Eve set her cup on the ceramic countertop and leaned against the edge. “You know that last part from reading the sports section?”
“Actually, I know that by watching late-night E! How they got pictures of you and Linc locked at the lips so fast is totally beyond me. I guess that’s why I’m in marketing and not production. Did you know that he’s been linked romantically to three different actresses? He’s also been with a Victoria’s Secret model and two girls from Hooters Magazine. Not at the same time, of course, and the affairs were all very brief. But that still doesn’t erase the fact that he’s strictly a flavor-of-the-week kind of guy. He doesn’t do relationships, and he sure as hell doesn’t do marriage. Which makes me, and the host of late-night E!, think there’s something funny about this marriage.”
Eve picked up her cup and downed the rest of the strong liquid. “Maybe it was love at first sight,” she finally managed.
“And maybe I’ll just forgo my next collagen injection in the name of natural beauty.” Trina sighed. “Not. So give with the details.”
“You have to swear you won’t tell anyone.” She set the cup back on the counter and mindlessly traced the rim as the memory of the past night rushed at her.
“I swear on my uncle Duke’s collector’s edition Ferrari.”
“We’re not really married,” Eve blurted out. “I mean, we are. But we aren’t.” She spent the next several minutes filling Trina in on the details of the pretend marriage. “So you can’t tell anyone,” she finished, “otherwise, my mother will know it’s a lie and she’ll go back to thinking I’m the good daughter.”
“My lips are sealed.”
“Good.” Eve shifted the subject back to the reason for her phone call. “Now—I’ve left a stack of catalog samples sitting on my desk.”
“Hold on. You can’t just drop a bomb like this and then start talking work. You know I can’t work without my coffee.”
“So get your butt to the kitchen.”
“All right, all right. I’m here,” Trina told her after a lot of grumbling.
Eve went over the work details that needed immediate attention. The rest she would handle herself via e-mail. “I’ll be back on Monday. I’m meeting the in-laws today, then I’m going to put in an appearance at the racetrack in North Carolina. Rockingham or something like that. I should have the basic documentary layout done by the time I get back so that we can start expanding on each of the segments.”
“You really expect to work with Linc Adams within arm’s reach?”
“The man’s a barbarian, and I don’t do barbarian anymore. I’m not even attracted to him.”
That’s what Eve wanted to think, but when Linc walked into the kitchen a few minutes after she hung up the phone her interest sparked again.
He wore only the black tuxedo slacks from the night before. His bare feet were long and tanned against Eve’s white marble tile. At well over six feet tall, he dominated her small kitchen. The enticing aroma of fresh soap and raw male filled her nostrils.
She steeled herself and tried to focus on all the reasons why she shouldn’t be attracted to him.
He was a total cretin. An old-fashioned, chauvinistic caveman who changed women as often as he changed his socks. Ordinarily, he dressed like a beach bum. He also grinned way too much. As for the winking . . . Well, that irritated her as much as the word sunshine.
She watched as he opened three cabinets before finding a glass and turning toward the fridge. He poured some milk and started to lift the glass to his lips when she stopped him.
“You don’t have to mind your manners on my account.” Please don’t mind them, she pleaded silently. I need all the ammunition I can get.
“I don’t drink out of the carton.” Linc gave her a knowing look. “But if you want to lend me your bra . . .”
“I wouldn’t lend you my bra if you were the last man on the planet and needed a drinking vessel in order to avoid severe dehydration.”
His lips curved up at the corners and her heart stalled. “Your can’t lend me your bra because you’re not wearing one.” His gaze dropped to the telltale twin points outlined by the thin material of Eve’s black T-shirt.
“I was speaking figuratively.” Okay, so she sounded like a snotty bitch. But better to sound snotty than interested. “You do know what figuratively means, don’t you? Never mind, I forgot that you graduated from the University of T & A.”
“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were calling me a chauvinist.”
