Good Guy Heroes Boxed Set

by Julie Ortolon

  “I can understand that,” he said in a quiet voice. “My schedule is bad, too. I have to travel a lot, and I’ve been putting in twelve-, fourteen-hour days for so long, it seems normal. And since I made partner, it’s even worse.” He reached across the seat and squeezed her hand. “But there’s more to life than work and I’m willing to make time for something important.” His gaze searched hers. “I’m willing to make time for you.”

  Her heart flipped over in her chest. What the heck was going on? He wasn’t supposed to say these things. He was supposed to say fine, great, gotta do my bachelor thing, see ya, have a nice life.

  “There are only so many hours in a day, Chris.”

  “I know. And since I met you, you’ve been on my mind every single one of them. I didn’t want it, I can’t explain it, but there it is.” He squeezed her hand and smiled at her. “Hey, relax. All I’m suggesting is that we get to know each other better. Go out. Have some laughs. Nothing serious. No strings.”

  A ha! Nothing serious. No strings. That was his male bachelor reflex kicking in, no doubt. She shook her head to clear it. “There are hundreds of reasons why we shouldn’t pursue this… this whatever it is.”

  He nodded encouragingly. “Excellent. Please tell me what they are ‘cause I’ve been trying to convince myself of that very thing and I’m coming up empty.”

  And just like that, her mind went blank. “Oh. Well, maybe hundreds was a bit of an exaggeration.”

  “Fine. Name one.”

  Okay. One should be easy. ‘Cause there really were hundreds. Or at least a dozen. So why the heck couldn’t she think of one? Probably because of the way he was looking at her, his gorgeous eyes all serious, his gorgeous face cast in shadows, a lock of his gorgeous hair falling across his brow. How was she supposed to think when faced with so much gorgeousness? It had lulled her brain into a completely dormant state.

  Her thought processes suddenly kicked in and relief washed over her. “Okay. Here’s one. We have absolutely nothing in common.”

  “That’s not true. We have a lot in common.”

  “Such as?”

  His gaze roamed slowly over her from head to toe, igniting small bonfires all over her skin. When their eyes met again, his gleamed with mischief. “We both have belly buttons.”

  A breath she hadn’t realized she held whooshed from her lungs in a shaky laugh. “Belly buttons? Oh, brother.”

  A sexy half grin curved his lips. “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”

  “I’ll bet. And we’ve already seen them. At the pool today.” She raised her brows. “Are we still talking about belly buttons?”

  “Of course.”

  Before she could stop it, her gaze drifted down to his abdomen. She nearly swallowed her tongue when she saw the unmistakable— not to mention impressive— bulge tenting in his shorts.

  She had to clear her throat to locate her voice. “It would appear you have an ‘outie.’ “

  “Constantly. Ever since I met you.”

  Good grief. Now she knew they weren’t talking about belly buttons anymore. She somehow managed to force her gaze away from his fascinating “outie.” Gazing into his amused eyes, she tried to recall what on earth they’d been talking about. Oh, yes. The hundred reasons why they shouldn’t pursue a relationship.

  “Okay,” she said. “Here’s another one. I know all about guys like you.” Ha. So there.

  A frown appeared between his brows. “Guys like me? What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “You know. Good looking, er, accountant types. Oh, you might appear harmless, but you’re all philanderers.”

  “I’m a lot of things, but I am not a stamp collector.”

  “Not a philatelist. A philanderer. Someone who engages in casual affairs.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Fickle-hearted. Love ‘em and leave ‘em. Wham, bam, thank you ma’am… ” her words trailed off as she noted his expression. All signs of amusement had vanished. In fact, he looked genuinely hurt.

  “What have I done to make you think so badly of me?”

  Nothing. Damn it, he’d been nothing but nice. And he scared her to death. He rekindled desires and needs she’d ruthlessly buried when her fiancé had dumped her. That was reason enough to run and hide.

  “I don’t think badly of you.” She pushed her hair behind her ears and realized her hands were shaking. “I don’t know you well enough to think anything of you— “

  “A situation I’m attempting to remedy, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

  “I noticed. But it’s not going to happen. You’re just too… too everything. Too handsome. Too nice. Too sexy. A boyfriend is the last thing I need. Relationships and I don’t get along.”

