Robin Kaye Bundle

by Robin Kaye

  “I’m not posing.”

  “I was trying to say you look like you belong on canvas.” The way the setting sun lit the room and the contrast of his skin to the dark sheets and walls made her itch for a sketch pad, a canvas, and paints.

  “The only beautiful body in this room is yours. Besides, men aren’t beautiful.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong. I find the male form incredibly beautiful. Look at Michelangelo’s David. I swear it’s the most beautiful body, male or female, ever sculpted.”

  “Oh, so you’re talking artistically.”

  “I guess so.” Annabelle laughed. “I better get that shower.”

  “You sure you don’t want company? I can wash your back…”

  “Right now, I’m more interested in your culinary skills. I’m hungry. You better make dinner.”

  Mike rolled over. “I’ll take care of it.”

  “When I get out of the shower, I’ll give you a hand.”

  “You want to help in the kitchen?”

  “No, but I thought I should offer.”

  “How about this? I take care of dinner, and you take care of dessert.”

  “What do you want for dessert?”

  “You.”

  She bent and kissed him. She was tempted to offer dessert first. Then her stomach rumbled, and they both laughed.

  “Okay, I can take a hint. Hurry up with that shower. I want to eat fast.”

  She walked away, leaving him tenting the sheet.

  When Annabelle found Mike in the kitchen, he looked up from whatever he was chopping and smiled. He had on a pair of shorts—or maybe it was a bathing suit—and a T-shirt that was just tight enough to show off his chest. For a guy who didn’t spend hours in the gym, he had a really nice chest. She tore her eyes from his chest and met a self-satisfied smirk on his face she chose to ignore.

  “You want to eat on the deck?” he asked.

  “Sure, what are you making?”

  “I thought I’d make barbecue chicken and roasted vegetables.”

  “Sounds good.”

  “Yeah. Whenever I’m here, I take advantage of Nick’s grill. It’s the size of my kitchen at home, and I really appreciate not having to climb through a window to get to my little hibachi on the fire escape.”

  She had no problem picturing Mike doing just that.

  “Hey, we can get a gas grill for the garden behind your place.”

  “Sure.” Annabelle tried injecting enthusiasm into her voice. It was hard to feign excitement about something you knew would never happen. It felt like a lie. Not only was she the world’s worst liar, but she didn’t want to lie to Mike, or anyone else. She felt guilty enough keeping things from him. When she finally told him the truth, he might not be happy with her decision to spend a perfect weekend together before dropping the bomb.

  She hadn’t thought of that. Or the fact that not only would their relationship be over, but Mike might come out of it hating her. She didn’t think she could stand it if he hated her—not when she loved him so much.

  Annabelle slid onto a barstool across from him and watched him chop fresh vegetables faster than the chefs on the cooking shows. He ran the back of his knife across the cutting board and, with his hands, shoveled the perfectly chopped vegetables into a waiting bowl. Then he tossed them in olive oil and spices, added the bowl to a tray stacked with grilling utensils, and topped it with a tray of marinated chicken he took from the fridge. He tossed a towel over his shoulder before hefting the pile and heading toward the deck.

  “There’s beer in the fridge and red wine breathing on the counter. Why don’t you get some while I throw the food on the grill?”

  “Sure.”

  Mike stopped dead in his tracks and looked at her in that disconcerting way of his. “It seems like ‘sure’ is your word for the day. Is that anything like the word ‘fine’?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You know, when a woman’s angry and the man asks if she’s okay, she says she’s fine… right before she throws a shoe at his head.”

  “I’m not angry.”

  Mike did his X-ray stare again. “No, not angry, but something is bothering you. You look a little sad.”

  She wasn’t sure she could pull this off. “Maybe it’s just hormones.” Which was partially true. She was completely hormonal, but the only symptom she could blame on it was a fierce craving for chocolate. Now she’d have to add constant horniness to the list, too.

