Fool for Love

by Beth Ciotta

  “I did.” She smiled, pointed.

  “Driving Miss Daisy.” An old movie about an old woman and her chauffeur. He smiled. “I’d sort of hoped for a sexy thriller, but what the hell?” He handed her a glass of wine, proposed a toast. “To Gram’s speedy recovery.”

  She clinked her glass to his. “To living in the moment.”

  TWENTY-NINE

  Chloe woke with a crick in her neck, a bad taste in her mouth, and a dozen worries grinding through her rusty brain. Daisy’s injuries, Rocky’s secret, Tasha’s obstinacy. The only nice thing was that she was cocooned in Devlin’s arms. Even though she was only half-awake, she was fully aware of his signature scent, his warm body. She registered the caress of his hand, the weight of his thigh. Morning wood pressing into her backside. Unfortunately, the more aware she became of the intimate spooning, the greater the nauseous pounding in her head.

  “Rise and shine, beautiful,” he said close to her ear. “I’m late for work.”

  It took a minute for his words to compute and for her bleary eyes to adjust. They were still in the living room, but the flat-screen television was dark and the braided rug dappled with daylight. “We fell asleep on the couch?”

  “I don’t know who zonked out first, but I attribute it to the late hour and too much wine, not the company.”

  She squinted at the empty bottle and palmed her aching head. “I never overindulge like that.”

  “Easy to do with a good vintage on top of a stressful day.”

  She’d yet to turn and meet his gaze. Even though there was no censure in his voice, she was mortified. The goal had been to unwind, but throughout the movie her brain had obsessed on the day’s crises and night’s potential. Falling in love had intensified her expectations. The more she’d obsessed on sex, the more she’d imbibed to calm her nerves. Well, she’d calmed herself all right. “I feel like an idiot.”

  “How do you think I feel? Alone all night with a hot chick,” he teased, “and what do I do? Pass out.”

  That coaxed a smile out of her. “Something tells me you were completely sober.”

  His lips brushed her ear. “A gentleman never kisses and tells.”

  “Very old-fashioned of you,” she teased back, but truly she was charmed. The dating scene had been less chivalrous in New York. Going to bed with a man while buzzed was the norm, and last night had, in a way, been a date. She remembered cuddling, affectionate caressing, and one very long, sensual kiss. He could’ve taken advantage. Instead, he’d been sensitive to her anxiety and compromised senses. She rolled into him then and met his hypnotic gaze. “I’m sorry I didn’t jump your bones. It’s not that I don’t want to. It’s just last night…”

  “Wasn’t the night.” He smoothed her hair out of her face. “But it wasn’t a waste.”

  She lost herself in those blueberry eyes. “You say the most romantic things.”

  “Not by design, trust me. Not my style.”

  “You’re not a player. I know. Which makes your actions and sentiments all the more appealing.” She realized then that he was staring at her mouth. As much as she wanted him to kiss her, all she could think was morning breath—hers, not his. Plus it felt as if someone were driving a spike through her brain. Literally.

  “If I weren’t so rushed for time, I’d carry you up to my bed and make slow, hard love to you, Chloe.”

  Whether it was due to the use of her name or the sexy timbre of his voice, despite her hangover she tingled in all the right places. “Rain check?”

  He sealed the deal with a kiss that melted what was left of her brain cells, then peeled himself away looking rumpled and to-die-for sexy. “You could join me in the shower,” he said with a wicked grin.

  “Maybe next time,” she said, feeling shy and queasy, not that she planned to admit either. “You’re late for work, remember? Big day. Important meeting.”

  “I also want to check in with the hospital, check up on Gram and visiting hours.”

  “I wish we could drive over right now,” Chloe said, “but I know she needs the rest.”

  “Not sure how to handle her issues.”

  “Maybe if you embraced her spirit for living rather than addressing her fear of death?”

  “Accentuate the positive.”

  “Something like that.”

  “Would it help if I took that approach with you?”

  She blinked, then realized she’d confessed her own unique fear of death last night. “I’m not sure.”

