Good Guy Heroes Boxed Set

by Julie Ortolon

  “How did you get here?”

  “Cab.”

  “How are you getting home?”

  “By cab. In fact, I’d better call one.” She pulled her cell phone from her pocket then smiled and held out her hand. “It was nice seeing you again.”

  Chris absently shook her hand. “Yeah. Nice.”

  She turned and walked toward the lobby where several sofas and tables were located. Chris watched her, his eyes glued to her curvy derriere. He looked at his watch. If he left right now he could still be on time for his date with Claire.

  For reasons he could not logically explain, instead of heading immediately to the parking lot, he fired off a quick text to Claire that he was running a little late then jogged across the ceramic tile floor to catch up with Melanie. His mind was saying “I’m outta here,” but his feet were not cooperating at all.

  “Where do you live?”

  She turned, clearly surprised. “Why?”

  “I’ll give you a ride home.”

  She eyeballed his dress pants and crisp white shirt. “You look like you have plans. I wouldn’t want to make you late.”

  “I have time,” he heard himself say, “provided you don’t live in Oklahoma.”

  She laughed. “Actually, I’m pretty close by. Only about ten minutes from here.”

  “Great. Let’s go.”

  Chris followed her through the revolving door. The instant they stepped outside, a blast of hot, humid air hit them. He led her to the Mercedes, opened the door for her then settled himself behind the wheel.

  “Where to, lady?” he asked in his best New York cabbie voice.

  Smiling, she gave him directions. Except for “Turn left here” and “Make a right at the stop sign,” the short trip was made in relative silence. Probably because he spent the entire ride convincing himself that he’d only offered to drive her home because it was the chivalrous thing to do. It had nothing to do with her. Nope, not a thing.

  True to her word, ten minutes later he pulled up in front of a small, two-story brick house. A profusion of pink and white flowers filled the carefully tended beds, and the postage-stamp-sized lawn was lush and green. The only thing that looked out of place was the lime-green, rusted-out eyesore sitting in the driveway.

  A young girl Chris judged to be about twelve sat on the front steps. When she waved, Melanie waved back and said, “That’s my neighbor’s daughter. I promised to help her bake her mom a birthday cake.” She unhooked her seat belt and opened the car door. “Thanks. I really appreciate the ride. Cab fare kinda strains the budget.”

  “My pleasure.”

  “Enjoy your evening.”

  Evening? He stared into her big brown eyes and basically forgot how to speak English. His heart performed some sort of freakish thumpety-thump and his damn libido flared to life like dry kindling to a lit match. The car door slammed behind her, snapping him from his stupor. Evening— right. He had a date. Right.

  He watched her trot across the lawn to the porch. She ruffled the girl’s hair then turned to smile and wave at him before following the kid into the house.

  Chris stared at the now empty porch where seconds ago she’d once again dazzled him with that dimpling smile and found himself wishing he could stay and watch her bake that birthday cake. Her kitchen was undoubtedly welcoming and cozy, and he bet it smelled great. Like double chocolate chunk cookies.

  Cookies? Jesus, he was losing his mind. He puffed out a breath and shook his head. What the hell was he thinking? He had a date with a gorgeous woman, one who perfectly fit all his I’m-a-bachelor criteria, plus she was going to accompany him to the family cookout and save him from Zoey the florist—although she didn’t know that yet— and here he sat, mooning over Melanie who was completely not his type.

  Good thing she was gone. Her and her big brown eyes and soft, luscious mouth. He shifted in his seat. His pants felt uncomfortably snug.

  Must have been all those damn cookies he ate.

  CHAPTER THREE

  *

  TEN MINUTES INTO his date with Claire Morrison the marketing executive, Chris realized she was not cookout material. By the time their dinner was served, he’d summed Claire up as a self-centered, high-maintenance bore, and by the time dessert rolled around, he was wishing he’d brought ear plugs so he wouldn’t have to listen to her any longer.