  She wasn’t sure Mike believed her, but he was a guy, and doctor or not, guys stopped asking questions when a woman mentioned cycles of the female variety. He went on his not-so-merry way to the grill, and she took a wineglass hanging under the cabinet and poured. She took a sip and then checked out the label, because it was really good. It was appropriately called One Last Kiss. She gulped another mouthful of the wine and tried not to cry.

  Mike watched Annabelle through the wall of windows. The lights were on inside, giving him an unobscured view without her knowledge. He felt like a Peeping Tom when he saw the emotion crossing her face as she stared off into space. She struggled with something, and he was sure it was more than hormonal. He had nothing concrete to go on, just instinct. Unfortunately, his instincts had never failed him. He only wished he knew what to do about it.

  Annabelle straightened her shoulders like she had before they left Vinny’s office to face their families on Mother’s Day. She dreaded having to sit through a family dinner after they announced their relationship, and she was insanely nervous about meeting his mother. He could understand that, but why would she dread seeing him?

  She finished her first glass of wine, refilled it, and poured another. Dave let out a whine. He’d been sitting beside Mike waiting for him to drop something.

  “I fed you already, you big galoot. You’re not getting anything else.”

  Mike flipped the chicken and decided that maybe he was overreacting. He hadn’t spent enough time with Annabelle to know what she was like when she was premenstrual. It would explain the tears earlier. He’d just have to do more to put a smile on her face. A romantic dinner for two was just the beginning. Dave groaned and lay on Mike’s feet. Okay, a romantic dinner for three. Then maybe a moonlight stroll along the beach.

  Annabelle juggled opening the door while carrying two glasses of wine and the bottle. “Hey, do you need any help?”

  She was the one who needed help. Mike rushed over, taking the wineglass she offered him and the bottle before she spilled them all. He closed the door and gave her a quick kiss. “Are you any good at grilling?”

  She took another sip of her wine. “No, but I’m good at eating. I can help with that.”

  “Good. Dinner is almost ready.”

  Annabelle and Mike spent the rest of the night talking about nothing in particular. They strolled along the deserted beach with Dave running around getting sandy and wet.

  It must have been Dave’s first beach experience. He barked at the waves and then chased them until one crashed right over him. In the moonlight, the only parts of him visible were his eyes and the white star on his chest. He discovered his inner puppy, and his antics were enough to keep them laughing.

  Mike had his arm around Annabelle, and he did his best to protect her from the showers of salt water and sand Dave unleashed when he shook off. But by the time they walked up the boardwalk to the house, Dave had both of them wet, sandy, and smelling like wet dog.

  “Come on, Dave. We’re hitting the shower.” Mike pulled Dave into the outdoor shower beneath the deck to give him a quick bath. Dave wasn’t too happy about it. The big dog didn’t mind getting his face wet in the ocean, but it was another story when the water came from a hose or a showerhead. Mike was glad there was a lock on the privacy fencing around the shower, otherwise Dave would have escaped. As it was, he butted his big head against the door, trying to rip the lock off.

  Once Mike got Dave turned around, he was faced with another problem. “Dave, do you mind? I don’t go ar
ound sticking my head between your legs.” He didn’t realize Annabelle was right outside. She was certainly enjoying herself and didn’t try to muffle her laughter over his predicament. A couple of towels were tossed over the wooden door.

  “Mike, I’m going upstairs to shower.”

  “Oh, thanks a lot. Desert me in my time of need.”

  “What are you talking about? I brought down towels for the two of you. Come up after both of you are dried off. I’ll just be a minute.”

  Annabelle took more than a minute… more than fifteen minutes, but hey, it was time well spent if the final result was taken into consideration. She stepped out of the steamy bathroom into the candlelit bedroom.

  Mike had candles covering every flat surface above the height of Dave’s tail, and a tray of fruit beside him on the bed. He’d not only prepared a healthy dessert, but he’d somehow dried Dave enough to keep the smell of wet dog out of the bedroom. When she stepped into his open arms, she was even more impressed to find he no longer smelled like wet dog either. In fact, he smelled really yummy, and he’d accomplished all of it in less time than it took her to shower, dry her hair, and primp. Damn, did she ever feel inadequate.

