by Robin Kaye
She threw open her closet and pulled out a lounge set her mom bought her that she didn’t hate. She’d never worn it because she had no one to wear it for—not that it was overly sexy or anything, it was just too nice to hang around the house in unless she had company. It was winter white with a gathered Queen Anne neckline, long tight sleeves, and pants you wouldn’t know were to sleep in unless you touched them. She debated whether or not to wear a bra with it. Since she currently had a real shortage of bras, and unfortunately wasn’t well enough endowed to make a bra necessary, she’d go without. Tossing the shirt over her head, she sighed as the material flowed over her. Damn, if she’d known Tencel—a fabric made from bamboo—was this soft and silky, she’d have worn the PJs before. She pulled on the pants and ran her hands through her hair. It was almost dry, one of the perks of having short hair. She took one last swig of her wine for Dutch courage. After eating more than a few of Rich’s creations, she thought she needed it.
Rich did his best to make everything look presentable. The rice looked fine. The cashier was right, it was great in the microwave. So was the broccoli. The salad looked like salad. Rich figured even he would have trouble screwing that up. The oven timer went off, and he grabbed the oven mitt, proud that he remembered, but the fact that his hand still hurt whenever he got near anything hot probably helped his memory. He was beginning to wonder if it was psychological. Being a psychology professor, it wouldn’t surprise him. Still, he was getting to be an old hand at this cooking thing. He took the fish out of the oven, set the pan on the stove, and with a fork, stuck the fish, and—wonder of wonders—it flaked. Amazing!
He took the fish out of the pan and put it on a plate with some rice and broccoli. He placed a few pieces of lemon beside it, like they do in the restaurants, and set them on the table just as Becca left her room.
Rich stared. He couldn’t get over the transformation. She’d come home in her jeans and sweatshirt, looking angry and tired, not to mention dirty, and ten minutes later, she looked edible. She was all white and flowing and well, gorgeous.
“You cooked this? By yourself?”
Rich did his best to collect himself. “Yeah, I got the recipe from the guy at the fish market, and I called Vinny once. I didn’t know what a Pyrex pan was.” He pulled out her chair for her and waited for her to sit. When she did, he put his hand on her shoulder; he wanted to see if what she wore was as soft as it looked. It was.
Becca placed her napkin in her lap. “Wow, I’m impressed. Everything looks great. I didn’t think I was hungry, but now I’m starved.”
Rich filled her wineglass and sat. “A toast.”
Becca held up her glass.
“To the future.”
Becca touched her glass to his. “To the future.” But the look on her face was a mixture of hurt and disgust.
Rich watched her over the rim of his glass while he took a sip. “What’s the matter?”
She shook her head. “Nothing. You know, just the normal annoyances. Framers who can’t read blueprints who put walls up in the wrong places and tell me I’m wrong. What about you? How’d it go with Gina?”
Rich noticed she still hadn’t taken a bite, so he figured he might as well try it. It would also get him out of answering her question. He took a forkful of fish, managed to get a little rice on there, and took a bite. He couldn’t believe it. It tasted great. He motioned for her to taste it and watched as she took a tentative bite. She chewed, her eyes widened, and she moaned. Yup, Becca actually moaned. Rich couldn’t believe that getting a woman to moan by feeding her was almost as much fun as getting her to moan the old fashioned way.
“Oh my God, this is amazing. Wow.” She took a sip of wine, and her little pink tongue darted out to lick a drop off her lips then she shoveled another forkful into her mouth.
“Thanks.” He tried the broccoli, and even that tasted pretty good. It wasn’t his mother’s— she must do something special to it. Knowing her, it probably involved olive oil and garlic. Still, it was nice and crunchy and the most amazing color green, almost as pretty as the color of Becca’s eyes.
Becca was quiet while she ate, and eat she did. She cleaned her plate, another first. Rich kept refilling her wine, waiting for her to loosen up so he could ask her if she’d help him out. He’d just wing it. It had always worked in the past.
