Once the sun went down, they returned inside, threw together a snack, then spent the balance of the evening playing poker and cribbage with Mark’s deck of cards. On the surface, they were friendly, cordial, courteous: two good friends spending an evening together. Just below that civilized skin, Kat felt ready to explode.
The microwave dinged and Kat took her mug outside, taking care to close the door quietly. His back toward the cabin, Mark didn’t see her as she crossed to the far end of the porch to check the carport. There were her Camry and Mark’s BMW, side by side. Nothing keeping her at the cabin now.
As she descended the porch steps, Mark turned toward her, his smile faint. “Cars are back.”
“I saw.” Hands wrapped around the mug, she held it close. “I’m all packed. I thought I’d head back.”
Rising, he downed the rest of his coffee. “We could stop in Ashford for breakfast.”
His well-worn Henley hugged his body, the pushed-up sleeves giving her a nice view of the ropy muscles of his arms. She wondered if the faded cornflower knit felt as soft as it looked.
She gulped hot coffee, burning her tongue. “I thought I’d just grab something from here. Save time.”
She wanted him to argue with her, tell her he wasn’t ready for her to leave. Which was nutty since she’d been hankering to get away from here from the moment she first found Mark in her bed. Her psyche needed some serious reworking.
He started back toward the cabin and she fell in beside him. “How are your feet?”
“Better. Should be fine by tomorrow.”
“Good.” He opened the front door, stepping aside to let her go in first. “Give me a few minutes to get my things together. I’d feel better if I could follow you back to Seattle.”
“Sure,” she said. “I’ll just take my bag out to my car.”
“I’ll get it for you.”
She waited by the front door, feeling awkward and anxious. The studied politeness between them was ten times worse than the incendiary friction they usually shared. She was teetering on a tightrope made of eggshells. One step out of line and she’d be in free fall. No telling where she’d land when she hit bottom. Or what harsh and prickly emotions would be waiting for her there.
* * * * *
Mark backed his BMW from the carport, pulling in behind Kat’s Camry where it waited on the gravel drive. The Camry jounced into a pothole, swerving a bit before Kat got the car straightened out again. A little more time and the proper tools, and he could have repaired some of the gashes in the gravel drive. It would have been an appropriate thank-you to the Roths for the use of their cabin.
Although he couldn’t really say he felt particularly grateful for the last two days here. Kat had turned him upside down, inside out and shaken the heart straight out of him. He hadn’t felt run so ragged since his honeymoon, which at least had the upside of four straight days of sex.
He supposed what had happened yesterday on the lawn with Kat qualified as half-sex. No satisfaction for him except for the electric charge of seeing her come in his arms. That was an image seared in his brain, filed away with all the other spectacular fireworks he and Kat had shared.
He followed Kat onto Highway 706 toward Ashford. He had to admit Phil Roth’s shenanigans this weekend had been masterfully executed, what with getting them both here, stealing the cars, leaving them with the CLR packets. Of course, his ex-father-in-law couldn’t control the most crucial element, getting Mark and Kat to play along. A shame, really, because it might have been useful to know what ten things made her fall in love with him in the first place.
If she’d ever been in love with him at all. A weight settled in his stomach, a heaviness barbed with bad memories. Had she ever said the words? Just then, as he kept his eyes focused on the red taillights of Kat’s car, he couldn’t remember. She’d been happy with him from time to time, but he couldn’t seem to dredge up even one instance when she smiled and kissed him and whispered in his ear, “I love you.”
He held on to his sour mood until they’d passed through Ashford, then decided if he didn’t change his nasty attitude he’d never get through the rest of the Kandy for Kids campaign. He’d have to stick to what worked this morning, that neutral Kat- proof veneer that protected his tender male ego from her indifference. If he let her in at all, he’d only want her again, and when he was hot for Kat he was at his most vulnerable. Better to keep her skidding on his surface.
Storm clouds gathered as he rolled along behind Kat, an appropriate finish for the weekend. When the fat drops hit his windshield, blurring his view of the Camry ahead of him, he figured that was just as well. The sharper his image of her and the closer she was to him, the harder it was to protect himself.
