Robin Kaye Bundle

by Robin Kaye

  “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  “It’s true, even back then, you were the one planning the space, remember?”

  Becca could almost hear Annabelle’s eyes rolling. “So, are you alone too?”

  “Richie’s not there?”

  Becca moved Tripod to Rich’s side of the bed and lay down. “No, since I spent the last week working to make everything perfect for tonight’s dinner with his boss, he figured he could go out and play basketball with the guys. I thought Mike would be with him. They’re part of the fantastic four.”

  “I guess he could be. I woke up from a nap, and Mike was gone. He left a note saying he’d be back by three. I assumed he was going to the hospital.” She yawned loudly before continuing. “I haven’t talked to you all week about anything but business. You sound really pissed at Rich. What did he do now?”

  “Nothing. Which is exactly the problem. He bragged to his dean about how wonderful the family lasagna is, and I’m the one spending half the day Thursday shopping with your psycho-psychic aunt.”

  “You actually went shopping with her? You couldn’t make something other than lasagna?”

  “If I could, believe me, I would have. Spending an afternoon walking all over Brooklyn with an old Italian lady ordering me around and probably cursing me in Italian is not my idea of a good time. You should have heard her. She talked to the butcher, the cheese man, and the lady at the vegetable market in Italian. They all seemed to know who I was. What did she do? Take an ad out in the Post?”

  “Ha, the Post ain’t got nothin’ on the Italian grapevine.”

  “Tell me about it. I am now known all over Brooklyn as Richie’s Becca. Aunt Rose told everyone that Richie’s Becca needed help cooking. Richie’s Becca wasn’t Italian—as if that wasn’t obvious—but she said that was okay because I’m a nice girl, so the family was dealing with it. Annabelle, I bit my tongue so many times, it felt swollen.”

  “I’m sorry, Bec. I told you she was scary.”

  “Yeah, and Rich talked his way out of doing just about everything to get ready for the most important dinner of my life.”

  “I thought this was Rich’s boss. Why is it so important to you?”

  “Annabelle, Dean Stewart’s wife is Emily Stewart. Ring any bells?”

  “From the arts council? Wow! Okay, I understand why you’re nervous, but Bec, if it makes you feel better, she’s supposed to be really nice. She’s also has impeccable taste.”

  “Thanks, but it would help if Rich had been here helping out instead of leaving everything to me. Granted, he was working, but it’s not as if I have nothing else to do. I’ve been on the phone every few hours with Ben’s accountants, his lawyers, my lawyers, and I spent all day yesterday cooking with Aunt Rose, cleaning the apartment, and trying to figure out how to display my work in a room with zero lighting.” She slapped her hand onto her right eye to try to stop the twitching. “Annabelle, my eye is twitching.”

  “Oh, that’s not good. But I told you that no one sees it but you.”

  Becca watched Tripod lie on the bedside table with his head hanging over the edge trying to bite the knob on the drawer. She shooed him away. “Tripod, you are not getting your toy back, so cut it out.”

  “Aw, give the poor cat his toy, you meanie.”

  Becca walked back into the living room and began fluffing the couch pillows. “I was fine with his toy until he began attacking it on every piece of furniture that held my work. I tell you Annabelle—this week has been, in a word, a nightmare.”

  “At least it’s almost over. I’m sure dinner will be great, and Emily Stewart is going to absolutely love your work. I know it. I have impeccable taste too.”

  “Thanks.” Becca sat on the couch, picked up the notebook she’d left on the coffee table, and looked over her list. “It will probably be fine, but that doesn’t mean I still don’t want to take a hoop and wrap it around Rich’s neck.”

  “Yeah, I know the feeling. Still, you gotta admit they are good to have around to open jars and screw in light bulbs among other things.”

  Becca looked up when she heard the door being unlocked and tossed her notebook back onto the coffee table. “Speak of the devil. I gotta go. I’ll call you later, okay?”

  “Sure, good luck, sweetie. I know everything will be great. If it’s not, then I’ll hold Rich down while you beat him.”

  She laughed and turned her back to Rich. “I’ll hold you to that. Love you.”

