by Gina Wilkins
She really was good at this, Perry reflected. The twenty-six-year-old daughter of a Texas congressman, she’d grown up at affairs like this one. Perry suspected she had political aspirations of her own.
And he had no doubt that she would achieve them, should she so desire.
More than a few people had suggested that Perry and Elspeth made a good team. Several aspiring matchmakers had given him less-than-subtle nudges in her direction. But Perry and Elspeth remained very good friends. Nothing more.
While Perry had every intention of marrying and starting a family someday—and was well aware that it was time for him to start taking steps in that direction—he couldn’t picture himself doing so with Elspeth, no matter how much he liked and admired her. The chemistry simply wasn’t there for them. There was no magic.
He almost snorted as he realized where his thoughts had taken him. Chemistry? Magic? Apparently, he’d spent a bit too much time with people in the romance industry lately.
Which, of course, made him think of Kristin Cole, something he’d done quite a bit during the past couple of weeks. He told himself that it was still bothering him that he’d been forced to cut their date short. He’d promised her a special dinner—and then he’d had to dump her at her hotel.
He really should have insisted on walking her up to her room.
She had such beautiful eyes. And without even trying very hard, he could clearly picture that little wrinkle in her nose when she smiled. He wondered if she’d thought about him during the past two weeks, or if she’d happily lost herself in her writing the minute he’d left her sight.
Elspeth had occasionally been accused—only in the nicest way, of course—of being a witch. Perry understood why when she casually asked, “Have you talked to Kristin Cole lately?”
“No,” he said, after taking a moment to recover from his surprise that she’d mentioned Kristin just as he was thinking about her. “Not since I had to dump her in New York.”
He’d told Elspeth most of what had happened between Kristin and him. He had not, of course, mentioned the kisses that still replayed themselves in his head at awkward moments.
“I liked her.”
He nodded and stabbed his fork into a steamed baby carrot. “I liked her, too.”
“So call her.”
He swallowed the carrot. “Maybe I will.”
He didn’t add that Kristin hadn’t given him her phone number. It was the first time in almost longer than he could remember that any woman had refused to let him know how to reach her. Of course, it had been almost that long since he’d had to ask. He’d had telephone numbers whispered in his ear, scribbled on cocktail napkins, slipped into his pocket—even written on his hand. But Kristin had simply ignored his request.
Elspeth broke into his somber thoughts with a comment. “I read one of her books last week. It was good.”
Perry couldn’t help chuckling. “You sound surprised.”
“I was, a bit. I didn’t think a romance novel would be to my taste. But it was really good—just like a real book.”
Perry winced, remembering Kristin’s reaction when he’d made a thoughtless comment like that. “Er—she does write real books, you know.”
Elspeth bit her lip. “That was a thoughtless remark, wasn’t it? I didn’t mean...”
“It’s okay. I know what you meant.”
“Have you read her work?”
“No,” he admitted a bit sheepishly. “Not yet.”
He really was going to have to get around to that soon.
The sudden, piercing shrill of microphone feedback made everyone in the room flinch. An embarrassed speaker waited until proper sound adjustments had been made, apologized profusely, then began his long-winded and blatantly obsequious introductions of the governor, preventing further conversation among the audience.
Perry tried to pay attention to the speaker, but his mind kept drifting to a woman in North Carolina. A woman who hadn’t given him her number—but who would be hearing from him, anyway.
TWENTY-FOUR HOURS had passed since Kristin had helped Maggie untangle her plot. Unfortunately, the brainstorming session hadn’t helped Kristin. She’d written three paragraphs since then—and she’d deleted all of them.
She had begun to fantasize about selling her computer and joining the circus.
When her doorbell rang at just after 5:00 p.m., she sighed and pushed away from her desk. Probably a delivery, she figured. She was expecting the line-editing on her last book. Going through the editorial markings to make sure she agreed with everything would give her something productive to do with the rest of her evening. And reading her own work would help her remember that she had been a writer once.