And he was determined to protect himself at all costs.
* * * * *
The sofa’s askew pillows, rumpled blankets and abandoned tube sock told the story clearly. Mark had slept here, not with Kat. Norma had already reported on the room upstairs. By all accounts only Kat had used that bed. Fritz had to admit his elaborate plan had failed.
He hadn’t thought Mark and Kat would be completely ready to kiss and make up. He’d hoped for the kissing part, though, and had his fingers crossed it might go further than that. If he could have gotten them in bed together, that might have been enough of a catalyst to set them on the path Fritz had signed on to send them.
The weekend would have been a total waste if not for the time spent with Norma. The sweet glow of that bonus still warmed him.
She came downstairs with her arms full of sheets. “I remade the bed and put up fresh towels. The caretaker will pick up the dirty laundry when he comes to clear out the fridge.”
Fritz folded the blanket Mark had used, then set the sofa pillows in order. He plucked the lone sock from under the end table. “Toss it?”
Norma dumped the sheets and towels by the door. “Probably best. We can’t exactly return it.”
Carrying the sock to the kitchen trash, he stepped on the lid release. Just as he let the sock go, he spotted a crumpled ball of pastel green paper half-hidden by a coffee filter. Taking care to keep from dislodging the wet mass of coffee grounds, he saved the wad of paper from its trashy grave.
Norma came up beside him. “What did you find?”
Fritz unwrinkled the green sheet and spread it flat on the counter. “List qualities* that first attracted you to your partner,” Fritz read aloud. “Is that Kat’s handwriting?”
“Has to be Mark’s,” Norma told him. “Kat’s isn’t nearly so neat.”
A quick glance down the list and Fritz realized that maybe the weekend hadn’t been such a failure after all.
Chapter 10
Early Wednesday evening Kat opened her condo door to a High Noon standoff between Rochester and Fritz. Rochester had Fritz pinned against the kitchen stove, his tufted ears back flat, body in a crouch, tail whipping like an agitated snake. Fritz gripped a rolled-up copy of the Post-Intelligencer, no doubt ready to fend off Rochester’s attack.
As she entered the kitchen, Fritz kept his gaze fixed on her beefy cat. “I’ve been here nearly three weeks. Why does he still hate me?”
“He doesn’t like competition.” Dropping the lacquered black and silver bag from Sweet Elizabeth’s, Kat grabbed the mass of threatening fur and set him by his food bowl. She filled it with an ample supply. “He’s afraid you’ll steal his crunchies.”
“Yuck.” Fritz set the newspaper on the kitchen counter. “Did he treat Mark this way?”
For a moment, she couldn’t answer. She’d spent most of her waking hours the last few days trying hard not to think about Mark. “He and Rochester had a gentlemen’s agreement.”
Fritz shoved his hands into his pants pockets. He was wearing the gray pin-striped slacks today with the white dress shirt. His entire wardrobe seemed to consist of two suits and three dress shirts. She’d given him one of Mark’s old T-shirts that her ex had somehow left behind and a pair of men’s jeans she didn’
t wear anymore.
She much preferred conjecture over Fritz’s state of affairs to contemplation of her own and Mark’s. “Have you gotten that replacement Visa card yet?”
Fritz wouldn’t make eye contact. “Not yet.”
“How long since you reported it stolen?”
“A while.” He stared down at his toes. “I’ll call them again.”
“Has your dad cleared up that problem with your trust yet?” He looked a little terrified by the reminder of his dad. “Not yet.”
“I don’t mind you staying here.” Fritz’s presence distracted her from her Mark obsession. “I just thought you’d be more comfortable in your own place.”
He shrugged, then glanced up at the kitchen clock. “You’re home early.”
“The benefit concert’s tonight. I wanted some extra time to get ready.”
Fritz smiled. “Mark will be there.”
“I suppose. I hadn’t really thought about it,” she lied.
“Uh-huh.” Fritz obviously wasn’t buying her B.S. “Any chance you could front me a few bucks for a tux? I keep forgetting to pick mine up at the dry cleaners.”
