He walked to the only other door in the apartment, but didn’t close it completely after he went in. I thought about asking for another strip tease, but I wasn’t sure my heart could take it.
I wandered to the stove and pulled the lid off of the pot. The fragrant aroma of marinara hit me, and I inhaled deeply. Spaghetti was my favorite food, and I wondered if he knew that somehow. I disregarded the thought, because there was no way he could know. He was a single guy, and spaghetti was an easy meal. I sampled it and was impressed. This wasn’t a canned sauce. He had made the sauce from scratch. I tasted it again and added a pinch of sugar, along with a splash of the red wine I saw sitting on the counter. I stirred it and tasted it again. Perfect. I tested the noodles boiling in the other pot and they were just at al dente, so I pulled them up to drain.
I heard a throat clear and spun around. My heart stopped for a moment before starting up again at a furious pace. The man was stunningly gorgeous in a three-piece suit. As in heart stopping, breathtakingly, should be declared illegal in all fifty states gorgeous. I wanted to tell him to take it back off and never put it on again. There was a strong possibility that if he went out in public wearing that, he would cause numerous accidents.
“It fits,” I told him, reaching up to discreetly check and see if I was drooling.
“It looks okay?” he asked me, uncertainly, tugging on the sleeve. I managed a sedate nod.
“Pretty sure you could have a modeling career, if you decide the lawyering thing isn’t for you,” I told him tightly, inexplicably bothered at the thought of other women seeing him as I was seeing him.
“Ha, I don’t believe that,” he said, giving me a dry look before walking over to the stove. “Spaghetti good with you?”
“It’s my favorite. I added to it,” I admitted, knowing how a cook felt when someone else messed in their kitchen. He gave me a quick look and grabbed the spoon I used to test it. He nodded appreciatively.
“It has a bit more depth. A little richer. I like it.” I smiled in relief before my eyes rounded at his next words. “It was my grandmother’s recipe. I’ve never messed with it before.”
“I’m sorry,” I stuttered lightly. “I didn’t mean to change a family recipe.”
“It’s fine. It tastes better actually.” he said, with a relaxed chuckle. “Sit and I’ll serve you.”
I moved to the bar and pulled myself onto a barstool. It was the only place available to eat. He dished up a plate of spaghetti and pulled a loaf of garlic bread from the oven. He placed them in front of me, and I sniffed appreciatively. The garlic and crushed tomatoes smelled divine.
“You seemed like a woman that would eat bread,” he mentioned, making his own plate. I nodded, since my mouth was full of bread.
“I enjoy food,” I said, once I swallowed. “I exercise regularly, but I eat what I want. Life is meant to be enjoyed, and food is one of its pleasures.”
He looked at me speculatively. “You get curiouser and curiouser,” he said. “I agree with you. Life is too short to forget to enjoy.”
After that, eating consumed us, making conversation pointless. I groaned slightly, as I sat back after finishing my meal. “That was better than most five star restaurants I’ve had,” I told him.
“But is it better than your own?” he asked me, with a knowing smile.
“Close, very close. I will admit that,” I replied, with a laugh. “In fact, after my slight tweak, it might be as good as.”
“High compliment indeed,” he joked. “I’ll have to try your spaghetti one day.” I caught the look on his face and nodded. There was definitely a possibility of that happening.
“I have dessert too,” he told me, and he saw the look of surprise on my face. “I didn’t make the dessert though. That’s not in my skill set. I bought a couple of slices of pie from the Sweet Shop downtown. Have you had their Lemon Icebox pie?”
“Oh, yes. It’s my favorite. I love all of their stuff,” I told him, enthusiastically. “But let’s check out your closet first. I’m stuffed right now.”
“Mi Casa, su casa,” he said, with a wave of his hand. We walked into the only room I hadn’t seen yet, and I was yet again surprised. He had a king size bed, and it was made. There was a quilt on it, and I could tell it had been around a long time. I walked over to it and ran my hand over the double wedding ring pattern.
