Dear Cupid

by Julie Ortolon

  “You don’t like my clothes?” He looked down at his bright Hawaiian shirt and khaki pants.

  “I like them fine.” Color flooded her cheeks as her gaze traveled downward. “I’m just saying some women prefer a less rumpled package.”

  “I happen to like comfortable clothes,” he offered reasonably.

  “And there’s nothing wrong with that. I mean, unless you’re trying to impress someone.”

  “All right,” he said. “As part of the job, you can pick me out some new clothes and redecorate the house.”

  She stared at him. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”

  “Dead serious. If you’re up to the challenge.”

  Her eyes turned wary. “And if I refuse?”

  He hadn’t considered that and had to scramble for a reply. “Then I wouldn’t have very nice things to say about your friend’s business, now would I?”

  “That’s blackmail!”

  He shrugged, hoping she didn’t call his bluff.

  “Oh, all right!” she growled. “I’ll take your ridiculous job, but only under protest.”

  “Great.” Relief washed through him. “When can you start?”

  “Tomorrow.”

  “Why not today?”

  “Because I have things to do today!” she snapped as if plotting his murder had just been added to her list.

  “Like what?”

  “Look—” She stepped toward him, tossing her curls. “If I’m going to work for you, let’s get one thing straight. My personal life is none of your business.”

  “I can live with that.” For now. “Show up here first thing tomorrow and we’ll get started on the Great Wife Hunt.”

  Chapter 5

  HALFWAY home, Kate pulled her Escort over onto the side of the road, dropped her forehead to the steering wheel, and waited for her insides to quit shaking. The last person she’d ever expected to see again was the man from L.A.

  Oh, but heaven help her—she found him every bit as gorgeous as she had the first time.

  She’d thought that he returned that attraction, but obviously not. He’d come right out and said he wanted a wife, but “not her.” The insult had been a direct echo from her marriage. Men, apparently, put women into two categories: the ones they flirted with, and the ones they married. She’d resent Edward forever for marrying her and then deciding she wasn’t good enough to be a wife, but could she really blame Mike for feeling the same after the way she’d behaved in the airport? God, some days she hated everything about men, dating, and marriage.

  The thought jarred her into sitting upright, her eyes wide.

  No wonder Gwen wanted to fire her. How in the world could she dole out positive advice about love with all these negative thoughts running through her head? How had this happened to her? She used to be so upbeat, so confident about herself and life. Growing up, she’d always been the person everyone gravitated to when they wanted a boost in their day. Had that girl died completely? How did she find her again, coax her out of hiding? She had to, though, if she wanted to save her job as Dear Cupid. She had to believe in happily ever after again. Or at least, reasonably content ever after. To believe that sometimes marriage did work.

  But how?

  It hit her all at once, the perfect solution: help Michael Cameron find a wife. What better way to prove to herself she still had what it took to be Dear Cupid? The idea lifted her spirits enough for her to take a full breath.

  Beneath the relief came another thought, however. Michael Cameron needed to pay for the threat he’d made to Linda’s business. That had been a major mistake on his part. The question was, how could she accomplish both goals at once? Putting the car in gear, she contemplated ways to make him pay while she found him a wife.

  ~ ~ ~

  The sound of car doors slamming jarred Mike from a dead sleep. He squinted against the morning light that poured through the windows facing the lake. Out on the deck, a mockingbird gave a rousing ode to spring. Somewhere beyond that cacophony, he heard the murmur of voices.

  Kate.

  A smile washed over him but faded abruptly at the shrill sound of the doorbell. Cringing at the noise, he fumbled on the floor for some clothes and managed to come up with a pair of shorts. He abandoned his search for a shirt when the doorbell pealed again. Dragging a hand through his hair, he padded out of the bedroom, across the living area, and up the step to the cold tile foyer.

  He swung open the door, and there stood Kate, looking fresh and sexy in a bright yellow T-shirt and white capris.

  “I’m sorry, did I wake you?” she said, eyeing him from head to toe.