Now who was lying? Kat considered calling him on it, but then her conscience would demand she come clean with her own tall tales.
She dug in her purse for her wallet, then handed Fritz her Visa. “Knock yourself out. Just leave me the receipt.”
As he took the card she saw the color rising in his face. “Could I borrow your car, too? Mine’s still in the shop.”
Any more fibs between them and they’d both be sporting ten-foot noses. That might make it tough to maneuver in the condo.
She tossed him her car keys, grabbed the black and silver bag, then headed for her bedroom. She had a date with a hot bath and a blow dryer, and only two hours to gussy herself up for the benefit concert. She longed to look like hot-to-trot dynamite, to be a drop-dead gorgeous knockout. She’d have to be satisfied with not too skanky.
Upending the silver and black bag, she dumped the contents on her bed. It was slithery and slinky and a cobalt blue so vivid it made her eyes ache. It covered everything decency demanded while baring a shocking amount of skin. If only she had the body to wear it.
With any luck, Mark wouldn’t laugh at her. Surely he was enough of a gentleman he would bite his tongue, hold back the kind of commentary that had danced in her head when she tried the dress on at Sweet Elizabeth’s. While the salesclerk raved over how absolutely stunning she was in the brilliant drape of cobalt lamé, Kat had been counting the number of fashion rules her body violated. Bones poking everywhere, boobs nearly nonexistent, arms like skinny spaghetti.
She sighed. It was a beautiful dress. Such a shame to waste it on her.
As tiredness washed over her, she rubbed at her eyes, wishing the shopping trip had provided the distraction she’d hoped. Roth Confectionery’s balance sheet seemed to be in free fall with no way to turn things around. Sales of their longtime favorites like the sizzling cinnamon suckers and dark chocolate liquor cups had plummeted in the last four quarters. Everything new they tried stumbled out of the gate.
Piled on to the rest of the bad news, she’d heard through the grapevine that Denham Candy was developing a top-secret new treat they’d be rolling out in time for Halloween. They predicted huge sales for the innovative new product.
If they could just pin down the Chocolate Magic formula. If they could just find the perfect sales program to boost their numbers. If pigs would only take wing...
Stuffing the tissue paper back in the black and silver bag, she arranged the blue lamé dress full-length on the bed, then noted with chagrin that even the bed looked better in it than she did. Her flats toed off her feet, she tugged off her gray, cowl-necked sweater and matching slacks, stripping panties, bra and knee-high hose on her way to the bathroom. A yank on the hot water faucet to start the bath, then she kept her back on her reflection in the mirror. No need to demoralize herself further with a clear- eyed view of her naked body.
She poured too much bubble bath into the tub, then eased herself into the steaming water. Almost too hot, she luxuriated in the silky feel of the rising bubbles, relaxed for what seemed the first time since she returned from the executive cabin. She’d probably end up lobster-red and her skin tone would clash hideously with the cobalt blue dress, but at least this part of her day was going right.
Damn her father for calling her this morning. Already ticked at him because he’d refused to admit his complicity in the cabin plot, she’d nearly told Norma she wouldn’t take the call. But then guilt nibbled at her and she’d relented. She should have listened to her instincts.
Her father only had more heartbreak to offer. He hit her with the worst first. He and Patti had met with her mother and Tony to discuss some hard truths. They needed an infusion of capital, and quick. If they couldn’t find an investor soon, they’d have to consider selling the company.
As she struggled to come to terms with that potential disaster, her father moved on to the personal arena. Just thought I’d let you know, honey, he told her. Mark’s bringing a date tonight.
The right response had rattled around in her brain. Gee, thanks, Dad, but it’s really nothing to me. Not sure why you thought it would matter, Dad, but it’s good to hear he’s dating again.
All lies, of course. And you’d think after all that practice during her teen years fibbing to her dad, it would have been a piece of cake to prevaricate as a grown woman. But somehow, those glib replies got stuck in her cerebellum.
Oh, she’d said. Just, Oh.