She glanced in the hall mirror as she passed. She wasn’t exactly looking her best. She’d bundled her hair into a scraggly ponytail and she hadn’t bothered with makeup or contact lenses. In addition to her glasses, she was wearing an oversize pink T-shirt beneath baggy denim overalls. Her feet were stuffed into fuzzy Marvin the Martian slippers. The delivery guy had seen her dressed this way before. She wouldn’t scare him too badly.
Because she lived in tiny Cutter’s Point and hadn’t developed the habit, she didn’t bother to look through the window before she opened the door. Which meant that she was in total openmouthed shock when she discovered Perry Goodman on her doorstep where she’d expected to find a delivery driver.
Wearing a sharply tailored suit, he looked as drop-dead gorgeous as she remembered. And he was looking at her as though he’d never seen her before.
Resisting an impulse to lift a hand to her messy ponytail, she placed it on her hip, instead. “Perry Goodman. This is a surprise.”
He recovered swiftly from his initial double take. “Hello, Kristin.”
“You, uh, just happened to be passing through town?”
“No. I came specifically to see you. I’d have called first, but you neglected to give me your phone number.” His smile was a bit smug.
She hadn’t given him her address, either. Since both of them were aware of that, she saw no need to mention it. She stepped out of the doorway, knowing—as he must have known—that she wouldn’t turn him away. “Come in.”
“Thank you.” He stepped past her, into the living room.
Fortunately, she’d had a housecleaning binge the day before, after talking to Maggie. It had been another way to distract herself from writing, but at least the place was clean.
“Nice house,” Perry commented, studying her simple Shaker furniture and the bright splashes of color she had added.
“Thank you.”
He examined a framed photograph on the mantel. “Is this your mother?”
“Yes.”
“I think I saw her at the bachelor auction.”
“My mother’s rather hard to miss. Sit down, Perry. Can I get you anything?”
“Not just now, thank you,” he said. He waited until she was seated before he settled onto the couch. “How have you been?”
It was so surreal that he was sitting on her couch making small talk. She’d seen him on CNN just that very morning. She made an effort to answer as casually as he’d asked. “Fine, thank you. Um, why are you here?”
He smiled. “I owe you a dinner, remember? I always pay my debts.”
She couldn’t believe he’d done this. She hadn’t expected to ever see him again—off the television screen, anyway. Maybe she should be annoyed that he’d arrogantly shown up without a call, confident of his welcome. But she wasn’t really annoyed.
Although she should probably be a bit nervous about his motives in tracking her down this way. But, she thought, as she eyed his pleasant smile and relaxed posture, she knew she had nothing to fear from Perry Goodman. Nothing like that, anyway.
She supposed some people would be flattered that he’d made the effort to find her again. And maybe she was—a little. She just didn’t know what to do about it.
She decided to try to handle it with humor. “And did you bring it wit
h you?”
“Dinner?” He smiled. “No. We’ll have to go out for it.”
“Did you ever consider that I might have other plans for the evening?”
“Of course. I’m perfectly willing to wait until you’re free.”
“And if that’s not until sometime next week?”
He chuckled. “Then I suppose I’ll have to leave town and come back. Maybe we should pull out our calendars?”
Making a quick decision, she shook her head. “That won’t be necessary. As it happens, I have no plans for this evening.”
It would have been nice if he’d pretended to be surprised. Instead, he only nodded with some satisfaction and said, “Great. Let’s make it tonight, then.”
“Fine,” she said. After all, he’d come all this way just to make it up to her that he’d had to cancel the last part of their arranged date. It really had been very nice of him, even if he should have called first. She suspected that her reluctance to give him her phone number had piqued his ego a bit, and this had been his subtle way of repaying her. She imagined that most single women—and maybe a few who weren’t single—would beg him to call them. “You’ll have to give me time to change.”
