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The Virgin's Proposal
Shirley Jump
HOW COULD HE TURN DOWN A BANANA IN DISTRESS?Successful rebel Matt Webster came to make peace with his past and his family. But he'd never thought that to appear "respectable," he'd become the pretend fiancé of a banana-wearing storeowner! Yet how could he refuse spunky Katie Dole, the woman under the costume, when she kissed him so sweetly– and so thoroughly–in the spaghetti aisle of the supermarket?Her blue-green gaze implored him to play the role of lover to show up her ex-fiancé. But remembering the kisses they shared were supposed to be pretend became more difficult, when all Matt wanted to do was to make love to the appealing Katie! Was the virgin's proposal turning into something…real?
The Virgin’s Proposal
Shirley Jump
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Table of Contents
Chapter One (#uc1ceb5aa-a9a2-5a42-b4bd-c55557a3d1fa)
Chapter Two (#ucb3ce79d-69cc-5195-aa4d-7b51d198ae6c)
Chapter Three (#ud3f6438f-124e-527b-9dbe-62f348f9b551)
Chapter Four (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter One
Standing on a street corner in a banana suit was not the most humiliating thing to happen in Katie’s life, but it came in at a close second.
Dressed from head to toe in yellow felt, she barely remembered what the word dignity meant. She’d checked hers the minute Sarah had talked her into masquerading as a piece of fruit, all to increase sales.
“Hey Chiquita! Can you peel for me?” A carload of teenagers screamed past her. She might as well have been the Soak-the-Bloke clown for all the respect she’d received. Apparently, a five-foot-three, twenty-four-year-old woman in a banana suit was the funniest thing in the tiny town of Mercy, Indiana, today. What kind of suicidal tendencies had made her mention the idea of doing something unique to boost sales to Sarah, soon-to-be-ex-best friend and business partner?
The store. It was all she thought about. Sales had been low when they’d opened a year ago and kept dropping. The rent was due in two weeks, and unfortunately, their bank account didn’t have a big enough balance to cover it. Katie and Sarah had yet to find a way to crack the hold their competition, Flowers and More, a shop in the nearby city of Lawford, had on Mercy. Plenty of weddings, bar mitzvahs, showers and funerals happened around here, but hardly anyone was buying from A Pair of Posies.
If there was some way to get people to notice the store, maybe Katie wouldn’t feel like such a failure—both personally and business-wise. She was desperate to make a go of the store—desperate enough to wear the fruit suit.
She sighed. The four-tone Ford with the teens came swerving back around the corner. “You’d be King Kong’s dream!”
She ignored them, her cheeks hot. Sales or no sales, the costume was humiliating. Thank God the foam head covered most of her face. The last thing she wanted was anyone finding out it was her under the peel.
She straightened the sign advertising their sale on fruit baskets, then noticed a motorcycle, gleaming in chrome and black, roar down the street toward her and slip into one of the front spaces. She bit her lip and steeled herself for another onslaught of pubescent humor. The rider pulled off his helmet and swung a denim-clad leg over the bike.
Oh. My. God. The man was no teenager and no joke. Motorcycle Man had extra-dark Hershey-brown hair that raked across his brows and set off eyes the color of a twilight sky. He was tall, taller than she and her banana head put together, and lean in a way that said he hadn’t spent hours on a couch playing potato. Stonewashed jeans molded his hips; a white T-shirt hugged his chest. Topped with a battered chestnut-brown leather jacket, he looked as if he’d stepped out of a James Dean movie.
And yet, he looked familiar. But try as she might, she couldn’t quite place a name with his face.
He glanced at her as he passed, smiling at her costume. A shiver tingled down her spine. With his slow, easy grin and confident step, he looked like the kind of man who knew exactly what the word pleasure meant and how to give it as well as he got it. That was a skimpy area on Katie’s personal résumé.
“Great marketing idea,” he said before disappearing into the shop.
Katie straightened her tilting foam head and wished men with movie-star looks would only stop in on days when she didn’t look ready for trick-or-treating.
Just once, I wonder what it would be like to be with a man like that.
For the first time in her life, she was tempted, very, very tempted, to swallow her shyness and take a chance. To break out of the shell that had gotten her nowhere in life. Talk to him. Flirt a little. Walk on the wild side.
Well, at least cross the sidewalk. Actually walking on the wild side might be more than she could handle. And, according to the breakup letter from her ex-fiancé, Steve Spencer, it was something she would never do. When she’d proved to be too boring for his tastes, Steve had left her at the altar and run off with Katie’s bridesmaid—a woman who gave him exactly what he wanted, when he wanted it. Because of that, Katie had become the most pitied person in town. All her life she’d been the good girl: dependable, obedient. It used to be a plus. But all it had done was make her a grown-up doormat.
Not to mention, still a virgin at twenty-four. She used to be proud she’d stuck to her guns, held out for her wedding night. Now she felt like the world’s biggest idiot.
Make that the world’s biggest banana, she amended.
For a few seconds, she stopped thinking about the shop and the horrible day she’d had so far. Her mind turned to Motorcycle Man and how a glimpse of him had her thinking about tossing her morals right out the window. They hadn’t gotten her very far anyway—just alone and dressed like one of the four food groups.
