“Yeah. But I’ll be back.”
“When?”
“Tomorrow morning. Ten o’clock. Wait, better make it eleven. You’re going to need the extra hour sleep.”
“What are we doing tomorrow?”
He kissed the tip of her nose and opened the door. “Canoeing. Better rest up. And glug back a big glass of water before you go to bed. And take a couple of Advil.”
“Canoeing? Water? Advil?” Good Lord, she could barely wrap her tongue, or her mind, around the words. “What are you talking about?”
“Canoeing because it’s on the things-to-do-before-you-die list, water because alcohol dehydrates you, and Advil for your headache. Get some sleep. I’ll see you tomorrow.” He left, closing the door behind him.
Melanie glared at the door then lurched toward the stairs. Darn it, how was a person supposed to walk when the floor kept shifting? She huffed out a breath and grabbed the banister.
Canoeing? Was he nuts? She didn’t want to go canoeing. Didn’t know the first thing about it. And what was that about glugging water? She wasn’t the least bit thirsty. And Advil? What headache?
By the time she’d staggered into her bedroom and undressed, her temples were pounding like the hammers of hell.
Oh. That headache.
CHAPTER TEN
*
THE NEXT MORNING, Chris stopped at the bakery for cinnamon rolls on his way to Melanie’s house. The place was packed, as it always was on weekends. He pulled a paper number from the machine and glanced at it. Forty-eight. A lighted sign indicated number thirty-two was being served. That was the problem with this bakery— they made the best doughnuts and pastries in Atlanta and everyone knew it.
Resigned to the lengthy wait, he snagged a copy of the morning newspaper from the stack by the door and skimmed the headlines. He was halfway through the sports page when he heard someone behind him say the words “Pampered Palate.”
He discreetly turned his head and saw two men about his own age, one dressed in running shorts and an Atlanta Braves T-shirt, the other wearing ratty cut-off sweatpants. Both sported sweat-flattened hair and the faint aroma of gym socks.
“My client is scheduled to close on the property early next month,” Running Shorts said. “Mark my words, it’s going to be the hottest eatery in Atlanta once it’s up and running.”
“What kind of food?” asked Ratty Sweatpants.
“A combination of Italian and Mexican. Eclectic decor, live music, patio bar. They’re calling it Spaghetti Loco and believe me, there’s nothing else like it.”
“Sounds great. When’s it scheduled to open?” asked Ratty Sweatpants.
“In about six months.”
“Your client isn’t worried about the Pampered Palate right across the street?”
Running Shorts chuckled. “Hell no. That’s not even a restaurant. They’re a small takeout place. Spaghetti Loco will put them out of business within a year.”
“Hey, don’t do that,” Ratty Sweatpants protested. “I order from there at least once a week. The food’s good, and the owner’s not bad either.”
“Yeah?” Running Shorts dropped his voice, and Chris leaned back to catch his words. “She hot?”
“Very.”
“You tappin’ that?”
“Not yet,” Ratty said, “but she’s definitely on my ‘list of things to do.’” They both chuckled.
A combination of anger, jealousy, and possessiveness unlike anything he’d ever before experienced surged through Chris, and he pulled in a deep calming breath to fight off the urge to drag Ratty outside and disabuse the bastard of his amorous plans, then shove his “things to do list” where the sun don’t shine. And Ratty was just going to have to start ordering lunch from Taco Bell.
Just then Chris’s number was called. He placed his order, paid, then left before he gave in to the temptation to smack those two creeps upside their heads with his doughnuts.
Once seated in the parking lot in the Mercedes, he gripped the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white. Damn it, he couldn’t recall the last time he’d felt so unsettled and frustrated.
The idea of Ratty Sweatpants, or any guy, dating Melanie— touching her, kissing her, making love to her, tied his insides into hard knots. He’d never experienced such hot, pulsing, jealousy before, and he didn’t like it. Not one damn bit.
This caring about a woman business was a major pain in the ass. He’d be much better off sticking to his carefree bachelor plan— dating a string of beauties and keeping his heart to himself. Yeah, much better off. But unfortunately he was finding that plan impossible to stick to.
