by Marina Adair
“What’s going on, Lexi?”
“You knew he was going to sue me, and you didn’t say anything. I didn’t have time to prepare.” She shrugged, her smile now small and sad. “I get that you’re his best friend, but I thought we were friends too.”
Were friends, as in past tense. Not what he wanted to hear.
“I had no idea he was going to sue you. I assumed that all the assets had been taken care of in the divorce,” he said. “And Lexi, we are friends.”
“Friends call, Marc. They check in on each other. Especially when somebody’s world falls apart.”
“I didn’t know what to say.”
Somehow, “I’m sorry that your marriage is over, but even though I never stopped wanting you I still can’t ever have you” hadn’t seemed like a good opening. So he’d put off calling her after she left Jeff, telling himself to give her a few days to recover from the blow. But then days became weeks and then months, and finally when the silence had become a knot in his gut, he’d heard from Abby that Lexi was moving home.
“I’m sorry I didn’t call, and I’m sorry that Jeff is such an idiot that he can’t see what he’s doing to you. But your world can only fall apart if you let it.” He pressed a finger to her puckered lips. “Now before you go and say something to challenge my masculinity, all I am saying is that the Lexi I know would get pissed that her plan, for which I am sure you had every last detail figured out, has just been shot to hell, and find another way. Not use it as an excuse to give up.”
“God, what is it with you DeLucas? I’m not giving up,” she argued, but he didn’t hear any fight in her voice. “Tanner starts on the remodel Monday, and Abby is determined that we will open. Eventually.”
“That makes me happy.” Not the part about Tanner walking around her shop lifting heavy things and carrying a hammer, but that she was going forward with the bistro. “The question is, does it make you happy?”
She shook her head. “I have to cook salmon,” she said, and to his horror she started crying. Not over Jeff, not over her bistro, but over salmon.
Normally he didn’t mind when women cried. He knew just how to hold them, kiss away their tears, and then eventually distract them with mind-blowing sex. But Lexi was different. This whole fucked-up situation was different. And for the first time since, well, since graduation night, when the same woman had cried in his arms, he had no idea what to do.
He remembered how crushed Abby had been after Richard left. She had cried all the time, and the only thing that helped was chocolate ice cream and his nonna’s hugs. He didn’t have any chocolate ice cream, and ChiChi was playing poker with her friends. So he opened his arms and pulled Lexi close, wrapping one hand around her lower back and gently patting between her shoulders.
Then he said, “Salmon isn’t so bad.”
“It is when it’s poached and served on a bed of blanched asparagus,” she sniffled and, to his surprise, wrapped her arms around his waist, pressing her soft cleavage into his chest and burying her face in the curve of his neck. Not sure what to do next, he went quiet, knowing that the women in his life lived to fill gaps of silence.
Sure enough, after what felt like fifteen minutes, Lexi finally spoke. “Our grandmas invited me do a tasting with a few other caterers at the next Daughters of the Prohibition meeting.”
She sniffled.
He gave another comforting pat on her head.
They both stood in silence. For a long-ass time, because of course Lexi couldn’t be like other women and spill her secrets. That would be too easy.
“That’s great,” he finally said, hating himself for giving in. Men liked quiet. Welcomed it, even. But with her, he had no idea what he liked anymore. All he knew was that if she was catering that event, she wouldn’t hide in her apartment all day, wouldn’t have time to date a bunch of tools, and he wouldn’t have to deal with Natasha.
“No, not great. They invited the celebrity judge for the Showdown to join them.” Sniffle. “Probably because Bo Brock is so hot.”
Lexi thought Bo Brock was hot? Marc was suddenly hoping that the guy was reconsidering. Hell, he might just tell Brock he’d found another judge.
“Abby and I figured that if I catered the event it would be a great way to test my new recipes while building a name for the bistro.”
“Then why the tears?” Marc asked, running his fingers up the back of her neck and easing out some of the tension. He must have hit a sensitive spot, because she gave a little moan and snuggled closer and Marc gave up.
