Robin Kaye Bundle

by Robin Kaye

  One thing he could say about his aunt was the woman could cook. She made lasagna that rivaled his mother’s. He groaned in appreciation. It was unusual to have a meal this good without first having to be tortured by his family. Rich didn’t feel the least bit guilty that Becca took the heat for the food he was consuming. The fact that she still hadn’t regained her composure was a little worrying. She seemed to be the type to bounce back fast. Not today. Maybe the double whammy she received with Aunt Rose last night and waking with him this morning was more than even Becca could handle.

  With his stomach full and his hangover almost gone, Rich felt pretty good. Having a blonde beauty sitting across from him didn’t hurt either, especially since all it took was a blink of his eye to picture her naked. Yeah, compared to yesterday, things were looking up. He had his coach, he had a plan, and he even had an intriguing woman living with him. Okay, it was platonic, but just because he couldn’t touch didn’t mean he couldn’t look. Did it? He was a guy, after all. If he had anything to say about it, when they lowered him into the ground, he’d be checking to see if he could see up any woman’s skirt. He slid the last noodle around his plate soaking up the rest of the gravy, brought it to his mouth, and sucked it up with a slurp. “Hungry?”

  Becca stared as he licked the last of the gravy off his lips. Her darkened eyes widened. She shook her head as her color rose.

  Rich wiped his mouth with a napkin and hid a smile. She might not be hungry for food, but she was hungry for something. Hmm. “So where do you want to start?”

  Becca blinked. “Start what?”

  “My training.”

  “You weren’t serious about that, were you?”

  “As serious as Pearl Harbor.”

  He waited for Becca to come to the realization that he wasn’t pulling her leg.

  “You’re really going to learn how to be, what would you call it, a domesticated man?”

  Rich shook his head. “My brother-in-laws call themselves Domestic Gods. ‘Domesticated man’ sounds wimpy. We’re not wimpy. We’re Domestic Gods.”

  Becca laughed, not a polite little giggle. She let out a bark of laughter that turned into a sexy belly laugh and ended in almost a snort. Not as sexy, but really cute, especially since she seemed embarrassed by it.

  “I’m a fast learner.”

  Becca threw the tail of the sweater-thing over her shoulder covering the hint of cleavage she’d displayed earlier. “Did it ever occur to you that most people pick this stuff up by osmosis? You observe people cooking, cleaning, doing laundry, and imitate them? If you were such a fast learner, you wouldn’t be begging for training from me.”

  “I never beg.”

  Rich was disappointed when her retort was interrupted by a knock on the door. Becca raised an eyebrow, stood giving him one of her annoying half-smiles, and went to answer the door. “Wayne. Henry. How are you two?”

  Ah, the upstairs neighbors.

  Wayne balanced a tray of cookies in one hand and pulled Becca into a hug. “We just stopped by to bring something sweet to the sweet and to welcome you.”

  “Thanks, guys.”

  Wayne looked over her shoulder at Rich. “Are we interrupting something?”

  Becca returned his hug. “No, not at all.”

  Liar.

  Wayne tsked. “Such a shame.”

  “Believe me, it’s not.” Becca pushed Wayne away, rolled her eyes, and reached for Henry. “I was wondering when I’d see you.” She motioned toward Rich. “Do you know Rosalie and Annabelle’s brother, Rich?”

  Henry, the taller of the two, gave Rich a nod. Wayne walked across the living room toward Rich, giving him a very thorough once-over while he set the cookies on the breakfast bar. “Just in passing a few times at the girls’ weddings. Hi.”

  Rich stood and shook Wayne’s hand. “Hello. It’s nice to see you both again. I’ve been meaning to go up and reintroduce myself. I like to know my neighbors.” Rich picked up a chocolate chip cookie and took a bite. “Mmm, good. Thanks for these.”

  Wayne looked perplexed.

  Henry’s gaze traveled from Rich to Becca and back again. “Your neighbors? I thought Becca moved in.”

  Becca groaned. “There’s been a mix-up. Rich rented the place from Rosalie, and I rented it from Annabelle, so unfortunately, for the next three months, Rich and I are going to be roommates.”

  Tripod jumped up on the couch and meowed—if you can call it that. It sounded more like a siren or maybe like a baby’s wail.

