by Tara Wylde
Our eyes clash and I forget how to breathe.
Ever since I was a little girl, I’ve been haunted by a pair of eyes that are as blue as the Caribbean ocean during the middle of July. But they’ve never been perfect eyes. They’ve been flawed, the blue mixed with gold.
I’ve spent my whole life looking for a pair of eyes like that but have never found them. Until now.
I sink my teeth into my lower lip to keep it from trembling. Jeremy’s eyes, one the most perfect blue I’ve ever seen and the other half blue, half deep rich gold, shift to my mouth, staring so hard it takes all my willpower to stop myself from reaching up and covering my lips with my hands. His thumb moves, tracing small circles on the back of my hand, each swipe sending unexpected shock waves racing up my arm.
Jeremy shakes his head as if trying to pull himself out of a trance. He releases my hand and I feel the loss as keenly as if he’d taken a knife and make a clean chop through my wrist. I drop both of my hands to my lap, twisting my fingers together to prevent myself from reaching out and grabbing him.
Aunt Janet chuckles and shifts her grip, wrapping her arm around the front of my throat in a one-armed hug.
“I can see the two of you are going to get along just fine,” she murmurs in my ear, “so I’m going to leave you alone. Give me a call later and let me know how this goes. And I’ll be waiting with baited breath, so make it sooner rather than later.” She straightens and gives my ponytail a light tug. “Good luck. To both of you.”
I wrinkle my nose and watch as she lets herself out of the small break room. The door closes behind her with a soft click. “What the heck was all that about? She’s never acted so strange.”
“It’s been kind of a strange day.” He settles into the chair across from me. His beautiful eyes lock onto mine, capturing my gaze. “She tells me you’re a florist and that you’d like to be a contractor for my Caldwell Industries.”
“Yeah.” Mortification heats my cheeks. Jeremey Caldwell is asking about my desire to be a small part of his company and I start talking like a sullen teenager. Great. “I mean yes.”
“What kind of work do you do?”
I suspect he wants an answer that’s a bit more in-depth than saying I work with flowers. I struggle to remember the pitch I gave Anne. It’s not easy. The longer I stare into his eyes, the harder it is to retain a hold on my thoughts. Pretty soon, I won’t be able to remember my own name.
“I have a contract with one of those 1-800 dial-a-florist companies. I’m the only florist in Denver that they’re affiliated with, but working with them is pretty restrictive. There’s no room for creativity; every order that comes from them has to perfectly match the description they posted on their website, which is stifling, so I’d like to expand my business and do more one-on-one work with clients. My aunt gave my name to Anne Bradley and we set up an interview to look at my portfolio.”
“How’d that go?”
It might just be my imagination, but I swear his voice has gotten deeper, richer, in the past few minutes. Not that I’m complaining. Like smiles, low, sexy voices have always been a bit of a turn-on for me.
“Okay, I guess. Anne asked me some questions and looked at my portfolio. She said she’d get ahold of me in a few days and set up an appointment to see my shop. She said that if I sign a contract with Caldwell Industries, the orders will be really demanding, big, and sometimes last minute. I think she wants to make sure that I’m able to handle anything she throws at me.”
“Can you?”
“Absolutely.” I wish I felt as confident as I sound.
Jeremy shifts his weight on the chair. If he were anyone else, I’d say he was nervous. But he’s Jeremy Caldwell, business superstar, and I’m just a lowly florist who’s struggling to keep the lights on. What can he possibly have to be nervous about?
“Caitlin,” he starts, only to let his voice trail off.
Unsure of what to do, I sit still and remain quiet.
Tension fills the space between us, putting pressure on both of us, making it difficult to breathe.
“Damn it.” Jeremy curses and shoves his chair back. He gets to his feet in one long, incredibly graceful move. He walks around the table and stops beside me.
He braces his hand on the back of my chair and my pulse kicks into overdrive. I pray he doesn’t notice my sudden flush as I struggle to turn my thoughts to anything but how badly I want that hand to slide over a fraction of an inch, to brush against my skin. I breathe deeply, and silently curse at myself. I’m a grown woman, one who has spent her whole professional life surrounded by men, so why is it that just having Jeremy so close sends my body into overdrive?
And more importantly, what the hell am I supposed to do about it?
“Caitlin, about what Janet said,” he begins.
Oh God. I’d been hoping to avoid that particular embarrassment.
“I really don’t know what got into her.” I scramble for a semi-plausible explanation. “I have a few cousins and Aunt Janet’s great about staying in touch with all of us. Maybe she got me confused with one of the others. I think Melanie is in the middle of a serious relationship right now. Maybe her boyfriend is getting ready to pop the question, and talked to Aunt Janet about it.”
There’s no need to tell him that Melanie lives in Delaware and that the one and only time Janet met her boyfriend, Janet called him a toadstool-encrusted turd and shoved him into Melanie’s parents’ swimming pool.
Jeremy shakes his head. “She wasn’t talking about your cousin. She was talking about you and me. I want you to marry me and have my baby. What do you say to that?”