  Tuning out her nonstop blather about her latest spa visit (it was awesome!) and some twelve hundred dollar pair of shoes she’d bought last week (they’re so awesome!), Chris studied her from across the table with an objective eye. She was undeniably gorgeous. Her tall, slim physique, combined with her shoulder-length blond hair and startling aqua eyes guaranteed she’d attract male attention wherever she went. She had a successful career at a prestigious firm, and had made it plain that sex was in his immediate future— just the sort of woman with whom he’d envisioned whiling away his bachelor hours.

  He couldn’t wait to get rid of her.

  The woman hated everything— her mother, her sister, her job, her apartment, her six ex-boyfriends, and the key lime pie she’d ordered for dessert. Unable to stand much more of her, he quickly paid the check and drove her home. The instant he shifted the Mercedes into park in front of her apartment, she wrapped her arms around his neck and laid a hot kiss on him that was clearly intended to blow his mind. And probably should have.

  Except it didn’t.

  Taking her by the shoulders, he gently eased her back and ended the kiss.

  She studied him for several seconds through narrowed eyes then turned away to check her make-up in the visor mirror. When she finished she looked at him and said, “Dinner was nice, but I don’t think we should see each other again.”

  Thank you, God. “All right.” Surely his male ego should feel deflated, yet all he felt was relief.

  “You’re a nice guy,” she added, apparently thinking he needed an explanation, “but there’s really no spark here, you know?”

  Chris just nodded, happy that she’d said what was so painfully obvious to him.

  She exited the car and he drove away, inhaling his first easy breath in hours.

  *

  WHEN CHRIS ARRIVED home twenty minutes later, he realized he had two messages on his voicemail. Snagging a beer from the fridge, he slipped off his shoes, plopped on the sofa, and hit the play button.

  “Hi, Chris,” said his mother’s voice, “just calling to tell you to bring your bathing suit tomorrow. We’re all looking forward to meeting your friend Melanie. And don’t forget, Zoey the florist will be there, too. Looks like you’ll be busy! Bye!”

  The second message kicked in. “It’s Mom again. Don’t forget to bring dessert! Bye!”

  Groaning, Chris laid back his head, and closed his eyes. For reasons he didn’t understand, he felt irritable and out of sorts. Of course, spending the last few hours listening to Claire Morrison either piss and moan about everything under the sun or extol the virtues of pricey footwear didn’t help, but it was more than that.

  It was her.

  Her and her darn cookies. And those big, brown eyes that reminded him of yummy melting chocolate.

  Melanie Gibson.

  It really irked him that he couldn’t seem to get the damn woman off his mind. Her, or the fact that the name Pampered Palate was so familiar. While Claire had incessantly blathered on, his thoughts had wandered to Melanie dozens of times. But what good did that do him? What was the point of thinking about a woman who was all wrong for him, and whom he’d probably never see again?

  He recalled his mother’s messages and puffed out a breath. Mom expected him to bring a date to the cookout tomorrow. Claire was out of the question, and being fixed up with Zoey the florist held no appeal.

  Chris suddenly sat up straight. Actually, his mother didn’t expect him to bring just any old date— she expected him to bring Melanie. If he could convince Melanie to go, he’d be saved from Zoey and satisfy his mother’s matchmaking tendencies in one fell swoop. He
looked at his watch. It was past eleven— too late to call Melanie. He’d have to phone her in the morning. Or even better, maybe he’d stop by her house. Offer to take a look at her car.

  Yeah, that’s the ticket. Fix her car, and she’d come to the cookout. Boy, was he a genius or what? Everybody would win. Melanie would get her car repaired, he’d be saved from the horrors of a fix-up, and Mom would get off his back about not dating.

  Of course, his plan meant having to spend the day with Melanie— a woman who was all wrong for him and whom he’d had no intention of seeing again. A slow smile spread across his face.

  Oh, well. He’d suffer through it. Somehow.

  *

  AT 7:45 THE next morning, Melanie checked the weather report on her cell phone and groaned. Already eighty-six degrees, heading toward a high of one hundred and two. Another pizza-oven day.