No matter how many times he patted her back or tried to picture Abby in his arms instead of Lexi, he couldn’t come up with a single brotherly emotion. The only thing that was coming up for him was a big problem in his pants, and if Lexi swayed any closer she was bound to notice. And wouldn’t that just make everything a hell of a lot more complicated.
So when she added, “They’re deciding who gets to cater the Showdown, and if they like my food it will be me,” Marc took her by the shoulders and nudged her back a little so that they were no longer touching.
“That’s incredible. Do you realize how much press you could get out of that?”
“That’s what Abby said.” Her lower lip quivered. “But they want me to serve salmon,” she cried. “On a bed of asparagus! How can I make the most boring dish ever and impress them? I mean—”
She froze, her big green eyes large and wet. “Oh God.” She doubled over and covered her face with her hands as though embarrassed for him to see her break down. Her back shook with emotion, and she was making these little mewling sounds that damn near broke his heart.
Marc squatted in front of her, tucking her hair behind her shoulder, and whispered, “Aw, honey, don’t cry anymore, you’re killing me. We’ll figure this out. You and me. I promise. Hey,” he coaxed when she just kept convulsing. He pulled his shirt out and offered it up. “Give a good blow, wipe your tears, and then I’ll take you home. We can talk about this in the morning. Okay?”
Lexi lifted her head slightly, looked up at him with those incredible eyes, and then, for the first time since she’d been served, she reminded him of the girl he knew and loved. She moved her hands and threw up all over his shirt.
CHAPTER 7
A clicking sounded in the distance. It echoed through her head, pounding over and over. Lexi groaned, and even that hurt.
Pulling the covers tighter to her, she squeezed her eyes, trying to convince her brain to reattach to her skull. The clicking stopped, and she felt a hand slide into her hair, then rub tiny, moan-worthy circles at the base of her skull. Snuggling in deeper, she melted around the warm body she was holding and felt herself lulled back toward sleepiness. She also felt something wet on her pillow.
Lexi froze. The heavenly fingers stopped and then disappeared. The clicking started up again, and every detail from last night came rushing back in HD. Unfortunately, she’d not only lost her dinner all over Marc’s shirt, she’d also lost signal somewhere around the time Marc slung her over his shoulder and carried her up the stairs to her apartment.
Desperate not to wake up her bedmate, Lexi gently slid her left hand—the other was stuck beneath his body—under the covers and did a quick walk-of-shame pat-down. She’d never done the walk of shame, hard to do when you’d only ever been with one man, but secretly she’d fantasized about it once or twice.
Yup, completely naked except for a bra.
Abby would be so proud…until she heard that the shame in question was her brother.
Eyes closed, she took stock. She was practically naked, her arm asleep and trapped between the mattress and her ex’s best bro, and the room spun so fast she was pretty sure she was still drunk.
Had she really slept with Marc DeLuca? And if so, why couldn’t she have been sober enough to remember the experience? For the first time in her life she had done something wild and irresponsible, and she hadn’t even been present for the main event. Worse still, she was trapped and would have to face him not kno
wing if she was even any good.
She was such a failure.
Slowly she tried to slide her arm out. When he didn’t budge except to grunt and roll closer, she threw the covers over her head and decided to feign sleep until he got bored and left.
“Unless you’re willing to chew through your arm, I’m pretty sure he’ll outwait you.”
Lexi pulled back the covers and immediately threw them over her head again. Her eyes were dry and irritated, and she didn’t know what made her feel worse, the sun piercing her brain through her retinas or the sight of big brown eyes staring back at her.
“Rise and shine, cream puff.” Marc ripped the sheets back, and Lexi gasped.
She was lying in a puddle of drool, next to a man who was very much dressed in shorts and a tee and sitting on top of the covers, while she was spooning his dog for all she was worth. She grabbed the sheets back from Marc and covered herself.