“If the Bubba Beer ball cap fits . . .” She was referring to the latest picture of Linc to circulate in the tabloids. Him wearing a Bubba Beer ball cap, an inebriated grin, and a Hooters girl on each arm. He’d attended an all-you-can-eat wing fest down in Houston, and had been the deciding judge at a bikini contest.
“That was a publicity stunt.”
“No one can pretend to be that obnoxious.”
He frowned. “I don’t drink Bubba Beer, and I don’t drive for them. Jason Dancer’s their golden boy with his number ninety-seven Ford. Someone just stuck that cap on my head when I wasn’t paying attention.”
“Sure, and I’m the spokesperson for prim, proper virgins everywhere.”
“Keep that to yourself. We’re trying to shock my parents, not make them fall in love with you. And speaking of my parents, we’re due at the airport in an— What the hell is that?”
Linc stared past her at the kitchen doorway.
She followed Linc’s stare and smiled as Killer walked into the room. “It’s my labradoodle.”
“Your what?”
“You know, part Lab, part poodle.”
“You mean a mutt.”
“Killer is not a mutt.” Eve leaned down and the dog walked right into her arms. The animal was medium-sized, with wavy gold hair and long, fluffy poodle ears. “Don’t listen to him, girl. You’re not a mutt. She’s very sensitive and her feelings get hurt really easy,” she told Linc as she stroked her pet.
“She’s a dog.”
Eve nuzzled Killer and eyed Linc. “Don’t listen to him, girl. He’s one of those.” When Linc cocked an eyebrow at her, Eve added in a whisper, “A dog hater.”
“I don’t hate dogs. I just don’t put them on the same level as people. They’re animals.”
“Then you two ought to get along really well.” Eve meant it as a joke. She didn’t expect Killer to walk right over to Linc and start licking his toes as if she’d been doing so every day of her life. Eve shook her head and eyed the suddenly affectionate dog. “Killer?”
“What’s wrong?” Linc asked as he knelt to pet the animal.
“She’s not supposed to like you. I mean, she usually doesn’t like strangers.”
“Maybe she’s sick?”
“She doesn’t look sick.”
“Maybe she’s pregnant.”
“It would be miracle puppies because the only other dog she has any contact with is Mr. Wilkie’s blue heeler, Lady and the Tramp, who happens to be a female.”
“Maybe she doesn’t see me as a stranger. You and I are married. Maybe Killer senses the new connection.” Linc pushed to his feet. “We’ve got a plane to catch in less than two hours.” He grinned. “It’s showtime.”
She’d had a dream. A really bad dream.
Jacqueline Farrel held tight to the thought as she climbed out of bed early Tuesday morning. A soft snore floated through the dim bedroom. She glanced at her significant other, who lay sprawled across the king-sized bed.
No wonder she’d had a bad dream. With Donovan tossing and turning and invading her side of the bed, it was impossible to get a decent night’s rest. Certainly he was warm, and she did enjoy cuddling up against him when they first climbed beneath the covers, but those joys didn’t last long. Once Donovan fell asleep, it was every man for himself.
Of course, the bad dream could have been due to the fact that she was off her schedule and out of her comfort zone. Ordinarily, she would have been halfway to the studio b
y now. Because of the previous night’s festivities, however, the show’s executives had given everyone the morning off. Thankfully. Jacqueline had a million things to do before she was expected at the studio later that afternoon. At the top of her list was putting her mother on a plane bound for Texas.
Jacqueline drew in a deep breath and walked toward the bathroom. Some coffee should dispel the exhaustion clouding her senses and the uneasiness in the pit of her stomach.
Imagine Eve getting married, of all things. And to a virtual stranger. Even worse, to a stranger who was a womanizing, hell-raising, lewd, crude, out-of-control male chauvinist like—
Her thoughts screeched to a halt as she caught sight of the newspaper that was crumpled on the kitchen table next to her mother’s #1 GRANDMA mug. The front page of the sports section peeked around the edge of the food and entertainment section. Air stalled in her lungs and her heart threw up a picket sign and went on strike. Her trembling hands reached for the newspaper. She tugged it free to see the full color photograph of Eve and Linc Adams in a passionate kiss. The caption beneath read: NASCAR’S WILD MAN PULLS YET ANOTHER STUNT AND TIES THE KNOT IN AN IMPROMPTU WEDDING TO L.A.’S OWN HOW-TO SEX DIVA.
