Billionaire Bachelors: Garrett

by Anne Marie Winston

  Ordinarily she would have let the chicken cool before picking and chopping it into small chunks, but because of the time constraint, she had to do it as soon as it was done cooking.

  The fact that she burned her fingertips was another black mark against Garrett’s name.

  It was 12:25 when she finally got the chicken mixed into the casserole with the broccoli, cream sauce, mushrooms and herbs. She liberally topped it with cheese and crumbled breadcrumbs then popped it into the preheated oven just as Garrett walked in the door.

  He made a production of checking his watch. “Am I early? I don’t want to rush you out of the kitchen.”

  She smiled as graciously as she could manage, buoyed by the thought of what was going to happen in the next hour. “No, I was just finishing. I hope you don’t mind—I left a casserole in the oven to bake.”

  He shrugged. “I wasn’t planning on using the oven. Feel free.”

  “Thank you.” She shaded her voice with just a touch too much gratitude. “I’ll be back to get it out but you’ll be almost done in the kitchen by then.” She turned to the counter and picked up the plate of crab and crackers she’d set out.

  “What’s that?” he asked.

  “A little crab dip I mixed up,” she said airily. “I have a fabulous recipe.”

  As he watched, she turned away and headed for the door. “Since it’s your kitchen time, I’ll take myself out onto the deck. After that, I’m going to take the canoe out for a little while.” She smiled to herself, imagining him drooling.

  To her surprise, Garrett trailed after her. “Do you wear a life vest when you go out alone?”

  She shook her head. “No. I’m quite a strong swimmer.” Then she smiled. “Don’t worry. I won’t drown before the month is up and we own the cottage.”

  He shot her a look of annoyance. “Water safety is nothing to be flippant about. You should be wearing a vest.” He paused. “Actually, you shouldn’t be going out alone at all.”

  That surprised her. No, that shocked her. Anger began to simmer. “You do.”

  He frowned. “That’s different.”

  “Oh?” She made her voice mocking. “Because you’re a big, strong man and I’m just a silly little woman who needs taking care of?”

  “No.” His eyes were growing dark and stormy. “Because I’ve been coming here for years and I’m familiar with the lake and you’re not. There are some dangerous rocky areas out there. And unlike most of the lakes, this one isn’t so heavily populated that you’d be rescued anytime soon. Even if you didn’t hurt yourself and drown, you might have to wait there until I missed you.”

  “Goodness, that could take a while,” she said acidly. “Since we both know how likely it is that you’d miss me for anything other than a convenient target for your rotten temper.”

  His face was growing red; he looked furious. “Are you going to be sensible or not?”

  She smiled and waggled her fingers at him as she stepped out onto the deck. “Not.”

  Four

  He woke up in a bad mood.

  As Garrett swung his feet over the edge of the bed and stood, he heard a raucous squeak, then the quieter snick of the kitchen screen door latching. He stopped in mid-stretch and glanced at the clock. Six-thirty. That meant that the sound he heard must be Ana coming in from her swim. He told himself he wasn’t disappointed that he hadn’t risen early enough to see her emerge from the lake. But a part of him could still visualize the perfect, slender limbs, the full breasts and rounded hips and his body called him a liar.

  What was the matter with him, lusting after a woman who had probably slept with his stepfather? He was afraid he knew exactly what was wrong with him. The luscious Miss Birch was intensely attractive, immensely sexually compelling. The same thing that had worked on Robin was working on him, as well.

  The thought made him want to snarl as he shrugged into a T-shirt, shorts and dockside shoes before heading downstairs. Why had men been made this way? It wasn’t that he liked her, he assured himself. It was just that she was so incredibly well put together. As he entered the kitchen, he wondered where she had gone—but his question was answered when he saw her standing at the counter spreading butter and jelly on two slices of toast.

  “Good morning.” He forced himself to be civil.

  “Good morning.” She sent him a beaming smile. She wore a long beach wrap that clung to her wet body and her hair was wrapped turban-style in a towel. She wasn’t wearing a scrap of makeup but his gut clenched as the potent impact of her shining beauty hit him. Life just wasn’t fair.