When they finished, she stood and picked up her plate. He took it from her. “No, I’ve got it. I remembered what you said and tried to clean as I went, so it’ll be an easy job. Why don’t you take your wine and see what’s on TV? Or better yet, why don’t we watch one of the movies you brought home?”
Becca looked guilty. “You said you were going out with Gina. I didn’t think you’d be home so I got chick flicks.”
“I don’t mind, just as long as next time I get to pick.” When he looked up from piling the dishes, he knew he hadn’t gotten away with it.
“You never told me what happened with Gina.”
Rich shrugged. “She’s seeing someone else. Annabelle of all people fixed her up with him.”
Becca looked a little pissed on his behalf. “So you did all this for nothing?” It was nice of her not to say I told you so, because she had.
Rich topped off her wineglass and his, finishing the bottle. “I wouldn’t say that. I fed you, didn’t I?”
“Yeah, and it really was great. Still, I’m sorry, Rich.”
“I was thinking…”
She followed him into the kitchen carrying her wine and the empty bottle. “That sounds dangerous. Even more dangerous than you doing laundry.”
He ignored the cut. “I still have that dinner to go to with Dean Stewart, and since I never mentioned Gina by name, I thought that since you were here and we’re technically living together, maybe you’d go with me.”
“You want me to lie?”
“No, more like act as if we’re together. You don’t have to come out and actually tell a lie.”
“Oh yeah. That makes all the difference.” She threw her hands up, and when she realized she was still holding her wineglass, slammed it on the counter shattering it. “Shit.”
The sound of shattering glass startled him. “Are you all right?” He grabbed her hand and examined it. She could have really done a job on herself, but he didn’t see a scratch, thank God.
“I’m fine.” She pulled her hand from his and moved to pick up the pieces.
“Don’t touch it. I’ll clean it up.”
Becca huffed. “I broke it. I’ll clean it up.”
Christ, she was difficult. “I thought you said I had to do all the cooking and cleaning? So would you let me do it already? I’d really rather not add your blood to the mess.”
“Fine. Clean it up if you want. You can cook dinner, ply me with a few glasses of wine, and clean up after me. It’s not going to help your cause.”
Rich made sure she was well away before bringing the garbage can to the counter. With a few pieces of paper towel, he swept the glass into it. “Come on, Becca. It’s one night. It’ll be fun. Dinner, dancing, and you’d really be saving my ass. Please, Bec. I’m kinda desperate here.”
Becca rolled her eyes as if she didn’t believe him. “Don’t tell me you don’t know anyone else.”
“I’ve been gone a long time, and since I got back, I’ve been seeing Gina. I really don’t know anyone but my students. You’re it, Becca. Please?”
She crossed her arms under her breasts, which did amazing things to the look of that top she was wearing. Christ, his professional life might be hanging in the balance, and he was concentrating on her breasts. He was most certainly going to hell. He thought back to the last time he went to confession. Yup, definitely to hell, and he’d get there quickly if his brother-in-law, Mike, knew what was going through his mind. He was so fucked.
Becca walked over to the couch and flopped down. “So that was the reason behind the dinner and the wine. You were just trying to soften me up so I’d go to this dinner with you.”
She tossed a pillow at him. “You are so busted. That’s exactly what you did.”
He tossed it back. “No. I’ll admit to wanting to help you get into the right mood before I asked you. But that’s not why I cooked dinner. I cooked dinner because you looked kind of sad this morning, and I wanted to thank you for all the help.”
She sat up a little and pulled the pillow to her chest. Rich mentally rolled his eyes. Christ, he had to get his head out of the gutter.
“No kidding?”
She had the same look in her eyes now as she did when she found him sitting in the smoke-filled apartment holding on to Tripod for dear life. He wasn’t sure what that look meant. “No kidding.”
She put the pillow down, stood, and walked over to him. She smelled really good. He knew it was her shampoo and soap, because he’d sniffed them when he was in the shower, but it smelled a whole lot better on her. “Well, in that case.” Becca stood so close; he was too stunned to do anything but put his hands on her waist. “You’re welcome. And since you’re so desperate, I’ll go to the dinner.”