  He reached down and tucked her hair behind her ears. “When you figure it out, let me know.”

  Which meant he’d understood and accepted her need to fight her own battles. Her smitten heart thudded, rivaling the obnoxious pounding in her head.

  His gaze lingered, a silent bid of respect and affection, before he finally broke away and headed for the stairs. “There’s a second bathroom down here if—”

  “I remember. Thanks.” Her stomach flipped and turned, a combination of being wonderfully lovesick and horribly hungover. Get a grip, Madison. When he was gone, she dragged herself off the sofa, nabbed the small toiletry bag she kept in her purse, then hurried into the downstairs bathroom. She intentionally avoided the mirror, relieved herself, then washed her hands and face with ice-cold water and brushed her teeth. “Don’t puke. Don’t puke.” Last night she’d fretted over disappointing Devlin in bed. Now her biggest concern was resisting the urge to hurl into his toilet. Gulping air, she braced her hands and stared at her reflection. “You are pathetic.”

  She was not, however, beaten. Even though she looked like death warmed over, he’d initiated a kiss that still hummed through her noodly body. She managed a cocky smile. “He likes you,” she told herself. “A lot.”

  It wasn’t just sex. The tenderness in his gaze and touch suggested a deeper intimacy. Her heart swelled just thinking about the way he’d indulged her desire to sample various dishes off the take-out menu as well as her sentimental movie choice. The way they’d worked on individual projects side by side. His gentle expression when she’d opened up about her mom and her own reckless approach to life—something she hadn’t realized until meeting Daisy. Underneath Devlin’s controlling nature beat the heart of a sensitive soul. Last night they’d connected as friends. This morning as a couple.

  She thought about him, standing in the shower, buck naked, steaming water sluicing over his toned muscles, and fought the overwhelming desire to join him. As much as she wanted to jump his bones, she didn’t want to interfere with his big day at work. Knowing the employee meeting weighed heavily on his mind and aware he was already running late, she dragged her sorry butt out of the bathroom and into his kitchen.

  “The least I can do,” she told herself as she nabbed coffee and eggs from his fridge, “is send him off with a hearty meal.”

  After breakfast she’d check for e-mails from the club members and somehow, someway tackle Tasha and the photo shoot dilemma. Suddenly Chloe understood why Daisy wanted her “in the field.” Daisy needed a champion. Someone to assure her place in the recipe book. In the same instant Chloe understood Devlin’s sometimes-overbearing determination to protect his family and his willingness to compromise rather than alienate. Family, no matter how big or small, was precious. Family was messy. In search of perfection, she’d abandoned her own blood. Instead of mending wounds and bridges, she’d run.

  Guilt ate at her gut worse than the hangover.

  Flicking on the coffeemaker and lowering the heat on the skillet, she rushed into the living room and fished her phone out of her purse. Her heart sank a little when she got his answering machine, but regardless, she left a heartfelt message: “Hi, Daddy. Call me when you get this. We need to talk.”

  * * *

  Devlin blew into J.T.’s at 9:30 a.m., a half hour after the doors opened for business, two and a half hours past his normal arrival time. Normally, he would have been on edge, pissed because he’d missed the additional time to cram numbers and review reports. Instead
he was relaxed, optimistic, and heart over head for Chloe Madison. Luke was right. She wasn’t Janna.

  Yes, they were both reckless free spirits who courted trouble and both possessed irresistible sex appeal, but the similarities ended there. Janna had lacked depth and selflessness. Chloe was complex and sensitive to feelings and plights other than her own. She’d only been in Sugar Creek a short time and she’d already shown more genuine concern for his family than Janna had over their rocky two-year courtship and six-month marriage. Whereas Janna paid lip service, Chloe took action. Her devotion to Gram was just one of the things that seduced his cynical soul. The fact that Chloe cooked like Cat Cora of Food Network fame was a bonus. He wasn’t sure which lingered in his mind more, the sight of Chloe making herself at home in his kitchen this morning or the incredible taste of the full breakfast she’d made utilizing what little he’d had in the fridge.