Wait! He was in different clothes. Maybe they did…
“Why are you dressed in”—sheets to chin, she eyed his new clothes—“those?”
Marc looked up from his laptop, and the clicking stopped. “I could take them off, but I think Wingman might get a little jealous. He’s not really into sharing. We’re working on that though, huh, boy?”
Boy barked, his tail thumping the mattress.
“No, I mean, where are your shirt and pants?”
“In the dryer. They got a little dirty last night, so I went to my place and grabbed a few things after you passed out.”
She groaned, remembering just how his pants got dirty. Turning her head back to look at Wingman, who was panting happily in her face, she asked Marc, “What are you even doing here?”
“Holding your hair while you went to church for most of the night. Listening to you snore for the rest of it. I brought you some coffee. It’s on the nightstand.”
“I don’t snore. And”—she sniffed hazelnut and vanilla—“thank you.”
“Then there was the moment when you decided your jeans were too tight. That was a highlight. Almost as good as when the shirt went flying. But my favorite part”—Marc set his laptop aside and leaned in close, his lips grazing her ear when he whispered—“was when you shimmied out of that red thong.”
“I did not!”
“Really?” He held up his hand. A pair of red-lace panties dangled from his finger.
“Give those back!” She grabbed the panties and, shoving them under the sheet, slid them on. He might not be able to see under there, but she wasn’t taking any chances. “Now go away.”
A knock sounded at the front door.
Lexi shot up, taking the blankets with her and sending Wingman flying off the edge of the bed. He landed in a tangled heap of paws and tail and looked around, his big doggie eyes wary and confused.
“Expecting company?” Marc asked with an amused smile.
“No, and why are you smiling like that? What if it’s our grandmas? They come over sometimes on Saturday for breakfast. One look at us and—”
There was another knock.
Lexi scurried to grab her robe and put it on, checking the time on her cell before shoving it into the terry-cloth pocket. Marc, on the other hand, stretched and leisurely got out of bed. They reached the door at the same time, Wingman barking excitedly at their feet.
She shoved Marc back. “Are you crazy? One look at you and the whole ‘We are good, God-fearing people’ speech will begin. By afternoon ChiChi will be at the chapel picking dates and Pricilla will be baking our wedding cake. So stay here. And no matter who is at the door, don’t come out. Understand?”
Marc just nodded, awfully calm for someone who was usually paralyzed by the threat of forced commitment. Which was good for Lexi, because although she doubted it was the grannies on her doorstep—they would have just let themselves in through the bakery’s stairs—she didn’t want her bachelors getting the wrong idea about sleeping arrangements. And if Marc was seen leaving her place in the morning, rumors would fly—guaranteed.
“Coming,” she yelled, rushing down the steps as she tightened the belt of her robe and answered the door. And froze. Because there, on her porch stoop with a single red rose and a lecherous smile, stood St. Helena High’s reigning panty peeper. “Chad?”
Chad swooped in for a kiss. He went for the lips, but she managed to deflect him to the cheek.
“Morning, beautiful.” His smile faded a little when he took in her attire. He shot a glance at his watch. “Am I early?”
“Early?”
“For our date.”
Had he seriously thought that she would go on a picnic with the man who served her? She took in the red-and-white-checkered picnic basket and convertible running idle and realized he had.
“I called you last night to confirm. I left a message. We have a busy day planned. You and me, a little driving, wine tasting on the way to the lake. I even have reservations at that new Italian place in the hills. How fast can you get ready?”
“I am so sorry that—” She paused. Because she realized that was a lie. She wasn’t sorry. Although he didn’t seem so creepy right now, bouncing on his toes and holding the flower and acting all excited about their date, he had served her. He had helped Jeffery screw her out of her recipes and then acted like he’d done nothing wrong. She hated people like Chad—almost as much as she hated roses. “This date isn’t going to happen. Ever. I should have called to cancel, but it slipped my mind.”
“Why?” One word, but there was one heck of an accusation behind it.
“Um, why can’t I go out with you? Or why did it slip my mind?”