Damn it all to hell and back.
He blew out a frustrated breath then started the car. He was halfway to Melanie’s house before the other part of Ratty and Running’s conversation worked its way back into his mind.
A new restaurant was scheduled to open right across the street from the Pampered Palate.
The ramifications of that information hit him like a bucket of cold water. Did Melanie know about this?
But more important, did the bank know? The fact that a competitor was opening so close by could and most likely would influence the bank’s decision on granting Melanie her loan. It was definitely information that should be disclosed in his company’s independent review.
If the bank didn’t already know… Chris groaned at the thought. If they didn’t know, he’d have to tell them. Or at least inform Glenn so he could tell the loan officer.
Crap. Technically, he supposed he could keep quiet about it. Who would ever know what he’d overheard? But his conscience would chew at him, even though it was a gray area.
Maybe the point was moot— maybe the bank already knew. Was it possible Glenn or Bob Harris had found out and were already going to include the info about the new restaurant in their review? Or perhaps Melanie knew and had told Glenn and the bank. Maybe Chris’s firm or the bank would investigate the empty stores to find out what kind of businesses were planning to rent them.
He wouldn’t know all the facts until he spoke to Glenn on Monday. He briefly considered calling him now but decided to wait. Better to first ask Melanie a few discreet questions. If she already knew and had disclosed the info, there was no problem. If she didn’t know… he pushed the disturbing thought aside.
And prayed he wasn’t going to ruin her chances of getting her loan.
*
CHRIS RANG MELANIE’S doorbell at exactly eleven o’clock, and Nana threw open the door.
“Well! If it isn’t the hunk!” she said, smiling broadly. “And you brought those yummy doughnuts again.” She looked him up and down over her bifocals. “Jiminy Cricket. You’re a looker for sure.”
Chris laughed. “Same goes, Nana.”
She patted her bright red hair and blushed. “Now don’t you go fiirtin’ with me, young man. I’ve got a beau of my own.”
“Bernie’s a lucky man.”
“You’re darn tootin’,” Nana agreed with a wink. “Come on in. There’s coffee brewing, and I just took a batch of double chocolate chunk cookies out of the oven.”
Chris rubbed his hand over his stomach. “I love you, Nana.”
Following Nana into the kitchen, Chris made himself at home in one of the chintz-covered chairs. He really liked this house, he decided, accepting a yellow ceramic mug filled with aromatic coffee. And he especially liked the women who lived in it.
He scooped a cookie from the serving tray. “Where’s Melanie?”
“She’ll be along. I heard the shower running earlier. Did you have fun last night?”
Chris bit into the cookie and moaned in ecstasy. He felt like an eight-year-old, sitting at the table after school, munching on home-baked cookies for an afternoon snack. “Last night was great. Melanie loved the motorcycle.”
Nana raised her brows. “Motorcycle?”
“Didn’t she tell you?”
“No. I, er, only arrived home a few hours ago.”
His
lips twitched at the scarlet flush staining Nana’s cheeks, as well as the wicked gleam in her eye. “Nana! You devil.”
She chuckled. “Ain’t it the truth? Now, what’s this about a motorcycle?”
Chris told Nana about Melanie’s inaugural bike ride— leaving out the part where her granddaughter had all but seduced him in the parking lot. He’d just finished when Melanie walked into the kitchen.
“Good morning,” Nana said, eyeing her granddaughter up and down.
Melanie mumbled something unintelligible and headed straight for the coffeepot.
Nana raised her brows and picked up her mug. “I’m outta here, kids. I’m gonna enjoy me a nice long, hot bath. Bernie’s taking me to Chili’s for the early-bird special then we’re heading back to his place to watch the Braves game and drink martinis.”
“Take my advice, Nana,” Melanie said, easing herself into a chair. “Don’t drink martinis. Ever.”
A knowing look entered Nana’s eyes. “So that’s why you’re looking so peaked.” She fixed her gaze on Chris. “Did you get my granddaughter drunk, young man?”
Chris lifted his palms in surrender. “No, ma’am. She did it all by herself.”
