by Robyn Grady
“May I ask why you changed your mind?” He took his seat, poured the wine.
“Don’t be offended, but I was bored.”
“Isn’t retail therapy a woman’s preferred antidote to that?” He cut into the steak, took a mouthful and sighed at the blend of flavors and textures. Now he was glad he’d skipped lunch that day.
“I’m not big on retail therapy.”
“Does that mean you’ve decided to hang around?”
Finished dressing their salads, she nodded and he raised his glass. Excellent.
“Let’s toast to that.”
Crystal tinged as their two glasses met. “To hanging around,” she said.
“You make it sound like a sentence.”
“Now you’re fishing for compliments.” After sipping, she set her glass down. “We need to agree on some ground rules.”
“Sounds official.”
“I’ll prepare meals, take care of laundry needs. Just to be clear, this arrangement does not automatically include me jumping into bed with you.”
“Nor, I imagine, you jumping into bed with me.”
Her lips twitched. “Agreed.” Looking relieved she’d got that out the way, she gestured toward his plate. “How’s the steak?”
“Not so bad,” he joked.
“For that you do the dishes.”
“Isn’t there a mechanical device for that?”
“I prefer to hand-wash and dry.”
Sounded like a drag. But his second mouthful was releasing so many surges of dopamine in his brain, through his blood, to enjoy these pleasures—this meal, Shelby’s company—he’d pay any price.
* * *
After dinner, Dex helped with the dishes, and actually enjoyed it. He would’ve suggested coffee and, perhaps, dessert, but Shelby seemed set on retiring—or was that escaping?
Not that he had any intention of coming on strong. Of stealing that long anticipated kiss. She’d come back to him. Hell, she’d missed him. But in Shelby’s world that didn’t come close to taking that next fateful step. He wouldn’t push. Not enough to scare her away, in any case.
Later, getting into bed, he decided to get a good night’s sleep without wondering what tomorrow with Shelby would bring. But he did think about tomorrow, like he thought about tangerine dresses and discussing his day with an unassuming but stimulating companion who listened with genuine interest rather than stars in her eyes.
He thought about that a lot.
The next morning, showered and dressed for work, he was fixing his tie when the aroma of coffee beans brewing teased his nostrils. He found Shelby in the kitchen, hand-beating batter for pancakes. Her hair sat whipped up high on her head but a single tendril hung down, long enough to almost bounce into the bowl as she beat. Her PJs were cut like a man’s but made in a soft pastel pink with a cat stitched on a breast pocket. Not a scrap of silk or lace in sight but in this early light, with a faint pillow crease on her cheek, damn, did she look hot.
Glancing up, she blew that wave of hair off her face.
“Hungry?” she asked.
And for way more than pancakes, he thought.
He headed for the percolator and poured a cup of coffee. “I’ll take a rain check. Early meeting,” he explained.
Listening, she sucked batter off the side of her thumb in a deliberating way that made his groin give a jump. But he needed to concentrate on the upcoming meeting with Rance Loggins. Another script with potential had landed on his desk. Rance was back in town and Dex wanted his thoughts.
He downed his coffee. A drop fell on his white business shirt when he drew the cup from his lips. He rubbed the stain, then moved to the sink and wet his fingers before trying again.
“That needs a soak,” Shelby said.
He stood back. “Can you see it?”
She nodded. “But laundry came back yesterday before you got in. There should be fresh…shirts…”
He’d wrung loose his tie, was flicking open his collar and the next button, when he noticed Shelby was watching his actions at the same time her words trailed off. Then her gaze snapped up to meet his, her cheeks grew pink and, grabbing the milk, she strode to the fridge.
While he slid his tie’s noose over his head, she stayed at the fridge longer than necessary, apparently sussing out its contents. When she finally turned around, that smoky-slash-guilty look was still in her eyes. Her voice was a little husky, too.
“Will you be home for dinner?”
“I have a function.”
She arched a brow. “Busy man.”
“It’s a dinner dance to raise money for a very worthwhile charity.”
She blinked. “Oh, sorry. I’d thought it’d a premiere or awards ceremony or something less…humbling.”
“The cost of the ticket was humbling enough.” She returned his good-humored smile. “I can swing another one if you’d like to join me in supporting a good cause.”
She gave a pained look. “I couldn’t go to something like that.”
Imagining her in an evening gown, a satiny flowing creation that did justice to her curves and her smile, he grinned. “You really could.”
“You said you wouldn’t expect me to mix in those circles.”
“I’m not asking you to come as your boss, Shelby.” He staved off the urge to brush that curl back off her cheek, curve his palm around her warm nape. “I thought it’d be fun.”
Passing him, she returned to her batter. “No.”
“No, it wouldn’t be fun?”
“No, I won’t go.” She switched on a stove element. “I’m sure you’ll have plenty of dance partners to choose from.”
“I’m not interested in dance partners.”
“And why’s that?”
“I don’t dance.”
She laughed.
“It’s true,” he said. “I have two left feet on a dance floor.”