My hormones have launched a mental coup, she thought. There was no other explanation for the fact she was still reeling from his smile. Imagine what a kiss from him would be like, her conspiratorial mind whispered.
Who was he? He certainly didn’t live here in town, though maybe he used to and that’s why he looked familiar. A man like him, a man who would leave broken hearts in his path as surely as the Presbyterian church clock would chime the hour ten minutes late, couldn’t buy a soda at the Bowl-a-Rama without spurring excited twitters among the female half of Mercy’s population of 4,036.
Kate wiped away the sweat beading along her brow. The late-April sun beat down, roasting her like the turkeys in a bag her mother cooked every Thanksgiving. She was tempted to toss the banana suit and rejoin the human race. She could grab an icy soda out of the fridge and plant herself under the air conditioner until icicles hung from her nose.
Katie ducked her head, moving back into the cool shade of the awning. And collided with something tall and solid. She teetered, then began to topple over, heavy banana head first. Strong arms righted her before she hit the concrete. “Thanks.” She pivoted in suit-restricted geisha-girl steps to see the identity of her rescuer.
Could her day get any more humiliating? Motorcycle Man was standing behind her, a bundle of roses cushioned in one arm and that same easy grin lighting up his face. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah,” she managed. “Thanks for catching me before I became a banana split.”
He smiled. “It’s not every day I get a chance to rescue a banana in distress.”
Curiosity, helped along by the anonymity of a fruit costume, overrode Katie’s natural tendency to be reserved. Walk on the wild side, Katie. Just a step or two. Besides, he’s a customer—no harm in being friendly.
“It must be the most apeeling part of your day.” The dry humor slipped from her tongue as if she talked this way every day. Geez, put a costume on me and I become Jay Leno. “Or maybe it’s better than slipping on one….”
He laughed and put up a hand. “Truce. I guess you’ve heard your share of jokes this morning.”
“Yours just added to the total. I’m at lucky thirteen now.”
“Sorry.”
She flashed him a smile which she knew he couldn’t see. “Now that you’ve teased and nearly toppled me, the least you can do is tell me who you are.”
He extended his hand. “Matt Webster.”
The name immediately clicked. Handsome and rich renegade son of the Webster family. A few years older than her, so not someone Katie had really known. She did remember the huge wedding-of-the-century his family had held for him ten years or so ago, but then he’d left town and no one had heard much about him since.
She pulled off her glove and shook. His hand was slightly rough and callused, but large, capable and strong. And bare of a wedding ring, she noted. “Katie Dole.”
She saw him try to hold back the laughter, but it burst out all the same. “You’re joking, right?”
“I wish.”
“No relation to the fruit company, I presume?”
She shook her head, the foam head bobbing. “I’m not that lucky.”
“Are you related to Jack Dole?”
She nodded. “He’s my oldest brother. Then there’s Luke, Mark and Nate. There are a lot of bananas in the Dole family tree.”
He laughed. “Well, Miss Dole, it was a delicious pleasure to meet you.”
His hand slipped out of hers and with it went a warmth that had nothing to do with the hot day. She scrambled for a witty reply…nothing. Dressed as a piece of fruit, she felt a tad out of her element as a woman. Short of tucking herself into a massive bowl of ice cream and drizzling chocolate sauce down her torso, she didn’t think her banana costume made her look very appealing to a man like him.
So she stood there like the village idiot as he waved and got back on the motorcycle, tucking the flowers into the compartment behind him before roaring away.
That man was definitely dangerous, always had been, if his reputation was any indication. The kind of guy who was out of her league, sexually, physically…every way. A man who lived on the brink. Katie had never lived anywhere close to the edge. She was too afraid of hurtling over it and into a canyon of heartache.
As if he had some kind of death wish, Matt pushed his Harley to the limit. The town where he’d spent what some would call his formative years rushed by in a blur of impressions: the Langdon Street sign that still bent to the right, eleven years after his convertible had given it a new shape; Amos Wintergreen’s farm, where Matt and his friends had tipped cows until Amos’s Labrador drove them off his land; the county jail, where he’d spent many a night paying for what his father called “bad choices.”
The wind whipped at his jacket, pushing him to turn around and go back to Pennsylvania. He had a business there, a life. He didn’t need to be in Mercy, he told himself.
With a determined twist, Matt revved the engine of the 1974 Sportster and the sleek machine beneath him lunged forward.
The image of the woman in the banana suit popped into his head. The memory erased the growing tension in his neck. He chuckled. She must be mighty brave to put on such a public display in a small town, especially this small town.
His imagination was drifting toward what she’d look like beneath the peel when the bike shuddered and the engine began to cough and stall. Matt squeezed the handlebar brakes and brought the motorcycle to a grinding, definitely-bad-for-the-engine halt.
“Damn!” he swore at the defiant mass of steaming metal. The head gasket had blown and was spewing oil everywhere. Slick, dark liquid sprayed over his boots, across his T-shirt, trickled down the sleeves of his leather jacket. He set the bike on its kickstand, grabbed a rag from the toolbox strapped to the back and rubbed off the worst of it.
He was still two miles away from what used to be home. How ironic. Instead of the triumphant return he’d envisioned, he’d have to limp back to his parents’ house, hauling a several-hundred-pound pile of metal to boot. He swore twice more, cursing the fates resoundingly. But they didn’t listen. They’d given up on him long ago.