  “No, not at all.” He yawned through the lie.

  “You did say to come first thing this morning.”

  “Is it morning already?” He squinted past her toward the wide expanse of sky so blue the color stung. “So it is.”

  From the corner of his eye, he saw her gaze drift to his bare chest, linger a moment, then jerk away. He had to hide a smile at seeing that Kate wasn’t as disinterested as she claimed.

  “Wild night?” she asked.

  He thought of explaining that he’d been working at his computer until four a.m. but scratched his chest and stretched a bit instead, just enough to flex his muscles. “Guess I can’t keep up with the dancing girls the way I used to.”

  “Cute.” She smirked. “Now, are you ready to get started or not?”

  “By all means,” he answered absently as his gaze lifted to the pickup truck parked at the top of his drive. “What’d you do, bring a bodyguard?”

  “A building contractor,” she explained with a suspiciously sweet smile. Behind her, a large, dark-haired man ambled down the drive, fastening a tool belt about his hips. “Jim, meet Michael Cameron. Michael Cameron, Jim Davis, my friend Linda’s husband.” She gave him a pointed look that silently added the words: As in the Linda whose business you’re so eager to destroy.

  “Call me Mike.” He offered his hand in greeting as he summed the other man up in a glance. Jim Davis had a strong handshake, the body of a linebacker, and a directness in his gaze Mike liked right off the bat.

  “Now,” Kate said as she marched past Mike into the house. “I believe we’ll start in here.”

  With a shrug, Jim followed the little general with the coppery curls across the living area. Feeling the first prickle of concern, Mike did the same.

  “Last night, I was thinking about your house and I decided this wall really needs to go,” Kate said, motioning toward the high-ceilinged wall that divided the dining area from the kitchen. “It closes the kitchen off too much and completely ruins the view of the lake for whoever’s cooking.”

  Jim pulled a pad and pencil from his tool belt and began taking notes.

  “Of course,” Kate continued as she moved around the wall, “we’ll have to redesign the kitchen, as well. Turn these cabinets into a breakfast bar. Maybe create an island in the center of the room.”

  “Excuse me,” Mike ventured. “What are you doing?”

  She turned to face him, looking entirely too pleased with herself. “Getting your house ready for a wife. Surely you don’t expect the woman you intend to love for the rest of your life to cook in this place, do you?”

  He looked around the perfectly adequate kitchen. “You’re absolutely right. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

  She seemed a bit disappointed at his easy acquiescence, but nodded. “Good. I’m glad to see I won’t have to drag you along kicking and screaming.”

  He studied her as his brain slowly cleared of sleep enough to function. “Just one question, Kate. How much do you plan to make me pay?”

  “Oh.” She feigned innocence. “Is money a problem?”

  “I’m not talking about money. I’m talking about the fact that you didn’t seem too happy with me when you left yesterday and I’m wondering how much you plan to make me pay for whatever I did to upset you.”

  She had the grace to blush. Then, to his surprise, mischief spa
rkled in her eyes. Her body moved subtly into a seductive stance that made his sleepy pulse hum. Even in the baggy T-shirt, he figured she could have a man whimpering in two seconds flat.

  “That is the timeless question, now isn’t it?” she purred. “How much is a man willing to pay to gain a wife? What about you, Mike?” She leaned toward him and her fresh, spicy scent reached inside his gut and pulled hard. “How much are you willing to pay?”

  His gaze dropped to her breasts. A good question, he realized, but not one he cared to contemplate on an empty stomach. “If you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll scrounge some breakfast from my obviously deplorable kitchen while you two rearrange the walls.”

  Kate felt a little twinge of guilt as he moved past her. Jim’s censorious look didn’t exactly help. She stiffened her back, determined to see her plan through. “And new cabinet fronts,” she decided. “Glass, I think. Definitely glass.”

  “No glass,” Mike said as he pulled down a box of cereal and opened the refrigerator.

  “Glass is very trendy,” she pointed out. “It’ll go with the open, airy look we want.”

