Robin Kaye Bundle

by Robin Kaye

  He slid out of bed trying not to wake her and took a quick shower before dressing in the dark. With his newfound knowledge, he put on a real pot of coffee because he needed a caffeine infusion almost as badly as he needed to prove to Becca that the coffee he’d made the day before was, in fact, his. He also needed to prove to himself that his success wasn’t a fluke.

  After feeding the world’s loudest, most demanding, and undeniably coolest cat, Rich remembered to heat the coffee cups. Since they didn’t have an automatic hot water dispenser, he stuck the mugs in the microwave for a minute while he checked out what he could make for breakfast. He’d used his last bag of biscotti, and after the lukewarm reception to both his biscotti and his coffee in the past, he made the only other breakfast food he knew he wouldn’t screw up. Toast. He buttered it, found a few of those little gift basket jelly jars, put them on the tray along with the coffee, and brought it to bed with Tripod bopping along beside him.

  “Becca?”

  “Hmm?”

  “Wake up, babe. I brought you breakfast in bed.”

  Her eyes opened, and a smile teased her lips as she pushed herself up to sit with her back against the headboard. “You made me breakfast?”

  He did his best not to stare at her bare breasts and focused instead on her eyes. “Yeah, it’s real coffee—and real toast.”

  He took a sip of the coffee just to make sure it didn’t suck. He probably should have done that before he gave Becca hers. He sighed in relief when he found it to be almost as good as the coffee he made at the B&B.

  She took a tentative sip and didn’t spit it out. “Thanks.” Opening the jar of boysenberry jelly, she slathered it on her toast. “This was so sweet of you.”

  Sweet wasn’t exactly what he was going for, but what did he expect? It was coffee and toast. Rich took a big bite of toast and drained his coffee. “I wish I could stay, but I have office hours in”—he checked his watch— “forty-five minutes. So I’ll see you back here for dinner?”

  “Okay, I have to go to the brownstone and see about the electrical permits. I don’t think I’ll be late, but I’ll call if something comes up. Oh, and let me know what happens with Brad.”

  “Will do.” He sat his cup on the bedside table, and Tripod walked across Becca’s lap heading right for it. Rich had forgotten to leave him some. “You might want to drink your coffee before Tripod does.”

  “Hmmm?”

  “Tripod is a coffee-holic. Make sure he doesn’t burn himself.” He kissed away the confusion on her face. “Have a great day. I love you.” Rich didn’t wait for her response because as pushy as he was, he’d wait until she came to grips with the fact she loved him. He wasn’t worried. Becca might be cautious, but she was one smart cookie. Once she made her lists and checked them twice, she would come to the only possible conclusion: she had fallen ass over coffee cups in love with him. He hoped.

  Becca started to say, “You, too” about having a good day, not about loving him. But she stopped. She didn’t want that because she wasn’t sure she did. Okay, maybe that wasn’t entirely true; she wasn’t sure she wanted to love him. Let’s face it. The man was difficult and pushy and too good-looking for his own good. The phone rang. Becca put her coffee down and picked up the receiver. “Hello?”

  “Is he gone?”

  Becca leaned back against her pillows and nudged Tripod off her lap. “Yes, Annabelle. Rich just left. Your timing is impeccable.”

  “Oh, good. Now, tell me all about it.”

  “I don’t know what to say. I’m still trying to figure everything out.”

  Annabelle let out an obviously frustrated breath. “You’re going to make a list, aren’t you?”

  “What do you have against lists? They help me see things.”

  “Sweetie, lists are for organization, not for feelings. If you need to figure out your feelings, you need to talk to your best friend—i.e., me.”

  Becca moved to grab her coffee only to find Tripod with his head inside her cup, his ears peeking out over the rim. “Tripod, stop that, baby. Coffee isn’t good for cats, no matter what Rich says.” She pushed him away from the coffee, and he began licking the toast crumbs off the plate. “Your brother has been feeding Tripod coffee.”

  Annabelle laughed. “Yeah, that sounds like something Rich would do. Remind me never to let him babysit.”