  Wayne turned to Rich. “You have a cat?”

  Rich took a step back. “Don’t look at me. Killer is Becca’s.”

  Wayne turned back to Becca. “Killer?”

  Becca reached over and scratched Tripod’s neck. “His name is Tripod, and he doesn’t like Rich. Who could blame him?”

  Wayne and Henry looked from Becca to him like spectators at a tennis match. Rich couldn’t help but laugh. “Other than me?” He took a tentative step toward the couch and turned to Wayne and Henry. “That thing attacked me. It’s possessed.” Of course, the spawn of Satan rubbed up against Becca and then jumped to the floor doing his three-legged hop over to Wayne and wove his way between his and Henry’s legs. Tripod even let them pet him. “I turn the shower on him one time, and I have an enemy for life.”

  Becca picked the beast up and rubbed her cheek against his head. He was purring like a motorboat. “Rich, really. Pouting is so unattractive.” The damn cat even meowed to agree.

  “I don’t pout.” Everyone stared at him.

  Wayne backed away and nudged Henry. “Well, we can see you two are busy sparring. We won’t keep you. Enjoy the cookies. You can return the plate anytime.” He shot a pointed look at Becca.

  Henry nodded. “Rich, nice to see you again.” He gave Becca a kiss on the cheek. “We’ll see you soon. Have fun settling in.”

  Becca grabbed Henry’s arm. “You don’t have to leave.”

  Wayne and Henry exchanged looks, the two smiled to each other, and Wayne answered for Henry. “Yes, we do. Sorry doll, you’re on your own. Have fun.”

  Rich put his arm around Becca, earning a hiss from the possessed one who leapt from Becca’s arms, and a smile from Wayne. “See ya. Thanks for stopping by.” He waited for them to close the door and pulled her a little tighter to his side. He really liked the way she felt. He found out that what he thought were plain old ordinary sweats—which he had to admit looked better on her than on any other woman he’d ever seen—were made of fabric so soft it made him want to touch her, as if just looking at her didn’t do the trick. “Where were we?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  She turned her head so they were nose-to-nose. Her breath fanned his face, her eyes sparkled, and her face flushed.

  Becca stepped back and missed Rich’s warmth. She’d never felt delicate until just now. Rich was big, hot, hard, and she seemed to fit right in the crook of his arm. Actually, she seemed to fit pretty well on top of him and underneath him too. What the hell was she thinking? Okay, she knew what she was thinking, but she had absolutely no right to think it. He was semi-attached, and she was horny.

  She touched her forehead. “Oh, I remember. You were asking about where we should start to turn you into Gina’s Mr. Perfect.” She smiled as he shook himself out of his stupor. Okay, so she was physically attracted to him. She was attracted to plenty of other men. It just seemed like more with Rich because she’d woken up naked with him. So she hadn’t been able to quite get past that, but she would. Just as soon as she could get a little privacy and fresh batteries.

  “Right. Where do you want to start?”

  Becca pulled her sweater-shawl around her to make up for the loss of body heat and to cover any evidence of her arousal. No need to give him any reason to stare at her almost nonexistent chest. “How about with some ground rules. After all, we’ll be living here. Together. Platonically.”

  Rich cleared his throat. “Right.”

  “Since you’re so int
erested in becoming a Domestic God, you are responsible for all the cooking and cleaning.”

  “All of it? You have to be kidding.”

  “Come on now. I have to supervise and teach. You have to practice, practice, practice.”

  Rich sat on the couch and groaned. “Fine.”

  “And just because we’re sharing the apartment temporarily doesn’t mean we’re sharing anything else. This is a purely platonic partnership.”

  “Right. So, you’re going to be my coach? You’re going to help me get Gina back?” He stood, turned to her, and grinned so wide she needed shades.

  “Yes.”

  “Great!” He grabbed her, swung her around as if she weighed no more than a feather, and set her back down. “We better get started. We only have two weeks.”

  “What?” Oh God, what had she gotten herself into?

  Chapter 4

  TRIPOD WAS RINGING. OKAY, MAYBE NOT TRIPOD. BECCA’S phone rang, startling Tripod who had been sleeping on it, which explained why Becca spent the better part of an hour searching high and low for the damn thing and was unable to find it.