  “No glass.” Mike turned toward her with a gallon of milk in one hand and a box of Fruit Loops in the other. “If you tear out that wall, then anyone sitting in the main room will see straight into the kitchen. I don’t want people sitting on my sofa discussing my groceries.”

  She glanced at the open cabinet behind him and struggled not to laugh. The shelves held a jumble of crumpled-up potato chip bags, boxes of Little Debbie snacks, and a few cans of soup. “I can see where that might be a problem. After you have a wife, though, your shelves won’t be such an embarrassment.”

  Slowly, he set the milk down and opened his mouth to make some reply. The phone rang, cutting him short. He hesitated a moment, then snapped up the cordless handset. “Mike’s Magic Shop.”

  She raised a brow. Mike’s Magic Shop? Now that was interesting. Nearly as interesting as the view he presented. His bare chest, with its well-defined muscles and light sprinkling of blond hair, certainly could do things to a woman’s bloodstream.

  “Actually, I came up with an idea last night, but we’ll have to coordinate it with makeup,” Mike said balancing the phone against his shoulder as he poured milk into his bowl. “I’d like to see the skin come off in stages rather than going straight from live action to the animated robot.”

  Kate tried to ignore him as he turned his back to dig in a drawer for a spoon. He had a very nice back, with smooth, golden skin over well-honed muscles. The man must do nothing but work out at the gym and lie around the swimming pool all day to get a body like that.

  “Hang on. I’ve got some notes downstairs.” He turned to her and whispered, “I’ll be right back,” then spoke once more into the phone. “Who did you say was doing makeup on this one?”

  She scowled as Mike took his cereal and left the room, talking about fireballs, peeling skin, and soot-covered robots.

  “Now why is it,” Jim said in his slow, West Texas drawl, “I get the feeling this Mike fella ain’t exactly thrilled with this here remodeling project?”

  “Don’t be silly.” Kate waved a hand through the air. “He’s dying to have his house remodeled. Why else do you think he hired me?” She tried not to fidget while Jim studied her. Hopefully her knack for decorating would weigh in her favor.

  “I don’t know ...” he mumbled, shaking his head.

  “Trust me, Jim, everything will be fine.” Although maybe she should make Mike pay for the remodeling up front, just in case the second half of her plan—the actual matchmaking part—didn’t go too well. When Jim continued to look doubtful, she searched for a way to reassure him. “Do you remember when you and Linda were dating and you asked for advice?”

  “Yeah.” Color crept up Jim’s neck even as he smiled.

  “When I told you to stop being so polite and just toss Linda over your shoulder and carry her off to bed, you trusted me enough to do it, right?”

  “Scariest damned thing I ever did.”

  “But it worked, didn’t it?”

  “Yeah.” His neck got redder. “Of course, you knew all along that’s what Linda wanted me to do.”

  “Not exactly,” she admitted. Her suggestion had been an educated guess, but then what woman wouldn’t want some big, sweet guy like Jim to toss her over his brawny shoulder and play a little caveman? “I’m just good at guessing what attracts people to each other. Which is why I’ve made a career of advising people in such matters. This situation is no different, except that Mike came to me in person for advice on how to catch a wife.”

  “Oh, yeah?” Jim looked intrigued. “Smart guy.”

  “Maybe.”

  “One thing, though.” Jim’s frown returned. “How will remodeling a kitchen help him catch a wife?”

  “It just will,” she said with more conviction than she felt. Truth was, she’d come up with the remodeling project as a form of poetic justice for Mike threatening Linda’s business, since paying Jim would indirectly pay Linda as well. Although having a fabulous, newly remodeled and redecorated house certainly wouldn’t hurt his marriage potential.

  “It’s not that I doubt you when it comes to giving advice on dating,” Jim said. “I just don’t get how the two things relate.”

  “Jim, I’m telling you, this situation between me and Mike is no different than when you and Linda were dating.”

  He studied her a moment before his face lit up. “Oh,” he said, glancing toward the stairs and back again. “You mean, you and he ... Oh.”