  “Well, not without supervision, at least.”

  “Are you planning to be the one supervising?”

  That’s exactly what she’d pictured, but she wasn’t about to admit it. “How is Mike?”

  “I’m not going to let you change the subject. How many times did you force me to talk to you when Mike and I were seeing each other?”

  “Okay. You got me. What do you want to know?”

  “Where were you when Mike was freaking out looking for you?”

  “Rich and I met Tristan, Kendal, and the others at The Big Easy.”

  “God you’re brave.”

  “Stupid is more like it. I don’t know what I was thinking. It was so awful.”

  “Don’t tell me Rich did something—”

  “No, he was wonderful. It was Tristan. He actually told your brother that he couldn’t believe I had the guts to show my face after losing the estate and half my trust to—excuse the expression—some bastard.”

  “And Rich let him live?”

  “He looked like he wanted to kill Tristan, but just calmly told him that that bastard was his brother-in-law and one of his best friends and that Tristan needed to get some manners. Well, that’s before I took over…”

  “I’m sure you had a thing or two to say.”

  “You know I did. But Annabelle, I’m so ashamed. I dragged Rich there only to have them ask me what it felt like to go slumming. I swear, if I hadn’t been in a public place, I would have ripped that little bitch Kendal’s face off.”

  “I would have paid to see that. I always hated Kendal.”

  “Now Rich thinks I’m broke. He actually offered me money.”

  “We’re talking about my brother—Richard Antonio Ronaldi? It must be love. Either that or he’s finally gone off the deep end.”

  “Yeah, well, he did say he loved me. Of course, he blurted it out while he was yelling at me.”

  “It’s the Italian way. Still, he must have meant it if he said it while he was upset. Be careful with him, Bec. I don’t think he’s ever said that to anyone who doesn’t swim in the same gene pool with him—murky water that it is. Rich has had a lot of girlfriends, but no one he ever really cared about, at least not that I know of. Do you love him?”

  “He looks at me sometimes like he sees something everyone else doesn’t. You know?”

  “Uh huh. I saw him trying to figure you out yesterday. He’s a smart guy, Bec. He’s been in psychology for how long?”

  “You think he’s psychoanalyzing me?”

  “No, I think he’s tuned into you, and he understands you, or he’s trying to. Why else would he fall in love with you? It’s not as if you’re the most open person. You always call me repressed, but let me tell you sister, you could give lessons on the subject yourself.”

  “I am not repressed.”

  “There’s a difference between being sexually repressed and being emotionally repressed. I love you, but you have to admit that you hold so much of yourself back from people.”

  “But—”

  “I know why you do it, sweetie. And it’s okay, but you can’t do that with the man you love. So go ahead and make your lists if they make you feel better, but I have a feeling the deed is done. You love Rich. He loves you. Now you just have to let him in and trust he’s not going to hurt you. I told him I’d have his kneecaps broken if he did.”

  “I figured as much.”

  “Becca, just try to picture your life without him in it. If what you see is your everyday happy life, then the two of you have nothing in common but hot sex. You do have that, don’t you? Hot sex, I mean.”

  “Yes.”


  “Good, hot sex is an important part of a relationship. Now, if you picture your life without Rich in it, and it sucks, then I suggest you open yourself up to him and see what happens. There’s really no other choice.”

  “There’s always a choice.”

  “Sure, okay, you can be miserable without him, or you can take a chance on becoming blissfully happy. It’s a no-brainer, sister.”

  Becca laughed. “Yeah, that’s easy for you to say, Mrs. Blissfully Happy.”

  “You got that right. Jump on in, the water’s fine.”

  “Spoken like a true newlywed. I’ve got to go and find some coffee sans cat spit.”

  “Okay, I’ll be at home all day if you need to talk.”

  “Thanks.” Becca hit the end button and began her day. First thing, have a cup of coffee and then make a list.