Nana raised her brows. “You take advantage of her weakened condition?”
“Nope. She tried her darndest to seduce me, but I did the honorable thing and hauled her tipsy butt back home. The effort almost killed me.”
Melanie glared at both of them, her hands wrapped around her coffee mug like it was a lifeline. “Would you two stop talking about me as if I’m not here?”
Nana hooted out a laugh. “Oohh, she’s a prickly one this morning.” She patted Chris’s shoulder. “Good luck, young man. You’re gonna need it.” She waggled her fingers at them then left.
Chris stretched out his legs, helped himself to another cookie, and watched Melanie sip her coffee with her eyes closed. Damned if she wasn’t adorable, even if she was kinda grumpy.
He wanted to ask her about the vacant store across from the Pampered Palate but decided to wait until he could casually toss his questions into the conversation. He wasn’t about to spoil their day when there might not be anything to worry about.
She didn’t speak until she’d poured herself a second cup of coffee. Then she cleared her throat. “Ah… about last night. I think I may have had one too many martinis.”
He watched, fascinated, as a peachy blush suffused her entire face. “How do you feel?”
She huffed out a breath. “Actually, I feel pretty good. Good grief, I slept like someone hit me on the head with a hammer. I woke up with a headache, but I took some aspirin and it’s almost gone.” She twisted her fingers together then raised her gaze to his. “What I’m really feeling is embarrassed.”
“Why?”
She stared at him as if he was nuts. “Why? How can you even ask? I threw myself at you. And if that’s not bad enough, you turned me down. How humiliating is that?”
If she hadn’t looked so distraught, Chris would have laughed. She thought he’d turned her down? Crazy woman. He stood and drew her to her feet then tipped up her chin until her gaze met his.
“You have it all wrong, Melanie. I didn’t turn you down. All I did was postpone the inevitable.” He lowered his head and kissed her softly. She tasted like cookies.
She drew back and regarded him with a wary expression. “You mean you think we’re going to… ” Her voice trailed off.
“Absolutely. Don’t you?”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“It’s a great idea. But even if it wasn’t, it’s still going to happen.”
“How do you know?”
He looked into her warm, chocolaty, confused eyes and fell a little farther into the black abyss of emotional commitment yawning in front of him. “Because I can’t seem to stop it. There’s something between us, and I can’t walk away from it. Much as I’d like to, I can’t.”
“I can.”
He searched her eyes and knew she wasn’t telling the truth. “Liar,” he said softly.
A small smile touched her lips. “Well, I can try.”
“Forget it. It won’t work. Believe me. I know.” He dropped a quick kiss on her nose. “Now, I suggest we enjoy one more cup of coffee before heading out on our canoeing expedition.”
She groaned. “In other words, let’s put this embarrassing episode behind us so we can move on to other, more potentially embarrassing episodes.”
“You nailed it.”
“Great. I guess I’d better tell you I know diddly-squat about canoeing.”
“Don’t worry. You’re in good hands. We’ll have a lot of fun.”
She eyed him with clear suspicion. “Define fun.”
He laughed. “Trust me on this.”
*
AN HOUR LATER, Melanie was fervently wishing she hadn’t trusted him on this.
She stood at the end of the floating dock and pointed down, a sinking feeling in her stomach. “What is that?”
“That,” Chris said, his voice filled with suppressed laughter, “is a canoe.”
“Canoe, my ass. It’s nothing but a carved-out, six-foot cigar.” She planted her hands on her hips. “If you think I’m getting in that skinny excuse for a boat, you’re out of your mind.”
Chris cocked a brow at her. “You said canoeing was something you wanted to do. So here we are, at beautiful Lake Lanier, a canoe rented and at our disposal for the next hour.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “So what’s the problem?”
Melanie could tell he was trying not to laugh at her. Raising her chin, she said, “When I said canoeing, I was speaking strictly metaphorically.”
“Oh, really?”