“My grandmother’s. It was made for her wedding bed, over sixty years ago,” he said, to my unasked question.
“It’s perfect,” I told him, the cotton beautifully soft under my hand. I felt the slight bump of the stitching and the different materials it had been crafted with. The love that had gone into the quilt was obvious. I couldn’t help but imagine what a love story they must have had.
“They were married fifty-two years, before my grandfather died of a stroke. They met in high school, sweethearts from the first moment. My grandfather was drafted, and he made my grandmother promise to wait for him.” He smiled, his eyes reliving a story he must have been told a thousand times. “She started on the quilt the very next day. Told her mother he was the one for her, and the quilt would need to be ready for when he got home, because the wedding wouldn’t wait,” I laughed at her certainty. She seemed like a woman that knew her mind, and I could respect that. “They were married two days after he returned. Didn’t spend a single night apart after that. Not one.” His smile was sad. “At least, not until he died.”
“Your grandmother?” I asked, suspecting she had died, as well.
“She died right after I graduated from high school,” he said, a sweet smile on his face. “I think she only did it for me. She wasn’t the same after he died. But she was all I had at that point, and she lasted as long as she could for me.”
My eyes were damp at the obvious affection in his words. I didn’t ask about his parents, uncertain if I could keep my emotions in check. I knew how difficult it was to talk about my own mother, and she had died when I was three. I twisted around and faced his closet.
“Let the decimation begin,” I declared in a mock apocalyptic voice. This garnered me a laugh and broke the serious mood we had found ourselves in.
I flipped through his stuff and was impressed. Most of his clothes were casual, stuff he probably wore to work. He did have some decent khakis and casual dress pants though. They all would have been a better choice for his interview, because they were the correct size. I suspected his nervousness had led him to buy a suit that would never work for him and led him to destroy his own chances.
“Well, the suit you’re wearing will work for the interview, but you’ll need more suits when you get the job,” I told him over my shoulder, reaching the end of his clothes. It seemed like he didn’t have much, almost as if he had packed enough clothes for a short stay and that was it. I shrugged the thought off, since he had recently moved and maybe he hadn’t unpacked. I hadn’t noticed any boxes though.
“You seem confident that I’ll get the job,” he said, his voice close, startling me. I spun around, and found myself face to face with him. We were startlingly close, uncomfortably so, if you didn’t have the immense desire to kiss the hell out of the other person.
“I’ve seen you in Armani now. There’s no question you can have any job you want,” I breathed, somewhat regretting the garlic bread now. We swayed closer and I read the desire in his eyes. I had no doubt this would be a kiss for the record books when suddenly, he turned his head. It was so unexpected, I almost toppled into him. His arms caught me, and I felt the light stroke of his thumbs against my forearms, as he steadied me.
“So what’s the verdict?” he asked me, and I couldn’t figure out what he meant. My lips were supposed to be occupied with kissing, not trying to answer confusing questions. “My closet.” He seemed to read my thoughts, a few seconds too late, since he completely missed the kissing part. There was no mistaking a kiss had been imminent. Something had caused him to change his mind.
“Your closet looks good,” I managed to s
ay, not entirely sure how well I was hiding my disappointment. “The suit you bought still needs to be burned in my opinion, but at the very least, never wear it again. It does nothing for you.”
He gave me a half amused, half chagrined smile, and my heart thumped a little harder. I vowed to get my kiss. I didn’t know what had changed his mind, but I would just have to change it back.
Chapter Five
It was only supposed to be a job. A one-time thing. A favor you could say. She wasn’t supposed to make me want more.
I groaned, as I sat down on the sofa that had come from my grandmother’s house. I had a professionally decorated condo in downtown Dallas, courtesy of Olivia’s dad, but I had kept the stuff from my grandmother’s house in storage. I hadn’t been able to let it go, and it had come in handy, as I played a part that had been my reality six short months ago.