“Thanks.” The next thing he knew Becca was hugging him. Man, it was so nice to be able to hug a woman and not have to practically kneel to do it. She was the perfect height, and she wasn’t wearing a thing under that outfit of hers. He swallowed hard. Damn, he was going to hell.
Chapter 8
BECCA DIDN’T THINK SHE’D NEED ANY EVENING GOWNS when she moved to Brooklyn, so she stored them all right along with her furniture. Now, not only did she have to go to a formal charity benefit with Rich, she had to shop.
“Annabelle, I need help.”
“What’s wrong?”
“I need to buy an evening gown. I have a thing to go to tomorrow and I just found out about it last night. All my gowns are in storage.”
“Ooh.” Becca could picture Annabelle settling in for a nice long inquisition. “You met someone?”
Becca groaned. “You could say that.”
“Do I know him?”
Oh God, she really didn’t want to go there. But she couldn’t very well lie. After all, Rich might mention it, but if she did tell Annabelle, she’d have to give her a blow-by-blow of the whole thing. Still, it couldn’t be helped.
“I’m going to a charity benefit with Rich because Gina wouldn’t, and he needs a date. I’m doing him a favor.”
“You’re going out with Richie? That’s great!”
“Annabelle, stop right there. I’m saving your brother’s ass. It’s not a date, so you can pull that train of thought right off the tracks.” Becca couldn’t help but wonder what her late brother Chip would have said about this. Hell, he’d have a field day watching their mother go crazy when she found out Becca was seeing Annabelle’s brother. He was probably posthumously laughing his ass off at the irony. Mother couldn’t stand Annabelle when she and Chip were together. Now that Annabelle and Mike were married and owned the family estate and the trust due to Mike as firstborn, Becca’s mother’s extreme dislike of Annabelle had increased exponentially. The thought that Becca was dating another Ronaldi would send Mother over the edge.
“The lady doth protest too much, methinks.”
Becca pulled the phone away from her ear and stared at it before remembering she actually had to say something. “Since when do you quote Shakespeare?”
“I’ve been reading some of Mike’s books. You know, that Shakespeare is really great once you get used to all those thees and thous, but don’t change the subject. You’re going on a date with Richie.”
“Technically, yes, but I’m not happy about it. He’s in a jam, and I said I’d go with him. It’s a pity date.”
“You better not let him hear that. Richie never had a hard time getting a date.”
“I’m sure. He just has a hard time getting a date that would impress his dean.”
“Are you saying his usual girlfriends are bimbos?”
“No. Look, I need a dress. Are you going to help me find one or not?”
“Of course. I never need an excuse to shop. In fact, I have a friend in the garment district who has the most amazing designs. Since you’re so tall and skinny, you might just fit into his samples. You can get them for a steal.”
“Great. I’m going to need shoes and probably a shawl or cape too. It’s getting cold at night.”
“No problem. Marcello will fix you up. If he doesn’t have what we need, he’ll know who does. I’ll give him a call and see if we can meet in the morning.”
“Okay, thanks.”
“Just meet me here at nine, and we’ll take the train in together. Oh, and Bec, is Richie okay?”
“Yeah, he’s fine. Why?”
“Well, Gina said she told him she was seeing someone else.”
Becca couldn’t believe Annabelle had gotten into the middle of this. “Did Gina also tell you that she ratted you out?”
“What are you talking about?”
“Gina told him that you introduced her to Mr. Wonderful. Rich hasn’t mentioned it, but I don’t think you’re his favorite person right now. Look, I have to go. He’s almost finished with the dishes, and we’re supposed to watch a movie.”
“What are you watching, James Bond, Mission Impossible, Die Hard, Iron Man, or is he going retro with something like Rambo?”
“I picked out a few chick flicks. I didn’t think he’d be here tonight. Not one of them has a gun in it.”
“And he agreed to watch them?”
“Of course he did. I’m not planning to tie him to the TV or anything.”