He began pushing it along the side of the road. The sun beat down, cooking him inside his leather jacket. He glanced at the cooler strapped to the back. A waste of time. The container had been empty of anything carbonated for the last ten miles. What he wouldn’t do for an ice-cold beer, or two or ten, right about now.
It had been eleven years since he’d dropped to the bottom and picked himself up, but some days—especially this day—the siren call of alcohol was loud and insistent.
For the thousandth time, Matt wondered why he’d thought it would be a good idea to come back.
At the end of the day, Katie headed into the air-conditioned shop, grateful she and Sarah had scraped together enough money to repair the aging cooling system. She peeled off the suit, stripping down to her shorts and tank.
“We had three orders for fruit baskets, so our idea boosted business. Not enough, though.” Sarah seated herself on a stool, popping open a can of soda and handing it to Katie, who promptly guzzled down half. “Was it as much fun as it looked?”
“Oh, so much more fun. I can’t believe you talked me into doing that.” Katie slipped off the yellow felt coverings on her sneakers. “You should try it sometime.”
“I’d be glad to. But the suit won’t fit for a couple months!” She patted her stomach, the mountainous bulge announcing her pregnancy, now in its ninth month.
It had been three years since Jack, Katie’s oldest brother, had married Sarah. Ever since, Katie had been awaiting the day a tiny voice called her Auntie Katie. Her brother Luke’s daughter was eleven and living in California, too far away to spoil. It wasn’t a family of her own, but it was the next best thing. Buying bibs and stuffed animals also kept her from thinking too hard about her own life—not that there’d been much of one to think about. She’d been stuck in glue for the past year, not moving forward with anything other than the store. Work was the only thing that filled the emptiness that crept around her when she flipped the sign to Closed.
It also helped her avoid the one thing she feared. Failure. Katie had yet to be a success at anything. She’d had good grades in high school, but not good enough to get a college scholarship. She’d joined the debate team and publicly frozen at her first competition. She’d dated the captain of the football team, but had been dumped at the altar. And now, the store—her dream—was close to financial ruin. Another imminent failure, if she didn’t take some action.
Katie propped open the door and dragged in the sign. “I’m glad to hear we had a few sales. We needed them.”
“I know. The road construction isn’t helping. The rent—” Sarah stopped when the door jangled.
Katie immediately recognized the woman who entered the store. Olivia Maguire, owner of the only interior design business in the Mercy area. Tall, thin and dressed in silvery-blue, she sailed into the room, straight for the counter. “Is that your design in the window?” she asked Sarah, pointing to an exotic silk display.
“Yes, it is.” Sarah said.
“Good. I’ll take two of those. As fast as you can get them to me.” She paced the store, her movements quick, exact. “And one of these,” she pointed to an elaborate vase filled with antique silk roses. “And three of those.” She gestured to a design Sarah had put out yesterday, a retro planter with bright flowers. “How soon can I have them?”
“We’d be happy to create those for you.” Katie proffered her hand when Sarah remained mute, mouth agape. “I’m Katie Dole, one of the owners. This is Sarah—”
“Yes, I know. I believe we’ve met once before, at a charity function or something.” She waved her hand vaguely. “Besides, it’s a small town. Everyone knows everyone and their business.” Olivia gave Katie’s hand a short, firm shake. “I’m Olivia Maguire. I own Renew Interior Designs. Right now, I have three clients who need arrangements. I drove by, saw that interesting one in the window and decided to stop.” She spun on her heel, taking in the shop. “I like what I see. I normally use the Lawford shop, but I’d like to give yours a try, if you have time in your schedule.”
“Certainly.” Katie shot a glance at Sarah. “We could probably have those arrangements to you in three days.” Sarah turned, grabbed the order pad and started writing.
“Make it two and you have a deal.” Olivia laid some money on the counter for a down payment.
Sarah nodded, her gaze on the cash. “Okay.”
“Wonderful.” Olivia handed Katie a foil-embossed business card. “Call me when they’re ready.” Then she left.
When the door shut, Katie let out a breath. “This is great! It’s the break we’ve been waiting for!”
Sarah took the card, turning it over and over in her hand. “That could be a great account for us. It would get our name in front of people with money to spend, the same people who buy loads of flowers for their houses and churches. People like the Callahans and the Simpsons and the Websters…” Sarah’s jaw dropped. “That’s right! Olivia’s our direct ticket to them.”
“What do you mean?”
“Don’t you remember? Olivia Maguire used to be married to their son…” She waved her hand, searching for the name. “Matt! That’s it. The one who was always in trouble. Maybe you don’t remember him. He was a few years ahead of us in school and I barely remember what he looked like myself.”
“Funny you should mention him.” Katie took another sip of her pop. “The man who was here earlier—”
“The incredibly gorgeous one?”
Katie laughed. “You noticed?”
“I’m pregnant, not blind,” Sarah replied. “What about him?”
“He said he was Matt Webster.”
“The Matt Webster?” Sarah picked up the card again. “Olivia’s Matt?” She rubbed her belly absently. “Didn’t they break up after they lost their baby? The family kept everything hush-hush. It’s been what, ten years, since then?”
“I don’t know. We didn’t exactly have an in-depth conversation under the awning.” Katie smiled. “All I saw was, well, his eyes,” she admitted.