  After tossing on her favorite denim cutoffs and a turquoise tank top, and slipping on a pair of flip flops, she gave her hair a quick finger comb— no point wasting time on her out-of-control curls when today’s humidity was already winning. Then she headed into the kitchen for a much needed cup of coffee. Caffeine was a must as she planned to spend the morning making sure all her business documents were in order before her appointments tomorrow, first at the bank then later with the accountants regarding her loan to purchase her new catering truck. Expanding the Pampered Palate into private catering was something she desperately wanted and needed for the future of her business. In order to succeed, she had to grow. Having her own eatery and catering business had been her dream since she’d popped her first tray of cookies into the oven at age nine. With the storefront she was halfway there. The truck would allow her to fulfill the rest of her dream and she was determined to succeed.

  She entered her sun-filled kitchen and scooped fresh grounds into the coffee maker. While the scent of brewing java filled the air, she set her file folder on the round oak table and fired up her laptop. She’d just settled herself in front of the screen when the doorbell rang.

  She walked to the door fully expecting to see one of her neighbors, all of whom knew she kept a well-stocked kitchen, and was the go-to person when a cup of this or a pinch of that was needed. Melanie didn’t mind— her neighbors were great and showed their support by frequent visits to Pampered Palate.

  When she opened the door, however, it wasn’t a neighbor but Chris Bishop, a.k.a. the most beautiful man on the planet, who stood on her porch. With his hair just-out-of-the-shower damp. Wearing a white T-shirt that hugged his broad chest in a way that proved that while he might be an accountant, he definitely crunched more than numbers all day. Her gaze wandered downward, taking in tan cargo shorts, muscular legs dusted with dark hair and Reeboks. He looked delicious and smelled good enough to eat. She dragged her gaze back to his face and was rewarded with a lopsided grin.

  “Good morning,” he said.

  Melanie knew he was talking to her because she saw his lips moving, but she had no idea what he was saying. Her hormones, however, were apparently very aware that he was in the area. After hibernating for more than a year, those little suckers were suddenly wide awake and anxious to be entertained.

  Yesterday, at the hospital, the sight of Chris had jump-started them like they’d been shot in the ass. They’d started a veritable hormone-cheerleader kickline. Rah rah rah, sis-boom-bah, they yelled at the top of their tiny hormone lungs. Some action. At last.

  Melanie rolled her eyes at her own thoughts. So he was gorgeous. So he smelled great. So he was nice. So what? He was a man, and therefore not to be trusted. A man who’d obviously had a date last night—no guy wore dress pants to hang out with his buddies. He’d probably spent the evening with some woman who’d jetted into town between modeling assignments.

  She had no time, no space, and no inclination to start something with anyone. Least of all an anyone who surely had women fighting over him. Her gaze flicked down to the bakery bag he held. Besides, wasn’t there some dire warning about men bearing gifts?

  He waved his hand in front of her face. “Hello? You okay?”

  Melanie mentally shook herself. “I’m fine. Just surprised to see you. Here. So early.”

  “I was hoping you’d be awake.” He peered around her. “Is this a bad time?”

  “For what?”

  He held up the bakery bag and smiled. “Breakfast.”

  “Breakfast?”

  “Yeah. You know, that meal in the morning that starts off your day.” He paused. “Can I come in?”

  Oh boy. She was in trouble. Big gigantic, whopper-sized trouble. Six feet, two inches of the most delectable-looking male she’d ever clapped eyes on stood on her porch, wanting to come in. Her hormones let out a cheer and did the wave.

  “Who’s at the door?” came Nana’s gravelly voice. She joined Melanie in the doorway. “Why, if it isn’t the hunk!” Nana conducted a thorough inspection of their guest. “Wow, Mel, he’s got great legs.” She sniffed the air. “Do I smell doughnuts?”

  Chris nodded. “Boston cream. Freshly made.”

  Nana elbowed Melanie out of the way. “Well, come on in, honey, and bring your doughnuts. I’ll pour the coffee.” She hustled off toward the kitchen.

  Chris stepped into the terra cotta tiled foyer. “I hope you don’t mind me dropping by like this,” he said as Melanie closed the door, “but I thought you might need some help with your car.”

  Melanie’s common sense kicked in. He’d brought breakfast and he wanted to fix her car? She narrowed her eyes and told her hormones to pipe down. Something was definitely fishy here. “Why would you want to fix my car?”

  A slow smile curved his lips. “I admit I have an ulterior motive.”

  “Don’t all men?”