I had been working security at a charity event, when I met Samuel Martin. I was a broke law student, a semester shy of graduating. I didn’t have a clue who he was at the time, but when a man attempted to kill him, I took the bullet meant for him.
Mr. Martin had visited me in the hospital and taken care of all my bills. When I graduated, he had a job waiting for me. It had felt a bit like a fairytale, at the time. I had a great deal of respect for the man. He had an uncanny sense for business, and in the few short months I had worked for him, I had learned more than my combined years of schooling. He had taken me under his wing along the way, and I was privileged to have opportunities most could only dream about.
When he mentioned a project that was ideally suited for my skill set, and of the utmost importance to him, I had agreed immediately. I should have known better. Absolutely nothing good could come out of this.
He had told me the man that had shot at him was released on bail. There was a possibility he would go after Mr. Martin’s daughter, and he wanted her protected. I had worked security at various events, to pay my way through college, and had proven myself willing to take a bullet if necessary. He wanted me to assess the security at the complex and get near Olivia and become friends with her.
When I had asked him why he didn’t hire a bodyguard for her, he had laughed and told me, “She’s adamantly refused protection for years. And if there’s one thing you need to know about her, it’s that she gets her stubbornness from me.” He had sighed before continuing. “If I thought the danger was immediate, I’d have her surrounded by bodyguards, but that’s not how she wants to live her life. I just need to know she’s safe, and I wouldn’t trust this to just anyone. I know you’d protect her and do the right thing.”
He had told me all about her and the best way to get her attention. I would give him that. He knew his daughter to a T. But I was pretty sure he hadn’t anticipated the sizzling attraction between his daughter and me.
I admit I thought she would be a spoiled little rich girl, but she had quickly proven me wrong. Under any other circumstances, I would have jumped at the chance to be with her, but she had no idea of why I was really there, and I was under strict orders not to tell her.
The thought crossed my mind that maybe she didn’t have to know. Relationships fizzled out all the time. If it worked out, then I could explain. She would understand why I did it. She knew her father better than anyone, after all.
I forced away the pesky thought, “Famous last words.”
A day later, I found myself at the leasing office. I had made it a point to find out her work schedule, hell every schedule she had. If she had a stalker, it would be me. It didn’t matter that I had her father’s blessing or the full force of his every resource behind me. I was essentially stalking her, to make sure no one else was.
I walked in, glad to be in my own clothes and not the bumbling mess I had portrayed to win her sympathy. Her smile when she saw me lit up her face. This was a woman that could bring a man to bended knee, I thought. I knew my thoughts were dangerous, but when faced with that smile, I could die a happy man.
“And what brings you here?” she asked, lightly.
“Your gorgeous face,” I flirted back instinctively, admiring the blush staining her cheeks. Her father had shown me pictures of her before I came out here, but nothing could prepare me for how stunning she truly was.
She had inherited her father’s piercing blue eyes, but the rest of her features must have come from her mother. I didn’t know much of anything about the woman that had given birth to her. That was one topic Mr. Martin refused to speak on. She must have been a woman of color, because Livie’s skin brought to mind the cafe au lait at Cafe Du Monde in New Orleans. I had gone there one spring break and had it, along with their beignets, as I recovered from a hangover.
Her father was a blonde giant of a man. I had overheard more than one admiring woman refer to him as a Norse god, an American Thor. I had been hard pressed not to laugh at their description, but I could see why they thought it.
Samuel Martin commanded attention wherever he went, and it wasn’t because he was ridiculously wealthy. I believed that was a byproduct of the innate nature of the man himself. He was charismatic and driven, characteristics that had stood him in good stead, and he had obviously passed them down to his daughter.
“In that case, completely understandable,” she replied, with a wink. I laughed at her confidence. This was a woman who knew herself and what she was worth. It was incredibly sexy to me. All through high school and college, I had never met a woman that captured my attention quite like Livie, and it would stand to reason that she would be my boss’s daughter.
