My One And Only

by MacKenzie Taylor

  Abby tensed but didn't move away. "It's filo dough," Rachel told him from across the room. "Abby is buttering it so we can use it for pastry puffs."

  He pressed his lips close to Abby's ear. "What do you have to do with it to make it into a pastry puff?"

  "You slice it with a very sharp knife into extremely tiny pieces."

  He swept his thumb over the bare skin beneath her ponytail. "Is it sweet enough to eat?"

  Her color heightened to a delightful shade of deep pink. "Not until it's stuffed."

  He touched the shell of her ear. "I'm getting tired of waiting."

  LuAnne coughed and pushed him slightly aside. "Er, sorry, I need the eggs."

  "No problem." Ethan lowered his hand and rested against the counter.

  LuAnne retrieved the mixing bowl full of egg yolks and gave Abby her attention. "You holding up all right, Ab? You look a little flushed."

  Abby slapped another slab of butter on the dough. "I'm fine."

  Rachel checked the clock on the oven. "We're almost done," she announced to no one in particular. "As soon as we get the ingredients prepped, we'll quit for the night."

  "Quit?" Ethan asked.

  Rachel nodded. "I always do the ingredients the night before. It saves time with the baking."

  LuAnne swiped another cutting board full of chopped chocolate into a bowl. "What time are we starting tomorrow?"

  "Not too early," Abby said. "Rachel and I have Carlton's graduation party in the morning."

  Rachel groaned. "I told you I don't have time for that. How am I supposed to get all this done by Monday?"

  "I'll help," Ethan volunteered. "It'll make it go faster."

  Abby looked at him with surprise. "I had no idea you were so domestically inclined."

  "You're about to learn several things about me, Abby." He winked at her. "I've got stuff I'm dying to show you."

  At 12:30 a.m., Ethan and Abby were the only ones left standing. They'd finished preparing the ingredients a little after midnight. LuAnne had staggered to the guest room, while Rachel had curled up on the sofa and fallen asleep in front of the TV during a rerun of Iron Chef. Ethan had the advantage of West Coast time on his side—his internal clock said it was shortly after ten-thirty. Abby had dumped mixing bowls and utensils in the sink and was scrubbing them hard enough to wear down the stainless steel.

  With a slight smile, Ethan eased up behind her and put his hands on her shoulders. They tensed. She kept scrubbing, so he started rubbing the knotted muscles. "Tough week?" he asked.

  She sighed. "You could say that."

  "I was expecting you to call."

  She dropped a large spoon into the sudsy water. Her head came up, and she met his gaze in the reflection of the kitchen window. "Why?"

  He tipped his head to one side. "Why not?" He rubbed his hands down her arms. "Are you annoyed with me?"

  She shook her head. "I just want to know what you're doing here."

  He wasn't sure he knew how to answer that. "My assistant told me I've been acting like a jerk. I gave it some thought, and realized there was some unsettled business between us."

  "You said you were coming back Tuesday."

  He studied her reflection, trying to decide if she was being sarcastic. "I said certain other things to you that night too. Things that warranted a little more attention."

  "I don't think—"

  He caught her wrists and pressed his thumbs to her pulse. "I'm starting to think maybe you didn't exactly understand me."

  "Why would you think that?"

  "Because I got this funny little note from you that sounded like we were colleagues at a dinner party," he said patiently. "Obviously, you missed some of the, ah, undertones of the conversation." He stroked the inside of her wrist with his thumb. "I thought I'd better come and set things straight with you."

  Abby pulled her hands free and turned to face him. He should have backed up a step so she wouldn't have to stand so close to the counter, but he was enjoying the sensation of having her pressed against him in such tantalizing proximity. "I know you think I'm some kind of moron, but if I'm supposed to have figured this out, I haven't. I've lost plenty of sleep over it, though."

  "I'm glad to hear I wasn't the only one."

  Abby searched his gaze. "I'm kind of a plain-speech sort of person, you know. And if you're saying what I think you're saying, then maybe you've got the wrong girl." She blew an errant curl off her forehead.