  She disconnected the call to find Rich towering over her with a raised eyebrow. “Who do you love other than me?”

  “Your sister.” Rich bent to give her a kiss, and Becca leaned back and waved a hand in front of her face. “You look and smell like something Tripod only dreams about dragging in. Besides, you’re still on my shit list.”

  “Aw, come on, Bec. I brought you dessert and Zoom Zoom like you asked.”

  “Yeah, you probably picked all of it up from DiNicola’s restaurant after the basketball game and a beer.”

  Rich didn’t deny it though he looked a little disappointed to get caught.

  “Here, take this.” Rich handed Becca the dessert boxes and put the bottle of Zoom Zoom on the coffee table. “Be right back. I left one thing in the car.”

  “Thanks for the warning.” Becca went to the kitchen with the stack of bakery boxes all tied up with string and was tempted to open them to see which of the DiNicola’s amazing desserts Rich had bought. After the door slammed announcing his return, she asked, “Do these need to be refrigerated, because if they do, we may have to bring them upstairs and see if the guys have room. Our fridge is full…” She looked up from the boxes and found Rich holding the largest, and by far, prettiest, bouquet of flowers she’d ever received. “You brought me flowers?” She let out an exasperated breath and rolled her eyes. “Isn’t that just like a man? Here I was ready to kill you, and then you go and do something sweet. You really know how to screw up a perfectly good mad.”

  Rich looked like he’d just survived one more round of American Idol. “It’s a gift.”

  He bent down for a kiss. “So, you were talking to Annabelle and relaxing?”

  Okay, so maybe he didn’t ruin it after all. “You think I was relaxing? I’ve been working my ass off all week— shopping with your crazy aunt, cooking, cleaning, and running back and forth to the brownstone. I sit down for five minutes to have a conversation with your sister, and you think I’m relaxing?”

  “Is this one of those trick questions?”

  “No, it’s rhetorical. I’m hoping to instill in you the realization of what an incredibly inane question you asked.”

  “Okay, why don’t we just forget I asked and cut right to me telling you what an amazing job you’ve done and how much I appreciate how hard you’ve obviously worked.”

  “Okay.”

  Rich grabbed her before she could get away. “Come on, let’s get a shower, and you can explain why your eye is twitching like a meter in a checkered cab.”

  “Annabelle said no one else could see it but me.”

  He took her hand and headed toward the bathroom. “She lied.” Rich kissed the retort from her lips and took his time undressing her.

  Becca did her best to ignore his hands, the little kisses he placed here and there, as they waited for the water to heat. Unfortunately the water didn’t get as hot as she did. Becca only hoped that by the time they stepped into the shower, the water would cool her off. It didn’t.

  Rich didn’t think he’d ever seen anything lovelier than Becca wet and slightly pissed off, which made him question his sanity. He wasn’t sure why he found that to be such a turn-on, but he figured it was a plus since she seemed to spend an inordinate amount of time being angry with him. He quickly soaped up and then started working on transferring all the soap on him to her.

  “Rich, if you don’t get your hands off me, I’m gonna have to hurt you.”

  “Fine.” He pulled his soapy hands from around her and tried to ignore hi
s erection—not an easy thing to do. “Anyone ever tell you that you get bitchy when you’re nervous?”

  She tilted her head under the water to rinse her hair. “Anyone ever tell you it’s dangerous to call a nervous woman bitchy?”

  He couldn’t resist touching her, so he didn’t. He slid his soapy body against hers and nearly groaned. “Babe, the house is clean, we have plenty of time, and sex is known to be a great tension releaser. I bet your eye will stop twitching.”

  He ran his hand over her breast, and the nipple pebbled almost instantly. He loved the way her body reacted to him, even when she wasn’t happy about it. “Come on, Bec. You know you want to, and we’re wasting time talking about it when we can be releasing all your tension.”

  He faced her and massaged her shoulders and back before moving to her breasts, only this time, he used his mouth, starting with her left, and then moving over to her right, since he was a fair guy. When he kissed his way back up, she looked so serious. With her lips all pursed and impatient, it was as if she was daring him to give her an attitude adjustment. He spent a minute nibbling her lips before deepening the kiss and tongue wrestling until she pulled her mouth from his, breathlessly.

