Sweet Dream Lover

by Karen Sandler

  “I thought I already answered that,” she said.

  “You said the shoes weren’t your lover’s. You never said there wasn’t one in your life.”

  She took a sidelong glance at him, tried to parse what might be going on behind his intent gaze. “No. No, I’m not. You?”

  He seemed to want to dance around the issue. “Why do you ask?”

  Because I saw you with a blonde bimbo yesterday. Because I can’t stand the thought of you with anyone else. She scooped up her pancakes. “Just curious.” Avoiding his gaze, she took her plate and sat opposite him at the table.

  But he didn’t seem ready to let it go. When she reached for the syrup, his hand closed over hers. “What if I was?”

  She tugged, but he didn’t release her hand. “What do you mean?”

  “If I was seeing someone else, would that matter to you?”

  “Why should it?” She kept her tone neutral. “We’re divorced. We’ve broken our ties.”

  His eyes darkened to emerald. “Have we?”

  She sat transfixed by his gaze, by its intensity. “Yes,” she whispered. “We have.” This time when she pulled away from him, he released her.

  His head bent to his plate as he methodically cut a bite of pancake. She realized with a start that he still hadn’t answered. She resisted the urge to rise from the table, to take hold of him and shake the information out of him. Are. You. Seeing. Anyone?

  Then she saw the considering look on his face and terror washed away the impulse to know. She could just see him gathering his thoughts, working out a way to tell her. Yes, Kat, I am. There’s this bleached blonde...

  He squeezed a puddle of syrup on his plate as the pregnant pause went into overtime. “Talked to Eric Matthews this morning.”

  Kat blinked. Eric Matthews? What did Mark’s longtime friend, his best man at their wedding, have to do with the blonde bimbo?

  As she struggled to understand his context, Mark continued, “Had to call in a favor or two, but Microsoft’s on board for the scull race.”

  Who the hell cared about the scull race? What about the bimbo? Irritation reared its ugly head inside Kat, at her irksome cousin for bringing her ex-husband back into her life, at the unanswered question dangling between them.

  She stabbed a square of pancake so viciously syrup slopped over the side of the plate. Grabbing up a napkin, she scrubbed at the sticky mess and nearly swept her plate to the floor. Flustered, she glanced over at Mark.

  A line cut between his brows. His fork rapped against the edge of his plate, tap-tap-tap, tap-tap-tap. “You don’t want Microsoft involved?”

  How could she not? It was an incredible coup. But why did he have to be so damned competent?

  “I just wish you’d asked me first.” Whine, whine, whine. She sounded like a petulant little girl. “You just muscled in and took control.”

  Mark’s tapping increased in tempo. “Eric and I jog Saturday mornings. I had to call to cancel after your invitation to breakfast.”

  Any moment, she’d be wrapping that tapping fork around his neck. “A little heads up would have been appreciated.”

  He shrugged and the tapping ceased. “The subject came up. I took the initiative.”

  Took the initiative. Stepped in and solved the problem. Something twisted in Kat’s chest, an emotion she couldn’t quite pin down. What was it about his easy competence, his willingness to take on responsibility that tore at her? She had her own skill in working out the bugs, in leading a project. It wasn’t envy she felt; she had too much confidence in her own abilities. Yet there was something...

  She didn’t like the tug inside her, the way it unsettled her. She pasted a pleasant look on her face. “Thank you for taking care of Microsoft. Your connection there is better than mine.”

  He smiled and her IQ plummeted. “Is Sarah still over at Starbucks?” he asked.

  He has such a damned fine smile. She kicked her brain cells back in line. “She is. I’ll call her Monday.”

  “Peg and Jim still with the Post-Intelligencer and the Business Journal?”

  Kat nodded, a little dazed by the crinkling around his blue eyes. “I’ll e-mail them later today.”

  They stared at each other and Kat could almost hear her thoughts grinding to a halt. She needed to redirect her focus or she’d be a goner, throwing Mark on the living room sofa and having her way with him, never mind Fritz in the other room.

  “Let’s get to work, shall we?” The Mouseketeers had nothing on her for chipper cheerfulness.

