by Koko Brown
“You don’t mean that. Barbara, please don’t go.” His tone bordered on desperate.
She stopped with her hand on the door knob. “You come back around here with those kids, and I’m gonna call BCS.”
Long after she slammed the door behind her, Eamonn lingered on the front stoop. Patrick found he couldn’t move either. His world had been turned upside down. He’d lost his hero. The big, burly man he’d looked up to was now a crumbling, crying, hot mess on the sidewalk.
“Dad, we need to go.” Patrick shook his father’s shoulder. “Shawn and I have school tomorrow.”
To his relief his father gathered himself together. When he tried to take Shawn from him, Patrick sidestepped him.
“We’ll meet you in the car.”
Silently, his father followed, his footsteps crunching in the snow behind them. At one point, he paused. Patrick didn’t stop. He didn’t look over his shoulder. He didn’t pity him. He kept going until he had his brothers bundled safely in the station wagon.
Patrick disregarded his parents warning to never touch the keys. He turned over the ignition, then slid the knob controlling the AC.
August lifted his chubby hands into the warm blast of air. “That feels goooood.”
“Yeah,” Liam agreed. Somehow, he decided no one needed the heat more than him, and placed his hands over the vent.
“Hey!” August protested. “You’re blocking all the heat.” Not liking it one bit, he tried to pry his brother’s hands away. While they fought, their father climbed into the driver’s seat.
“Daddy, tell Liam to move his hands.”
Sniffling, Eamonn pulled the car from the curb. Eyes on the road, he ignored his son.
“Daddy—”
Patrick pressed his hands against Liam’s chest, so his shoulders hit the seat. “Sit back,” he said when he tried to put his hands back over the vent. He gave his brother an ‘I mean business’ look and Liam did as he was told.
“I’ll try to do better,” his father said. “I promise.”
His father never kept that promise.
Thinking of one woman he couldn’t crack, Patrick glanced at his watch. He had a couple of hours to spare. His gaze fell on his desk, and something miraculously happened. For the first time in his career, he had absolutely no desire to dive into the stack of folders on his desk. Before he fell into line like the worker bee he’d always been, he grabbed his coat and exited his office.
“I have a three o’clock appointment uptown.” Patrick tapped his fingers on Vanessa’s desk.
“Will you be back, sir…I mean, Patrick?”
“No. I’m done…er, for the day.”
Patrick took a step then turned back around. “Are you at a stopping point?”
“Excuse me?”
“How about you finish up here and take the rest of the day.”
Vanessa’s almond-shaped eyes widened. “A-are you sure, si…Patrick?”
“There’s no reason for you to be stuck here while I’m out.”
“I don’t have to pick up the girls until six.” Smiling, Vanessa grabbed her purse. “I think I’ll run home, clean up a little then start dinner.”
“Sounds like a plan.” Patrick waited for her to fall in step beside him.
“I feel like we’re playing hookie,” she whispered, looking around as if what they were doing were illegal.
“Feels good, doesn’t it?”
“Fantastic,” she gushed. “Like I have a monkey off my shoulders.
“More like a two hundred pound gorilla.”
Once off the elevator they parted ways. With some time to kill, Patrick decided to walk the twenty-five blocks to Haufman’s.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
So keen on seeing her again, he’d eaten up the distance in under twenty minutes. Standing at the intersection ready to cross, he mulled his next move. He could mill outside for the next thirty minutes or stop torturing himself. Considering he didn’t have a sadomasochist bone in his body, he opted for an early jump on his appointment.
He stepped into the showroom and tried to remain inconspicuous. He pretended to take an interest in a display of cashmere scarves while purposely avoiding eye contact with anyone. But it didn’t occur to him that a sales person worth their weight in gold would know how much he’d paid for his designer suit, and that his cuffs were from Tiffany’s.
Spotting him, a salesperson scurried over to help him.
“May I help you?”
Her eyes raked over him twice, and Patrick wondered if he’d get the same response from Shoshana. Eager to find out, he apprised her of his three- o’clock appointment, “I have an appointment with Miss Haufman.”