  “It’s past six-thirty,” he said abruptly. “My time in the kitchen.”

  Ana gave a gusty sigh and the smile faded. “Oh, heavens, please excuse me. God forbid I should be in the kitchen during your time.” Her voice dripped with sarcasm.

  It fed his general discontented feeling and he shot her a glare. “We made a deal. The deal is you’re out of the kitchen when it’s my turn. You can eat before or after, whichever you choose.”

  “Before or after doesn’t work well for me.” She picked up her toast and placed it on a plate, then poured herself a glass of orange juice. “I’m starving. I can’t wait until seven-thirty to put something in my stomach or I feel ill.”

  “Six-thirty to seven-thirty is my kitchen time,” he said stubbornly. “You get up at six. Eat before you swim.”

  “I can’t. It’s not good to exercise on a full stomach.”

  “So swim later in the day.”

  “I don’t want to! I like to exercise first thing in the morning. If I get caught up in a project I’ll forget if I leave it until later.” She unwrapped the towel from her hair and began to comb her fingers through the wild tangle of irrepressible curls. “Who in the world needs an hour to eat breakfast, anyway? It’s not like you make a gourmet meal. You eat cereal.”

  “I read the paper. Drink my coffee.”

  “And you couldn’t do that in the living room?” She sniffed as she picked up her dishes and started out of the kitchen. “Admit it. You’re still mad about me inheriting half of this cottage and you’re taking it out on me. Robin’s the one you should blame.”

  “Robin’s not the one who wormed his way into an old man’s will.” The moment the words left his mouth, he regretted them. Not because they weren’t true, but because he really hadn’t wanted to push Ana into a state of war. Life in the little house was difficult enough.

  Ana whirled. Her exercise-pinkened face had grown pale, except for two spots of color high on her cheekbones, and she was practically shaking with anger. “For your information, Robin is the one who sought me out. After we met, I never asked him for anything except the pleasure of his company.”

  She stomped out of the kitchen. Her cat, Roadkill—what kind of a name was that to stick an animal with?—darted after her, pausing in the doorway to whirl and hiss at him with a sobering display of fangs. He’d heard cat bites were extremely painful and often got infected. That animal was dangerous. He should demand that she keep it penned up or get rid of it.

  He took every minute of the rest of his hour to read every inch of the paper that the caretakers delivered just after dawn. When he got his milk and orange juice out of the refrigerator, he couldn’t help but notice the casserole she’d made yesterday afternoon. It didn’t look like much, just a baking dish with a crumb-covered cheese crust inside. But the smell of the thing while it was baking had practically had him drooling. He wondered if he could get her to give him the recipe to take home to his cook. Then, remembering the harsh words they’d just exchanged, he decided he’d be a fool to ask. She’d probably give him a recipe for something poisonous.

  He went down to the lake and took a good swim as Ana had earlier. But when he came back to the house and settled in his office, the mood of restless discontent still rode him. He checked his watch. Eight-forty. His New York office didn’t open until nine and L.A. was three hours behind that. While he knew he paid his staff generously enough t
hat he could call one of them at home, he refrained. He tried never to infringe on his employees’ downtime except when truly necessary. Today it wasn’t.

  Rising from his desk, he wandered through the kitchen into the living room.

  Ana was standing on tiptoe at the door with a small bottle of oil in one hand, stretching up to reach the top hinge. Guilt struck immediately. He’d been inexcusably rude. And worse than that, just plain mean. He shifted uncomfortably as another truth struck home: Robin would have been ashamed of him.

  A bolt of sorrow shot through him as, once again, he faced the fact that never again would he hear that voice, that laugh. And he remembered what Ana had said in the kitchen earlier. She’d never wanted anything but his company. Even as the cynic inside him said right, he realized that she also must be feeling a tremendous sense of loss. It made his voice less antagonistic, gentler, as he asked, “What are you doing?”