Then she’d hung up, told Norma she was taking an early lunch and spent the next hour and a half at Sweet Elizabeth’s. She’d wriggled into one killer dress after another, wincing at the multitude of reflections in the three-way mirrors, doing her best to ignore the gadfly sales associate who must have been short on his sales quota that month. He was a fabulous liar, effusing ever more ebulliently with each gown, insisting she would stun every man at the concert. He was so convincing an actor, she nearly asked him to go along as her date, but he was as flagrantly gay as he was flattering and therefore a nonstarter in the “making Mark jealous” department.
So she was on her own. She’d just keep her fingers crossed that Mark’s companion wouldn’t be too dazzling. There was at least an even chance she wouldn’t be the most revolting woman there, not if that stringer from the Post-Intelligencer wore her circa-1970s, should-have-been-burned hippie regalia.
With a groan, Kat sank to her chin in the fragrant, foamy bubbles. Lord, it was going to be a long night.
* * * * *
Mark stepped into Benaroya Hall’s vast Grand Lobby, Lydia from the sales department clinging to his arm like a blonde tick, his cummerbund like a vise around his waist. The tux he’d unearthed from his closet seemed to have shrunk since he last wore it. It gripped his shoulders like a straitjacket, the bow tie a garrote around his neck.
God, he wished he was anywhere but here. The glitzy and the overdressed packed the stunning, circular Grand Lobby, most of them more obsessed with showing off their high-priced finery than taking in the spectacular view of Seattle’s skyline through the lobby’s massive bank of windows. Although he wasn’t the symphony’s best customer, he was a big booster of Benaroya Hall. Denham held their annual sales recognition celebrations right here in the Grand Lobby.
Lydia scanned the room, no doubt searching for admirers. “Let’s go up on the promenade.”
They headed toward the staircase, Lydia digging inch-long red fingernails deep into his arm. Seattle notables greeted him as he and Lydia ascended the stairs and meandered along the promenade. He smiled and nodded to each one until he felt like a bobble-head doll, Lydia nattering in his ear, her endless monologue pulverizing his brain cells.
This was the perfect topper to an absolutely rotten day. It started with a nine a.m. call from a staff member he’d terminated a week ago. The bozo ranted on and on about how unfair it was to be fired for a little pi
lfering, when he’d walked off with whole boxes of printer paper and cases of assorted chocolates. Then the Denham payroll software upgrade had gone belly-up, spewing out paychecks with garbled payees and astronomical payout amounts.
And now, this, a long tedious evening at the symphony with an annoying woman who scarcely paused for breath. He was a man of the world and as cultured as the next guy, but his idea of entertainment was Bruce Springsteen or the Dixie Chicks. Not Prokofiev’s Symphony No. 5 in B Flat Major. Hell, even the title was sleep-inducing.
Late that afternoon, when he and the programmers were elbow-deep in software bugs, he’d toyed with the notion of asking his assistant, Rod, to go in his place tonight. Used to dress uniforms and high-octane military soirees, Rod could have certainly held his own in this crowd. But then Mark would have been deprived of the only high point of the evening, a chance to see Kat.
Over the past few days, they’d engaged in a few polite phone calls, had exchanged several e-mails back and forth, all the communication squarely focused on Kandy for Kids. He’d asked after her feet, given her sage advice on continuing to apply ointment and keeping them bandaged, to consult a doctor if they didn’t improve.
He’d bitten back the questions he really wanted to ask. Did she miss him, did she want him, was she burning up at night aching for him. He couldn’t let her know how crazy he’d been the last few days, spending the weekend close to her, then separated from her, cold turkey.
As Mark searched for Kat in the teeming crowd below, Lydia nattered on, her blood-red nails clutching tighter, sharing every detail of her weekend trip on her fiancé’s über-yacht. Lydia had snagged herself a Microsoft gazillionaire and she made sure everyone within earshot knew it. Frankly, if Mark heard one more accolade about her paragon fiancé, he’d probably run screaming from Benaroya Hall.
In self-defense, he shut out Lydia’s drone and kept his eye on the shifting crowd. Just as he despaired of spotting Kat’s familiar tall, slender body, her sleek cap of dark chocolate hair, a flash of blue caught his eye.
Sweet Dream Lover Page 13