“You’re Mr. Kelly.” Her eyes lit up in recognition. “Tyson told me to ring him as soon as you arrived. If you would pardon me, I’ll do just that.” On short bowed legs, she walked over to a cabinet and pulled out a phone.
A moment later, Tyson floated into the showroom.
“Well, you’re the eager beaver.” Attired in a powder pink suit, white shirt, and matching shawl, he looked more rock n’ roll than tailor’s assistant. “But that’s perfectly all right,” he continued, while gently guiding him to the front of the showroom.
“Isn’t the tearoom that way?” Patrick pointed to a side door he’d remembered from his last visit.
Tyson kept walking. “Miss Haufman isn’t quite finished with her two o’clock but that doesn’t mean we can’t jump into the thick of things.”
Not liking his consolation prize, Patrick stiffly responded, “Fantastic.”
Dejected, Patrick followed him to the building next door. Covertly, he glanced at the tinted store front window between the showroom and the factory. Unable to make out anything beyond the silhouette of several mannequins, he pretended to adjust his tie while waiting for his eyes to adjust beyond his reflection. Oblivious, Tyson kept walking.
The minute his gaze focused, he wanted to punch something. The pair, backs turned to the window, stood hunched over the conference table. Shoulder to shoulder, they looked…intimate. Seeing red, Patrick adjusted his collar.
“Um…Mr. Kelly.”
Caught in the act. Patrick stiffened. “I’m not satisfied with this Windsor knot,” he said, fiddling with his tie. With one last parting look at the happy couple, he caught up with his escort.
“Looks fine to me.” Tyson complimented. “Lovely suit, by the way. It’s not custom but it looks good on you.”
“Thank you,” Patrick mumbled, following him inside.
The loud purr of sewing machines proved to be a calming respite from the concrete jungle just steps away. Drawn, Patrick shadowed Tyson down the aisle to a workstation cluttered with reams of fabric and book samples. At one end, a stout fellow in white shirtsleeves and red suspenders struggled with a particularly stubborn ream that didn’t want to wrap straight.
“C’mon…c’mon,” he enticed the material. “Get back on there.”
“Need any help, Joe?” Tyson leaned a hip against the table, earning himself a sour look.
“It’s nothing I can’t handle.” Joe flipped the heavy ream over with surprising dexterity. Another flip, the stick of the pen and he set the blue fabric aside. “What can I do you for?”
“We’re here to take a peek at Mr. Kelly’s suit and pick out the lining for the blazer.”
His peace interrupted and making sure they knew it, he made a show of rearranging the fabric to one side, while keeping the sample books front and center.
Joe picked up a large, hardcover book and slammed it on the table top. “Shirt samples,” he said, dragging a beefy finger across the cover.
Intimidated by the book’s thickness, Patrick held back. “What does Miss Haufman suggest?”
Lips twitching, Tyson thumbed an orange sticky note hanging out the side of the book.
“You’re dapper, yet somewhat conservative so Shoshana thought you’d prefer something along these lines.” He fingered a silver and navy chevron print. �
��Personally, I think you should go a little more rogue.”
He thumbed an orange tab, opening the book to another page. “I’m sort of partial to this one,” he purred. “It screams money.”
Patrick shoved his hands in his pockets. “I’ll go with Miss Haufman’s recommendation.”
“That was painless.” Tyson dug back through the book in search of the sample number. While he remained occupied, Patrick’s gaze wandered to a side door. If memory served him well, it led to the tea room.
In the blink of an eye the devil set in and made Patrick’s brain his personal playground, filling it with doubt and envy. Had he only witnessed the preliminaries? Was she now getting it on with her new client, closing the deal with her legs open? Did she allow all her clients the same liberties he’d enjoyed, not just the new ones?
“Is there a men’s bathroom around here?”
“There’s one off the showroom.” A gleam entered Tyson’s blue eyes. “I’ll be happy to show you.”