6
Jeremy
To the best of my knowledge, there isn’t a how-to guide that a guy can use as a kind of blueprint when he asks an attractive woman to marry him and bear his first-born child simply so that the guy can gain controlling interest in the family company. But I don’t need a book to tell me I’m messing this entire situation up.
Caitlin’s green eyes grow so huge, they seem to take over her entire face. She touches the base of her throat, her dark green nail polish striking a sharp contrast with her pale skin. The tip of her tongue moistens her lips. I stare at the damp skin, wondering what it will taste like. Hoping I get the chance to find out.
“Excuse me?” she whispers.
As much as I don’t want to explain the situation, I know I don’t have much of a choice.
“Have you heard of my brother, Evan?”
“He’s your twin, right?” Her brow furrows as she searches her memory banks for information about Evan. “He was arrested a few years ago. Assaulting an officer or something like that.”
I grimace and nod. “That and drunk driving, which is what started the whole thing, and then resisting arrest. I’m pretty sure there was also a contempt of court and one or two other charges as well by the time they threw his ass into a prison cell.”
And then there was what I found when I took over Caldwell Industry. I’d never reported it. I should have, but every time I picked up the phone to talk to the authorities, I remembered the expression on my mom’s face when the judge read Evan’s final sentence. The pain and shock of knowing what he was capable of when he was blind drunk and angry had almost destroyed her. There was no way I could live with what would happen to her if she ever found out what he was really like.
Sticking to the bare minimum, I give Caitlin the details of what I’ve just learned about my father’s will. I fully expect her to bolt long before I finish the story—it’s what I’d do if I were in her shoes—but she doesn’t. She hears me out.
“That’s insane. You’d really go through such a huge-life changing thing like getting married … having a child, just for two percent of one company. Isn’t owning forty-nine percent of it enough? Will the two percent you get really make you that much richer?”
I move the hand that’s on the back of her chair and catch hold of her ponytail, playing with the soft ends. “It’s not about the
money.”
“Really?” Skepticism flashes in her almond-shaped emerald eyes. “’Cause from where I’m sitting, this sounds like a money thing. That or a pissing contest between you and your brother, one with really high stakes.”
“I can see how you’d think that, but my brother, he didn’t do a very good job with this company when he had the opportunity to run it. He wasn’t the best boss to the employees.” If I could bring myself to tell her all that he’d done she’d have a better understanding of what she was dealing with, but I can’t. I’ve never told anyone. “The only way I can protect them from being put through that kind of stress again is by making sure that I maintain a controlling interest in things.”
Caitlin rubs her temple. “And how the hell did I get dragged into this scheme? You saw me in the elevator and thought, hey, she looks like just the kind of sap that makes for a perfect bride and mother?”
Despite the seriousness of the situation, despite the tension in the room, I can’t help myself. I laugh.
Something about the fact that she’s able to be witty and poke a little fun at the situation causes something in my chest to relax and warm. Something that feels just a little, I’m almost afraid to think it, like hope.
“Not quite, though I certainly noticed you. You’re too pretty not to be noticed.”
She blinks. “Really?”
Whoa! She honestly has no idea that she’s attractive, even dressed in an ugly suit and wearing minimalistic makeup. It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell her about my little fantasy while we were traveling together, but my instincts warn me that those words will be too much for her and she’ll bolt.
“Really,” I assure her. I stroke her cheek with the back of one finger, enjoying the way my knuckles slide over her silky skin. “You’re very pretty.”
For a split second, her eyes glaze over, like she’s falling under a spell, but she gives herself a shake and leans away from my touch.
“Why me?” she demands, her tone firm.
“Janet told me about your financial situation.” I wince inwardly, wishing I’d thought of a way to be more tactful as she pales. “She said that you were considering becoming a surrogate mother in order to earn some more money. She thought you’d find this option to be more appealing.”
Caitlin leaps to her feet, the sudden movement sending her chair toppling over backwards. “I can’t do this.”
“Caitlin, wait.” Before she can bolt past me, I grab her hand, pulling her so close to my side our body heat mingles. “I know this is a lot to ask, but don’t write me off right away. I think that this is a situation that, as long as we approach it with cool heads and reasonable expectations, we’ll both get what we want … what we need. So give it some thought, weigh your options. Then, if you don’t mind, I’d like to get together tonight and see what you think.”
I fully expect her to tell me to go to hell. I think that’s what she expects to say, but when she opens her mouth, the words “I’ll consider it, but that’s all I can promise” tumble past her lips.
“Thank you,” I murmur.
Rather than releasing her hand, I lift it and bow my head. Knowing she’s expecting a chaste, old fashioned kiss on the palm or knuckles, I rotate it at the last second, touching my lips, followed by the tip of my tongue, to the sensitive spot on the inside of her wrist. My eyes hold hers captive the entire time. She gasps and a flush stains her cheekbones. After a second, she tugs her hand free and bolts from the room.
The salt from her skin tickles my tongue as satisfaction wings through me. Her reaction soothed me, assured me that I’m not the only one being blindsided by unexpected lust.
7
Jeremy
I don’t have to set foot inside Caitlin’s shop to know that I like it.