“Did you ask him out?”
“Sarah, I was wearing a banana suit.”
“So? Doesn’t mean you can’t be spontaneous.” She wagged a finger at Katie. “Try a little spontaneity, you might like it.”
“Spoken by the queen of spontaneity herself. Heck, you even got married on the spur of the moment.”
“Eloping is exciting and romantic,” Sarah said with a flourish of her hand. “I like to live for the moment, rather than let it pass me by.”
Katie considered Sarah’s words as she worked on the roses in the cooler. She changed the water and added floral preservative before placing the flowers back into the containers. The banana suit, while embarrassing, had also emboldened her and given her the chutzpah to exchange witty repartee with a sexy stranger. It had been a new feeling, a liberating one. In her twenty-four years, she hadn’t taken many chances and the ones she had—Steve, the store—hadn’t exactly been successful. Maybe if she changed her approach, the outcome would be different.
For too many years, she’d been Conventional Katie, always predictable, never stepping out of bounds, even when the ball was hurtling toward her head. That kind of reliability had led her to a broken heart and a year of lonely evenings.
“I’ve been thinking,” Katie said. “You know what today is, don’t you?”
“Uh huh,” Sarah replied with a sympathetic look. “I didn’t want to mention it, though. Figured it might make it hard for you to be a jolly banana.”
Katie laughed. Sarah had always been able to erase Katie’s blue moods. Lord knew there’d been plenty of those in the last year. “It would have been my first anniversary, if Steve hadn’t left me at the altar.”
“In the end, a very good thing.”
“I didn’t think so at the time, but I do now. If I’d married him and then he’d taken off with someone else, it would have been worse.” Katie plucked a pale peach rose from the bucket and sniffed the delicate fragrance. Sarah’s motto sounded like the perfect antidote for Katie’s stagnant life. Live for the moment, before it passes you by. And leaves you old and alone, she amended. “I’ve been moping long enough. It’s time for a change.”
“Good for you!” Sarah settled back on the stool. “What kind of change are you thinking about?”
“First, I’m going to overindulge in chocolate,” Katie said. “And then, well…” She thought of Matt Webster and how a smile from him had set off fireworks in her belly. “I might just go for something a little more decadent.”
Fate sure had a twisted sense of humor. There wasn’t a single Hershey Bar or Sara Lee double chocolate layer cake in the seven-aisle store that passed for a supermarket in Mercy. Katie supposed it was a mark of small-town charm, but for a girl craving chocolate and calories, it left a lot to be desired. Being mid-week, the shelves and freezer case were already empty of anything remotely indulgent. Muttering in defeat, Katie grabbed a box of fruit-flavored Popsicles and laid it in the row of groceries in her basket, arranged in order of her coupons.
She wandered up and down the aisles, in no hurry to return to her empty apartment. As she rounded a display of spaghetti sauce, she heard a familiar voice. Then another. She stopped in her tracks and peeked beyond the jars.
“Oh, Stevie, get the extra cheese popcorn,” purred a woman draped on Katie’s ex-fiancé’s arm. The feline vixen in a lavender dress was none other than Barbara—ex-bridesmaid and traitor.
In tenth grade, Barbara and Katie had met in a study group that managed to ace Miss Marchand’s biology class. They’d become friends and stayed in touch during college. When Barbara returned from four years in Boston and had trouble finding a job, she’d seemed depressed. So Katie often invited her along to join her and Steve as a threesome, or with a friend of Steve’s, thinking it would be the boost Barbara needed. Too trusting by far, Katie later realized she’d been the conduit to a secret affair instead.
Why hadn’t she put the pieces together when Barbara caught a sudden case of the flu the morning of the wedding? While Katie was standing in front of a hundred people waiting for a groom who never came, Barbara had been off consummating a different union.
On Katie’s honeymoon. With Katie’s groom.
And Steve—he’d probably been drinking their champagne in the crystal glasses her mother had bought, toasting another woman in a negligee. An eager woman. One who wouldn’t make him wait until the vows were said and done. And he’d probably been finding the exact kind of excitement he’d told Katie she lacked.
She’d heard they’d moved to Lansing, Michigan. But clearly, they were back, and sharing their love—based on a mutual admiration for wrestling and Coors beer—with all of Mercy. Ugh.
A year’s worth of anger, which Conventional Katie had kept under a tight, polite lid, boiled up inside her. She’d vowed to go on with her life, but that didn’t mean she’d forgotten. They’d betrayed her, even going so far as to keep the shower gifts, and she’d taken it all without a word, while Barbara sipped from Katie’s Waterford and kissed Katie’s groom.
She wondered if she could be arrested for assaulting them with an extra-large box of Orville Redenbacher’s.
“Excuse me, miss.”
Katie wheeled around. Standing directly behind her, with a shopping cart full of the gastrointestinal nightmares that only bachelors seemed to buy, was Matt Webster.
She was now in her own clothes, no banana suit to hide behind. It was a perfect chance to test the waters of her new spontaneity resolution, right in front of Barbara and Steve. Take a chance. Dip a toe in the wild side.
A second peek around the corner and she saw Steve, one hand on Barbara’s waist, strolling down the aisle, debating popcorn choices. They were going to see her in a minute—the lovey-dovey couple encountering the lonely, jilted bride. She imagined the pity on their faces, the knowing smiles that said she was the unfortunate one, the one who hadn’t gone on, a year after the fiasco.