  “I’m not him,” he said in a quiet voice.

  “Who?”

  “The guy who hurt you. Melanie, I’m not him.”

  “I know.” To her chagrin, hot tears pushed behind her eyes. Drat. She refused to cry. It was out of the question.

  “Do you want to tell me about it?” he asked. “It might make you feel better— clear the air.”

  She shrugged and forced away the tears. “There’s not much to tell. I was engaged. The day before the wedding I dropped by my fiancé Todd’s apartment to surprise him with a gift.” She paused and took a deep breath. “I surprised him all right. Him and Missy, my maid of honor. Doing the wild thing right on the kitchen floor.”

  Chris winced. “Ouch.”

  “That’s exactly what Todd said when I belted him upside his cheating head with my purse.”

  “I hope you gave him a lump.”

  A tiny smile touched the corners of her mouth. “A lump and a shiner, which helped my pride but didn’t do much for my broken heart. I lost my fiancé and my best friend in one fell swoop. Not to mention the humiliation involved in canceling a wedding with only a few hours’ notice. Or the fact that the drama and heartbreak were time-sucks that royally messed with my career plans.”

  He squeezed her hands then raised them to his mouth and pressed a kiss against the backs of her fingers. “I’m sorry something so hurtful happened to you. But at least you didn’t marry the jerk.”

  “No, I didn’t. But the experience made me careful. Very careful. I refuse to go through anything like that again.”

  The half smile that tilted his mouth was at odds with the dead-serious look in his eyes. “I can promise you’ll never find me boffing your best friend on the kitchen floor.” He raised his hand. “Scout’s honor.”

  “Chris, look— “

  “I don’t cheat, Melanie,” he said quietly, all vestiges of his smile and humor gone. “And I don’t make promises I can’t keep. I always try to be upfront with the women I date. I’m very attracted to you. I’d like to see where it leads. I’m only asking for a date. Who knows? Maybe we’ll go out once and end up hating each other.”

  Fat chance. Melanie had a sneaking suspicion that she’d end up falling hard and coming up empty again. Her stomach cramped at the thought.

  “The problem is you’ve come along at a really bad time,” she said. “I simply don’t have time for you. I don’t want to want you.”

  “If it makes you feel any better, I don’t want to want you either. So how about dinner tomorrow night?” He leaned closer, clearly intending to kiss her. Her newly awakened erogenous zones leapt to life with a ferocity that left her bordering on panic. Self-preservation screamed at her to get away from him. Right now. Before her hormones won the war raging inside her.

  She grabbed her purse and all but bolted from the car.

  Chris turned off the engine and joined her on the driveway.

  Feeling completely unhinged, she paced back and forth. “I can’t do this. Absolutely not.” She stopped in front of him and grasped for any excuse that would save her from this devastatingly sexy man who threatened the peaceful existence she’d carved out for herself. “I can’t possibly go out with you. You’re… you’re an accountant, for crying out l
oud. I can’t possibly date an accountant. Accountants are stodgy and boring. Nothing but conservative suits and ties. Numbers and flowcharts.”

  She nodded vigorously, desperately trying to convince him— and herself. “If I was looking for a man— which I’m not— but if I was, it certainly wouldn’t be an accountant. It would be a Marlon Brando type.” Yeah. Yeah. That’s the ticket.

  Doubt was written all over his face. “You’re looking for a dead, three-hundred-pound actor old enough to be your father?”

  “No, of course not. I meant a young Marlon Brando. Like in that classic movie where he’s on the motorcycle.”

  “So you want a motorcycle kind of guy?”

  “Yes. I’ve always wanted to be a biker chick.” She spread her hands, palms up. “So you see? As tempting as you are, we’d never work this out. You’re all actuary tables and balance sheets, and I long for the open road, the wind in my hair, the asphalt beneath me. My motto is: it’s motorcycle guys or no guys.”

  He nodded his head slowly, his gaze never leaving hers. “I see.”