  “Oiling these hinges,” she said in a distinctly defensive tone. “Every door in this place squeaks. It was driving me crazy. I really want to be working, but I know I couldn’t concentrate until I got this done.”

  He couldn’t blame her, he decided as he walked over to stand beside her. He was the one who had started this. “How many have you done?”

  “This is the last one downstairs except for the far door in the kitchen.” She turned to look at him with lifted brows, and her green eyes were wary. “Why?”

  He reached out and took the bottle from her. “I have a few minutes to kill until my offices open. Go ahead and work. I’ll finish these.”

  Her face was so suspicious he would have been insulted if he hadn’t known full well he deserved her skepticism. “Really?”

  Strangely, the seething anger with which he’d awoken seemed to melt away in that moment and he smiled. “Really.”

  Her whole face lit up. “Thank you!” And she dashed up the stairs without another word.

  He oiled the remaining hinges downstairs, then went upstairs and methodically worked his way through the rooms. The last door he tackled was the door of her workroom. Just as he opened it to work the oil into one of the hinges, she pulled it open from the other side and barreled through.

  She crashed straight into him, and they both staggered. Automatically he reached out and caught her by the shoulders, feeling the press of her soft skin beneath his palms. He let go of her instantly and stepped back. “Whoa. You all right?”

  Ana stared up at him. She licked her lips. “Um, fine. Thank you,” she added belatedly.

  “No problem.” He smiled at her, trying not to stare at her mouth as she nervously moistened her lips again, then felt the smile fade. “I, ah, owe you an apology for what I said earlier.”

  Her eyebrows lifted in that silent-but-oh-so-eloquent manner he’d come to recognize, but she didn’t say anything.

  “I…cared for Robin.” He looked at the floor. “It’s been difficult to adjust to the thought of sharing him with anyone, even in memory.”

  “I’m sure.” She shifted beneath the weight of the backpack he’d just noticed she was wearing. “He talked about you all the time, you know. He was so proud of you. I don’t think he ever thought about you not being his biological son. He—he loved you.”

  Garrett stared at her. Men don’t cry, he reminded himself fiercely. But he couldn’t prevent the tight knot that rose in his throat and constricted his breathing, nor could he banish the tears that welled. He blinked them away, smiling crookedly. “I loved him, too. He married my mother when I was a fourteen-year-old hell-raiser, and he took me in hand. I learned rules, and I learned manners. And somewhere along the way, I forgot that I didn’t want to like this guy who’d invaded my life.”

  Ana smiled. “He was pretty irresistible.”

  An awkward silence hung in the air as their eyes met and held. And held, and…held. Her green gaze was filled with sadness, warm fond memories and something more. Something that told him she was very aware of him as a man.

  His pulse quickened. It was the first time he’d had any inkling that she was feeling the attraction he’d been fighting. And even though he told himself to ignore it, he wondered what she would do if he pulled her against him.

  Then she broke the moment, giving him a wide berth as she stepped past him. “I’m going to take a walk. I seem to think creatively when I’m walking. See you later.” She paused. “Thanks again for oiling the doors.” The last was tossed over her shoulder as she rushed down the stairs.

  Just as the door closed behind her, a movement from the corner of his eye distracted him. Turning his head, he was surprised to see that the cat had leaped up onto an end table and was peering out the window.

  “I thought you were shut in her room,” Garrett said softly.

  The cat jerked its head and gave him what looked like a less-than-friendly feline stare.

  “You fell into it and came up smelling like a rose,” Garrett informed the animal. “I hope you know how lucky you are to have found a sucker like her.” He took a step closer. Immediately the cat sprang to its feet. Though it didn’t leap away, it was clear that he wasn’t to be trusted.

  “All right. I’ll fix you,” he murmured. Moving as slowly as he could, he backed away from the cat and went downstairs. In the pantry, on Ana’s side, were stacks of canned cat food. He popped the top on one and forked half of the contents into a small bowl. After covering and refrigerating the other half, he carried the food back upstairs. The cat was still perched on the end table.