It was high time she gave everyone in town something better to talk about. She was tired of being boring, dependable Katie. The same Katie who had been publicly dumped like an old, ugly mattress.
Taking a deep breath, she dropped the basket to the floor, swung back to face Matt, and ordered, “Kiss me.”
Chapter Two
“What?” Matt choked out. “Here? But—”
“Here and now,” she hissed and pulled his head to hers.
It all happened so quickly, Matt had little time to react. Not that he would have refused her anyway. The odds of a strange woman coming up to him in a grocery store and demanding a kiss were about the same as the Red Sox’s chances of winning the World Series. Slim to none. And the fact that the woman was as beautiful as this one only made the situation more intriguing.
Obliging her demands, but adding a few of his own, his mouth drifted over hers, and he tugged her closer. She wanted a kiss and she’d get one. He might be a lot of things, but he wasn’t one to disappoint, not when it came to kisses. Or other bedroom sports.
He teased his tongue along the seam of her mouth, urging her for more, trying to satisfy the wave of desire that had slammed into him like a freight train when she’d grabbed him.
She arched against him, bringing the softness of her breasts up to his chest. Flames erupted in his midsection, and for a moment, he forgot where they were.
“Katie?”
Matt’s gaze jerked toward the sound of two voices. A tall man a few years younger than Matt had his arm draped over the hips of a blonde. Both their mouths gaped in perfect, shocked Os.
Although she ended the kiss, the woman in Matt’s arms didn’t pull away. “Oh my,” she murmured, so softly he barely heard her, “so that’s what it would be like.”
Now that his head was in an upright position, he took a second to peruse his female body burglar. She was probably only five-foot-three, but what was packed into those sixty-three inches was exactly what he liked. She was slender, with a hint of curves under her loose-fitting tank and denim shorts. Her hair—long and the same honey-brown color as a good beer—fell loosely about her face in soft waves that made him remember exactly what kind of fun could be had in the back seat of his convertible.
She stroked his cheek and held his gaze, giving him the fleeting sensation of a long-time lover. Then, poised and in control, she turned and faced the twosome.
“Steve and Barbara, what a nice surprise.” Her voice was filled with sweetness and sarcasm. Matt noticed her hands clench into tight fists, out of sight of the happy couple, but right over the contours of her very pleasing backside.
When his bike had broken down this afternoon, he’d thought returning to Mercy and staying at his parents’ house was a mistake. He’d vowed to come back, show the town he had bucked their predictions and become a successful businessman, not a felon. So far, he’d had little time to do more than tangle with a woman in a banana suit, change his clothes, grab his old convertible and head to the store for the kind of food his mother refused to keep in her pantry.
And then, this woman, a pint-size ball of fire, had surprised the hell out of him and made his homecoming almost fun.
Matt watched with amusement as the trio exchanged uncomfortable, stumbled greetings. The tension in the air was thick and sticky, but all were masking it behind a polite facade. He presumed Steve, one of those guys with a boyish smile, was the “ex” and Barbara the mistress who had turned his head. The woman’s kiss had probably been some sort of revenge.
Steve dropped his arm from the blonde’s waist. “Katie, I didn’t think that was you. I saw you…kissing and well…” his voice trailed off. He looked shocked.
“I guess you didn’t know me that well after all, Steve.” She hugged herself to Matt. He didn’t complain.
“So, ah, how’ve you been?”
“Oh, fine. Business is booming. I couldn’t be happier.” She grabbed Matt’s arm and plastered it to her side.
Matt couldn’t help but take advantage. It was, after all, part of his baser nature. He stroked her waist with lazy movements that spoke of tangled sheets and spent passions. His hand glided down the soft cotton of her tank, along the fabric of her shorts, tracing her body. If she wanted Stevie Boy to think they were lovers, that was an easy, and enjoyable, part to play.
She wasn’t going for an Oscar. She laced the fingers of her right hand with his, effectively stilling his hand and keeping it from straying anywhere interesting at all.
Spoilsport.
Whoever she was, this woman had lit a fire under him that wasn’t being doused easily. A fire that was going to be visible to the whole world if he kept letting his thoughts run toward taking her to bed. Mentally, he recited the Pledge of Allegiance, cooling his ardor with a dash of patriotism. It worked—a little.
“Have you really been okay?” Steve moved forward.
Barbara grabbed his hand before he strayed too far. “Stevie, we’re late for the party. They ordered the pay-perview fight, you know. We’ll miss the beginning.” She tried to reel him back in, but didn’t succeed.
He waved his hand to shush her, his gaze on Katie. “I’m glad things are going well,” Steve said. “Since we moved to Michigan, I’ve lost touch with…everyone. Anyway, we drove down to Mercy today. We’re only staying for a week, because, well, Barbara and I are getting married. Next Saturday. It’s kind of last minute. We’ve barely told anyone yet so, I…I figured you might not have heard.”
Matt glanced at Katie. Tears shone in her azure eyes. He saw her self-control eroding and cursed the man that could make a woman as beautiful as this one cry. She didn’t deserve this humiliation.