“Right. He’ll make fun of the movie while you’re watching it. He can be so annoying.”
Becca smiled. Rich Ronaldi was all that and a bag of chips.
Becca struggled into the tight, tight black dress. If she’d known she’d attend a benefit wearing a dress she’d swear was at least a size too small, she would have gone without the candy bars and popcorn she’d eaten in the last few days. She took in her reflection in the mirror over her dresser top, blinked, and looked again. She couldn’t believe her eyes. She actually had cleavage. Amazing. She ran her hands under her breasts thinking she should wear more halter tops. The dress dipped so low in the back, she was afraid that if it gaped while she sat, everyone would see the crack of her ass, something she wasn’t into sharing. Marcello gave her some double-sided wardrobe tape, just to be safe, even though he and Annabelle checked and swore it wasn’t gaping. Becca fingered the stuff, but the thought of pulling tape off her butt later didn’t sound all that appealing.
“Becca, are you ready?”
She checked the time. She still had five minutes. Didn’t guys understand that there was more to getting ready than just getting a shower and putting on clothes? Becca ran her hands through her hair, messing it up a little more. It looked pretty good with the little natural curl she had along with some mousse and scrunching. She turned and watched as the beaded ribbon that tied the halter dress at her neck swung back and forth across her naked back like a pendulum, drawing the eye down to the dangerously low waist.
“Almost.”
He tapped on the door just as she slid into the silver, jeweled heels and checked her matching evening bag.
She swung the door open. “What?”
Rich stood there with his mouth gaping, and his eyes locked on her chest.
“It’s a miracle. I actually have cleavage. Who knew?”
Rich still didn’t say anything. He just stared.
Becca took a good long look at him in a tuxedo. “Yeah, well. If you’ll stop your shock-induced gawking we can leave.” She pushed him aside and walked past, heading to the coat closet.
Rich gave his head a shake, swallowed audibly, and took a deep breath. “You have a shawl or something to cover up with, right?”
“My cape is in the coat closet.” She opened the door and pulled it off the hanger.
“You’re going to wear your coat inside?”
“No. Why would I?”
&n
bsp; “You can’t go like that. “
Becca looked down. Her breasts were secure inside the top, then she checked to make sure her butt was covered. “What do you mean?”
“You’re half naked.”
“I am not.” Becca took a hold of the slit skirt and shook it. “I’m wearing yards and yards of fabric.”
“Yeah, it’s just not covering what it should.”
Becca knew the back was a little low, but it was not sleazy looking, and although you could see some cleavage, it wasn’t as if she was falling out of the dress. “You better not be saying what I think you’re saying.”
“I don’t think you should wear that. Everyone will see you.” Rich mumbled something in Italian she didn’t understand.
“Excuse me?” Becca couldn’t believe her eyes teared. God, how could this be happening again? It had been years since boys and girls stopped calling her a dog, but one word and all the anger and humiliation cold cocked her. She blinked back tears, and let the anger fill her. Her hands fisted, and the damn fake nails she spent a hundred bucks on bit into her palms.
“Don’t you have a jacket or something you can wear over it?”
“I left all my evening wear in Philly. I know this is a news flash, but I wasn’t planning to go to any balls.”
“Yeah, well. I wasn’t planning on you either. Come on.” He took her hand and pulled her out the door stopping only to lock it.
“What are we doing?”
“We’re going to buy something to cover you up on the way to the dinner.”
“Rich, you’re being ridiculous.”
“No, I’m being smart. I don’t want guys following you around all night drooling.”
Becca let out an unladylike snort. Her mother would die of embarrassment, not that it mattered. He couldn’t wait to cover her up. “Right. You don’t need to rub it in Rich. I know what I look like.”
“I’m sure you do. Jesus, Becca. Couldn’t you tone it down a little bit? I know you’re beautiful, but when you do that with your hair and your makeup? Shit. Every guy in that room tonight is going to be picturing you naked. It’s not going to look good to my dean if I get into a brawl keeping men away from you.”