  Moving briskly around the kitchen, Kat cleared the plates, waving off Mark’s offer to help. Once she’d swiped the table clean of sticky spots, she dumped a stack of Post-it pads, colored pens and highlighters in the center. Seated opposite him with the supplies as a symbolic barrier, she grabbed a hot pink pad and purple gel pen, ready for action.

  Like a combatant choosing his weapon, Mark slipped a neon blue pad from the pile and selected a black pen. As he uncapped his pen and centered the pad in front of him, the opening measure of “Dueling Banjos” twanged in Kat’s imagination.

  “About the costume ball,” Mark said, his gaze on her, pen poised. “How about a black-and-white ball instead?”

  Kat had to redirect her mind from its erotic fandango before Mark’s suggestion could register. “Maybe,” she said slowly. Then her enthusiasm for the idea sparked. “Yes. But masked. No one knows who’s who until midnight.”

  Nodding, Mark started scribbling madly on his pad. “Donors could contribute anonymously to the Kandy for Kids fund.”

  “They could compete for the honor of the highest donation.” Kat snatched up her own pad and made her own notes. “We’d keep tabs on the current winner, announce it throughout the evening.”

  “Yeah. Give them the opportunity to up the bid.”

  “How about a silent auction?” Kat asked.

  “That’s good.” Mark peeled a square of blue paper from his pad and slapped it on the table. “Solicit goods and services from the community.”

  “Right. Give the smaller businesses a chance to take part.”

  They spent the next hour mapping out strategies, squares of hot pink and neon blue paper filling the table. Aside from the occasional tantalizing thrill when his fingers brushed hers, the thread of tension between them eased. They’d always collaborated well on a business level. World War III they reserved for personal issues.

  But there were no issues between them anymore. They’d left those childish impulses behind when they divorced. Now they were fellow businesspeople, icons of industry, masters or mistresses of their respective domains...

  As she was giving herself a pat on the back for her admirable maturity, Mark’s drop-dead gorgeous blonde companion popped up in Kat’s mind, as intrusive as a snotty, pesky little kid that just won’t leave you alone. Determined to be a grown-up about it, Kat shook off the unwelcome reminder of Mark’s no-doubt active love life. She told herself it didn’t matter. She really, truly didn’t care. She was really fine with whatever Mark chose to do. It really didn’t concern her if he was out there schtupping every sweet thing that came along.

  “You’re drilling a hole in the table.”

  She jumped at the sound of Mark’s voice. “What? I am not.”

  But she was. In a frenzy of denial, she’d dug the pen deeper and deeper into the Post-it sheet. She’d ripped clean through it and carved a purple-tinged cavity in her formerly impeccable washed pine table.

  “Kat.” Mark’s hand covered hers. Her lungs, always troupers when she dragged them onto the treadmill at the gym, chose that moment to cease functioning. He could always sabotage her with a touch, no matter how many harsh words between them, no matter how vicious the fight.

  She hauled in a ragged breath, let it out on a wispy, “Yes?”

  “No,” he said, and although the question had never left her mind, for a moment his answer confused her. “No, I’m not seeing anyone,” he clarified.

  Her heart d
id cartwheels in her chest, bouncing around like a cartoon image inside her. “Oh,” she managed, afraid if she kept talking she’d reveal the joy welling up.

  He opened his mouth, his gaze meeting hers and she knew he had something more to say. She could see it spilling across his face, could see it in the faint smile curving his lips, but it was in a language she couldn’t translate.

  He took his hand back, began plucking up Post-its from the tabletop. “I’d better get going.”

  “I can have Norma transcribe these.” She gestured at the yellow squares. “E-mail them over to you.”

  His hands full of bits of paper, he paused. “If it’s not too much trouble.”

  “Of course not.” She took the stack from him carefully, not wanting to risk another touch. “I’ll give them to her Monday.”

  He nodded, then turned to head for the door. One hand on the knob, he looked back at her. “There’s still the silent auction to plan.”

  “Right.” Why wasn’t he leaving?

  “And the benefit concert.” He let go of the door and leaned against it. “We’ll have to make a decision on that soon. The Seattle Symphony is booked solid for the year.”