“I don’t believe you.” But then she stopped pouring batter into a heating pan to judge his open expression. She cocked her head. “When was the last time you tried?”
“Graduation night. There was a lot of pouting and tears. My date wasn’t happy, either.”
She smiled before her look turned earnest again. “The basic stuff is easy to learn.”
“I manage fine without it.”
“There are occasions when a man needs to dance.”
“I’m living proof there aren’t.”
“What about a bridal waltz?”
That took him aback. He’d never thought about it. Why would he?
He was standing beside her, enjoying the aroma of pancakes but more enthralled with the scent of her hair. Wildflowers. Fresh. It was all he could do not to move closer and fill his lungs with even more of her.
As if reading his mind, she turned more toward the grill and shrugged.
“I thought you had a meeting.”
He exhaled. “Yeah, I do.”
“And you need to change that shirt.” She wiggled her finger at his face and added, “You have toothpaste at the corner of your mouth.”
He blindly rubbed a spot.
“Not there,” she said. “Here.”
She pointed but he must have missed again because she pulled her sleeve up over her hand and did the rubbing for him. She was concentrating, her face close. That strand of hair had fallen over her cheek again. Her skin was flawless and her eyes were so big and bright, sparkling in sunlight filtering in through the window.
She must have realized all his attention was pinned upon her. Her hand slowly lowered but her gaze remained on his mouth while the air between and around them began to steam. He shouldn’t kiss her. Even if he should, this wasn’t the time. So why was he moving closer? Why wasn’t she stepping away?
>
His lips were a hair’s breadth from hers when he moved to embrace her but his hand knocked the bowl of batter.
Shelby stiffened, jerked away and realized that batter in the pan was burning. She shunted the pan off the heat then went to work scooping batter back into its bowl while Dex growled at himself. Coffee stains, toothpaste smears, spilled batter. He wasn’t normally clumsy but this morning he was a disaster waiting to happen.
“You don’t want to be late,” she said, dropping the bowl in the sink and washing batter from her hands.
She was right. If he stayed any longer, he’d break something…most importantly, her trust.
He was on his way out when she pulled him up with a question.
“How are those rats doing?” she asked.
He lived by the philosophy that problems only got worse if a person poked and fussed. He didn’t do conflict unless a skirmish was unavoidable. Much better to shrug off an incident than plow anyone in the jaw. Her jerk ex-boss came close to being the exception to that rule. But what he wouldn’t give to be able to knock flat the S.O.B.—the rat—who had set that mini-bonfire in his backyard.
He hadn’t heard any more. Still, he was glad he’d organized those surveillance cameras. That scum might pull another stupid stunt before he realized Dex would never bow to those kinds of demands.
“The rats are under control,” he assured her then, walking out, promptly putting the matter from his mind.
* * *
Around midday, Shelby received a call.
“There’s an item waiting for collection at reception,” Mr. Lipou, the hotel manager, said. “It’s addressed to Ms. Shelby Scott.”
For her. Was he sure?
In an ornate mirror hung on an adjacent wall, Shelby took in her attire then the tumble of hair she’d barely brushed. To work off tension since Dex—and his burgeoning animal magnetism—had left that morning, she’d baked nonstop. If there’d been a horse around, she’d have swung up into a saddle and thundered over a wide open plain until she was ready to fall off, exhausted.
Had she come back with the intention of starting something physical? Intimate? Blow-her-mind sexual?
Now that they were alone here together again, given the amount of sizzle whenever he got within kissing distance, the idea was becoming increasingly hard to resist.
In fact, the more cookies she’d baked, the more she’d thought that perhaps a scorching-hot fling might not be such a bad idea, after all. If a torrid affair with Dex Hunter didn’t help her forget what had happened back in Mountain Ridge, nothing would. As long as she kept it all in perspective. Strictly short-term.
Hearts need not apply.
On the other end of the line, the manager was asking when she might collect the delivery.
“Could someone bring it up?” she asked. Patrons always looked so swanky; she felt out of place every time she walked through the lobby.
“I’m afraid that isn’t possible,” the manager said. “The delivery needs to be collected within the hour.”
Before she could mention the fact that this was a five-star hotel so surely they could drop a delivery off to a guest’s suite, Mr. Lipou had disconnected.
A few minutes later, wondering what on earth could be so urgent, she stood at the massive reception counter. Feeling awkward in her denim shorts and a T-shirt, Shelby gave her name. After sliding open a drawer, the attendant handed over an envelope, which was embossed with the hotel’s emblem. Moving to a corner of the bustling foyer, she pried open the seal.
Inside, printed on hotel letterhead, was a voucher for a purchase from the in-house boutique, as well as hair and makeup appointments to be redeemed that afternoon—all compliments of Dex Hunter. The postscript noted a limousine would collect her at 7:00 p.m.
Withering into an upholstered tub chair, Shelby held her damp brow. Dex had gone ahead and organized another ticket to that charity shindig. She’d been clear. She wasn’t a socialite. She didn’t like attention.
Well, she simply wouldn’t go. The limousine could wait and wait and it wouldn’t be her fault one bit.