  “Hello?”

  “What is going on there?”

  “My, Annabelle. Aren’t you in a fabulous mood today?”

  “I’m pregnant. What the hell do you expect?”

  “Still not glowing, huh?”

  “Not unless I glow when I turn green. What I want to know is how it’s possible to throw up more than I consume.”

  Becca tossed herself on the futon. The damn thing was a torture rack. She really needed to get herself a bed. “One of life’s great mysteries. Just think, in February you’ll have a little baby or two.”

  “Two?”

  “Yeah, twins runs in the family, remember?”

  “Oh, no way. There’s only one bun in this oven.”

  “You’re sure of that?” Becca rolled over and tried to get comfortable. Impossible.

  “Nice try, Larsen. You thought if you got me worked up about the idea of twins, I’d conveniently forget that for some unknown reason you’re living with my brother.”

  “Platonically.”

  “How in the world did you end up living with Richie?”

  “Why are you asking me? It’s all your fault. You’re the one who sublet the apartment to me without checking with the owner who had already rented it to Rich.”

  “Oh, God. I’m so sorry. I never thought to ask. What are you going to tell Mike?”

  Becca sat and wrapped her long arm around her even longer legs. She shook her head wishing she could be the least bit normal. “What do you mean?”

  “Mike’s not going to like the idea of his little sister living with anyone, especially not Richie. You know that Gina just dumped him. Maybe you can use Ben’s guest room over the gallery, but then Mike would probably like that even less than you living with Rich.”

  “Yes, I’m aware that Gina dumped Rich and that Mike still hasn’t forgiven Ben for proposing to you—”

  “He’s my boss and my friend. He only proposed to me because he needs to get married. It was nothing personal.”

  “Right, like Mike’s ever going to buy that one. But where and with whom I live is none of Mike’s business. I’m a grown woman, and I can live with whoever I want. And just in case he didn’t notice, I’m almost as big as he is. If he wants to see his little sister, he’d better find the few pictures of me when I was a kid. I’m anything but little now.”

  “Mike’s still not gonna like it.”

  Becca couldn’t take the singsong tone Annabelle used. It wasn’t as if Becca was happy with the arrangement. That didn’t mean she was going to let Mike, or anyone else, have any say in the way she lived. “Mike has no say in the matter. Besides, aren’t I a little old for him to be pulling the whole protective brother routine? I’ve lived my whole life on my own. The last thing I need is for my newfound brother to start telling me I’m not living up to his standards either.”

  “Whoa, sensitive much?”

  Becca lay back down. “Maybe. But the fact stands that I want to stay in Brooklyn to be close to the brownstone, and I have nowhere else to go. I don’t have time to find a temporary residence since I’m supposed to be supervising the remodeling. I lost my loft in Philly so even if I could commute, I can’t go back. Not to mention that I have Tripod here with me. As harmless as a three-legged cat should be, Tripod’s not. He already bit your brother. Besides, it’s only going to be for a few months. I can live with anyone for a few months, even Rich.” She hoped.

  “You sure? You know, you can come stay with Mike and me. It’ll be like old times.”

  “And break up your perpetual honeymoon? I don’t think so, but thanks for offering.” Becca heard rattling in the background.

  “Oh God, Mike. Shut the refrigerator. I can smell it. Becca, I have to go. I’m going to be sick. Bye.”

  All she heard was dead air. Well, that’s one way to get out of an uncomfortable conversation with Annabelle. Becca only felt a little bad that Annabelle was probably tossing her cookies, but not bad enough to call back to see how she was. The last thing she wanted to do was explain this mess to Mike, her newfound, possibly overprotective half-brother. Sheesh, you’d think he was smart enough to know that she was capable of taking care of herself. Hell, she was the most independent person she knew.

  There was a knock on the door.

  “What?”

  Rich stuck his head through the opening. “I washed the dishes and started the dishwasher.”

  “Good for you.”

  “It wasn’t so bad.”

  Becca stood and smiled. “You stuck our dishes in the dishwasher. I don’t want to be a downer, but it’s hardly rocket science.”

  Rich turned, and she followed him into the living room. “Bec?”

  Becca had her eyes locked on Rich’s back. He had one of those backs she loved. Broad shoulders tapering to a thin waist and a really nice tight ass. “Hmm?”