  Kat started to wonder if Mark was permanently cemented to her floor. “I’ll have Norma give the Arts and Cultural Affairs office a call.” She gave his arm a little nudge.

  The gentle hint flew right past him. “If you want to get together this week, have Norma contact Rod.”

  He stared down at her, sinful as a Chocolate Decadence Truffle and twice as luscious. Maybe a quickie on the living room sofa wasn’t such a great idea, but in her room with the door shut, if they were quiet, Fritz might never... No, no, no! Bad, Kat! Bad!

  A slightly hysterical giggle bubbled from her lips. “I’ll check my calendar.” She repositioned herself into a farewell-to-guest stance, complete with emphatic wave. “Bye.”

  Still he stood there, immobile and tantalizing. Then his gaze dropped to her mouth, a sequel to last night’s obsession. She could still feel a trace of the Wicked Watermelon gloss she’d applied this morning and knew she couldn’t blame his fixation on a disappearing mouth. Then he took a breath and the memory of his tongue against hers cut in sharp as a blade.

  She grabbed the doorknob and nearly shoved him off his feet opening the door. “Sorry,” she gasped out.

  He took the hint and finally stepped out into the hallway. For an instant, she thought he might lean in and kiss her, but she shut the door before he could so much as move.

  Pressed against the door, she listened, waiting for the sound of his footsteps. She sensed him standing there on the other side, could picture him raising his hand to knock. That image faded as she heard him head down the hall toward the elevator.

  She wasn’t sure how long she stood there before she realized Fritz stood beside her. Her returning awareness of the room came in snatches. Fritz’s worried face, the edges of the Post-its digging into her hands, Rochester on the kitchen counter munching leftover pancakes.

  Fritz laid a hand on her arm, his expression oddly colored by guilt. “Are you okay?”

  “Fine. Excuse me,” she said as she plunked the stack of paper squares on the table, then plucked Rochester from his booty.

  As she went through the motions of washing dishes and gathering a load of laundry, she ignored Fritz’s worried look. How could she explain her muddle of feelings to her ex-cousin- in-law? She barely understood them herself.

  Chapter 4

  Eleven o’clock Monday morning, Mark pulled his silver BMW roadster into Roth Confectionery’s underground parking structure. A baby-faced attendant leapt to open his door, eagerly taking the keys Mark handed over with some trepidation. Retrieving his computer bag from the front seat, he tried not to wince as the valet peeled out, sending out a fervent prayer for the protection of the roadster’s impeccable exterior. The wistful look on the other attendant’s face didn’t augur well for the safety of his car. Hopefully they wouldn’t be joyriding around the parking garage the moment his back was turned.

  Instant karma, most likely, to punish him for not calling Kat before driving over. A twinge of guilt bubbled up as he stepped up to the elevator and stabbed the button. He should have called or texted her to warn her. She probably would have found a way to evade him, given the opportunity. He really just wanted the chance to go over the list of potential donors for the silent auction he and Rod had compiled.

  Right. And chocolate came from fairy dust instead of cocoa beans.

  He stepped into the elevator and leaned against the mirrored wall as it climbed to the thirtieth floor of Roth Tower. There was simply no way he could not see Kat today. He’d been preoccupied with her all weekend, from the second he left her condo Saturday until this morning when he’d made the decision to drop in unannounced. Every hidden fantasy he’d harbored about Kat in the two years since their divorce had clamored for its moment in the sun and by eight a.m. Monday he’d felt wrung out by his body’s edgy anticipation. He didn’t know if seeing Kat would make things better or worse, but by God, it was the only thing he could think of to do.

  With a muted ding, the elevator arrived at the top floor and the doors slid open to reveal Norma at her desk, Fritz standing over her. Her matronly face lit by whatever nonsense his ill-fated cousin was sharing with her, Norma didn’t even notice Mark until he was opposite the wide cherry wood desk.

  Norma sat up abruptly as Fritz cleared a penholder off her desk with a startled jerk of his arm. As Fritz busied himself with picking up the scattered pens and pencils, Norma lunged for her phone. Mark put his hand over Norma’s to forestall her giving Kat the heads up.

