“Probably wise,” he said.
“This will take at least a half hour to heat through. I would have put it together at the office, but the luncheon I did today ran a little late.”
“No problem,” he said. “It’s exciting to stand around and watch the cheese melt.”
“Ah. Sarcasm.” One corner of her full mouth tilted up. “So don’t stand around. Go watch the grass grow or the car rust. The cheese will melt whether you’re here or not. You must have something better to do than hang around with me.”
“Not really. For a change it’s kind of nice to not be the one cooking.” At the moment, he couldn’t think of anything he’d rather do than watch her. “So what have you brought to taste? Besides the lasagna?”
“I have a Greek salad,” she said indicating a bowl of greens on the counter. “Some egg rolls I made from scratch. They’re left over from the luncheon today and they’re really good if I do say so myself. I assembled quesadillas—they’re simple—tortillas and cheese—but if you like them and want more pizzazz, I can use salsa, guacamole and beans. Jalapeño peppers can spice them up and make them hotter.”
He could think of ways to spice things up he thought, staring at her mouth. And that definitely made him hotter.
“Sounds like you’ve put together a veritable United Nations for the palate.”
“I like that,” she said with a grin. “And once we have an ethnic direction, I can narrow down your choices and fine-tune the recipes, taking into consideration your personal preferences. Also, you don’t have to stick with just Italian or Mexican food. You can mix and match if you want.”
“That wouldn’t be breaking any catering code?”
Her eyes sparkled. “None I’m aware of. Some clients like to stick with one direction, but it’s not carved in stone. It all depends on what you want. The customer is always right.” She stuck her hands in the pockets of her apron. “Seriously, if you have something you need to do, I’ll just let you know when everything is ready.”
That was the third time she’d hinted he should hit the road and get out from underfoot. Did he make her nervous? Or was she a temperamental chef who didn’t like anyone peeking over her shoulder? He sort of liked that he might make her nervous—if it wasn’t nervous in the “temperamental cook” kind of way. If it was the sort of nerves that meant she was as aware of him as he was of her, he could go for that.
“Don’t worry about me,” he said. “I can take care of myself.”
“I’m not worried. You’re a big boy,” she said, not quite meeting his gaze. “Where’s Kendra? I haven’t seen her.”
It was a natural question, considering the fact that his daughter had initiated this whole thing in the first place. But it was the way Thea had asked, as if she were hoping. As if she were worried—about being alone with him.
“She’s at a friend’s house.”
“But she was supposed to be here.”
Scott shrugged. “I know. Something came up for school. I was going to call and cancel but she talked me out of it.” And that had taken precious little effort.
“I see.” She tapped her lip. “When will she be home?”
“Ten at the latest. That’s her curfew on school nights.”
“Hmm.” Thea met his gaze. “It would be nice to get her input. Since this party is for her. And that’s why I came back.”
“She said everything you make is to die for—that’s a direct quote—and I should pick what I like.” His gaze zeroed in on the slender column of Thea’s neck, which he liked very much. He noticed her pulse fluttering and his own kicked up to keep pace.
“Okay.” She nodded. “She can reheat the leftovers and let me know what she thinks. Often they’re better because the flavors have time to blend. But I have to warn you, if there’s anything you love and she hates it, her opinion as guest of honor carries the most weight.”
“Even though I’m paying the bill?” He couldn’t resist teasing her. Maybe he could shake her out of this stiff, professional pose. If he’d never seen her sympathetic-listener side, he wouldn’t miss it now. But he had and he did.
“You’re paying the bill because you love your daughter and want her to be happy.”
“You’re sure about that?”
“Absolutely,” she said, nodding emphatically.
“I’m that transparent?”
“Like plastic wrap.”
“You’ve learned all my secrets,” he confirmed.
“Then my work here is done.” But her gaze skittered away. She pointed at the clutter on the refrigerator beside him. “Does it always look like that?”
He studied the mass of magnets, some of them with clips holding coupons, school memos and pictures. “Yeah, pretty much.”
She tapped her lip. “I can’t decide if it’s a fire hazard or a work of art.”
“Probably both,” he said with a grin.
She plucked off a magnetic frame with a photo in it. “Which one of the girls is this?”
He moved in close to look, even though he knew exactly which one of his daughters it was. “That’s Kendra. She was three months old.”
Gently, she traced the picture with her finger, as if it were a real, live baby. “She’s so sweet.”
As sweet as you smell, he thought breathing in her floral scent. A soft, tender look crept into Thea’s face as she studied the small photo. He hadn’t thought she could look more beautiful, but she did. It took all his willpower to keep from reaching out to trace the curve of her cheek and the line of her jaw. The skin there looked incredibly soft and smooth and perfect. Her small nose turned up slightly with a dusting of freckles splashed over it.
Strands of hair shimmered around her face like brown silk. It was all he could do to keep from tangling his fingers in it and pulling her to him to taste her mouth, see if it was made for kissing as he suspected. The sight of her made his chest tight and for the first time in a long time, he felt the emptiness inside.