  “No!” She held up a hand at the conclusion Jim had drawn. “I didn’t mean that at all. I meant, you just have to trust me.”

  “Uh-huh.” He grinned. “I get it. And here Linda didn’t even tell me you were dating. ‘Bout time too.”

  “I’m not dating him,” she said in desperation. “I’m not.”

  “Are you saying Linda doesn’t know?”

  “I’m saying there’s nothing to know.”

  He winked at her. “Don’t worry, I can keep a secret. If you don’t want Linda to know yet, she won’t hear it from me.” Turning, he gestured toward the wall. “So, how much of this thing do you want me to take out?”

  Kate opened her mouth to make further denials but closed it in defeat. Once Jim got an idea in his bull head, she knew arguing was futile.

  So, instead, she turned her attention to the remodeling project. For a spur-of-the-moment idea, opening up the kitchen had definite merit, she decided as Jim gathered enough measurements to work up a bid.

  “So,” she asked a few moments later, “how long do you think a project like this will take?”

  “Shoot, once I get a crew over here, we can knock this puppy out in six or seven days.”

  “Good.” She nodded, silently praying he meant six or seven consecutive days, not one day a week for six or seven weeks, like he’d taken to repair the back deck of the cabin.

  “Well, that ought to do it,” Jim said, putting away his tape measure and notepad. They both looked around for signs of Mike.

  “You go on,” Kate said. “I know you have a crew working over by the golf course. I’ll stay and wrap things up here.”

  “Uh-huh.” Jim’s grin held a wealth of sexual innuendo. “I can take a hint. Just one thing,” he added as she walked him to the front door.

  “What?” she asked warily.

  He glanced toward the stairs and lowered his voice. “Go easy on him, Kate. I mean, this dating stuff is hard enough on a guy without you women pouring on the torture.”

  “Jim,” she said with supreme patience, “I am not dating this man.”

  “Right.” With a chuckle, he ambled off.

  “Arrgh!” she growled in frustration and all but slammed the door.

  Pacing the living room, she waited for Mike to come upstairs so she could go over the rest of her plans. At the opposite end of the house from the kitchen, she caught a glimpse of the master suite. The spacious bedroom offered
a stunning view of the lake, and had its own access to the deck and pool below. The furniture, however, left much to be desired. A king-sized water bed, chest of drawers, and single chair were all she saw in her one brief glance. A vision of Mike lying naked in the middle of the water bed sprang a little too easily to mind, so she turned away and resumed her pacing.

  Ten minutes passed. He does plan to come back upstairs, doesn’t he? She paced for another five minutes, feeling more dejected by the moment. After all, she knew she wasn’t as attractive and exciting as she once had been, but was she this completely forgettable? Maybe I should go looking for him.

  Not at all comfortable snooping through his house, she headed gingerly down the stairs. Before she reached the bottom, she caught the clicking sound of a computer keyboard. It was a familiar, comforting sound—one that often kept her company during the long hours of the night when she worked on her column or answered the endless flood of e-mail she received. She smiled, wondering what Mike would think if he ever found out he’d hired Cupid to help him find a wife—not that she planned to tell him. Her rocky job situation was none of his business.

  On the bottom floor, she discovered a hall leading to two bedrooms. One was empty, but the other held a jumble of weight-lifting equipment. Closer to the stairs was a large, open room. The wall of glass revealed the back patio with its glistening swimming pool, barbecue grill, and neglected flower pots. But the room itself was what drew her attention. It was the only room in the house that didn’t look Spartan. In fact, it looked very lived-in, like a big boy’s dream room. Mobiles of spaceships dangled from the ceiling, while posters from Star Wars, Back to the Future, and Jurassic Park covered the walls. Built-in shelves held an array of detailed models, awards, and books on animation.

  She stared about her, remembering the conversation she’d just overheard. All of her assumptions about Mike being a lazy but rich beach bum slowly vanished as she realized he was in fact a special effects artist. A special effects artist who obviously loved what he did enough to ignore the rest of his house, and probably his life.