  He saw. Good. Now all she had to do was escape. Before her resolve crumbled to ashes. Holding out her hand, she said, “Thanks for everything. I had fun.”

  His warm, strong fingers wrapped around hers. When he tried to pull her closer, Melanie snatched her hand away. “Goodbye.”

  “‘Til we meet again,” he corrected with the hint of a smile.

  Not if I can help it. Melanie hurried into the house, closed the door, and leaned back against it. She heard his car door slam then listened to the Mercedes drive away.

  Thank goodness he was gone. She should be thrilled. The man was a hazard to the female population. Yup. She was happy as a clam at high tide. Happy as a flea on a hound dog.

  She felt like crying.

  CHAPTER SIX

  *

  “THE ONLY THING all that pacing is gonna give you is varicose veins,” Nana said the next afternoon at the Pampered Palate, peering over her bifocals at Melanie. “Back and forth. Back and forth. It’s like watchin’ a dang tennis match. If you don’t knock it off, I’m gonna need a chiropractor.”

  Melanie raked her hands through her hair. “I can’t help it, Nana. The accountants will be here in an hour. There’s so much riding on this independent review— the loan, the truck, Pampered Palate’s future.” She stopped pacing and pressed her palms to her flopping stomach. “Do you realize that if all goes well, we could have our catering truck within two months?”

  “A whole lot of good it’ll do us if you worry yourself sick,” Nana stated. “Calm down. You said everything went fine at the bank this morning.”

  “It did,” Melanie agreed, taking a deep breath.” The loan officer was very impressed by the Pampered Palate and our plans for the future.”

  Noticing Nana’s scowl when she began pacing again, Melanie forced herself to sit down. And immediately started shredding a paper napkin emblazoned with the red and blue Pampered Palate logo.

  “It’s really happening, Nana,” she said, elated and terrified at the same time. “It looks like our hard work is finally going to pay off.” Nerves cramped her stomach and she groaned. “Jeez. I hope success isn’t going to make me barf.”

  “Listen, honey, you’ve got to relax. Look how well you’ve done in less than a year.” She patted Melanie’s hand. “Those bankers will give you the loan.”

  “Only if we get a favorable review from the accountants.”

  Nana huffed out a breath. “If those accountants give us any trouble, I’ll swat them upside their heads with a skillet.”

  For the first time in hours, Melanie managed a smile. “I appreciate it, Nana, but it probably won’t help our cause if we’re in the slammer for assault with a deadly skillet.”

  “Hmmm. You’re right. I guess we’d better settle for Plan B.”

  “Plan B?”

  “Fresh-baked apple pie. With homemade vanilla ice cream.” A big smile creased Nana’s wrinkled face. “Like I always say, if you can’t beat ‘em, bribe ‘em.”

  Melanie laughed. Everything was going to be okay. As always, Nana managed to talk her off the ledge. “Sounds good to me.”

  “You’re darn tootin’,” Nana said. “As we’re so fond of saying here at the Pampered Palate, let’s get cookin’!”

  *

  Chris sat in his corner office and reached for the stack of financial statements piled on his mahogany desk. His nonstop morning had consisted of writing a proposal for a new client, a series of budget meetings, and lunch with a prospective new hire.

  Turning his attention to the massive amount of work awaiting him, he opened his laptop and pored over balance sheets and income and cash flow statements, but he found it difficult to concentrate on the endless columns of figures.

  The numbers blurred and ran together as images of Melanie flashed through his mind, distracting him, disrupting his train of thought. Her bright smile and infectious laugh. Those chocolaty-brown eyes and full, kissable lips.

  The incredible taste of those full, kissable lips.

  Remembering their steamy kisses killed whatever small bit of concentration he had left. Time for a strong cup of coffee. Actually, a cold shower probably would have been more helpful, but since that wasn’t an option, coffee would have to do. He was about to head for the break room when Glenn Waxman, the senior partner, walked into his office and closed the door behind him.

  Chris immediately noticed two things. One, Glenn held a manila folder in one hand. And two, Glenn had his other hand clapped over his mouth.

  “What’s up, Glenn?”

  “Hmmphttpshm,” replied Glenn through his fingers.

  Chris laughed. “I might understand you better if you moved your hand.”