Janet was right. I’ve walked past it a thousand times since taking over Caldwell Industries. What she didn’t know was that I took note when the previously grungy little brick building went through a stunning transformation. Decades of grime was removed from the bricks, the cracked windows were replaced, a pretty porch was added, and a cheerful yellow door was installed.
That must have been about two years ago. At the time, seeing the changes made me proud. Not only was I pleased that a new business was moving into the area, but also that the new owner seemed confident that the business would do well. I felt it had a lot to do with the way that my efforts with Caldwell Industries had helped improve this section of Denver.
Ever since then, I’ve always kept an eye on the little place.
Right now, the front porch is empty, the windows bare, but at Christmas time the porch sparkles with Christmas lights and poinsettias are lined up on the wooden benches. In the summer, huge, pretty hanging baskets are displayed. In the fall, heavy pumpkins and gourds spill out of artful cornucopias.
Despite how much I’ve always admired this place, this is the first time I’ve ever walked into it. A small, cheerful bell announces my presence as I push the door open. Hot, moist air that smells like flowers and potting soil blasts me, removing the faint chill I developed on my walk over from the Caldwell building.
I immediately spot Caitlin standing behind the front counter. Her head is the only part of her visible past the enormous clay pot and cactus she’s messing with. She’s freed her dark red hair from the ponytail, letting it fall loose around her shoulders, and at least half of her pea-green suit has been replaced by a long-sleeved T-shirt.
“I’m closing the place down in five minutes,” she calls out without looking up.
“That’s okay. I’m not interested in the plants, just the owner.”
“Oh.” Caitlin’s head snaps up. “Mr. Caldwell. I … thought. Nothing.”
“You thought what?”
Caitlin scoops a little more soil into the pot and pats it down. Her hands are protected by bright purple latex gloves.
“Nothing, it’s silly.”
Intrigued, I move closer. “I want to know.”
“When I didn’t hear from you at all today, I guess I assumed you’d found someone … I don’t know, more suitable, and decided to pretend our … discussion this morning never happened, that you decided to forget about me.”
Her voice is steady, the tone light, like the idea of me changing my mind isn’t a big deal. But I swear, something in her eyes shifts, a momentary flash of vulnerability that disappears almost instantly.
I pin my hopes on that flash, silently praying it means she’s considered my suggestion and doesn’t think it’s quite as insane as it sounds.
“One way or another, I’d let you know.” I shove my hands into my pockets and look around the shop. Plants and flowers cover every available surface. It reminds me of the business trip to Brazil that I just returned from. “Nice place you’ve got here.”
“Thank you.”
I wait a beat, hoping she’ll expand on the statement, give me something I can use to build a conversation, one that might help cut through the thick wall of tension that went up between us the second she recognized me.
“Do you run this place by yourself?” I finally ask, inwardly wincing at the awkwardness of the statement.
“For the most part.”
That’s it. I refuse to spend my entire evening standing here, trading polite, generic comments with her. Better to cut straight to the chase. “Would you have dinner with me? Give me a chance to discuss our…” I hunt for the right word. ‘Proposal’ is too romantic, too optimistic, but ‘business arrangement’ sounds so cold.
“Very strange adventure that you think I should take part in,” Caitlin picks up where my sentence trails off.
I grin. She has some spark in her. Good.
“Precisely.” I take a step closer to the counter. Caitlin raises her hands, placing one on either side of the pot the cactus is in. There’s something self-protective in the motion, like she’ll throw the plant at me if I make a single false move. Considering the sharp spines and the plant’s massive size, it’s a pretty good c
hoice in weaponry.
“So, what do you say to dinner?”
Caitlin chews on her lower lip. “I’m not sure. This whole thing is just so … bizarre. And I don’t understand how I got sucked up into it.”
I can’t help noticing that for as much as she keeps commenting on how weird things are, she’s yet to give me a flat-out no, which most other women would.
“Tell you what. Come to dinner with me and hear my sales pitch. If by the end of the meal, I haven’t convinced you to say yes, we’ll go our separate ways. No harm, no foul.”
Her fingers tap a random rhythm against the clay pot. I can practically see the wheels turning in her head. “It’s been a while since I’ve eaten. And I may have forgotten to go to the grocery store.”
I remember from my college days how ‘forgot to get groceries’ is not-so-subtle code for ‘can’t afford to eat’. “I can promise you something hot and delicious.”
Caitlin’s gaze flicks from my suit to down at her own body. “I’m not dressed to go anywhere.”
There’s no way I’m letting her use such a flimsy excuse. “Don’t worry about it. It’s casual.”
She doesn’t look convinced, but her grip on the plant loosens, her hands falling to her side as she steps around the end of the counter.
Even in the cheap pea-green suit, she was attractive, but that was nothing compared to her in a pair of distressed jeans with potting soil stains on the knees and a heavy long-sleeved T-shirt with the name of a local band scrawled across the chest.
She’s a little leaner than I generally prefer, but based on the way her jeans sag around her hips, the leanness is new, probably brought on by stress and cutting back on calories in an attempt to save money. If she’ll let me, I’ll be more than willing to put some meat on those bones…
She’s wiped all the makeup from her face, which makes her not only seem more vulnerable, but also more approachable and prettier than she looked when we met at my building.