Chad just raised an angry brow.
“Do I really need to explain? You represented my ex-husband in a claim that cost me my recipes.”
“But it’s Saturday,” he said, petulantly. She was surprised he didn’t stomp his foot.
He took a step inside the door. Lexi tried to hold her ground, but it happened so fast. One minute he was on her stoop and the next he was in her apartment.
“And your stupid client nearly cost me my bistro.”
“Nearly? You’re still opening the café?” He was back to smiling again. “Good. Jeff will be happy. He wants you to open it. So do I. See, it all worked out.”
“Bistro. And wait!” She must have misunderstood him. “You talked to Jeffery? About me?”
“Of course, you were the defendant in our case.” This was getting way too weird. “I also told him we had a date.”
“And he encouraged this?”
“Yeah.” Chad looked suddenly lost. “He said it was good for you to get out. Told me to bring you this.” He stuck the rose out. “For you.”
Lexi stared at the rose. She didn’t know what hurt more, Jeffery trying to set her up with another man or that after fifteen years he still didn’t know she hated roses. The one thing she was sure about was that if Jeffery was messing with her life, it was for his benefit only. “Look, thanks for the gesture, but—”
She broke off. Oh God, she was going to cry. Her head felt like it was about to explode, her ex-husband was playing matchmaker, and after she’d given all of her adult life to a man, he still didn’t know something as simple as what kind of flower she liked.
“Morning, sugar.” A strong hand slid around her waist, bypassing the lip of the robe and sliding home to caress her bare belly. Marc pulled her back against him, pressing his nose into her neck and delivering a wet kiss that had her thighs quaking.
Snappy retort ready, Lexi turned her head and looked up at Marc, who was looking back at her with an expression that was so innately male, her mouth went too dry to speak. His cocky posture, the possessive way he draped his arm around her—Marc was all but pissing on her apartment to show Chad exactly where the line was.
“Hey, Chad.” Marc extended his free hand. Chad reciprocated, and Marc used the solid hand-to-hand contact to shake Chad right back out on the porch stoop. “Oh man, I am so sorry. We forgot to call you. Didn’t we?” He loo
ked at Lexi, who shot him a hard glare back.
She didn’t need a man setting her up, didn’t need a man guilting her into a date, and she most certainly did not need a man lying for her. In fact, she didn’t need a man, period.
Lexi opened her mouth to tell them exactly that when Marc’s fingers slid higher, right to the sensitive skin underneath her breast, tickled and then pinched. Lexi gasped and twisted, bringing her hand up to grab his, and her butt flush with his groin. To Chad, it would have looked like he was copping a feel, but she knew there would be a small bruise come tomorrow. The big jerk.
“Sorry, buddy, but Lexi and I are busy today. We have to cancel.”
“We?” Chad took in the possessive way Marc was holding her and how she wasn’t resisting him—yet. He looked as confused as Wingman had when he’d been tossed out of Lexi’s warm bed onto the cold floor. “But it’s Saturday. I’m Mr. Saturday.”
“Yeah,” Marc said, and Lexi could feel his chest puff up and smell the testosterone seeping into the air. “Well, I’m her every day.”
“Her what?”
“My what?” Lexi snapped, turning to face him, and every argument she had stuck in her throat.
Marc wasn’t just standing behind her. He was practically naked. Gone were the shirt and shorts from earlier, and in their place were black boxer-briefs, a bad case of bed head, and a whole lot of naked skin and impressive muscles. One muscle was particularly impressive, but she didn’t know if he was revved up by her or by the battle-of-bigger-dick syndrome. Either way, she found it hard not to lick her lips.
“Her Mr. Every Day.” He spoke as though Lexi wasn’t standing right there. “Meaning if it ends in fucking day, it’s mine, buddy.” And with that Marc slammed the door.
“What was that all about?” she snapped, shoving Marc, who moved a whole half inch. Sure, Chad was a jerk, but she had been handling it.