  No, he thought as he watched the curl spring back over her face, definitely the right woman. No question about it. He barely resisted the urge to topple her into his arms. He wasn't going to wait much longer to kiss this woman. "I don't think so," he assured her. "But I haven't quite got you figured out yet."

  "And it's driving you crazy, isn't it?" She managed a slight laugh. "Good grief, Ethan, I'm really not that complicated."

  "On the surface maybe. But there are layers. I'm very interested in layers."

  He thought he saw her color rise. "I don't think—"

  "I told my CFO today that I was taking off for the holiday."

  "So?"

  "So I haven't taken a holiday in eight years. He was a little stunned."

  "Did you tell him you're thinking about getting involved in Harrison's life again?"

  "Yes. He may never recover."

  "I doubt Harrison will either."

  He put his other hand on the counter so that he bracketed her hips. "I don't give a damn about Harrison. He's not the reason I'm here, and you know it."

  Her eyes widened. "I was really afraid you were going to say that." She scooted several steps away before she slid a chair between them. "And I wish you'd stop."

  "Stop what?" He advanced a step.

  Abby's fingers tightened on the chairback. "Stop trying to unbalance me."

  "Is that what you think I'm doing?"

  "Of course it's what you're doing. Did you even look at those reports I gave you?"

  "Yes."

  "And?"

  "I have some people looking into it." He took another step. Abby held her ground.

  "Then unless you're prepared to tell me what you can or can't do for MDS, we have nothing to talk about. You said so yourself."

  "I did not say we have nothing to talk about." He rounded the chair in two quick strides. "That was your line. I remember."

  She reached for the chair. "Why couldn't this wait until Tuesday?"

  "I'm sick of waiting."

  "Are you always this impatient?"

  "Definitely." He eased the chair aside with his foot. She didn't look nervous, he noted, or even wary. There was simply an awareness in her eyes, a certain shimmer of energy under her skin that she might excuse away as anxiety, but which looked an awful lot like anticipation. "I don't believe in delayed gratification."

  "Oh, crud, Ethan. I—"

  It was the look of recognition in her eyes that pushed him over the edge. She might as well have said yes in the same sultry voice she'd used the other night. It gave him the assurance he needed, and the willpower to wait until the time was right. He wasn't prepared to start something with her sister sleeping in the living room. When he finally gave vent to his physical desire for Abby, he wanted her undivided attention.

  He thrust his hands into his pockets. If he couldn't accomplish his first goal for the evening, then he might as well settle for the second. "Look, Abby—"

  She held out a small hand. "Can you just give me a minute to think? I can't do it when you do that."

  "Do what?"

  She waved her hand at him. "That. It's that look. It unnerves me. I'm having that gazelle feeling again. No," she said sharply when he would have moved toward her. "Stand right there and don't budge."

  Ethan stilled. "You know," he said, "I'm not very good at taking orders."

  Her hand dropped to her side. "Are you always such a pain in the ass?"

  That made him laugh. "That's what I've heard."

  "Look, I came to you with one reques
t, and it seemed pretty simple. I just wanted to know whether or not you were willing to help your father. If you're not, you're not."

  "I didn't say I wouldn't do it."

  "But you didn't say you would, either."

  It was just as he thought, he realized. Abby wasn't the kind of woman to settle for anything less than a total commitment. She'd be that way in her personal life as well, instinct told him. The same depth of loyalty that kept her tied to Harrison would demand a similar commitment in return. If he'd ever entertained the notion that any relationship he might have with Abby could be uncomplicated, he cast it aside in the cluttered confines of her kitchen.

  And while that should have scared the hell out of him, he could feel the insistent gnawing hunger driving him toward her. "Tomorrow," he said carefully. "Tomorrow I'm going to Carlton's party too. I had assumed you would be there."

  She seemed to process the information. "Carlton's party?"

  "Letty invited me."

  "Harrison will be there."

  "I figured he would."

  "You know what will happen if you go."