“Of course. When I said I wanted to go canoeing, I meant I wanted to go on a Caribbean cruise.” She nodded vigorously, knowing she was beat but willing to try one last, desperate attempt to save herself. “Clearly you’re much too literal-minded to appreciate the finer points of symbolism. Canoe. Cruise. Both boat words that start with c. It’s really rather interesting how— “
“Yeah, it’s fascinating. We’ll talk about a cruise some other time. Right now we’re going canoeing.”
Drat. The guy had a one-track mind. Melanie looked out at the sparkling lake. Several canoes and kayaks dotted the calm waters nearby. Farther out she could see speedboats and wave runners racing over the small waves. A shaded picnic area stood off to the left, and several families were taking advantage of the facilities, setting out their coolers, lighting the charcoal grills.
She glanced down at the pencil-thin craft tied to the end of the dock and sighed. Next time she rattled off a list of things she wanted to do before she died, she was going to make damn sure she replaced “canoeing” with “three months in Tahiti.”
She sucked in a resolute breath. “All right. Hoist the anchor, Captain.”
“’Atta girl,” Chris said with a big grin. “Just sit still and you’ll do great. You’re gonna love this.”
Melanie somehow doubted that, but she was willing to give it a go.
Besides, how hard could it be to drive a canoe?
*
TEN MINUTES LATER, she knew exactly how hard it was.
Pretty damn hard.
Holding Chris’s hand, she gingerly stepped into the canoe. Using extreme caution, she sat down while Chris, who still stood on the dock, untied the craft from the aluminum cleat.
Once her butt was settled on the hard wooden seat, Melanie breathed a sigh of relief. This wasn’t so bad, she decided, clutching the sides of the craft. In fact, it was sorta fun.
Until she sneezed.
One minute she was sitting in the canoe, the next she was underwater.
She came up, sputtering, pushing her hair from her eyes. “What the hell did you do that for?” she yelled at Chris, who stood on the dock clutching his sides and roaring with laughter.
“I didn’t do anything,” he said, shaking his head. “I told you to sit still. Canoes are
very tippy.”
‘Tippy? All I did was sneeze!”
“You must have sneezed too hard. Don’t worry. You’ll get used to it. It just takes practice.”
“Yeah. Practice,” she muttered, swimming to the dock. “That’s just what I want to do.”
Disgruntled, she climbed the wooden ladder and stomped to the end of the dock. Water dripped from her body and squished from her Nikes. While Chris pulled the rope attached to the canoe and righted the craft, she squeezed water from her clothes.
He shot her a grin. “Wanna give it another try?”
“Might as well. I’m certainly not worried about getting wet.” She sizzled a baleful glare at the offending canoe. “Anyway, I refuse to let this excuse for kindling beat me. I am woman. Hear me roar.”
“That’s my girl.” Once again he handed her down into the canoe.
The instant he let go of her, she felt the damn canoe slipping out from under her feet. It was like trying to stand on wet ice. At least this time she was ready when she hit the water. She surfaced and, ignoring the fact that he stood on the dock laughing his ass off, swam to the ladder, pulled herself up, and squished over to him.
“Wanna quit?” he asked, an infuriating grin on his face. His dry face.
“Absolutely not,” Melanie said between gritted teeth. “This has become a quest.”
He reached out and touched the skin under her eye. “I think you need to invest in waterproof mascara. You look like a pirate.”
Melanie planted her hands on her wet hips, tapped her soggy Nike, and glared at him.
Holding his hands up in surrender, he said, “Whoa! A cute pirate. A very, very cute pirate. The cutest. Really.”
“Pirate, huh? Ask me where my buccaneers are.”
“Okay. Where are your buccaneers?”
She waggled her brows at him. “Under my buccan’ hat.”
He threw back his head and laughed. “Ready to try it again, matey?”
“Sure.” She eyed him up and down. “But this time you get in first.”
*
CHRIS PADDLED THE canoe and covertly observed Melanie through the dark lenses of his Ray-Bans. She was nearly dry and sat with her eyes closed, her face turned up to the sun. He noted with amusement that she sat perfectly still, clutching the edges of the canoe with a white-knuckled grip.
Good Guy Heroes Boxed Set Page 111