  “Okay,” She wrapped her long leg around his hip and grabbed at his shoulders. “But make it a quickie—you know what those are, right?”

  God he loved every bossy hair on her head, and well, everywhere else too. “I’ve heard a rumor. I’ll see what I can do.” He slid his hands down between her legs and found her slick and wet. She sucked in a breath and gave an impatient shake. She always amazed him-whenever they were together she seemed to want him as badly as he wanted her. Becca arched her back, and he slid right home.

  “Oh, God.” Every time he entered her he had to stop for fear he’d completely lose it. He waited for the sheer awesomeness to wane, but it didn’t. Every time was like the first, and every time it was over, he just wanted her more.

  That serious look returned to her face. “Rich, do I need to explain the central theme of the act of a quickie?”

  He couldn’t hide his smile. “Babe, there’s a difference between a quickie and an embarrassment. I admit it’s a fine line. All the work is done. We have plenty of time before the Stewarts get here, so let’s just enjoy this.” Kissing him, she wrapped her leg tighter around his, ground against him, and he nipped her earlobe. “You’re pushing your luck, babe.”

  “This from a man who spent the last ten minutes driving me to distraction. Pushing my luck is the least I can do.”

  Becca groaned as he nipped her shoulder and lifted her, pressing her hard against the cold tile as she wrapped both legs around his waist.

  She sucked in a breath as Rich slid slowly back in. He watched her face as he made love to her. He throbbed within her, and every time she moved sent him closer and closer to the brink. If she wanted a quickie, she wouldn’t be disappointed. When Becca nipped his neck, Rich lost any finesse he might have possessed and just let go. Holding her waist, he pistoned his hips, and when he felt the intense heat and almost a splash of wetness surround him, tight within her, he ground into her and went so deep he could swear he hit her cervix. Her screams ricocheted through the small bathroom, urging him on, shattering his self-control. He came so hard his vision blurred, and he worried he’d drop her. He leaned into her and thanked God when she put one foot down before rocking against him, drawing out his orgasm and kissing him. She shivered in his arms; he wasn’t sure if it was from the cold or the aftershocks zinging through the both of them.

  “Okay,” She rested her head on his shoulder and blew out a breath. “I guess you do understand what a quickie is after all.”

  Becca opened the hot oven. The stuffed mushroom hors d’oeuvres were browning nicely and ready to be served but would be fine for another few minutes. She pulled the foil off the lasagna, took the garlic bread out of the fridge, and stirred the sauce she left warming on the stove. The antipasto she and Aunt Rose put together was already dressed and on the table. Everything was ready. She took a deep breath, another sip of her wine, and went into the living room where her guests were chatting with Rich. She sat on the arm of his chair and felt his arm come around her, giving her waist a squeeze.

  Dean Stewart smiled at them and lifted his glass. “Here’s to your promotion, Rich.”

  “Promotion? Really? That’s fabulous.” Becca leaned into him, wrapping her arm around his shoulders.

  Dean Stewart looked at Becca quizzically. “He didn’t tell you on Monday?”

  Rich straightened and put his wineglass down. “Craig gave me the news that I’ve been made a full-time professor and that I’m off probation. It’s hardly a promotion.”

  Becca’s head swam. “Monday? Why didn’t you tell me?”

  Rich cleared his throat. “I had other things on my mind I guess.”

  Becca forced a smile. “Sure. I remember.”

  Dean Stewart smiled back. “I told Rich that with his hard work, you supporting him, and your family background and connections to Columbia, he could go far.”

  Becca found herself nodding. “Of course.”

  “We’re hoping to see your father at our next alumni dinner.”

  She stood quickly and then regretted the speed. They probably thought Rich had pinched her, which was still better than what he had apparently done—namely fucked her over, lied to her, and used her. A regular trifecta. Becca was used to getting hit with one or two, but all three? “The hors d’oeuvres are ready. I’ll be right back.” She smiled and felt her jaw lock up. “Rich, do you want to give me a hand since you’re so helpful in the kitchen?”