  "There won't be a spectacle. I'm perfectly capable of behaving myself." At her skeptical look, he chuckled. "Despite all appearances to the contrary."

  She shook her head. "Harrison is mad as spit that I went to see you." She frowned. "I've never seen him like that."

  "That bad?"

  "Worse. When he sees you tomorrow, I don't know what he'll do."

  "Nothing," Ethan assured her. "The man's a coward."

  She flinched, but didn't disagree with him. "Ethan"—she held out one hand—"please don't make this any harder than it already is."

  "I won't humiliate him, if that's what you mean."

  "I know you won't."

  He didn't dare consider why the calm assertion meant so much to him. "But if I'm going to get involved in this, sooner or later he's going to have to face me."

  Abby sighed. "I know. I just thought—I mean, Carlton's party. It seems so public. Are you sure you want to subject yourself to the entire clan?"

  "You'll make it worth my while."

  "So you say."

  He shook his head. "Don't argue, Abby."

  "Would it do me any good?"

  She sounded so disgruntled that he laughed. "Not really. You had to know when you asked for my help that you'd have to make certain concessions."

  "Like always giving you your own way?"

  He leaned forward and caught the scent of cinnamon lingering on her skin. "It's a start."

  "I just think we should—"

  He headed off what he knew was an inevitable objection. "Don't say you think we need to talk." He stepped back against his chair. "I've never had a good conversation that started that way."

  "But I can't—"

  "Can't what, Abby? Trust me? Is that it?"

  "I don't know."

  "You trust me," he assured her. At her disgruntled stare, he nodded. "You do. If you didn't, you never would have come to me in the first place. I wouldn't be considering bailing Harrison out of his financial woes, and I sure as hell wouldn't be in your house."

  Abby stared at him for what seemed an endless stretch. He was beginning to wonder if she was going to respond. Finally, she reached out a hand and laid it on his sleeve. "It's not you," she said softly—-so softly, he had to move closer to hear her over the hum of the dishwasher. "It's just that I— I'm not sure I can trust myself."

  He raised an eyebrow. "Why not?"

  She raised her extraordinary eyes to his, and the look he saw in them stole his breath. Surrender, desire, hunger, they were all there. Waiting for him. His fingers tightened on the back of the chair. Abby brushed a curl behind her ear. "I've had a week and a half to think about this," she admitted. "And it's nuts. It's certifiable. If I told this to anyone, they'd think I was the craziest person alive."

  "And?"

  She clutched her fingers together. "And—I don't think I can trust myself not to fall for you."

  Peace settled on Ethan like a comfortable blanket. He felt the sudden stillness ease the tension that had been steadily building in him since Tuesday. "That," he said softly as he reached out to cup her face, "is undoubtedly the best news I've had in weeks." With a slight smile, he bent his head and pressed a brief, hard kiss to her lips. "Tomorrow, after the party, we'll go over the numbers. I'll show you what I've come up with."

  "I have to help Rachel tomorrow."

  "We'll do that too."

  "You don't have to—"

  "I wouldn't miss it." He swept his thumb over her lips. "Have sweet dreams, Abigail. I'll see you in the morning."

  Ethan rested his back against the rail of the Flying Cloud, Harrison Montgomery's elegantly appointed yacht, which sat dockside on Lake Michigan. He'd deliberately arrived early, wanting to board the sleek vessel before the Montgomerys, and more pointedly, before Abby. Several members of Harrison's crew remembered him, so he'd had no trouble talking himself aboard. He'd chosen a strategic spot near the starboard bow where he could watch the activity around the gangway and decide when to reveal his presence.

  Abby and Rachel arrived soon after, despite their late night. He frowned as he watched them directing the caterers and the crew for the setup. Trust Harrison to invite the woman to his nephew's party only to expect her to coordinate it for him—as she did everything else in his chaotic and crumbling empire.

  Abby seemed none the worse for the too-few hours of sleep she'd gotten, which made Ethan feel unaccountably provoked. He'd lain awake in his downtown hotel room replaying the evening in his mind. She, if the sparkle in her eyes and the spring in her step were any indication, had evidently slept like a baby.