She was striding back to the elevator when the name on an in-house store drew her eye. Let’s Pretend, the same boutique mentioned in her letter. Curious, she glanced at the gowns displayed in the window—a black cocktail number, a fire-engine-red party frock. An evening gown that was so simple yet breathtaking and feminine and—
Shelby straightened.
Well, it was way too pretty for a woman like her.
“May I help you?”
A coiffed attendant stood at the entrance. Shelby mumbled, “No, thanks,” and was ready to keep moving when the woman spotted the letter in her hand and asked, “May I?”
After perusing the letter, the attendant, dressed in an elegant cream linen dress, gestured her through the door.
“Mr. Lipou said to expect you, Ms. Scott. My name’s Celeste.” She studied the gown in the window then sized Shelby up. “That would look stunning on you.”
Shelby wanted to laugh. Her? In that? Instead she surveyed the gown again.
“I’ve never worn anything like that before.”
Taking Shelby by the arm, Celeste led her into the boutique. “While you try it on, I’ll organize your hair and makeup.” She squeezed her hand. “You’re going to dazzle everyone tonight.”
Eight
After he’d wrapped up for the day, Dex showered and changed into the tux and buffed shoes that he kept at his office. Humming the same tune he’d heard Shelby often whistle, he fixed his bow tie in the mirror, enjoying a ripple of excitement as he contemplated the coming evening. He’d teed up the extra ticket to the charity do, no problem.
The question was, would Shelby step outside of her safety zone and accept his invitation? She might be reserved but she would unwittingly charm anyone who crossed her path. She had what the industry termed star quality. Difficult to describe. Far harder to create. In his opinion a person was born with that kind of allure. He’d seen it in Shelby.
So had Rance.
Perhaps he would open a floodgate by introducing her to this crowd tonight. He wished her nothing but success, although privately he could confess to a level of selfishness where Shelby Scott was concerned. He wanted her for himself.
But theirs was a temporary arrangement. Like the rest of the family, he was dedicated to helping their father with his current situation. But, hopefully, the maniac stalking Guthrie would soon be apprehended, Tate would fly home, and that would mean Shelby would move on, too.
Dex doubted her next assignment would be in child care. Hell, he wouldn’t be surprised if she landed a marriage proposal. More than one. She could be stubborn, a bit self-righteous, but also incredibly committed with loads of common sense. Whoever landed her as a wife would be a lucky man, indeed.
Dex only prayed whoever she ended up with was the marrying kind. In this town too many relationships fell apart. Ego…the fast life…something better always beckoning around the corner… In Hollywood, there was never a dull moment. Always somewhere new to go. Someone more exciting to see.
When he arrived at the venue, the block was awash with beautiful people and flashing lights—the usual pizzazz. Standing well off to one side of the red carpet, he checked the time. The hotel manager had called earlier; Shelby had chosen a gown and accessories. Mike, the studio limo driver, had been instructed to wait in the forecourt. Mike hadn’t called to say she’d declined the ride. Neither had Shelby left a message for him directly.
Absently checking his diamond-studded cuff links, Dex peered down the street. She ought to be here soon.
Half an hour later, arrivals were thinning. With formalities due to begin, he had to think about moving inside. He’d check with Mike first—make certain Shelby had been a no-show. But his cell phone buzzed before he c
ould dial.
“Just checking in,” Teagan said.
“All good with Tate?”
“He’s having a ball. Dex, he’s so adorable. I won’t want to give him back.”
“You never were good at sharing.”
The only girl growing up in the Hunter household, Teagan had been showered with attention and privileges. As a teen, her wardrobe had outshone their mother’s. Then again, Teagan had endured a long rough spell after a childhood accident that had resulted in a run of operations and hospital stays. It was no secret that the experience was a big part of the reason she had chosen the health and fitness industry as a vocation. Who would guess now that she’d been confined to a bed for too much of her first years?
“Uh, sorry?” she said down the line. “I wasn’t good at sharing? Everyone fell over themselves to give gorgeous Dexy anything he wanted. Come to think of it, what’s changed?” Her teasing tone sobered. “Dex, I had a call today from an insurance company. The man said you gave him a referral to contact me.”
Dex craned up on his toes. Was that another limo snailing down the street? “One of those database foot-in-the-door jobs,” he guessed.
“This man said you’d had a fire and that you’d been thankful it hadn’t spread.”
All Dex’s senses seized as the world around him blurred and funneled into a shadowy background. He didn’t breathe. Couldn’t blink. Finally he swallowed.
“What did you tell him?”
“I hung up. I know you’re Mr. Cool, but you’d have mentioned something as frightening as a fire, particularly with Tate set up to stay.”
Dex was scrambling for a half-decent reply when Shelby’s limousine pulled up and Mike alighted.
“I have to go.”
“You’re at a function? I hear the commotion. Who’s your date? Shelby?”
“Why would you think that?”
“Tate isn’t the only one who can see you two are hot for each other.”
“On that note, I’ll say good-night.”
“Have fun.” She laughed. “Then again, you always do.”
