath her short black wool skirt. "You sure she has five kids?"
"Last time I counted."
"How many husbands?"
"She's a widow." Max seemed puzzled. "You really think she's good-looking?"
"You don't?"
"I never thought about it." Max was quiet for a moment. "Since when do you like skinny women?"
"I don't," Riley said. He liked his women soft, with big breasts and sweet dispositions. Cat Zaslow had a tongue like a double-edged razor blade and her breasts--
Riley stopped, galvanized by the thought of her breasts. High and round, surprisingly full for so slender a woman. He wondered if she'd been wearing a bra or one of those lacy things made to come off. He already knew she had the legs for it, wickedly long with thighs made for welcoming a man between them.
His blood shifted south and he forced the image from his mind.
"I dated her housekeeper for a few weeks," Max said. "Damn near gave me a nervous breakdown." He made to drag a hand through his perfect hair then apparently thought better of it. "Diapers, barking dogs, McDonald's Happy Meals--hell. Cat lives at the edge of disaster. Gimme Lutece any day."
"So what was her husband like?"
"I hear he was a nice guy."
"You never met him?"
"Cat started writing after David died."
Riley started to ask another question then caught himself. She loved him enough to have five kids with him. That was all he needed to know.
Max looked at him with open curiosity. "You're not interested in her as a woman, are you?"
He thought about the long, lovely length of her legs, that beautiful face...then he thought about reality. "Five kids, a housekeeper, the housekeeper's kid, and an in-home zoo?" He threw back his head and laughed out loud. "Not me, Max. Not in this lifetime."
***
Cat pushed open the heavy glass doors at 575 Madison and stepped out into the brilliant late autumn sunshine. She stood there, motionless, on the sidewalk and waited for the chilly wind whipping down the street to snap her back to normal. Whatever normal was. She wasn't sure she remembered. It had been a long time since she'd felt this way, a very long time since lust had reared its lovely head and beckoned her toward--
"Hey, lady." One of New York City's finest stopped next to her. "You okay?"
She blinked then managed to nod at the policeman.
"Why don't I hail a cab for you?" the cop offered, raising a burly arm in the air. "You don't look too good to me."
"No," she said, regaining her powers of speech. "I--I have a car." She glanced toward the corner and saw the familiar Chevy waiting for her. "But thank you."
She drew a steadying breath into her lungs then marched off toward the vehicle. The driver saw her coming and leaped out to open the door. Alec Marton owned the one and only car service in her small Connecticut town. The Chevy had served as wedding car, delivery room, and taxi cab for most of the citizens of Danville at one time or another.
"You don't look so good," Alec said as she climbed into the front seat next to him. "Maybe you should lie down in the back."
She shook her head. "I'm fine, Alec." She managed a smile. "You know me. Not only can't I drive in the city, I can't even think."
He looked no more convinced than the policeman had and no wonder. She wasn't fine. The truth was she felt as if the real Cat Zaslow had been taken over by aliens. Sixteen year old aliens, at that. She was aglow with excitement, alive with possibilities, and all for a man she didn't know and was reasonably certain she wouldn't like if she did.
Her knees had gone weak when his eyes met hers and it was a wonder she hadn't swooned at his cowboy-booted feet.
She'd lost her mind, that's what. All Riley McKendrick did was walk into Max's office and Cat's brain cells had decided to go on vacation. How humiliating. She had five wonderful children, a beautiful home, good friends, and a terrific career. She didn't need a man.
Truth was, her infrequent experiments in dating all had been less than successful. Men were either intimidated by her success, her kids, or the fact that she liked her life exactly the way it was and made no bones about it.
"You just haven't met the right man," Jenny liked to say whenever she got the chance.
"Yes, I have," Cat always said. David Zaslow was a tough act to follow. Any man looking to fill his shoes would have a lot to live up to.
He could do it, Cat. Maybe that cowboy is the one.
She shook her head, ignoring Alec's curious glance in the rearview mirror. A clockwatcher. That gorgeous hunk of man was a clockwatcher. What a waste of natural resources.
Alec maneuvered the Chevy into traffic. "Just getting out in time," he said as they headed crosstown. "Gonna be a zoo in another hour, everyone trying to get out early for Thanksgiving."
She met his eyes in the mirror. "Alec, do you think I'm disorganized?"
"Sure," he said, "but I'd never hold it against you. You got a career and five kids. Who wouldn't be behind the eight-ball now and again?"
She sighed loudly.
"Not my business," Alec said, "but you asked."