“Just point me in the right direction. I can handle the rest.”
“Through that door. At the end of the hall take the door on the right.”
Patrick bobbed his head, pretending to soak in the information. It was simply pure luck the men’s bathroom was on the way to the tearoom.
“I’ll be right back.”
“I’ll be waiting.”
With single minded purpose, Patrick made a break for it. Guided by memory and fueled by adrenaline, he stalked down the narrow hall.
“What’s behind door number one?” Hand on the knob, he hesitated.
What in the hell am I doing? He had no right to barge in. He had no claim on her. He’d only met her four days ago. Not that he was keeping count, of course.
As if putting his hands in his pockets could salvage some of his sanity, Patrick stepped back. His mind and body weren’t ruled by the dick between his legs. He didn’t lose his mind over a woman. And he sure as hell didn’t fall from the same tree as his father. He gazed at the door a moment longer–jaw clenched, fists cocked–before turning on his heel.
A man’s deep throated chuckle drifted through the door, followed by a feminine one. Seeing red, Patrick shouldered his way inside.
CHAPTER TWELVE
The back door to the tearoom exploded.
“What the…”
Catching herself, Shoshana gave Rufus an apologetic smile. To the buffoon who’d gang busted her appointment, she asked, “Can I help you?”
“Here for my three o’clock.”
Shoshana flipped her wrist. “Twenty minutes early, Mr. Kelly?”
“Early bird catches the worm.” Shoshana noticed the emphasis on worm and the way his eyes narrowed at Rufus.
Very beautiful blue eyes she might add. With a quick rake of her gaze, she soaked him in. Not a gray hair out of place, impeccably dressed in a tailored black suit (her guess Armani), Patrick Kelly was the poster child for genetic perfection.
He was so good-looking she doubted he had any close friends. Men were undoubtedly jealous of him and women (the ones he wasn’t bagging) probably pretended to be a gal pal just to get him in bed. He was likely used to his groupies cowing to his demands, throwing everything to the wind to serve him. Well, she wasn’t one of his wannabe girlfriends and he’d trespassed on her territory.
“I-I guess we’re done here,” Rufus murmured as Patrick sauntered over to the refreshments.
Despite being the heir to a multi-million dollar pizza franchise, Rufus Marconi was a huge pushover. He’d allowed his ex-wife and her side piece to blackmail him out of two million dollars, and he’d been the victim of a glaringly obvious Ponzi scheme not once, but twice.
Back turned, Patrick hoisted a highball glass filled with Cranapple juice. “Cheers, my man.”
Sputtering, Shoshana scuttled behind Rufus. “You didn’t settle on a suit lining.”
“Make it something nice. I’m not picky.”
“Great choice,” Patrick muttered, suddenly way too close for comfort. He stood so close she could feel his body heat.
Rufus reached for the door, and she waylaid him with a hand on his arm.
“I hope this doesn’t have any bearing on your commission.”
“We’re still good. I needed to get back to the office anyway.” His gaze lifted past her, and Shoshana had the sinking feeling he probably thought this looked suspicious. If he didn’t, it felt suspicious to her.
“Thank you for being so understanding. I swear this won’t happen again.” Shoshana sealed her vow with a sincere curl of her lips. She opened the door then stepped aside, allowing him to precede her. “So, when are you going to give me an in on that top secret marinara sauce?”
Marconi chuckled. “It’s called top secret for—”
“—a word, Miss Haufman.
Two could play the ignoring game. Shoshana moved to follow her two o’clock appointment when the door was slammed in her face.
Shoshana whirled on him so fast she didn’t see him lock the door. “What are you doing?” she hissed.
He was so close she caught a trace of his cologne. Before it sent her into a tailspin, she put some distance between them.
“I’ve been great, thanks for asking.”
“How about we get started?”
“I’m all yours.” Palms up, he stretched his arms toward her. Shoshana had to resist the urge to run into them. She hadn’t seen him in four days but the attraction hadn’t abated.
“Only for an hour.”