  “Hmmphttspm.” Glenn removed his hand and curled back his upper lip.

  His two front teeth were gone.

  “What the hell happened to you?” Chris asked, staring at the gaping black hole. The always perfectly groomed Glenn Waxman looked like a full-grown second-grader.

  “I lotht my crownth biting into a thupid apple,” Glenn said, his face puckered in a grimace. “I’ve got an emergenthy dentith appointment.” He thrust the manila folder into Chris’s hands. “Can you handle thith for me? The appointment ith at four o’clock— you’ll need to leave thoon. Shouldn’t take you more than an hour.”

  “Sure. No problem.”

  “Thankth. I owe ya one.”

  “How could I say no to a guy who sounds like Daffy Duck?”

  “Ha, ha, ha. You’re hythterical. Thee you tomorrow.” Glenn clapped his hand over his mouth and left.

  Postponing his coffee break for the moment, Chris opened the folder Glenn had given him. And froze when he saw the name at the top of the first page.

  Melanie Gibson.

  He quickly scanned Glenn’s notes. Melanie was applying for a fifty-thousand-dollar loan to purchase a catering truck and had hired Waxman, Barnes, Wiffle, and Hodge to conduct the independent review required by the bank. Chris noted that the bank was one of his firm’s clients.

  So that’s why the name Pampered Palate had seemed so familiar to him. He must have heard Glenn or one of the other partners talking about the upcoming review. As it wasn’t his client, he wouldn’t have paid particular attention.

  Until now.

  According to Glenn’s notes, he needed to conduct an on-site inspection of the facilities and pick up the client’s paperwork and books. Bob Harris, a junior accountant, would be handling the actual review.

  Chris glanced at his watch. Ten past three. A slow smile eased over his face. He’d known he would see Melanie again— he’d had every intention of making sure that happened.

  He just hadn’t realized it would happen quite so soon.

  *

  At five minutes to four, Melanie once again paced around the Pampered Palate’s kitchen. She tried taking deep breaths, but feared she’d hyperventilate.

  Nana laid a comforting hand on Melanie’s
arm. “There’s no reason to be nervous, honey.”

  “Of course not. It’s not like this is important or anything.”

  “Calm yourself,” Nana insisted. “The apple pie is cooling, the ice cream is made, and the dinner rush won’t start for another hour. It’s not going to help if you faint.”

  Melanie smiled and laid her hand over Nana’s. “I know. I just want everything to be perfect.”

  “Everything is perfect. Stop worrying. You’ll get pimples.”

  “God knows I don’t need… ” Her voice trailed off as the bell on the front door jingled. “Oh, boy. It’s them.” Squaring her shoulders, she sucked in a deep breath, beat back her panic, and left the kitchen. When she entered the front of the store she saw two tall men, both dressed in dark suits.

  One was handsome and unfamiliar.

  The other one smiled at her and she all but swallowed her tongue.

  Good grief, what was he doing here? She couldn’t talk to him now. The accountants were coming!

  And darn him for casually dropping by and reminding her how beautiful he was. It had been at least three minutes since she’d thought of him. How was she supposed to forget him if he kept on showing up?

  Forcing a calm she definitely didn’t feel, Melanie walked toward them. Before she could utter a word, the unfamiliar man asked, “Are you Miss Gibson?”

  At her nod he extended his hand. “I’m Bob Harris. From Waxman, Barnes, Wiffle, and Hodge. Chris tells me the two of you have already met.”

  Melanie wasn’t sure what kind of expression she had on her face, but whatever it was, it prompted Bob Harris from Waxman, Barnes, Wiffle, and Hodge to add, “We’re the accountants. I, er, believe you were expecting us? We have a four o’clock appointment.”

  Melanie gave herself a mental slap and shook his hand. “My appointment is with Glenn Waxman.”

  When Chris extended his hand, Melanie shook it and tried to ignore the sizzle that snaked up her arm at his touch.

  “Glenn had an emergency,” Chris said, holding her hand several seconds longer than necessary. “He asked me to fill in for him today. Bob here will be doing the bulk of the work, and Glenn will review it.”