Jacqueline entertained a few seconds of denial before her mind rushed back to the previous night. To Linc Adams and her precious Eve. To Linc Adams and her precious Eve kissing. To Linc Adams and her precious Eve saying “I do.”
“I think I’m going to be sick.” Jacqueline turned and made a beeline for the bathroom. She’d just shut the door when she heard Donovan’s voice on the other side.
“Jacqueline?”
“I’m okay,” she called out as she tried to catch her breath. She was not going to be sick. What’s more, she was not going to have a nervous breakdown.
The doorknob clicked and Donovan ducked his head inside. Though in his fifties, he was every bit as handsome as the day they’d met. His dark hair was now sprinkled with gray, but still thick and soft. He had the same intense brown eyes that had first turned her knees to Jell-O, even though crow’s-feet now fanned from the corners. Morning stubble covered his strong jaw.
Concern drew his brows together. “Honey? Is anything wrong?”
She wanted to say no. She wanted to feel no. But the only thing she felt was a churning stomach and a strange sense of doom.
“It’s not that bad.” His deep voice drew her gaze back to the mirror and his reflection just over her shoulder. “Maybe Eve loves him. Maybe he loves her.”
“They hardly know each other. Not to mention that love has nothing to do with any of this. They’re married, Donovan. It’s not like they’ve moved in together and decided to share a cable bill.” At his raised eyebrows, she added, “While a shared cable bill is extremely serious, it’s not an out-and-out travesty.” What was she saying? She didn’t even share a cable bill, or any other utility account, with Donovan, who was as close to perfection as a man could get.
Or rather, he used to be her ideal male. Before he’d shown up on her doorstep in L.A. a few months back and decided to press her for a more serious commitment. Why, they already shared three daughters and a house in Georgetown, Texas—at least for half the year. The other six months she spent in her own apartment in L.A., where she taped her hit talk show, Get Sexed Up!—the very same apartment Donovan had recently invaded.
“Marriage isn’t so bad. Skye’s happy. And Xandra looked positively radiant yesterday.”
“They’re both still riding the lust high, not to mention Skye’s hormones are raging thanks to the pregnancy. Neither one of them is thinking clearly. But Eve . . . She knows better than to give up everything for some man.”
“Not if he’s the man.”
“What are you trying to say?”
“That I’ve been thinking about this, and I think that when someone finds the right person there’s nothing wrong with declaring it to the world. I’ve been thinking, in fact, that you and I should try it ourselves.”
Jacqueline’s churning stomach did a complete flip and she swallowed. He couldn’t be . . . He wouldn’t dream of actually suggesting . . .
“We’ve been together for a long time,” he went on. “I think it’s high time we—”
“Do you always have to leave the lid up?” she cut in, effectively killing his next words. She slammed the toilet seat down and pushed past him before he could say another word. “What kind of effort does it take to simply pop it back down when you’re finished? Sheesh, you would think I was asking for a miracle.” She headed for the kitchen again. When she got there, she scooped the newspaper into a pile and shoved it into the trash before moving on to her next order of business.
She needed caffeine. Lots of caffeine. Enough to kick-start her brain from its present funk and get it moving as fast as her heart and the adrenaline that pumped through her body. She needed to think. To digest.
“You’re changing the subject,” Donovan said, following her.
“I’m not changing anything. I was in the bathroom,” Jacqueline said as she hauled open a cabinet and rummaged inside. “There was the toilet seat in its usual upright position, gawking at me like always. That was the subject.”
“I’m talking about marriage. About you and me—”
“Where the hell are the coffee filters?”
“In the cabinet over the sink next to the Coffee-mate. Now about you and I—”
“I keep the coffee filters right here, not over the sink. I keep them right next to the extra napkins and the Ziploc baggies and the Bounty.”