  Becca poured her coffee and went into the spare room to find her notebook. She had a real thing for notebooks. It was a sickness. Every time she walked into a store, she was in danger of finding a notebook she just couldn’t live without. Sketchbooks, notebooks with lined paper she used for making lists, handmade, cheap—it really made no difference. She wanted them all. She grabbed her favorite, a robin’s egg blue leather Levenger Circa notebook and the matching fountain pen she spent way too much for, and got down to the business of making a list. Probably the most important list she could make.

  Pros

  Rich was an amazing lover and had no problem keeping up with her sex drive.

  He could take direction, both in bed and when it came to household chores. Not that he was the Domestic God he professed to be, but he was trying, and that meant a lot to her.

  He liked and supported her work.

  He wanted her even though he thought she was broke.

  He liked her body just as God had made it. Long-limbed, skinny, and flat-chested.

  He put up with her eccentricities and wasn’t trying to change her.

  He said he loved her.

  He loved Tripod. And the cat was near impossible to love.

  He stood up for her, but allowed her to fight her own battles.

  When she saw the fire truck outside the apartment and thought something had happened to Rich, she completely lost it.

  Cons

  He gave her cat coffee.

  She couldn’t come up with any more cons. That was almost as annoying as the fact the pros came so easily. She’d never gotten above two or three pros with any other man she’d ever dated, and the cons were always too many to list.

  Shit, Annabelle was right. Becca loved Rich, and she couldn’t come up with a good enough reason to dump him.

  Not that she was looking for a reason.

  She didn’t think she was looking for a reason.

  So what if she was? She still couldn’t come up with one, so that’s what counted, right?

  She slammed her notebook shut and threw it across the table. Now what the hell was she supposed to do? She’d never fallen in love with a man before.

  Becca did what she always did. She took her mood out on clay. She dumped a huge chunk and pounded it into submission. It took forever, but she loved the process, pressing all the air out of it, softening it, the feel of it when she’d worked it until it was perfect. Annabelle always said clay was like a drug to Becca. She’d go into a trancelike state, let the clay speak to her, a picture of what could be appeared in her mind, and then she’d work to create it. The picture that entered her mind was of a naked couple, the man holding the woman in front of him, his arms wrapped around her waist. She’d leave what they were doing to the imagination of the observer. She didn’t need to make a sketch. She just pictured Rich holding her and went for it. Halfway through roughing out the piece, she’d decided to give it to Rich. Maybe then he’d replace that horrid first sculpture he’d grown so attached to.

  Chapter 13

  WHEN RICH GOT TO THE OFFICE, HE FOUND AN EMAIL from Brad. The kid sent the paper the two of them had worked on. After class, Brad followed Rich back to his office where they had a nice long talk. Rich went through the student handbook regarding rules of conduct; they talked about styles of learning and different strategies Brad might use to study. The relief on Brad’s face was evident. Becca was right. Everyone deserved a do-over. Brad’s new paper wasn’t as good as the first, but it was definitely his.

  Rich had a smile on his face as he packed his briefcase. He couldn’t wait to go home to Becca and tell her about what happened with Brad. His hopes deflated when Craig Stewart stepped in and made himself comfortable in the chair opposite Rich’s desk. His face took on that faraway, philosophical expression the dean wore when he was discussing the abstract. Rich never minded the philosophical discussions before, but then he never had anyone to go home to before either.

  “Emily was very impressed with Becca. We’re both looking forward to that dinner we talked about.”

  Rich leaned back in his chair. “Yes, Becca and I are too. We’re still settling in, but I’ll talk to her tonight about setting a date.” Rich piled up the papers left on his desk trying to give the dean a subtle hint.

  “You know, Rich. I spent a lot of time in this very office.”

  Rich dropped the pile, sat back, and tried to feign patience.

  “I worked here for years doing the same thing you’re doing, and doing it well. Nothing ever came easy for me. But let me tell you son, you’ve impressed me. I always knew you had the skill, but it seems as if since you’ve settled down with Becca, things are beginning to go your way. Now that I’ve met Becca, I can see why. With your hard work and her support, not to mention her background and family connections, I have no question that you’ll go far.”