"You and Sarah have three kids. How do you manage?"
"Sarah's got everyone on a schedule," Alec said not without a touch of pride. "Even put it on computer."
Cat suppressed a shudder. "Really?"
Alec nodded. "You bet. Even Annie's on there."
Her eyes widened. "Annie's four years old, Alec."
/>
"Never too soon to start. That's what Sarah says. How else you gonna keep their lessons and doctor's appointments and everything straight?"
"Isn't that why God made refrigerator magnets?" Was it possible that the rest of the world operated with the efficiency of a Swiss watch while she was a sundial on a cloudy day?
Which, of course, brought her right back to Riley McKendrick, who made a living putting people's lives into order.
Had she lost her mind or just the part of it that governed the libido? It wasn't like there'd been any chemistry between them. Everybody knew one-way chemistry was a physical impossibility. He probably hadn't even realized she was a woman. So what if she'd noticed he was tall, dark, and handsome with a voice that could undress a woman without even trying. He couldn't help the effect he'd had on her, any more than she could help the heated fantasies dancing behind her eyeballs.
She heard Max's voice, crystal clear, inside her head. "An hour with Riley McKendrick will change your life forever." Max couldn't be right. She didn't want her life changed. She liked her life the way it was. She had a home, she had a family, she had memories of a man she'd loved once and would never forget. So what if romance was a thing of the past. She could live without romance.
At least she thought she could until today.
She closed her eyes and leaned her forehead against the car window. "Oh, Max," she murmured. "What have you done to me?"
Riley McKendrick was everything she didn't want in a man and she was afraid he was exactly what she needed.
I Do, I Do . . . Again - a novella
Chapter One
They say a man never forgets his first love, the first woman to claim his heart. Maybe that was why the sign in the art gallery window caught Robert's eye on that sunny April afternoon. Grand Opening, it read in bold deco print. Sunny invites you to a wine-and-cheese Open House to celebrate the opening of Gallery One.
Sunny.
The name alone was enough to summon up the memory of warm summer nights and youthful dreams. Lately he'd found himself thinking about his ex-wife at the oddest times. The scent of Shalimar...a woman with eyes the color of a green meadow...the nagging feeling that if they'd tried harder or loved each other more their marriage might have worked out.
The odds of bumping into her after so many years were probably a million to one. There had to be more than one woman named Sunny in the state of Pennsylvania, he reasoned as he opened the door then stepped inside the gallery.
"Hi," said a middle-aged woman dressed in white. "Help yourself to wine and cheese." He was about to thank her when she gave him a closer look. "Are you the guy from the bank? Mr. Daniels said he was--"
"That's what I get for wearing a suit to an art gallery," he said with an easy laugh. "I'm just taking a look around."
She shrugged. "Well, enjoy yourself. And make sure you have some wine."
He glanced around the crowded gallery. The women in the room were either too old, too young, too tall, or too average to be Sunny.
He'd been looking for a curvy slip of a woman with a fiery personality to match her wild mane of red curls. She could be a blonde now. She could have tamed both her disposition and her hair and turned into someone he wouldn't recognize without a name tag. Nothing stayed the same, no matter how much you wished it would.
The thought of Sunny trading in her dreams for a stock portfolio was enough to ruin his day.
A man's first love was meant to live on in his memory forever, beautiful and perfect, untouched by time. This had been a lousy idea and the thing to do now was get out while the getting was good and his memories were still intact.
And then he saw her.
He would have recognized her anywhere. She was standing near a Chinese screen, looking as beautiful as she had the last time he'd seen her. She wore a Spandex mini skirt, an over-sized silver and gold sweater and sheer black stockings with patent leather ankle boots. A Technicolor tumble of red curls fell halfway to her waist and he wanted to plunge his hands into the silky mass and--
Whoa.
Ex-wives weren't supposed to get a man's heart pumping hard inside his chest. He had no business noticing the way the glittery sweater clung to her rounded breasts or the shapely length of leg revealed by her mini. He'd known her back when breasts like that were a fervent dream, not a luscious reality. He'd seen her with her hair in rollers, with makeup and without. Happy, sad, and every mood in between.
A big guy with a shock of ice blond hair whispered something in her ear and she laughed. Husky. Low. Sexy as hell. He'd never heard her laugh like that before and the sound sizzled its way to all of his major body parts. Who did that schmuck think he was, whispering to her like that? Back off, Holland, an inner voice warned. That schmuck could be her husband.
"No," he said out loud. "No way in hell."
She was his.