“She’s completely adorable.” Thea looked at him. “I can’t believe you know exactly how old she is in this picture.”
“Besides the fact that it’s written on the back,” he said, “I remember everything. I’ve been involved in all my girls’ activities—Indian princesses, sports, school.”
“Did work get in the way of being a father?” she asked wryly.
“Sometimes. But since my dad owns the company, it was a little easier to juggle my time. Any pressure about work came from me trying not to take advantage.”
“So much for trying to make me believe you’re a tough guy where your daughter is concerned.” She looked around the kitchen and into the family room. “Your girls practically grew up in this house. For a man who remembers everything, doesn’t that make you think twice about selling it?”
He shrugged as he followed her gaze. “It’s just a house. The memories are up here,” he said, tapping his temple. “I’ve got a ton of pictures, ninety-nine-point-nine percent of which are not in albums. I wish digital cameras had been around when my girls were growing up.”
“Digital cameras?” she asked, a spark in her eyes.
“Yeah. The technology makes storing the memories easier and that appeals to me. Are you interested?” He looked into her eyes and wished they were talking about something more personal than the latest photo technology. Then he realized how his question might sound and added, “In cameras?”
“Yes. I’m going to need a good one for—” She stopped, looking uncomfortable. “F-for business. I like to take photos of my parties,” she said quickly.
“I remember. We looked at them the other night when you were here.”
“Right,” she said, nodding emphatically. “But I’m not into technology much. Connie keeps trying to get me to join the twenty-first century, but my heels are dug in and I’m hanging on to the past with both hands.”
He laughed. “In certain things I can understand that.”
“Meaning?”
“I’ve
tried my damnedest to keep my girls from growing up. But apparently they didn’t get the memo that they’re supposed to stay small.”
“So you do have mixed feelings about your daughter leaving home and selling the place.”
“Yes. But soon I’ll rattle around this big house. It’s time for something smaller.”
Looking unconvinced, she leaned back and studied him. “Fibber. I think you’re a big softie.”
Shaking his head, he said, “No way. I’m hard as nails and practical. It’s going to be quiet and peaceful around here. When Kendra goes to college, the phone won’t be ringing off the hook and the energy level will drop to normal proportions.”
“If she goes away.”
“Even if she decides on the local junior college for now, I’m looking at two years tops until she transfers to a four-year school. The handwriting is on the wall. She’s going to leave whether or not I want her to and I’ll need a smaller place.”
“And when you’re alone, you’re going to miss her—teen problems and all.”
He scoffed. “I’ll miss her. But after recent events, I will never miss teenage problems.”
Thea looked down at the picture in her hands and smiled, softly—sadly. Why sad? What was she thinking to make her look like that?
He wanted to know. And it hit him like a two-by-four to the head—he wanted to fix whatever was bothering her. But he couldn’t do that without knowing what was wrong. Only the last time he’d tried to draw her out, she’d refused to cooperate. Should he try again? The answer was yes, although not tonight. He didn’t want to give her a reason to hide behind her professional demeanor. Or worse, head for the hills. He was enjoying her company too much.
He felt a click with her and suspected she felt it, too. He’d admit to being out of practice with women. His experiences were few and far between, but he didn’t remember feeling an attraction like this before. Even if he wanted to, a man couldn’t forget a woman like her.
Thea put the magnetic frame back on the refrigerator. “So you’re absolutely and completely committed to getting a smaller place?”
“Yup. Like I said—hard as nails and practical. What do I need with this big house just for me?”
“What if the girls want to come home for a visit?”
“I’m not going to live in a cardboard box under the freeway. Wherever I move will just be smaller, but I’ll want a couple of extra bedrooms.”
One of her delicate eyebrows arched. “I happen to know of a place like that.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah. My condo.” Before he could say anything, she rushed on. “Actually it was Connie’s idea. I told her you were downsizing and, being Connie, she said in her flippant way that maybe we should trade spaces.”
Scott rested his forearm on the refrigerator, leaning in close to look down at her. “Intriguing idea.”
“Isn’t it?” She blinked as she gazed up at him and swallowed. “She actually called it brilliant, but humility has never been her most attractive quality.”
“I hadn’t gotten as far as thinking where I’d move to, but a condo makes a lot of sense.”
“It’s practical,” she said, lifting that eyebrow again.
“Have I mentioned I’m a practical guy?”
“No way,” she said in mock surprise.
“Yeah.” He grinned.
“Then you should check out my place and see if you’re interested.”
He was interested all right. Checking out her mouth, he felt the blood flow in his body shift to points south of his belt. Some rusty instinct warned him that this wouldn’t be the best time to check out if her lips were as soft and sexy as they looked. Not if he wanted to know her better. And since she’d just given him a gold-plated invitation to do just that, he could wait.
“I’d like very much to see your place.”
“Great. Let’s look at our calendars and we’ll set up a time.”
He could hardly wait.
A week after her visit to Scott’s house, Thea looked at the clock on her microwave. He was due any minute. Instantly, the threads of nerves in her stomach tied into one gigantic knot.