  Mark smiled as he plucked Norma’s hand from the phone. “Why don’t I just go on in.”

  Norma’s eyes widened. “She’s out of the office.”

  “No, she isn’t, Norma.” He gave her hand a squeeze. “You tell her I’m here and she’ll be doing a Spiderman down the side of the building to escape.”

  “I’m sorry, Mark.” Her chin tipped up, but he could hear from her tone she was wavering. “I have orders.”

  He broadened his smile. “I just need a minute. I’m sure Kat won’t mind.”

  With a sigh, Norma gestured toward Kat’s office. When Mark reached the door, he heard a faint thunk from the other side. He turned the knob, pushed...and dropped to the floor just as a dart came screaming toward his head.

  Kat shrieked. On hands and knees, Mark cautiously peered around the door. Kat stood behind her desk with another dart in her hand and Mark froze as he waited to see if he was its target.

  Kat bristled, as prickly as the needle-sharp weapon in her hand. “What are you doing here?”

  Sitting carefully on his heels, he raised his computer bag as a shield. “Could you put that down?”

  She looked down at the dart in her hand and flung it to her desk. Unfolding himself from the floor, Mark stepped inside Kat’s office. When he shut the door behind him, he discovered a movie poster–size image of cheerful Buddy of Coffee Buddies fame tacked to the inside. Darts and puncture holes pierced Buddy from topknot to shiny black toes.

  He pulled darts from the heavy oak door. “There’s always been something a bit maniacal about Buddy.” Crossing the room to Kat’s desk, he set down his computer bag and took aim. “A psychotic gleam in those big blue eyes.” He tossed a dart and it flew straight and true toward Buddy’s face. “I tried to tell marketing, but they just wouldn’t listen.”

  As he drew back to throw another, Kat stopped his hand. “How did you get past Norma?”

  She was leaning across her desk and her cream-colored V neck, baggy as usual, gapped in front. A gentleman would never take a peek, but then, it wasn’t much fun being a gentleman.

  She caught him staring down her sweater and quickly straightened, patting her ID badge as if to add a layer of protection. “I have work to do.”

  He set aside the darts and grabbed his computer bag. “Yes, we do.” As his laptop booted, he ma
de himself comfortable on the edge of her desk. “The donor list isn’t quite complete, but I think you’ll be happy with what I’ve got so far.”

  He turned the computer toward her, but she ignored it, narrowing her gaze on him. “Print the list and give it to Norma.”

  “As soon as I have your approval.”

  His imagination wandered along the slender line of her throat, the intriguing angles of her shoulders. Did she realize how delectable she looked in that pale, creamy sweater? She might have thought she was hiding her curves with the oversized sweater and loose-fitting mocha slacks, but he remembered every soft inch.

  Her voice buzzed in his ears, reining in his wayfaring fantasy. “...have to go. They’ll be here any minute.”

  “Who?”

  She huffed with impatience. “The Business Understanding Youth group. They’re touring Roth’s testing kitchens.”

  “I’ll come with you.” He shut down his laptop and stuffed it back in his bag. “Give them the Denham perspective.”

  “I don’t need the Denham perspective.”

  The phone buzzed and Kat snatched it up as she glared at him. She listened briefly then hung up again. “They’re here. Good-bye.” She turned and marched to her door.

  * * * * *

  Lord, why wouldn’t he leave her alone? Bad enough her thoughts of him had developed into an obsession, that he haunted her dreams when she finally managed to fall asleep. He had the audacity to turn up at her place of employment, to flash that “kiss me” smile, ripple those “touch me” muscles, turning her insides from perfectly good nougat to a gooey soft center.

  The group of BUY boys and girls waited at Norma’s desk, visitors’ badges clipped to the girls’ prim sweaters and the boys’ conservative blazers. As Kat approached, she ignored her six- foot-one shadow in the vain hope he would simply disappear. No such luck. When she introduced herself, ingrained courtesy forced her to introduce Mark as well to the adult leader, Jennifer, and the twenty bright-eyed twelve- and thirteen-year-old business-mavens-to-be. When she gestured the mob toward the elevator, Mark moved right along with them.