He nodded. “Would you mind if I wait here while you do? I won’t get in your way. I can watch the news or something.”
Because it was going to take her a while to get presentable, she decided she’d better get started. She stood, tugging the rubber band out of her ponytail and feeling her hair tumble to her shoulders. “The television’s behind that cabinet door, along with the remote control. There are sodas and fruit juices in the refrigerator, glasses in the cabinet to the right. If you want a snack, there are some homemade oatmeal-raisin cookies in the Marvin the Martian cookie jar on the kitchen counter. Make yourself at home. I’ll try to hurry.”
“Take your time. I’ll be fine.”
Kristin hesitated only a moment before she nodded and walked into her bedroom, closing the door behind her. And then she opened her closet door and stared into it, trying to concentrate on what to wear instead of the man who was making himself at home in her living room.
RESTLESS BY NATURE—not to mention curious—Perry paced the living room after helping himself to a soda and a couple of cookies from the kitchen. He studied the titles of books in the many bookshelves, looked at photographs, examined a whimsical collection of knickknacks. He gazed out the window that overlooked a pretty vista of moon-washed trees and hills and a glitter of what might have been water. Kristin’s house, he’d discovered earlier, sat right on the edge of a small lake. He imagined the scenery from her windows was particularly beautiful in the daytime. Maybe she’d chosen to live here just so that view could relax her and put her in the mood to write.
And then his pacing led him to an open door of a room that obviously served as Kristin’s office.
Remembering that she’d told him to make himself at home—and knowing full well her invitation hadn’t extended quite this far—he entered the room. Nice computer system, he thought. Marvin the Martian, again, this time on a mouse pad. She had a scanner. Two printers—one laser for black-and-white copies, another smaller one for color printing. A fax machine. A copy machine. Stereo system and small TV with built-in VCR.
Kristin shared his appreciation for electronic toys, he thought with a smile.
A bookshelf next to a large file cabinet held a neat row of books with Kristin’s name printed on the spine, some translated into several other languages, he noted with interest. The lower shelves were stuffed with reference books. Dictionaries. Thesauruses. Atlases. A couple of medical dictionaries. Books of quotations. Others he didn’t recognize.
Post-it notes in a dizzying array of colors were stuck haphazardly on nearly everything in the room. Some of them contained scribbled messages in that weird shorthand he remembered from before. Others held dates and numbers. Deadlines, perhaps? Page counts? He shrugged and moved on.
A bulletin board took up a large portion of the wall next to her desk. Several pictures, cut or torn from magazines and catalogs, were pinned to it. Was this how she kept her character descriptions in mind? Did she describe the faces exactly, or just use certain attributes, the way she said she used isolated characteristics of people she met? He was beginning to find the process of her work interesting, evoking questions he’d never really considered before.
Two sheets of paper were also pinned to the bulletin board. Each bore a heading above what appeared to be lists of phrases. “Character sketch—Amy Hulsizer,” he read at the top of the first page. And on the other—“Character sketch—Nick O’Donnell.”
The main characters in the book she was writing? He thought they would be referred to as the hero and heroine. Was this how she brought her characters to life in her own mind before attempting to do so for her readers? He wondered if she had made these lists before or after their date. If it had been after, would he recognize any characteristics from people they’d met during the time they’d spent together? Would he recognize any of his own?
Naturally, he couldn’t resist reading the character sketch of her hero. “Only son,” he noted on the first line, and he smiled. “Two older sisters.”
Apparently he’d made a pretty good impression on her, after all, he thought, his formerly deflated ego swelling a bit. She was using him for her hero.
But as he read on, his smile faded into a scowl.
5
KRISTIN DIDN’T LINGER LONGER than necessary over her appearance, but it took a little more than half an hour for her to shower, do her hair, put on a touch of makeup and get dressed. She slipped into a short-sleeved mint-green cardigan and a long floral skirt in mint, pink and lavender, sliding her feet into fashionably thick-soled slides. It was a less-sophisticated ensemble than the ones she’d worn with Perry before, but this wasn’t New York or Washington, D.C. This was the way she dressed in her “real” life.