  As soon as they were out of the Stewarts’ line of vision, Becca turned on Rich. She willed herself to calm down and did her best to whisper. “You had other things on your mind? My, that’s convenient. The only thing you had on your mind was finding a way to reel in a sucker like me. I’m surprised at you, Rich. I would think even you would come up with a better idea than proposing.”

  “Becca, it’s not what you think.”

  She snatched the potholders off the counter and opened the oven. “It’s exactly what I think.” She pulled the mushrooms out and set them on the stove before grabbing the serving plate and spatula. “You proposed to me to ensure your promotion.” She moved the mushrooms from the tray to the plate while she blinked away tears. “How could I be so stupid? This is even more mortifying than Nat sleeping with my mother. But then you’re probably sorry you missed your chance to do that, too.”

  Rich turned around in a circle and then stuffed his hands in the pockets of his chinos that she’d spent ten minutes ironing. She was the biggest fool.

  He picked up the empty mushroom tray and put it in the sink and then stepped close to her and held her shoulders as he whispered. “This is neither the time nor the place for this discussion. But did it ever occur to you that maybe you’re so psycho about your family, I’d be afraid to mention it, because I didn’t want you to cut your nose off to spite your face and miss this opportunity with Emily?”

  “No. How long did it take you to think up that lame excuse? Next time you pull a fast one, you might try rehearsing your explanation in a mirror. Maybe then it’ll be believable. God, I can’t believe I fell for you.” She hissed, sounding more like her mother than in her worst nightmares. God help her.

  She handed him a stack of small plates and forks and left him standing in the kitchen with his mouth hanging open. She slammed the door on the flood of her emotions and put her heartache out of her mind. There would be plenty of time later to alternate between kicking herself and crying.

  She could do this. She was great on autopilot. Lord knew, she’d spent most of her life practicing smiling when required, nodding, and making small talk. She placed the hors d’oeuvres on the center of the coffee table with a flourish, took the plates from the dumbstruck Rich, and served.

  Becca offered Emily a plate. “I love your scarf. Where did you find it?”

  “This cute litt
le shop in SoHo. You should come with me sometime. I find the most unusual pieces there.”

  Becca handed Craig his plate. “I’d love to. SoHo is one of my favorite parts of the city, but with work and the remodel, I haven’t had much time to get out.”

  Craig looked around. “I sure hope your new place is bigger than this one.”

  “Oh my, yes. It’s over fifteen hundred square feet, not including the studio that Rich’s sister, Annabelle, and I will share.” Becca handed a plate to Rich, took hers, and sat on the arm of his chair again. “When Annabelle and I were roommates in art school, she regaled me with tales of her big brother. I felt as if I knew Rich before I ever met him.” She smiled and bumped his shoulder with hers. She was just as capable as he was of pretending everything was freakin’ hunky dory. Either that, or he didn’t care, which was a distinct possibility.

  Emily sat forward. “You’re building a studio? I’d love to see it.”

  Becca cut the mushroom she’d been so looking forward to tasting until ten minutes ago when she’d lost her appetite for many things, especially a certain tall, Italian, lying user. “You’ll have to come over once it’s finished. I think there’s another couple of months work to do. I was hoping it would be completed before Christmas, but I’m not optimistic. Everything seems to take twice as long as I think it should.”

  Craig laughed. “I hear remodeling is a real test to any relationship.”

  Becca forced herself to take a bite of her mushroom before setting the plate down. She nodded. “It would be if we were living there. Being away from it certainly lessens the pressure.”

  Emily nodded. “If your studio is under construction, where are you working now?”

  “In the guest room. It’s not the best, but it’s temporary.” Emily had no idea how temporary, and from the way Rich was shoveling in his mushrooms, neither did he.

  “Really? I’d love to see what you’re working on, or are you one of those artists who refuse to show anything until it’s complete?”

  “Not at all.” Becca stood and picked up her wine. “I’d be happy to show you.” She almost laughed when Emily all but popped off the couch. “You’re not allergic to cats, are you? I have Tripod locked up in there.”