“I thought we could grab some food and figure out a way for me to get a second interview,” I said, falling back onto my cover story. I knew it was a risky game I played. If I was a smart man, I would walk away now. The more time I spent with her, the harder it would be when the truth came out, and I knew it would. There was no question in my mind about that. But I told the voice of reason to take a hike when she nodded eagerly.
She grabbed her purse and came over to me. “Don’t you need to stay here?” I asked, knowing I had come early, to make sure she was still here.
“It’ll be fine,” she responded, with a wave. “Practically no one ever comes in this late. We’ll need to stop by the store.”
I was puzzled by this, so I asked, feeling a bit like I was about to go down the rabbit hole. “Store? I thought we could try out the new place that just opened by the bakery.”
She shook her head. “I’m in the mood to cook. I need ingredients though. You shouldn’t argue and instead feel privileged. I rarely cook for others, not even my dad.” I knew this was true, so I shut up and got in her SUV.
The trip to the grocery store with Olivia was an educational experience. Part of me assumed she would wander around, not knowing where anything was and dawdle. Not the case at all. She treated it like a well-executed mission. She had a plan, a list, and there was absolutely no dawdling allowed. I paused to look at a display case in the bakery, and she barked out, “Keep walking, and no adding things to the cart.” My feet moved of their own accord, not willing to find out what would happen if they didn’t. She could give lessons to her father, and I wondered what it would be like in the same room as the two of them.
I knew Olivia had stayed with her father through the years, traveling with him and being taught by a tutor. When it was time for college though, they had both decided she needed to actually attend a school, and that required her to stay in one place. He traveled extensively, due to his businesses though, so they only saw each on holidays now. He would occasionally fly in to visit her, but the trips were usually short. I didn’t know if Olivia was aware that her father had decided to move his headquarters to Dallas, to be near her. She had told him that she loved the town of Waco and wanted to stay here. He hoped she would give him grandchildren eventually, and he wanted to be around for it.
I was puzzled by the contents of her grocery cart, but hesitant to ask, as she organized the items on the conveyor belt. I watched her pull out a credit c
ard and look at it.
I felt like I should pay, since I had been the one to ask her to dinner. “Let me get it,” I offered, pulling out my wallet. She shook her head at me, and with a look of determination put the black AmEx she was holding back and took out another card. A light blue debit card from the looks of it. I wasn’t sure what that was about. “Are you sure? I asked you to dinner. Only seems right for me to at least pay for the ingredients,” I asked her, curious about the great card debate I had just witnessed.
“Nope,” she told me. “I’m buying it. You made me dinner. It’s my turn,” I nodded, and then indicated the card she was holding. “You seemed unsure about the card.”
She gave a small sigh, and then a smile with a slight shrug, before saying cryptically, “Shoe money.”
I had the feeling that was all I was getting, but it was enough. I knew her dad made her work for the money she spent on shoes. If she was paying with the money she saved for her shoes, then it meant she wasn’t using her daddy’s money. Something shifted in my chest with that knowledge, a tiny ephemeral thing telling me I was a goner.
We headed out to her SUV, and I loaded the groceries in the back for her. When we got to her building, I pretended to be clueless. While I had never been inside her penthouse apartment, I was intimately acquainted with every detail of the building, including all access points. Part of my being there was to make sure she was safe, and that meant making sure the building was secure. I had mentioned a few things to change when I had first scouted the building, and noted they had been put in place. Olivia greeted the security guard at the desk with a smile and a wave. I nodded to him, my arms full of bags. I had scanned the outside of the building when we drove up, and I stayed alert, even in the building.
I had a gun holstered under my shirt, but only because I didn’t anticipate any strip teases tonight. Her last request for one had panicked me. I had a gun under the suit jacket that I had no intention of explaining to her. It could have easily blown my cover the very first day. Livie was not stupid, and I wondered why her father even attempted to trick her. I had a feeling that when it was discovered, it would go badly for all of us.
The Anderson Brothers Complete Series Page 39