  He laughed. “Actually, it’s more of a proposition.”

  Uh-oh. This guy probably dated supermodels— hell, be probably broke up with supermodels— and he had a proposition for her? Holy smokes. What if it was one of those propositions like Robert Redford made in that movie Indecent Proposal— a million dollars for one night of naked splendor and unbridled lust?

  Near panic set in. A million dollars? She’d never raise that kind of cash. But wait— no, she’d get the money. And get to sleep with him, too. Sweat broke out on her forehead. Her hormones switched to the Cha-Cha.

  “So what do you think?”

  I think I’ve lost my marbles. Seriously. He showed up and all her brain cells liquefied and drained out of her body. She licked her dust-dry lips. “What do I think about what?”

  His dark blue gaze skimmed over her, lingering on her mouth. “My proposition,” he said in a deep, velvety voice that reminded Melanie of candlelight, champagne, and bubble baths. “I think it would work out well for both of us.”

  Sure as heck was working for her. Her hormones abandoned the Cha-Cha and started dancing the Peppermint Twist

  He stepped closer. Now less than an arm’s length separated them. Heat radiated from his body and she squelched the urge to fan herself with her hand. The air conditioner clearly had gone kaput because it was suddenly hot in here. He smelled like freshly showered man and doughnuts— a potent combination that rendered her all but woozy. Indeed it felt like all the oxygen had been sucked from the room.

  “You’re staring at me,” he murmured, “in a very distracting way.”

  Well, yeah, but really who could blame her? She’d be hard pressed to name anyone with ovaries who’d be able to tear their eyeballs away from his guy— even without the added incentive of Boston cream doughnuts.

  His gaze dropped to her mouth and her heart stuttered. Ohmigod. Was he going to kiss her? Right here in the foyer? Surely not. But, whoa— the way he was looking at her— like he was starving and she was the last Boston cream on earth— and holy crap now he was leaning closer! She was going to push him away. No, she was going to yank him closer. No, she was going to faint. No, she was going to—

  “Coffee’s ready!” Nana’s voice exploded in the
foyer like a sonic boom.

  Melanie jumped back with a gasp. Her hormones groaned in protest.

  “Coffee’s ready,” she repeated in a shaky voice.

  “Coffee. Right. That’s exactly what I wanted. Coffee.”

  Melanie led him into the kitchen, mentally berating herself the whole way. This guy was dan-ger-ous. Yikes. Another second and he would have kissed her. If not for Nana’s announcement, Melanie knew she would, at this very moment be on the receiving end of what she had no doubt would have been a mind-blowing kiss. She could almost feel the warm caress of his sensuous mouth. Drat! Er, good. Yeah. Good. Definitely good that Nana had interrupted. Definitely. Probably her lips would stop tingling any second now.

  “Nice place,” Chris said. He settled his tall frame into one of the chintz-patterned chairs around the table. “Very homey and cozy.”

  “Thanks. It’s a work in progress,” Melanie said, arranging the doughnuts on a serving plate while Nana poured the coffee into thick blue and yellow mugs.

  “Mel was kind enough to let me move in with her a couple years back,” Nana said. She joined Chris at the table, sitting in her usual chair by the window. “I used to live in one of those retirement places in Florida, but I hated it. Nothin’ but a bunch of hypochondriac old fogeys down there.” She bit into a chocolate-iced doughnut and hummed her appreciation.

  Melanie sat down and stole glimpses of Chris over the edge of her mug as she sipped her coffee. He carried on an easy banter with Nana, telling her about his three married sisters and his younger brother. He genuinely seemed to enjoy her company.

  Melanie hadn’t dated much since breaking off her engagement to her philandering ex-fiance over a year ago. In fact she’d gone on exactly three dates, all of them disasters, all forced on her by well-meaning friends. Aside from the fact that she hadn’t wanted to date those men in the first place, her biggest problem with them was that they all objected to Nana.

  None of them had spared Nana more than a quick hello. Melanie’s ex-fiancé Todd had treated Nana politely but the fact that she lived with Melanie had been a bone of contention between them. As far as Melanie was concerned, Nana was not only her roommate, she was her best friend. And if you didn’t like Nana, then the heck with ya.