  From the look on his face, he wasn’t complaining. But if they wanted to get any sleep, she should have waited until tomorrow night to wear the nightie that Wayne said would make him consider going straight.

  She stepped out of Mike’s arms, slid into the robe she’d tossed on the foot of the bed, and tied it around her waist.

  “Babe, putting that robe on is like locking the door after the car’s been stripped.”

  Annabelle woke up knowing how lunch meat felt. She was jammed between Mike and Dave, both of whom were sound asleep. Dave gave new meaning to the words “morning breath.” His head rested between her breasts, and his doggy breath washed over her with every snore. Mike shared her pillow and had an arm and a leg thrown over her, leaving her no escape. Even worse, she had to pee.

  She nudged Dave’s head. His eyes shot open, then his tongue shot out and got her right on the mouth. Eww! He seemed happy to snuggle and moved even closer.

  “Dave, get down,” she whispered.

  Dave gave her another kiss. He’d obviously had never learned morning-after etiquette. Mike yawned, stretched, and gave her the third kiss of the morning. Mike had obviously missed the same etiquette class. She’d never been kissed so much.

  Mike lingered on the kiss while he gave Dave a shove. Dave grunted, rolled off the high bed onto the floor, and stood staring at them with his big blockhead resting comfortably on the mattress. Mike ran his hand up her naked body, and Dave stuck his nose in a very private place.

  Annabelle shot up in bed. “Stop it.” She pointed to Dave. “You keep your cold, wet nose to yourself.”

  Mike laughed.

  “What are you laughing about? You’re as bad as he is.”

  He was still laughing. “What? I didn’t goose you.”

  “Not yet.” She smacked the hand that slid up her thigh.

  “I forgot. You’re not much of a morning person.”

  She grumbled, pulled the sheet off the bed, and stomped into the bathroom.

  “Come on, Dave. Let’s go brew up some of those magic beans to see if we can change her back into my sweet girlfriend.”

  “I heard that.”

  Chapter 14

  MIKE PRETENDED TO READ A MEDICAL JOURNAL WHILE surreptitiously watching Annabelle polish her toenails. He’d never seen it done before. Either that or he’d never paid attention, which might be the case. No one had ever captured his attention so completely. She sat with her foot on the coffee table, cotton balls stuck in between each of her toes, and her hair tied in a ponytail on the top of her head so it fell like a fountain of corkscrew curls. She wore his old Columbia sweatshirt with the collar cut out, which slipped enticingly off her bare shoulder, making her look like an ’80s Flashdance fantasy.

  The weather had turned cold and rainy, which gave him an excuse to build a fire and cuddle up with her until she pulled out her smelly nail polish and shoved him away. Until the smell went away or the stuff dried, he had to be content to watch from a distance.

  “Would you stop?”

  Mike looked over the journal he’d been hiding behind. “Stop what?”

  “Not you. Dave.”

  She put the cap on the bottle of polish and elbowed Dave. “He won’t stop breathing on me. He needs his teeth brushed. I saw on a commercial that you’re supposed to brush a dog’s teeth. It’s weird, but it might make his nasty doggy breath smell better.”

  “I guess. I never had a dog. I wouldn’t mind having Dave, though—he’s a guy’s dog.”

  “No, he’s a girl’s dog. He’s Rosalie’s.”

  “That’s not what I mean. He’s not one of those stupid-looking girly dogs women carry around in their pocketbooks, or like an Afghan, who look like they spent their lives being styled. Dave’s a no-nonsense, ride-in-the-back-of-your-pick-up-truck type of dog.”

  “I think he’s more of a ‘mess-with-me-and-my-dog-will-eat-you’ kind of dog. Dave likes riding inside the car.”

  “I meant that a guy isn’t going to want to die of embarrassment when he takes Dave for a walk. You’re going to miss him when Nick and Rosalie come back. Are you going to get a dog of your own?”