  Nodding and smiling to the employees who greeted him, Devlin breezed through the nearly deserted first floor of the department store counting his blessings, including this morning’s encouraging phone calls with Gram (Doc said he’ll spring me in two days!) and his dad (At this rate, I’ll be home by Christmas). Not even the present rainstorm, the fourth in a week, or the gloomy expression on his approaching assistant manager’s face could dampen Devlin’s spirits. “Good morning, Chris.”

  “I don’t know about good,” the man said as he fell in beside Devlin. “Although it could be worse.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “For one, the toilets in the public ladies’ room overflowed. I put an Out of order sign on the door, sent in the janitor-on-duty, and called the plumber.”

  “Perfect. Next?”

  “Gemma’s Bakery bailed on catering the employee meeting tonight.”

  “Why?”

  “Closed for business.”

  “Since when?”

  “Since this morning.”

  “No advance notice?”

  Chris shook his head. “I don’t know what’s going on.”

  Curious but nonplussed, Devlin scaled the stairs to his second-floor office. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll call Luke, get the Shack to send over desserts and coffee. Anything else?”

  “Yeah.”

  Devlin placed his briefcase on the desk, shrugged out of his drenched jacket, and fired up his laptop. Meanwhile, his second-in-command hovered on the threshold, weighing his words. “Just spit it out, Chris.”

  “Ceiling leak, third floor, men’s department.”

  “Water damage?”

  “Moderate. I’ve got a crew on it.”

  Devlin’s first impulse was to rush to the scene and evaluate. Instead he sat down and opened his briefcase. “Sounds like you’ve got everything under control.”

  “Yeah, but…”

  “What?”

  “Don’t you want to supervise?”

  Devlin glanced up. “Do you need me to?”

  “Not really, but that’s never stopped you before.”

  He laughed at that. “True.”

  Hands on hips, Chris shifted his weight, angled his head. “You’re awfully … relaxed. You get laid or something last night?”

  “No. But I did get a life.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Meaning I trust your judgment and skill.” Not that he’d exhibited that trust over the past few months. No, as was his style, and just like his dad, Devlin micromanaged even the most capable people. His most irritating quality, according to friends and family, and part of the reason he had no social life. Who had time? If he’d learned anything this past week, it was that life was too short. “Thank you for troubleshooting this morning, Chris.”

  The man puffed out his chest and smiled. “Just doing my job.” He turned, then paused and looked back at Devlin. “But you are going to check in later. Assess the damage control.”

  “If I didn’t I wouldn’t be doing my job.”

  Chris nodded. “Just wanted to make sure getting a life didn’t entail leaving J.T.’s. I know you’ve been at odds with your dad.”

  “I’m not going anywhere.” At least not until his dad returned and took back the reins. Devlin would gladly step aside when that day came. The sooner, the better. Mostly because it would mean his dad was in good health. Partly because it would enable Devlin to pursue alternate opportunities and maybe an adventure or two. Preferably with Chloe.

  Although … he wouldn’t be doing anything or going anywhere until he’d secured the loyalties of J.T.’s crack sales and management team. He’d reviewed the file listing the various health and wellness packages offered by VT Med and he’d sold his dad on offering employees the chance to personalize their benefits package—at minimal cost to J.T.’s. What Devlin had failed to do was gain his dad’s approval regarding incentive bonuses, something he said the company couldn’t afford.

  But Devlin could. He’d set those wheels in motion days ago. Curious as to the present status of his strategic planning, he’d signed onto the Internet and into his stock portfolio.

  At the same time his door creaked open and Rocky stepped in. “I need to talk to you.”

  Something personal, he assumed, since she actually shut the door behind her. Something troubling, because, instead of flopping into a chair, she paced.

  “If this is about Jayce—”

  She stopped cold, fists clenched at her sides. “Why would you think that? What did he say about me?”