“Congratulations, Stevie,” Matt boomed, falling into the charade of being Katie’s lover with gusto. “Katie and I are damned glad to hear your news.” Matt clapped him hard on the shoulder.
Steve wobbled, then regained his balance. “Thanks.” He rubbed his shoulder.
“When you meet the woman of your dreams, it all feels right, doesn’t it?” He splayed his fingers across Katie’s waist, and pressed a kiss to her hair. The sensual, warm scent of shampoo and sunlight wafted up to greet him. Her hair was velvet, falling in russet waves he pictured fanned out across his pillow. “Feels just right,” he murmured.
Steve ignored Matt. “I wanted you to hear the news from me.”
“I’m happy for you, Steve.” Katie squared her shoulders and perked up in Matt’s arms.
“You are?” He looked confused.
“Steve, that was a year ago. I’ve moved on. And after I met Matt, I forgot all about you.” She flashed Matt a warm smile.
He was flabbergasted, not only by her smile, but that she knew his name. He’d only been in town for four hours. How did she know who he was? Was he that recognizable after an eleven-year absence? And why didn’t he remember her?
Before he could give it another thought, Barbara piped in. “I guess the rumors aren’t true, then.”
“And what rumors are those?”
“That you’re becoming…well, to put it plainly,” she gave a little giggle, “a recluse, pouring everything into your shop.” She shook her head, as if Katie’s life were the saddest thing she’d ever encountered. “But after that, ah, very public display, I guess you have moved on. Why don’t you introduce us to this new man in your life?”
“Matt Webster, my…my fiancé.”
Matt swallowed. Engaged? This game was going too far for his tastes. Pretending to be a lover, now that he could do. And do very well. Pretending to be a future husband was way over the top. He needed to get out of here before he was saddled with an imaginary family and a St. Bernard.
“He is? You are?” Barbara didn’t look as though she believed Katie’s story. Matt saw a flare of jealousy in Barbara’s gaze as it darted between Katie and Matt. “Well, I’m happy for you.”
“Are you?”
“Well, sure.” But the blonde didn’t sound happy at all. Maybe she was the type who stole her friend’s Barbies because they seemed nicer than her own. The grass, he’d found, was always greener when you looked at it with envy-colored eyes. Barbara turned to go, tugging Stevie Boy along with her.
“Oh, Barbara?” Katie called.
The blonde pivoted back. “What?”
“Make sure you have a ride home from the church. In case you’re the only one who shows up.”
Even though she knew it was spiteful, Katie took a small measure of satisfaction in Barbara’s gasp and reddened face, mirrored by the nearby jars of spaghetti sauce. Barbara yanked Steve down the aisle, striding fast and furious toward the exit.
When they were gone, Katie let out a deep breath. What a way to change her image. Maul a stranger and then pretend she was engaged to him. In a town like Mercy, that kind of behavior was going to start a lot of talk. Talk that could get blown out of proportion, and set off a renewed stream of gossip. Had she made a mistake?
She was almost afraid to face Matt. Even though he’d gone along with her charade, he might not find the aftermath amusing.
Apparently a lot of other people did, Katie realized. Every minute of the exchange had been witnessed by a throng of people who had gathered at either end of the aisle. A half dozen shocked faces peeked around the spaghetti and ravioli, drinking in the sight of staid, predictable Katie Dole exchanging much more than pleasantries with a stranger and battling with her former bridesmaid beside the Chef Boyardee.
Alice Marchand, Katie’s eighty-year-old neighbor, marched down the aisle. “Good for you, dear.” She patted Katie’s arm. “That Spencer boy and his floozy deserved every bit of that after what they did to you. Why, in my day, if a man left a woman at the altar, her daddy would get his shotgun and—”
“I’m sure my daddy considered that.” Katie laughed.
“And you, young man, who are you?” Miss Marchand, the toughest biology teacher ever to educate at Mercy High, lowered her spectacles and bent closer.
“Matthew Webster, ma’am.”
She didn’t look surprised. “Georgianne and Edward’s boy?”
Matt nodded. So he was definitely the Matt Webster, Katie thought. Funny, he didn’t look like a wild child. She couldn’t imagine him married to Olivia, either. She seemed too…arctic and polished.
“You have a lot of gumption to come back. But it’s good to see you home, where you belong.” Miss Marchand nodded.
“Thank you, ma’am. I’m back for good,” Matt said.
But that statement only started the crowd’s titterings up again. “I think that’s my cue to go, before they decide to lynch me,” he said with a dry, bitter laugh. Then he took Katie’s hand and brought it to his lips. When he kissed it, his gaze never left hers. The air between them crackled with sensuality and promise. “It was a pleasure to meet you. I do hope I see you again, Mystery Woman, and finish what we started. Soon.”
Then he was gone, striding past the gaping townspeople, leaving Katie with a smile on her lips and a burning curiosity to know more about Matthew Webster.
Tools and parts were spread around Matt in an ever-multiplying circle as he dismantled his motorcycle and began the tedious repair job. His midnight-blue Chevy SS convertible, which had patiently waited under a tarp for the past eleven years, had miraculously started this afternoon. Someone had taken it in for service. The telltale sticker on the windshield said the Chevy had been in for an oil change two weeks ago.