  “Maybe. No offense to Dave here, but I’ve always wanted a dog to run with. Not only for safety reasons, but for company. It sure would make getting out the door easier if you have to take a dog out anyway. Plus, it just looks cool. Maybe I’ll rescue a greyhound.”

  “I hear they make great pets. Do you want to look into it when we get back home?”

  “Sure.”

  Annabelle got up and walked away from him on her heels so as not to mess up her nails. Dave trailed behind her, whining like he was commiserating for some unknown reason.

  Every time Mike mentioned doing anything together in the future, she shut down. Either something was wrong, or the thought of them leaving was as depressing to her as it was to him. This had been the best weekend of his life. They had great food, great laughs, great sex, and plenty of sleep.

  He could get used to having her around. Hell, who was he kidding? He had gotten used to having her around. Not that they spent every moment together, but he took her into consideration when he made decisions. He worried about her, missed her when they weren’t together, and thought about his future with her in it. Maybe she was worried that if he got the job, he’d leave her.

  He hoped if he was offered the position at EHS, Annabelle would want to move to Pennsylvania with him. Move in with him? Man, he wasn’t sure how he felt about living together. Sure, he stayed over at her place, but that wasn’t the same as living together. The good Catholic boy in him thought Annabelle deserved more—better. Besides, her parents didn’t seem like the type to look the other way while their daughter lived in sin.

  It was either get two places and be close to one another, or get married.

  He’d expected to feel blinding terror at the thought of being tied to one person for the rest of his life, but for some reason all he felt was a sense of rightness.

  He and Annabelle were going to have to do some serious talking, but it might be better if he waited until after her hormones and emotions were back to normal, and maybe after he bought her an engagement ring.

  The thought of buying a diamond shot a short blast of fear through him, but he attributed it to going further in debt than he already was. He’d get over it. He didn’t have much of a choice. The thought of sleeping with Annabelle every night, waking up with her every morning, someday having kids who looked just like her, was too good to pass up. Even if it meant going into hock up to his eyeballs.

  Annabelle was a wuss. She should tell him. Every time he mentioned the future, it felt as if he were twisting the knife already rammed through her heart. Part of her wanted to believe Becca. Mike wasn’t Chip… but no matter how she looked at it, one blaring fact remained the
same, Mike and Chip had the same father, and Christopher Larsen would never change his impression of her. Not only did she refuse to stand between Mike and his family—a family she knew he’d always wanted—but she refused to let anyone treat her that badly ever again. Not even for Mike.

  He might say he didn’t want anything to do with his dad, but once he learned the truth, he’ll change his mind.

  Annabelle phoned Becca.

  She picked up first ring. “Are you okay? Did you tell him yet?”

  “Yes and no.”

  “What?”

  “Yes, I’m okay, and no, I didn’t tell him.”

  “Aw, honey, you sound as if you just lost your best friend.”

  “I have… or I will.”

  “Annabelle, you’ll never lose me.”

  “I was talking about Mike.”

  Becca was silent.

  “He keeps talking about the future, buying a gas grill for the apartment, a dog of our own”—tears slid down her cheeks, and she swallowed a sob—“I don’t know how to tell him, Bec. What if he hates me?”

  “It’s impossible to hate you, but you need to tell him and tell him soon. Just make sure you tell him that you love him before you drop the bomb.”

  “I did… well, I told him once. That’s enough, right?”

  “No, guys like to be reminded a lot.”

  “But I just don’t go around telling people I love them. It’s difficult.”

  “You tell me.”

  “Well, yeah, but you’re not a man. I love you like a sister, not in a let’s run to California before they change the same-sex marriage law way. That makes saying I love you difficult.”

  “So you’re thinking of marrying Mike?”

  “WHAT?”

  “You said marriage.”

  “I didn’t mean marriage, marriage—”

  “You did too. I’ve seen you through two engagements, and you have the rings to prove it. You love this guy more than you loved the other two put together.”

  “I never loved Johnny.”

  “No, but you loved Chip. From what I hear from you, you love Mike differently. It’s a mature love. Like a fine wine that’s perfectly aged.”