  “Nothing. Other than telling me you run a damn nice inn. You’re the one who’s been bent out of shape since he came to town. Not him.” As Devlin noted her flushed cheeks and anxious tone, something itched at the back of his brain. He stepped out of his sibling shoes for a second and regarded Rocky as a woman, remembered how Jayce had described Chloe from an outdated picture—blond hair, kick-ass curves. His typical type. Rocky to a T. Was it possible? Had Jayce made some sort of unwanted advance? Paid her a colorful comment? Or maybe it had been the other way around. Maybe Rocky had expressed interest and Jayce had rejected her advances. That made more sense, since Devlin couldn’t imagine his best friend taking advantage of his little sister. He couldn’t pinpoint it, but something told him Rocky’s current distress revolved around sex. Feigning nonchalance, he leaned back in his chair. “Something you want to tell me?”

  “I’ve been having an affair with Adam Brody.”

  Well, hell.

  “Okay, not an affair exactly. More like a fling. Although that sounds too passionate. We weren’t in love or anything; it was just, you know, casual sex.”

  Devlin’s first thought was, Thank God it wasn’t Jayce. Then Devlin zoned in on the “casual” aspect. He would’ve preferred a passionate affair. Yes, his sister was a grown woman. Yes, she was single and available. But thinking about her indulging in ongoing casual sex, as in friends with benefits, with a guy Luke had gone to high school with no less, made Devlin’s head ache. “So, what? Jayce caught you two together and gave you some sort of lecture on responsible sex?”

  “What? No!” Her eyes blazed as she resumed her heated pacing. “Would you forget about Jayce? This is about me and Adam. I’m only telling you because things got weird, not in a bad way, but I ended up breaking off with him.”

  “Because he was a jerk?”

  “Because he was a nice guy.”

  Devlin searched his drawer for a bottle of Tylenol.

  “I wouldn’t have said anything at all, but I spoke to my lawyer and loan officer about entering into a possible partnership with Adam, although I don’t think I mentioned his name, and, given this is a small town and you’ve got big ears, I figured you’d hear about it and grill me, so I decided to get it out in the open and over with.”

  Did she even breathe during that daylong sentence?

  “Bottom line: The Red Clover’s my dream. I don’t want to share it with Adam or anyone else, but I do need help.” She finally stopped and looked Devlin in the eyes. “Your help.”

  Just when he’d made a personal pledge not
to interfere with his friends’ and family’s lives.

  The irony.

  His brain burst with ideas on how to steer Rocky toward a more lucrative and stable future. Instead, he invited her to sit down and absorbed her fierce though wounded spirit. “How can I help?”

  THIRTY

  Being summoned to Tasha Burke’s home had caught Chloe off guard, but she’d readily agreed, determined to champion Daisy on any battleground. What Chloe hadn’t counted on was a thirty-minute rural drive through yet another torrential downpour.

  Fingers aching from the white-knuckled journey, she pulled the Caddy into the long and winding private lane of the huge and majestic Burke country estate, beyond relieved that she’d finally reached her destination.

  Rolling back tense shoulders, Chloe squinted through the veil of silvery rain at the rolling meadows, spectacular mountains, and what looked to be an apple orchard. Beyond a rippling pond and an elegant white gazebo, she noted stylish stables and fenced pastures. She easily imagined thoroughbred horses tucked in their stalls, protected from the storm. The house itself was more of a sprawling mansion—a modernized farmhouse surrounded by rambling stone walls. Clearly, Burke Farm (established in 1891, as was advertised by the sign at the entrance of the drive) was worth millions.

  Now Chloe understood why Tasha had insisted on meeting in person as opposed to discussing the photo shoot over the phone or through texts or e-mails. She hoped to intimidate Chloe. Thing was, she had never been intimidated by wealth or prestige. She’d grown up the daughter of a rich and influential man. And since her mom had been down-to-earth, Chloe had never considered herself superior to those who had less. People were people in her book, and Tasha Burke was just another character in her colorful life.

  Still, she took a moment to gather her wits, reflecting on the whirlwind morning and bracing for the unknown.