Matt figured his mother had taken care of the car, though he couldn’t quite see her ordering up the lube special. Either way, the pampered auto had started easily, saving him from having to ask to borrow his father’s Mercedes. He was back, but he wasn’t up for a confrontation. Not yet. Using the motorcycle as an excuse, he’d taken a quick shower, avoiding his father, and then run into town for the parts he needed.
And run into one hell of an interesting woman, he mused, recalling her impetuousness and her kiss. She’d been hot and sweet at the same time, like the fireballs he’d eaten as a kid. He imagined drawing her closer, taking her into his arms, lowering the straps of her tank top down her shoulders, over the swell of her breasts….
The socket wrench slipped from his fingers and tumbled into his lap. Throbbing pain brought a quick halt to his fantasy.
He took a deep breath, trying to block the searing pain and focus on the motorcycle, not the girl. It wasn’t easy. The fluid lines of the bike, the butter-softness of the leather seat, the sleek metal curves, all had him picturing the stranger named Katie and imagining her on the bike wearing nothing more than a smile.
This time, he managed to catch the wrench before it rendered him impotent.
“Matt, you’re home!” His mother rounded the corner and entered the garage, a basket of freshly clipped yellow tulips in her hands. Georgianne Webster, her ash-blond hair in slight disarray from her trip to the garden, stood in the shadowed entryway clutching the basket like a lifeline, looking unsure.
“Hello, Mom.” He scrambled to his feet and grabbed a rag. He wiped his hands several times, avoiding her gaze. After eleven years of nothing but letters, he felt self-conscious, clumsy.
“I saw you take the Chevy out earlier,” she said.
“It started right up,” he said. “Thank you for taking care of it and getting the oil changed.”
“I didn’t do that, Matt. Your father did.”
“Oh.” He let that thought digest for a minute. He grabbed the bouquet, thrusting the flowers at her. “These are for you. I know roses are your favorites and because it’s April, yours won’t be blooming for two more months…” he shrugged. “Anyway, I thought they’d cheer you up a little, since you’ve been so worried about Father.” He leaned over and kissed her cheek.
When the familiar scent of her hit his senses, the full impact of how long he’d been gone slammed into him. He swallowed several times to get rid of the lump that had suddenly formed in his throat before he started acting like a blubbering idiot.
Without thinking, he drew his mother to him. The move popped the tension like a balloon burst by a pin. The basket clattered to the ground and she enfolded him in a fierce hug, not even noticing the flowers crushed between them.
“Oh Matthew, we’ve missed you,” she whispered. Then she leaned back, cupping his face in her soft hands and studying him, as if searching for the Matt she knew. Tears trickled down her cheeks, tiny lines of emotion marring her makeup.
The feeling of home, of belonging, surged through him. That damned lump forced its way back into his throat. “Me too, Mom,” was all he could manage.
“I’m so glad you’re home.” She wiped her eyes and took a half step back. “I guess the flowers got caught up in our reunion.” Her laugh was shaky when she took the bouquet from him and buried her nose in their scent.
“It’s okay, Mom. They’re just roses.”
“No, not just roses. Not when they’re from you.” She added them to the basket, careful not to crush them further. “Remember the time you picked those daisies for me? You were seven, I think. The poor things were drooping like sad little puppies. But I kept them, pressed into the front of my Bible. They’re still there, between Genesis and Exodus.”
He chuckled. “If I remember right, you were pretty mad about those daisies. I’d yanked them out of Mrs. Rollins’s garden and she complained.”
“Eugenia Rollins was a cranky woman who couldn’t appreciate a little boy showing his mother he loved her. I did have to give you a lecture, but your heart was in the right place.”
“I’ll keep that in mind on your birthday.” Matt winked. “I noticed the neighbor’s petunias are blooming.”
“You’re still incorrigible,” she said softly, brushing a hand along his cheek. Her deep-green eyes were misty.
When he was younger, that word had been used to describe him more than once, especially by his father. It had practically become his middle name after he’d kidnapped a cow from Amos’s farm and snuck it into the high school’s gym the night before the Thanksgiving game. And the time he’d been caught driving his father’s car—at fourteen and without a license. Not to mention the long list of smashed mailboxes and broken windows that littered his childhood résumé. But all that was over now.
“I’ve changed, Mom. For the better.” And he had. It had been a long road to get there, but he’d made it, half dragging himself out of the depths of hell and back to the surface.
She searched his gaze, considering, evaluating. “I believe you have. I’m proud of you, Matt. It must have taken a lot of courage and strength, after what you went through.”
Her face softened. In her eyes, he saw sympathy, an echo of his own pain. Images of that last night rocketed through him, fast, furious, hard. With a mental slamming of the door, he sealed that vault of memories. Their reunion was still a fragile thing, vulnerable to the past and he wasn’t ready to face everything. Not yet.
“Will you be here for dinner?” she asked, clearly sensing his need for a change of subject.
“That depends. Are you making meat loaf?”
She laughed again, an easy, light sound. “You could have filet mignon and you’re asking for my meat loaf?”
He shrugged. “I’m a man of simple tastes.”
“All right. But it will have to be turkey meat loaf. It’s healthier for your father.”
Matt groaned. “Turkey is for Thanksgiving, not meat loaf.” He pointed to the bag on the garage floor. “At least I made a pit stop for some good old-fashioned chili before I came home.”