“I moved them. I think we should get—”
“You moved my coffee filters?” She whirled on him. “How could you do such a thing?”
“You’re blowing this way out of proportion. I just thought it made more sense to keep them next to the coffee.”
“You thought it made more sense. This is my apartment, yet I don’t have any say-so in anything anymore. You leave the toilet seat up and your socks in a pile and you hog the entire bed. You’ve taken over the answering machine and now the kitchen. The next thing you know, I’ll be chained in the laundry room, living on bread and water and—”
“Hold on a second. I think you should just take a deep breath and—”
“It’s not about what you think,” she screeched. “Doesn’t anybody care about what I think? I’m on the edge, Donovan.” She yanked the coffee filters from the cabinet and switched her attention to the coffee. Her hands shook as she started to spoon in the dark grounds. One. Two. Three.
“You’re just scared,” his deep voice sounded behind her. He came up, his chest against her back. He smelled so good that she actually closed her eyes for a brief moment and simply drank in the rich aroma of coffee and warm male.
“It’s understandable, given your deep-seated fear of commitment,” he went on. Her eyes snapped open to find that she’d spooned the grounds onto the countertop.
“Would you just give me some space,” Jacqueline muttered, scooting to the side, away from his scent and warmth. “We’re not joined at the hip.”
“We should be. We should be joined in holy—”
“Coffee?” she cut in. “Speak now or forever hold your peace.” Cripes, why had she said that? “This is your last chance. I’ll add some for you, or you can just watch me drink it.”
“I’ll watch. Look, I think we should just do it.”
“Fine with me, but don’t go begging for a sip when you see me enjoying myself.”
“Would you forget the coffee? I’m talking about us. Let’s just go to a justice of the peace and get it over with as quickly and as painlessly as possible, and you’ll see that being married— Ouch!” He rubbed his shoulder where the coffee scoop hit him. “What did you do that for?”
“You talk too much, Donovan.”
“You’re trying to avoid the subject, but I’m not going to let you. Not this time. This is it.” He dropped to his knees, and panic bolted through her. “Jacqueline Dawnette Farrel, will you—”
&nb
sp; “Mom!” Jacqueline called out as she whirled and started down the hallway. “Are you up yet? Your plane leaves at noon. We need to get a move on!”
“Heavens to Betsy, what is all this racket?” Ruella Farrel pulled open the bedroom door. She was wearing a white cover-everything-up cotton nightgown, her silvery white hair wrapped up in pink sponge rollers.
Jacqueline came to a halt. Surprise mixed with the panic already winding her insides tight. “Mom, why aren’t you up? I put an alarm clock on your night table last night.”
“I know. The blasted thing nearly gave me a heart attack this morning.”
“So you heard it?”
“Of course I heard it. I may be old, but I’m not deaf.”
“So why aren’t you dressed?”
“I am dressed.”
“For bed.”
“That’s because I’m in bed.”
“But we leave for the airport soon.”
“I’m not going home.”
“Of course you’re going home.”
“I’ve cashed in my ticket and decided to stay awhile. Los Angeles really is a lovely city. So many people.” Ruella smiled. “I think a lengthy visit is in order.”
Surprise turned into full-blown dread. “Lengthy? How lengthy?”
“A week at least.”
“A week?”
“Maybe two. Or even three. Why, I just might pack up and move in for good. It’s so much more exciting here than back home. Now keep it down. I was up reading late last night, and I need my beauty sleep.” The slam of the door punctuated her sentence, and Jacqueline found herself staring at a closed door.
“Jacqueline?” Donovan’s voice sounded from the opposite end of the hallway. A very short, narrow hallway that had always been just the right size for one person. Large even. But now it seemed crowded, as if the walls were closing in. “We’re not finished talking.”
Forget closing in. The walls of Jacqueline Farrel’s carefully constructed world were now falling down on top of her.
Sweet as Sugar, Hot as Spice Page 7