  Rich increased his speed. “Should there be bubbles coming out of the machine?”

  Becca raced after him. “You’re kidding, right?” She drew in a deep breath when she looked over the bar and saw the kitchen floor covered in soapsuds. Nope, definitely not kidding. “What the hell did you do?”

  Rich looked genuinely upset, as he should, since he was going to be the one bailing bubbles. “I did just what you told me. I filled that little cup with the yellow dish soap.”

  “Rich. I said the dishwasher soap, not dish soap.” She kicked off her shoes and slid barefoot into the fray. So much for her favorite cashmere sweats. She should be getting combat pay.

  Rich checked his watch. He was going to be late for Sunday dinner at his parents’ house, but there was no way he could get out of cleaning up the mess he made. Becca looked as if she wanted to kill him, and he did feel awful. Her pants were all wet and clinging to her mile-long legs. She was shivering, too.

  “Why don’t you go change out of those wet clothes? I’ll finish up here.” It wasn’t that bad. He was able to see the black and white tiles through the bubbles now. Another ten minutes, and he could be on his way. “I’ll get this cleaned up before I leave.”

  “Hot date?”

  “Gina dumped me, remember? I have dinner at my parents’ every Sunday. I can’t get out of it. As it is, I’ll be late.”

  “Oh, right. I’ve heard all about your weekly family dinners. Annabelle compared them to shock therapy.”

  He didn’t try to hold back the laugh. “Yeah, that’s not a bad description. Though I doubt shock therapy patients get tiramisu for desert.”

  “Is it worth it?”

  “The tiramisu? Definitely. Mama’s tiramisu is amazing. You wanna come?”

  She backed up a step. “No, thanks. I have enough torture from my family. I don’t need yours too.”

  Rich went on soaking up the bubbles. “Oh, it’s not that bad. And what’s wrong with your family? Mike is great, and your dad seems nice.”

  “Yea
h, they’re great.”

  Something in her tone of voice made Rich stop mopping. All of a sudden the in-your-face, not-afraid-of-anyone, come-at-you-with-a-baseball-bat, fiercely independent woman he spent the night and morning with seemed to disappear, turn into a five-year-old whose mother forgot to pick her up from kindergarten, and reappear in the blink of an eye. If he hadn’t been watching closely, he’d have missed it.

  Becca held out her hand. “Give me the mop. Go ahead. You’re going to be late. I’ll finish cleaning up.”

  Rich shook his head. “No, it’s fine. I’ll take care of this. You’re cold and wet. Go change. It’s not like I don’t have a good excuse for being late. Maybe I’ll be lucky and miss round one.”

  “Or you’ll be thrown in the ring when you get there.”

  “I can hold my own.”

  “Yeah, as long as it doesn’t involve soap or a mop. Good luck.” Becca shrugged, wrapped her sweater more tightly around herself, and tiptoed across the small kitchen, careful not to slip. Rich watched her duck into her room, shook his head, and finished mopping.

  By the time Rich had the kitchen floor suds-free, he was a half hour late. He rushed to his room, dried his feet, and put his socks and boots back on. Passing Becca’s closed door, he wasn’t sure if he should say good-bye or just leave. He hadn’t heard a peep out of her or her damn cat. He stood outside her door and remembered the last time he went to her room. She’d been lying down. Maybe she was taking a nap, or maybe she was avoiding him. The thought of her locking herself in her room so she didn’t have to deal with him rubbed him the wrong way. Rich knocked on her door.

  “Yes?”

  He pushed the door open and stuck his head in to find she’d rearranged every piece of furniture. “You moved the furniture yourself?”

  Becca pushed a small dresser closer to the wall and wiped her hands on her jeans—she was back to wearing the butt-ugly baggy jeans. “Yeah, Tripod wasn’t much help.”

  “If you’d have asked, I’d have moved everything for you.”

  “Thanks, but I don’t need help. I’m a big girl.”

  He looked her up and down, not that he needed to. He’d seen her naked, and he knew a few things about her body. She was tall, she had the most incredible legs he’d ever seen on any woman, and he’d seen his share. She was a natural blonde, and she was anything but big. “You might not have needed help, but you could have had it. There’s a difference.”