“I had no idea you had standards.”
She stopped in front of him.
“Or maybe your lovers didn’t have any,” she sneered.
Does she think I care about her opinion?
“Your loss, Tommy.”
As she stepped out of his house, he said, “Aren’t you afraid I’ll tell Andy you’re only marrying him for his money?”
“No. You won’t say anything because it would hurt him.”
He slammed the door behind her. The card with the loan officer’s cell phone number seemed to burn a hole in him.
Bitch.
His heartbeat increased and he felt a surge of adrenaline. He stomped down his basement steps and swung at his punching bag.
Mother.
Fucking.
Bitch.
He pounded the leather bag until his rage receded and his knuckles were raw. Sweating and panting, he steadied the swinging bag.
Andy made a deal. How could she convince him to back out? Withhold sex?
He shook his head.
No, because then Andy might decide not to marry her. She’s bluffing. Has to be.
Feeling parched, he grabbed a towel and wiped his face as he climbed the stairs. In the kitchen, he poured himself a glass of cold water and drank it. The muffled motor of the lawn mower caught his attention.
Anjali. I bet she has high standards.
He reached for another glass, filled it with cold water then went outside.
The scent of freshly mowed grass surrounded him as he crossed her lawn. She shut off the lawn mower, gratefully accepting the glass of water.
“Thanks.” She wiped the sweat from her brow. “I was just going to finish that piece before I went inside for some iced tea.”
“Do you eat?”
What the FUCK am I saying?
“Excuse me?” Anjali replied, frowning. She stood a little straighter and sucked in her belly. A faint blush colored her cheeks.
Great, I’m embarrassing her.
“I eat too. Maybe we could eat together?”
Shut up, you fucking moron.
He rubbed the back of his neck, hoping to think of a way to salvage this situation.
I need to make an impression. A GOOD impression.
“You’re probably tired of guys taking you to fancy restaurants all the time. Why don’t I make dinner for you tonight?”
What the fuck did I just say? I don’t know how to cook!
Her eyes widened in surprise then she smiled. Her body relaxed and she replied, “That sounds fantastic! No one’s ever cooked for me before. What are you going to make?”
“Make? Uh, how about I surprise you?”
She returned the empty glass.
“Okay. What time should I come over?”
“Seven?”
“Okay, Tom, I’ll see you at seven.”
I hope I don’t burn down the house.
Or give her food poisoning.
Anjali started her lawn mower and he jogged back to his house.
Okay, I can do this. How hard can it be to cook, right?
He opened his refrigerator. Aside from a half gallon of milk and three beers, his fridge was empty.
Time to call Mikey.
He withdrew his cell phone and called his older brother.
“Mikey, I need a little help.”
“Sure, Tom, what do you need?”
“I need to cook something. It needs to be…spectacular. Memorable. Get me laid.”
Mike laughed.
“Should have known a woman was involved. Why don’t you just buy some food and pretend that you cooked it?”
Tom frowned.
“No, I promised her I’d cook for her.”
“You want to impress her. Tell you what, I’ll come over, whip something up then you can take all the credit. Guarantee she’ll fuck you.”
“I…don’t want to deceive her, Mikey.”
“I thought you wanted to get laid.”
“Well, yeah, I want to fuck her but….”
His voice trailed off, unsure of why he wanted to make an effort to get laid.
“But?” Mikey prompted.
Tom ran his fingers through is hair and paced his living room.
“She’s different.”
“Oh, she’s different.”
“She’s not like other women.”
“You mean her horns are visible?”
“No, smart ass. Normally I just flirt a little and women are ready to hop into bed.”
“She’s immune to your flirting?”
He plopped down on his couch.
“I’m putting you on speaker. Jack has to hear this.”
“No, don’t—”
A newspaper rustled.
“What’s going on, Tom?” Jack asked.
“Tommy met a girl and she’s immune to his charms,” Mikey summarized.
“Lesbian,” Jack stated. “Move on.”
“She’s not a Lesbian,” Tom denied.
“Because?” Jack asked.
“I saw the way she looked at me. Desire was there. Then it was gone.”
Mikey clucked his tongue.
“Tommy, you must have said something to offend her.”
“I offered to help. How is that offensive?”
“Did you imply she was incompetent?” Mikey asked gently.
“No…at least I don’t think I did.”
“Gold digger,” Jack suggested.
“She doesn’t know I’m a mechanic. I wasn’t wearing my uniform.”
“Jack? Honey, what are you thinking?” Mikey asked.
“Heart broken by someone like Tom.”
“So I don’t have a chance with her?”
Did I sound…disappointed? And why the fuck am I asking two gay men for advice on women?
He shook his head in disbelief.
“Maybe,” Jack said.
The newspaper rustled again.
“Maybe not.”
“What you need is to stand out from all the other guys she’s dated,” Mike suggested.
“Which is why I’m making her dinner,” Tom said, a little exasperated.
“But you don’t know how to cook, Tommy.”