At this moment, and every one since the words had come out of her mouth, she wished for the invitation back. She was as tense as a chef watching a soufflé. Which was silly because this was business. Sort of. He had a big place and needed a smaller one. She had a smaller one and needed a bigger one. Simply business.
But it felt very personal and complicated, which made her uneasy.
The doorbell sounded and she pressed a palm against her abdomen as the knot grew. She glanced in the peephole to check to make sure it was Scott. It was. And even distorted by the peephole, just as Connie had said, he was female-fantasy material. Not for her, of course. But the average woman would be putty in his hands.
Bracing herself, she turned the dead bolt. With her practiced, professional smile firmly in place, she opened the door. “Scott. I’m glad you could make it.”
“Me, too.” He walked in and smiled.
“You’re right on time.”
She shut the door after him, then turned to find him looking around. He’d walked the length of her entry and waited to step down into her great room. As always, her gaze was drawn to his impressive physique, and it occurred to her that this was the first time she’d seen him in something other than jeans and work boots. In his khaki slacks and the navy knit shirt molded to his broad shoulders, muscular back and trim waist, he cleaned up pretty good. She marveled at her instantaneous female response to that realization. It was nice to know that part of her still worked. Nice, but nerve-racking. In order to avoid more of the same, she resolved to suck it up and get this over with.
She looked up at him. “I’ll show you around.”
“Okay.”
With her arm out, she indicated the long kitchen with a nook at the end where her dinette sat. “This is where For Whom the Bell Toils was born.”
“I can see why you lease an office. It doesn’t have a lot of counter space.”
“Is that a problem for you?”
“On the contrary,” he said. “Less is more as far as I’m concerned.”
“This is my living room. There’s my office where I do paperwork,” she said, indicating the room set off with French doors. “It could be a downstairs bedroom if you wanted. Although, obviously a solid door would need to be there.”
He grinned. “I’m a builder. Doors are my domain.”
“Oh. Right. Of course. That would be a piece of cake for you.” She indicated the stairway. “I’ll show you the upstairs.”
“The last time we did this, there were surprises.” He held out his arm for her to precede him. “You go first.”
“I guarantee there’s nothing to be afraid of,” she teased.
“I’m not taking any chances.”
She led him up, past where the stairs turned, opening to a loft on the left. Through double doors, she took him into her bedroom. “It’s spacious. Big, walk-in closet, double sinks, separate stall shower.”
“Nice,” he said, looking around.
She’d chosen roses and ruffles for her bedroom. The walls were painted a neutral rosy beige color and there were vases of dried flowers and a dish of potpourri on her nightstand. It couldn’t be more feminine. And he couldn’t possibly look more masculine and out of place in her froufrou space. The thought was like a speed bump to her racing heart and just as surely it shook her up.
“There are two more bedrooms.” As he looked in, she swallowed the breathlessness she’d heard in her voice. When she felt in control, she said, “These would make perfect guest rooms for Gail and Kendra when they come to visit.”
He met her gaze and the corners of his mouth turned up. “I can see why you’re such a busy caterer. Never miss an opportunity to market your product.”
She shrugged. “I’m not doing a sales presentation. It’s the truth.”
When they were back downstairs, she wasn’t sure
what to do. Should she ask him to sit down? Offer him a drink? At his place it had thrown her when he’d offered her a glass of wine. If she hadn’t been pregnant, she’d have been tempted to take it. That reaction had unnerved her. She was the businesswoman; he was the client. But with Scott, the line between business and pleasure blurred. Something sizzled between them that fried the professional parameters and turned the politically correct into soot.
But she’d been taught that you could never go wrong being polite. Her mother’s voice in her head wouldn’t let her be anything less. Maybe he had to get home and would turn her down. “I’m sorry I don’t have any beer. Would you like a glass of iced tea? Or a soda?”
“Iced tea would be great.”
She should have known. But since she’d opened her big mouth again and made the offer, she couldn’t very well take it back. If only she didn’t feel the power of his appeal every time they were in the same room.
She walked into her kitchen and reached into the cupboard beside the refrigerator for a glass. After putting in some ice, she pulled out the tea pitcher and poured. “Would you like lemon and sugar?”
He shook his head and took the drink. After sipping, he looked at the glass, then at her. “What flavor is that?”
“Passion fruit.”
As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she blushed like a teenager. She hadn’t blushed this much around a guy even when she was a teenager.
To his credit, he didn’t say anything except, “It’s really good.”
She leaned her back against the counter. “Town house living is ideal for a busy professional like yourself.”
“How so?”
“Outside maintenance is taken care of by an association. I have a small yard in back—patio large enough for a barbecue and a bit of grass and flowers. But essentially there’s no upkeep.”
“Good to know.”
“It’s important information to have when one is phasing out responsibility.”
“That’s something impossible for a father to escape. With two kids in college I’m looking at mega-obligations for a long time to come. And if either of the girls wants to go for a master’s degree, I’ll be doing dad duty even longer.” He lifted one broad shoulder. “I’m just looking to simplify my living arrangements.”
It Takes Three Page 8