  She was giving orders with the practiced precision of a field marshal. He'd never had the chance to observe her, he realized, when she hadn't known he was watching. The experience was quite revealing.

  Abby moved with a natural grace, like a woman who instinctively knew who she was and what she wanted. The underlying tension he'd seen in her before was gone. Easily in her element as she attended to the details, she exuded a quiet confidence that made him wonder what kind of lover she was. Unless he missed his guess, Abby would be the type of woman he most enjoyed.

  He watched in masculine appreciation as she strolled across the deck and checked the caterers' supplies. Ivory shorts hugged her generous hips. He had a recollection of her telling him she'd gained five pounds from Rachel's cheesecake. If that was true, she owed her sister a debt of gratitude.

  Her body was a seamless sweep of rounded lines. A navy blue tank top, practical, loose-fitting, and sexy as hell, hugged her breasts. Occasionally, when she reached for something or bent a certain way, he caught the barest glimpse of lace and silk underneath the plain blue cotton. Absolutely fascinating, he decided as he took a sip of his drink. A woman of secrets, just as he'd thought.

  She didn't seem to know that her braided hair begged to be mussed or that her tanned limbs asked for his hands. She remained focused on the bustle of activity. Now and then she would pause to wipe a bead of sweat from her forehead or toss her thick braid over her shoulder, but she worked steadily with her sister, supervising the setup for the party.

  One of the caterers said something that made her laugh. When Abby tipped her head back, the sun brought out red lights in her hair. Ethan decided he'd been patient long enough. He set his drink down and strode across the deck.

  "Need a hand with that?" he asked quietly as she juggled a covered box of canapés.

  Startled by his voice, Abby lost her precarious hold on the box. It tumbled into Ethan's arms. She suppressed a twinge of envy. "My God," she muttered, pushing a lock of hair off her damp face. "Where did you come from?"

  He nodded toward the shadows. "I was waiting."

  She moved to take the box back, but Ethan tightened his grip. "You're up awfully early— considering," she said.

  "Couldn't sleep," he told her, and took a step closer.

  She pres
sed her lips together in slight disapproval. "Join the crowd."

  She looked so disgruntled, he chuckled. "Bad night?"

  She made a charming little squeaking noise in the back of her throat. "You could say that." She moved a few inches away from him. "And stop looking at me like that. I can't think when you do."

  "That's generally the plan. Every time I give you room to think, you start coming up with excuses."

  "And they're good ones," she pointed out. "Like the fact that Harrison is going to be here soon."

  "And you don't want him to see us together?" He couldn't quite keep the accusation out of his voice.

  "I didn't say that. I just don't want him to get the wrong idea."

  "What idea would that be, Abby?"

  She did him the favor of not saying anything inane. Instead, she shook her head. "I'm not going to have this discussion with you right now."

  He shrugged. "Your choice. It's always been your choice."

  No wonder her nerves felt scraped raw, Abby thought. The man was relentless. "You could try to make this a little easier."

  "I'll be on my best behavior," he promised. He shifted the box under one arm. "If the old man doesn't throw me off the ship, you can consider it progress."

  "I just wish you'd—"

  "Try to understand him? See things his way?" His laugh was humorless. "I stopped being able to do that the day I had to bury my mother."

  "I didn't deserve that," she said softly. "When have I ever said that to you?"

  He frowned. "Sorry. He brings out the worst in me."

  "I know." Abby studied him in the bright sunlight and felt the familiar tingles along her nerve endings. He wore a hunter-green shirt tucked into khaki trousers, and deck shoes with no socks. The look should have been comfortable, casual. But if she'd learned one thing about him, looks were almost always deceiving. There was nothing casual in the corded strength of his tanned forearm wrapped around the box; nor in the sleek, dark hair lifted slightly by the wind so it framed his angular face and strong jaw. He appeared to be brooding this morning, and the slight edge to his expression made her yearn to comfort him.