  Rich sat forward. “I appreciate your confidence.” Now the only one who had any questions as to his ability to play the game was Rich. Just when had he sold out to the man? “But what do you know about Becca’s family?” Rich had a bad feeling about this.

  “Rich, I’m sure you realize how important Becca’s family is. We’re talking old money. Christopher Larsen, Becca’s father, is a world-renowned cardiologist and a Columbia Medical School alumnus. With Rebecca by your side, you have a fabulous future ahead of you. As a matter of fact, I just got off the phone with the president of the university. He met Rebecca at the benefit Friday night and called to tell me how impressed he was with you both. You never mentioned that Rebecca’s father and the president were in the same class.”

  “I didn’t know myself.”

  “Well, congratulations, Rich. The president and I both agree you’re the right person for the job. Your probationary status has been lifted, and you are on the road to tenure. And if you and Becca play your cards right, I see even bigger and better things in your future.”

  The dean stood, and Rich followed shaking his hand. “I never thought I’d see the day when you were speechless.”

  Not so much speechless as nauseated. He stood and watched the dean leave, closing the door behind him. He should feel happy. He got exactly what he wanted—a permanent position.

  The phone at his desk rang, “Ronaldi.”

  “Hey, Richie, it’s Nick. Are you up for a game and a beer before dinner?”

  Rich looked on the shelf where he kept his gym bag. “I have to call Becca and tell her I’ll be home late.”

  “Ah, so that’s the way it is now?”

  “No, I just said I’d be home for dinner—”

  “Yeah, right. I heard a lot of shit from Mike. He’s not thrilled, but that’s his baby sister so you can’t hold it against him.”

  “I don’t.”

  “Good, because he’s going to be there too. Him and Vinny. You better be on your toes.”

  “Great, thanks for the warning.”

  “My pleasure. I know you can dish it out. I want to see if you can take it.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I remember answering the door and getting cold-cocked by you when you thought I was messin’ with Lee.�
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  “You were messin’ with Rosalie.”

  Nick laughed. “At least I didn’t knock her up, which is more than I can say for Mike and Annabelle, and I don’t remember you cold-cocking him.”

  Rich scrubbed his hand over his face. “I so don’t want to discuss my little sisters’ sex lives.”

  “Yeah, I get you. Just remember that when Mike is around. He’s still trying to wrap his head around the fact that he has a little sister, not to mention that she’s sleeping with his brother-in-law. And how weird is that? We give the term family affection an all new meaning.”

  “Let’s just not go there.”

  “Works for me. So, how long will you be?”

  “An hour?”

  “Good. You better call Becca and tell her you’ll bring home dinner. You know Vinny’ll be pissed unless he sends us home with the special of the day.”

  “Okay. Later.” He hung up the phone and grabbed his cell and walked over to the shelf to get his gym gear. “Hey, Becca, it’s Rich.”

  “Hi. Are you on your way home?”

  Aw damn, she was waiting for him. “That’s the thing. Nick called and asked if I’d meet him and the guys for a quick game of hoops and a beer. I was thinking I could bring home dinner. We usually get a beer at DiNicola’s anyway, and Vinny gets pissed if we don’t let him feed us. Are you up for Italian?”

  “Sounds good. I’m at the brownstone, so I’ll go see Annabelle for a little while. I guess I’ll see you when you get home.”

  “Love you, Bec. I won’t be too long.” He disconnected the call and set his briefcase on the shelf. When he got home, the last thing on his mind would be grading papers, so what was the point in pretending otherwise? Rich tossed his gym bag over his shoulder and locked the office door behind him.

  Becca hung up the phone and smiled to herself. She really did need some time with Annabelle. This gave her a perfect excuse. She took the elevator down and stepped out to find Ben, Annabelle’s boss, waiting by the door. “What are you doing here?”

  Ben turned and smiled. He had that windblown cowboy thing going on. He wore a leather duster that didn’t look like one sold on Fifth Avenue—definitely not Kenneth Cole or Cole Haan—it looked worn and rugged, like it had spent days on horseback. Between that and the real—as opposed to Prada—cowboy boots, he either just got back from Idaho or was on his way.