***
Sunny was still laughing at Vladimir's joke when she saw him.
Was the one man she'd loved enough to marry was about to step back into her life? It was impossible.
Absolutely, positively impossible.
"It's been a long time, Sunny." That voice. Deep. Rich. Vibrant. The kind of voice that could talk a woman into bed before she knew what was happening. Dear God, it was....
"Robert?" She stared at him, open-mouthed. He was bigger than she'd remembered and older, but he was still the most beautiful man she'd ever known and she wondered how it was they had ever said goodbye. "Robby!" She threw herself into his arms, tears and laughter erupting simultaneously. "My God! I can't believe this!"
He swept her up into an exuberant bear hug that lifted her from the ground and made her feel fragile and feminine and infinitely desirable. He smelled faintly of soap and his cheek was still warm from the sun. His thick dark brown hair grazed his collar, same as it had years ago, and she found herself wondering if it would feel as silky as it looked. He was broad across the chest and still narrow of hip and he was still the sexiest man she had ever seen.
He released her from his hug and she found herself reluctant to let go. It had been so long since she'd been close to him and, right or wrong, it had felt so wonderful in his arms.
He gave her a long and appreciative look. "Only you could get away with an outfit like that."
"This is one of my more conservative outfits." She tugged at the tie that hung loosely about his neck. "And only you could get away with this and still look sexy."
"You look great, Sunny."
"So do you." Age was always kind to men and in this case, it had been extremely generous. Was it possible for a man's eyes to grow bluer with time? She doubted it, but still....
"When did you--"
"What brought you--"
They met each other's eyes and laughed again.
"You first," he said. She felt as if she were caught somewhere between the past and the present, suspended on a cloud of bittersweet memory.
We can make it, Sunny, I know we can. I'll work part-time at McDonald's and after the baby comes, you can--
She shook her head to banish the memory. "What on earth are you doing here?"
"Business meeting just outside of town. I was hunting around for a place to grab some lunch."
"You're the last person I expected to see."
"I'm kind of surprised myself."
She made a show of inspecting his attire. "Judging by the suit, I'd say you became an attorney after all."
He favored her with a wry smile. "Judging by the gallery, I'd say you found your career in art."
"I'm not going to be the next Picasso, but I'm happy."
"I'm glad."
She tilted her head, looking at him with open and unabashed curiosity. "You're telling me you just happened to walk by my gallery?"
He motioned toward the sign in the front window. "I saw the poster. You know what a sucker I am for wine-and-cheese parties."
"This from the man who once told me he'd rather be trapped in a locked basement with Godzilla than
go to a party with my artsy friends?"
"I'm never going to live that down, am I?" He shook his head. "I was eighteen. I've mellowed."
Impulsively she reached out and took his hand. "You don't know how wonderful it is to see you again. I'd hoped to see you at our tenth reunion." Idiot! Why don't you just pin your heart to your sleeve and be done with it? It wasn't as if she'd spent the last fifteen years pining after her ex-husband. She had a successful career, a happy life, friends and family who loved her. She had no right to want more. "I mean, the old gang really missed you."
An odd look drifted across his face and he glanced away for a moment. Just long enough for her to sense the gulf time had placed between them.
"You didn't miss much of anything," she continued, trying to fill the silence with chatter about the last reunion of the class of 1997. "Lisa was pregnant with her fourth baby. John lost weight. Kenny is cornering the market on Rogaine and Karen still loves Paul."
"And what about you?" Who do you love, Sunny? Who claimed your heart?
"Still a free spirit," she said, feeling anything but. The sweet yoke of their common history tugged gently at her heart. "Drifting through life, wondering what's around the next corner."
"People who drift through life don't open their own art galleries."
"Oh, I land from time to time," she said, trying to figure out a way to release his hand without seeming rude. "I'm not a total flake, Robby. I just look like one."
"I never said you were."
"That's right," she said softly, remembering. "You never did." Everyone else had laughed at her dreams, told her to put aside her visions of glory and study business like the rest of them, but not Robert. He had been behind her all the way, even though her dreams must have seemed as formless and bizarre as a Dali painting to him.
"Excuse me." Her assistant bustled up to them. "No more champagne. No more pate. No more crackers." Her glance flickered to Robert then back to Sunny again. "What now?"
"No more party, I suppose." She glanced at her watch. "Actually we've run an hour later than I'd planned."
"The painters called and they're itching to finish up in the back. Can I give them the go-ahead?"
A Soft Place to Fall (Shelter Rock Cove) Page 31