She found Perry sitting on the couch where she had left him. He was watching a news wrap-up on CNN and talking on his cell phone. Was he ever not on the job? And, as busy as he always was, why had he come all the way here just to take her to dinner? Was it really only because he had such a highly developed sense of responsibility? Or was he concerned that she would say something less than flattering about the cut-short date package, putting him in a bad light in regard to the high-profile charity project?
A politician, she reminded herself, was always concerned with image, even when his role in politics was primarily behind the scenes.
She stayed back until he’d concluded the call, then stepped into his line of vision. “I hope I didn’t keep you waiting too long.”
“Not at all,” he assured her, rising automatically to his feet, demonstrating the impeccable manners she’d noticed from him before. Not counting the way he’d shown up on her doorstep without calling first, of course. “You look very nice.”
“Thank you.” She studied his bland smile for a moment. Something about him had changed in the half hour she’d left him alone. Something in his eyes, perhaps.
She shook her head slightly, telling herself she was being overly imaginative. Unless...she nodded toward the phone he still held in his hand. “Has something come up?”
“Am I about to cancel on you again? Absolutely not.” He slipped the phone into its holder. “I was just taking care of a little business while you got ready. I’m free now.”
She nodded, telling herself again that she must have been imagining undercurrents that simply weren’t there.
Perry motioned toward the door. “Are you ready to go eat?”
“As a matter of fact, I’m starving,” she answered candidly. “I only had an apple and a diet soda for lunch.”
He chuckled and moved toward the door. “Then, by all means, let’s go feed you. I would hate to be accused of being too self-absorbed to take care of a starving woman.”
Though his tone was teasing, something in it made Kristin hesitate. Just what had he meant by that comm
ent? She looked at him questioningly, noting that, while his smile was relaxed and pleasant, his eyes were shuttered. Unreadable. For the first time since she had met him, he made her a little nervous.
The moment passed so quickly, she wondered if she’d been letting her imagination run away with her again. Perry looked perfectly at ease when he opened the door and made a teasing bow. “After you, ma’am.”
Maybe her brains were still addled from the surprise of seeing him again. Maybe that was why she kept imagining that beneath his sexy smiles, Perry Goodman was more than a little annoyed with her. Since she could think of nothing she had done to deserve that, she merely smiled and swept past him. “Why, thank you, sir.”
“You obviously know the area better than I do,” he said when they were belted into his car. “Where’s the nicest place to eat in town?”
She couldn’t help giggling. “If you want a nice restaurant, we’ll have to go into Raleigh. Cutter’s Point isn’t exactly known for its gourmet cuisine.”
“I liked what I saw of your town as I drove in. The little town square I passed, with its old buildings and flowering gardens. The neighborhoods like this one. Front porch swings that look as though folks actually sit out on them on nice evenings and visit with their neighbors. There’s a definite appeal in that sort of town for someone who spends entirely too much time in big cities.”
She sighed, his words filling her with nostalgia. “Even here, the lazy evenings on porch swings are becoming less common. Everyone’s always so busy. Rushing to jobs in Raleigh or other neighboring ities. Taking their kids to soccer or softball practice, dance lessons, karate lessons or to the malls in Raleigh to buy the latest designer labels, which have invaded even our little schools. A lot of the residents here enjoy the old-fashioned ambience of Cutter’s Point but find themselves involved in the rat race, despite themselves.”
“You’re destroying all my illusions about small-town life,” he complained.
“Sorry. You’d get a few of them back if we stay in town to eat. In Cutter’s Point, we have a choice of the Main Street Diner—where tonight’s special is chicken-fried steak with cream gravy—or Big Bubba’s Hubcap Burgers.”