“I know that, Mikey. That’s why I called you.”
“What do you expect me to do, Tommy? Cram three years of chef school in a couple of hours?”
“Just tell me how to make something easy. What did you make on your first day?”
“Broths. Lots and lots of broths.”
Tom groaned and laid his head back. He stared at his ceiling.
“Yes, that’s how I felt too,” Mikey said. “All right. Grab a notepad and a pen. I have an idea.”
Chapter Four
Anjali stood in front of her closet, staring at her clothes. She pulled out a navy blue dress.
Too big. They are all too big.
She searched through her closet, her frown deepening with each item she passed.
Why did I agree to dinner with him anyway?
She pulled out a brown tribal patterned broom skirt.
‘Stupid Jock’ is written all over him. That body. Those eyes. They sparkled like the Caribbean Sea.
She sighed.
Admit it, Singh, you want to see how far you can get with Jock-boy. It’s all about stroking your ego.
She caught her reflection in the mirror. She cringed at the guilty look broadcasted on her face.
She returned the skirt to her closet, removed a black dress and tried it on. The extra fabric around her middle looked odd. She retrieved a wide red belt and secured it around her waist.
Not bad. Not bad at all.
She put on her pearl earrings and necklace.
There’s no need to feel guilty, Singh. He’s looking for a good time. Why shouldn’t you?
“Enjoy the moment,” she told her reflection.
Her eyes landed on the elegant white folder on her dresser.
“Because you won’t have time later.”
Sh
e took a deep breath then headed over to Tom’s house. She rang the doorbell. A familiar melody rang through his house, punctuated by a muffled cannon blast.
Is that the 1812 overture?
The door opened. Tom ran his hand through dark brown hair.
Is he…nervous?
“Come in, Anjali.”
He moved aside and she stepped into his foyer.
“Mmm. Coconut. Whatever you’re cooking smells delicious.”
“Thai.”
He rubbed his palms discreetly against his jeans.
Now why would he be nervous on a date with me?
A timer beeped.
“I need to shut off the stove. Excuse me a moment.”
She set her purse on the breakfast bar that separated the kitchen from the living room. Pachelbel's Canon played softly in the background as he filled a serving bowl. The dining room was on the other side of the kitchen, toward the front of the house. He set the serving bowl on the table, lit the candles then dimmed the lights.
He pulled out her chair for her then sat next to her.
“I made Red Curry Shrimp. I hope it’s not too spicy.”
“I’ve never had Thai before. I can’t wait to try it.”
He held his breath when she took her first bite. Reassuring him with an “Mmm,” made him relax and take a bite.
“Wow, this really is good,” he said.
“Why are you so surprised?”
“Oh, um…I…never made this before.” He set down his spoon. “Actually, I’ve never cooked anything before,” he confessed. “My brother Mike, he’s a chef. He did all the cooking when I was growing up. He shared this recipe with me when I called him earlier today. And I’m rambling so…I’m just going to shut up now.”
To keep his mouth occupied, he took another bite.
“So…you learned to cook this…for me?”
He nodded.
“I’m flattered.”
His sexy grin gave her doubts.
“Or is that a line you use with every date?”
He looked genuinely hurt by her accusation and she felt a twinge of guilt.
“You think you have me pegged, don’t you? I’m just a dumb jock who only cares about getting another notch on his bedpost.”
Shame colored her cheeks. She glanced down at her plate and toyed with her food.
“I hope you’ll give me a chance to prove otherwise.”
He was waiting for her to respond.
“You’re absolutely right. I misread you. I’m sorry.”
He leaned back.
“If you think so poorly of me, why did you agree to dinner?”
To avoid answering, she took another bite. He set his spoon down, giving her his full attention.
Rats.
“Guys like you were never interested in me. I was curious that’s all.”
“Wow. I’m like a science experiment or something?”
“Tom, I didn’t mean to offend you.”
“What if I said I only asked you out because of your exotic skin color? Would you be offended?”
“Maybe.”
“‘Maybe’? Bullsh-ah.” He cleared his throat. “I call B.S.”
“I wouldn’t be offended if you were intrigued by the color of my skin. But if that’s the only thing you were interested in, there wouldn’t be a second date.”
Hell, the way this is going, there might not be a first date.
He blew out a long breath of air. His laid back demeanor was replaced by a more serious expression.
“Women always assume that I’m easy. Simple. Good for a quick fuck and that’s all I’m capable of.”
He took a sip.
Having nothing to say, she remained quiet.
“Then they move on to someone…else.”
He gripped his glass so tightly, she was afraid it would crack under the pressure. She laid her hand on his arm.
He relaxed his grip.
His eyes were stormy gray clouds.
I miss the sparkle in his eyes.
“I don’t think you’re simple at all. Hell, you might be too complicated for me to figure out.”
“Are you a shrink?”
Shaking her head, she replied, “Author,” and waited for his cleverly worded yet demeaning comment followed by the usual question about getting a ‘real’ job.