Thank goodness for small wonders or she didn’t think she’d last the entire sixty minutes without spontaneously combusting.
One of his eyebrows made a beeline for his hairline. “Excuse me?”
In your face, playboy! “I have a four o’clock.”
His expression was the closest thing to a grown man’s pout. “You squeezed me in?”
“We could’ve done this via email,” she pointed out. “It was your choice to come in.”
“So it was. I guess I was looking forward to a little more tit for tat.”
Nipples puckering from his innuendo, she didn’t know who she was more irked with: him for throwing her words in her face or herself for wanting to climb him like a tree.
Fists clenched, she struggled to regain her composure. She would not complicate things with this inexplicable raw chemistry ping-ponging between them.
The greater the distance, the less the interaction.
Moving to a less intimate distance, she said, “I’ll try to make this as painless as possible.” She walked around a set of mannequins grouped in the corner. In preparation for Patrick’s appointment, she had Tyson bring them in from the showroom.
“These are four our most popular forms.” She tugged the hem of the Modern Fit. “Of course, you’re not limited to only these.”
Frown still in place, he eyed her samples. “I sort of had my heart set on one of those pirate shirts.”
“I didn’t take you for the ruffles and lace type,” she said, fighting back a smile.
“Chicks love it.”
They stared at each other for a beat and then they shared a smile.
“Ah, there it is. I knew something was missing.” He fingered the unforgiving waistline of the Extra Slim. “I really like this one but I’d have to stay permanently away from carbs.”
He moved onto the Modern Fit. Shoshana stepped aside but not before his arm brushed against hers. Her eyes closed against a surge of arousal. Sweet Baby Jesus! His body was rock hard.
“I believe this is the one.”
As if coming out of a daze, Shoshana opened her eyes. While she’d sopped him up with a biscuit in her wet dreams, he’d moved onto the Slim fit with French cuffs.
“Very nice,” she breathed, already imagining him in one of their bestsellers. With his broad shoulders and slim waist, he’d look like a million bucks.
“Are we done?” Instead of making a beeline for the door, he stepped forward, crowding her personal space.
> Shoshana gulped. Even in four-inch heels, he dwarfed her. “I need to take a couple more measurements. Can you remove your jacket, please?”
“My pleasure.” One side of his mouth lifting in a devilish smirk, he slowly removed his jacket. With a finesse born from deep pockets and never hearing the word no, he leaned in and draped it over a conference chair.
Day in and day out, men undressed in front of her. Very few possessed this kind of swagger, this sexy bad-boy allure. She doubted anyone ever took his good-looks for granted or mistook him for scenery.
If only she were the opposite. Then her system wouldn’t go haywire, awareness prickling along her skin, whenever he looked at her with those sky blue eyes. Not only was he gorgeous, he was magnetic, radiating a kind of sexual force field that pulled one in and made dropping your panties seem like a foregone conclusion.
An image of him walking down Fifth Avenue with a trail of women’s undies in his wake helped to lurch her brain back into action.
“Turn left please.” Her body still out of tandem, her heart raced as she pulled one of the measuring tapes from her pocket.
“Thank God it’s Friday,” he said, doing as ordered.
“T.G.I.F, yeeaahh,” she answered with false cheer. It couldn’t be helped. The moment she touched him, half her brain cells melted.
Shoshana felt his gaze on her, but she kept her attention on the task at hand. Better that way. Her skin was burning up and the sensitive button between her legs was throbbing madly.
“Any plans for the weekend?
Shoshana couldn’t think past the present moment and how hard his bicep felt beneath her hands. Why couldn’t he be short and fat? Anything but this male perfection sapping her of all mental capacity. Like now, she couldn’t even wrap her head around her weekend plans.
So she gave him a mindless response, “Mmm…hmm.”
“Anything noteworthy?” He sounded displeased, his words tumbling from his lips clipped and oddly vociferous.
The blood might have been rushing past her eardrums. Still, she wasn’t deaf and she could recognize when someone was fishing.