  “Hey, cat, I’m back. And do I have a treat for you.” He eased as close as he dared, watching the cat’s muscles tense. He kept talking in a soft, soothing tone as he extended the bowl and set it on the floor not far from the animal. The cat’s nose was twitching. “Go ahead, dig in,” Garrett invited. “See what a good guy I am?”

  The cat continued to eye him mistrustfully as he backed away. Then, once the animal judged him to be less of a threat, it leaped down from the table and attacked the food with gusto, glancing up occasionally to make sure Garrett hadn’t invaded its personal space.

  “Good stuff, huh?” He watched as the cat cleaned the bowl with vigorous strokes of its tongue until it appeared as clean as it had been before he’d put food in it. Only the fishy smell still lingered.

  When the cat finished eating, it sat and began to clean itself with delicate swipes of one striped paw. “You really are a beauty,” Garrett murmured. And it was. It was, as he’d deduced the first night he’d glimpsed it, a pretty tiger-striped tabby. But instead of plain stripes, the bands of contrasting color whorled into a perfectly round bull’s-eye pattern on each side.

  He took a step closer, and then another when the cat ignored him. He crouched and snagged the bowl, and the cat looked up. He extended his hand. “Hi.” The cat sniffed his hand, finger by finger, for a very long time. Then, just as he knew he was going to have to get up before he lost all feeling in his legs, the animal stretched forward and butted its head against his hand. He turned his hand over slowly and gently scratched behind its ears. A loud rumble filled the room as the cat began to purr, the noise sounding like a poorly-tuned outboard motor.

  “Well, I’ll be damned,” Garrett murmured. “You big faker.” He moved his hand away and began to rise. The cat shot him one wild-eyed look, laid its ears back and hissed, then vanished into Ana’s room.

  Garrett chuckled. He shrugged as he picked up the bowl and carried it downstairs. “Oh, well. Small steps are better than none.”

  It was past time for his offices to be open, so he headed for his study and worked for the rest of the morning. Around eleven he smelled something delicious, something like…cherry pie? It was a good thing Ana didn’t know what the smell of her cooking was doing to him or she’d have a good laugh at his expense, he thought as he forced himself to ignore the odor. At twelve-thirty, his watch alarm reminded him that it was lunchtime, a fact his stomach already knew, and he finished his last conference call and went into the kitchen.

&nb
sp; Ana stood by the counter, lifting the casserole she’d made out of the refrigerator and setting it into an oversize picnic basket he’d seen in the pantry. Her curly hair was caught in a loose ponytail at her nape and wild quirky strands formed a halo around her head. She wore an ivory sundress, a gauzy thing with a fitted bodice and gathers down the front that gave the skirt additional fullness.

  “Hello,” she said, placing a wooden thing that looked like a miniature table into the basket with its legs on either sides of the casserole dish.

  “Hello.” He eyed the basket. “Going on a picnic?”

  She shook her head. “No. Taking a few little things to a friend in town.” She turned from him and lifted a pie from the counter, setting it on the second shelf she’d made of the little wooden thing.

  He couldn’t help himself. “Is that cherry pie?” He sniffed appreciatively. Hopefully.

  “Yes.” She snapped shut the basket lid and swung the basket down from the counter, and he could see the play of smooth muscle in her arms as she absorbed the weight. “I’m having dinner in town so you won’t have to worry about me infringing on your kitchen time tonight. See you later.”

  “See you later,” he echoed stupidly as she whisked around him and out the back door. As she started up the hill, he had to restrain himself from charging after her and demanding, “Dinner with who?”

  It’s none of your business, he admonished himself. As if he didn’t know what she’d say if he were to do something so stupid.

  She still hadn’t returned by the time he’d cleaned up the dishes from his solitary meal that evening. The peace and quiet was kind of nice, he told himself stoutly. He’d never been up here without Robin, never had to eat his every meal alone. There was absolutely nothing wrong with it. Absolutely nothing.