“Really? What do you write?”
“Murder mysteries.”
“Murder? I would have guessed romance,” he said.
“Oh, no. I love a good bludgeoning.”
He laughed.
“You are so….”
“Weird?” she offered.
“Unique.”
His eyes sparkled like the sea and she beamed at his compliment.
“Do you ever incorporate people you know into your novels?”
“Sometimes I borrow personality traits or quirks to give my characters realism.”
He leaned back.
“What would you take from me?”
She studied his relaxed pose.
“I don’t think I know you well enough to answer that.” She took a sip. “What about you?”
“I bet you’ll never guess.”
Never one to back down from a challenge, she studied his face.
“No sunburn or leathery face, so you don’t work outdoors.”
He shook his head.
She picked up his hand and turned it palm up. She caressed his palm and fingertips.
“Your hands are a bit rough. You work with your hands.”
She turned it over and checked his fingernails.
Clean.
She traced a few old scars on his forearm.
“These don’t look like normal burn marks. Not something you’d get from a fire. So chemical burns?”
He nodded.
“A chemist would have adequate protection. So not a chemist.”
She grinned. “You, sir, are a mechanic,” she announced.
“Ding ding ding. You’re a winner.”
“Do I get a prize?”
He leaned close. The comforting scent of cumin mixed with leather surrounded her.
“Now what could a blue collar worker offer a woman like you?”
Mouth dry, she swallowed hard. “I could think of a few things….”
He leaned closer.
“Like what?” he whispered.
This wasn’t a challenge she was prepared for. She got up and crossed the room, stopping in front of a painting. She pretended to study a replica of Monet’s Water Lilies while fully aware of his movements as he moved to stand beside her.
“It belonged to my mother. It was the only thing she didn’t take when she abandoned us.”
He hides his pain with his anger. Why would he keep her painting if it breaks his heart? A refusal to let go? Understandable, considering it was his mother.
“‘Us’?”
“Me and my older brother, Mikey. My father. Mother abandoned all three of us when I was five. I still remember the day she drove off with her lover in his red convertible.”
His bitter response made her heart ache for the little boy who desperately wanted his mother.
“Where’s your father now?”
“Dead.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. He’s better off dead than living in a bottle trying to forget—”
She touched his arm, offering sympathy.
“Some date, huh? I should have taken you to a funeral instead.”
“Humor is a weapon in your arsenal.”
His nodded. “I also have a really big—”
“—ego?” she interrupted.
“I was going to say muscle,” he countered then flexed his biceps.
She raised her brow.
“All right. You win. I give up. What does it take to impress you?” he asked, sounding defeated.
“Impress me?”
“Yes. For some insane reason, you’re not tempted by my god like physique.”
She laughed so hard she snorted.
“What? Even Atlas would be jealous of this body.”
He preened for her, flexing and showing off his physique.
“Atlas? My, my, you know your Greek Mythology. Now that is impressive.”
“Still think I’m too sexy to use my brain?”
“Who said I thought you were sexy?” she countered.
“Your eyes,” he replied, his voice deep and smoky.
Her nipples tightened.
He stepped closer.
“You have very expressive eyes.”
His expression was serious as he studied her.
Is he going to kiss me?
Her tongue darted between her lips.
His lips curved into a wicked smile.
“You’re thinking very naughty thoughts.”
“I am not!” she denied. Her face felt hot and she wanted to bury her face in her hands. She stared at his chest, too ashamed to meet his eyes.
“You make me think very naughty thoughts,” he whispered.
His intense gaze made her knees weak. Her back touched the wall. Slowly and deliberately, like a tiger cornering his prey, he placed his hands on either side of her. He leaned in and she closed her eyes.
“Would you like me to share?” he whispered in her ear.
His warm breath against her skin sent her pulse racing. She bit back a whimper. Her eyes fluttered open and she feared her desire was evident.
If the desire in his eyes match mine, I’m in deep trouble.
The sharp ring of his phone broke the spell and she sagged against the wall in relief.
“Worst possible timing,” he muttered.
“Hi, Tom-my, it’s Cherry Pie,” said a sexy voice.
She straightened against the wall, her desire quickly fading.
“What the fuck?” he muttered.
“Janice gave me your number. I hope you don’t mind,” the breathless voice continued.
He rubbed his forehead.
“I can’t wait to hook up with you at the wedding. Maybe even before?” She giggled.
An intense spike of fury made her push his arm away from the wall.
“Anjali, wait!” he called out.
She grabbed her purse and headed for the door.
“Call me!” Cherry said. The machine beeped loudly.
“Anjali, let me explain,” he said, grabbing her arm. “Please?”
She pulled her arm away from him and crossed her arms over her chest. Her lips pressed together in a thin line as she waited for an explanation.
“You heard the message—I didn’t give her my number.”
“She sounds like a stripper,” she said through clenched teeth.
Wait for Me Page 3