“Keep that away from your father,” she admonished. “You know he can’t resist chili.” She kissed him on the cheek and started to lead the way into the house.
Matt cleared his throat. “How is Father?”
“He’s recuperating pretty well. He’s stubborn, though, and getting him to change hasn’t been easy.”
I know that firsthand. “Does he know I’m back?”
“Yes.” She didn’t say any more. Her silence about his father’s reaction meant the years of separation hadn’t changed much of anything. She paused at the top of the steps, then turned to him. “Why did you come back? It was more than your father’s heart attack, wasn’t it?”
He hesitated, forming the words in his head, finally giving voice to his own explanation. “To reclaim my life. I hit thirty and realized it was past time I grew up. Then Father got sick. It seemed the perfect time to start over. To come back.”
“It was the right choice,” she said. “It’s not going to be easy, you know. Forgiveness doesn’t come easy for some.”
He knew she was talking about his father and Olivia. Hell, half the town saw him as a callous, irresponsible man who didn’t deserve the life of privilege the Webster name had given him. But what they didn’t know was how that name had made him suffer, and how impossible it had been to forgive himself.
“I didn’t expect it would,” Matt said, wondering if his return would be worth the price he’d be paying.
Katie kicked off her sneakers and placed the grocery bag on the counter. Popsicles went into the freezer, TV dinner was unwrapped and tossed into the microwave, cans were placed alphabetically in the cabinet. Within minutes, she was curled up on her sofa, picking at a plastic plateful of bland manicotti.
She reached for the remote control and flipped through the TV Guide. Two movies she had seen before and some woman-in-jeopardy special on channel seven. Television, or the books for the shop—already pored over a million times. Gee, the real height of excitement in the middle of Indiana, she thought.
She’d spent too much time cooped up here, worried about the shop and depressed about her non-wedding. She imagined herself, twenty years down the road, unkempt hair to her knees, wearing smelly, tattered clothes, muttering about what could have been if she hadn’t been stood up at the altar. If she allowed the old Katie to wallow in self-pity for one minute more, she’d surely turn into Miss Havisham. And deep down inside, that’s exactly what she feared would happen.
Maybe if she got out, networked a little, she could take care of both things at once. She might be dateless, but she was not the hermit Barbara had accused her of being.
Katie dashed into her bedroom, transforming her usual self into what she hoped was someone who looked adventurous. She poufed her hair, painted her lips and slipped into a dress that wasn’t exactly revealing, since her closet didn’t contain anything that wasn’t practical, but at least was more feminine than jeans.
Then she took a long, hard look at herself in the mirror, assessing the changes and resisting the urge to tamp down her hair and wipe off the lipstick. A day ago, a year ago, she would have. Katie had always lived her life plain and quiet. No longer. She took a deep breath, squared her shoulders and headed for the door before she could change her mind.
It was Friday night and the new Katie Dole was going out. Alone.
Matt sat on one of the silk-upholstered claw-foot chairs at the hand-carved mahogany dining-room table, under an elaborate three-tier crystal chandelier, surrounded by the finest china money could buy.
And wished he was lying on a blanket under the stars, with a cooler packed with fried chicken and sitting beside a beautiful honey-headed woman who really knew how to kiss.
“Hello, Matthew.” His father’s voice brought an abrupt halt to Matt’s reverie.
When he saw him, Matt choked back a gasp. The rugged, hearty Edward he had left behind eleven years ago had been replaced by an old man with pale skin and tired eyes, shuffling across the room in a robe and slippers. Matt couldn’t believe the damage a few clogged arteries had wreaked on a once-imposing, seemingly immortal man. For a second, Matt’s resentment disappeared. He considered walking over to his father and ending the years of animosity with an embrace.
He was halfway out of his seat when his father said, “Have you seen Olivia yet?”
The mention of his ex-wife was like a stab to Matt’s gut and his father knew it. Why had Matt hoped the heart attack and the years apart would make a difference? Nothing inside Edward had changed. Not a single thing. His heart was forged out of the same cold steel that was used to create the buildings he sold.
Edward folded his hands together and rested them on the table in front of him, a physical gesture Matt knew meant his father was getting down to business. Matt slowly sipped his water, waiting.
He watched his father rearrange his silverware until it was in a perfect line perpendicular to the table edge, and thought about the two traits he had inherited from Edward—tenacity and drive. Edward Webster had been penniless when he’d left his parents’ home in Toledo at the age of eighteen. It had taken him seven years of selling commercial properties to save enough money to buy a part interest and the position of vice president in the floundering and grateful Corporate Services. Within two years, Edward owned the company and had renamed it Webster Enterprises.
Nearly three decades later, it was the largest, most profitable firm in the state. Edward had built it up with his own two hands. For that, Matt admired and respected him.
But Matt despised the underhanded way his father forced people to do his bidding. Edward Webster used every tool at his disposal—guilt, rage and humiliation—to bring others around to his way of thinking. That was a lesson Matt had learned personally. The night his father had turned on his own flesh and blood had wiped out whatever love and admiration Matt felt and had replaced it with simmering resentment.
“Matthew,” his father said finally, “you should pay Olivia a visit and try to patch things up. She never remarried, you know. She went back to her maiden name, but that doesn’t mean everything is over between you two. People will talk about your return. There are a lot of questions that were never answered. Not for anyone, especially Olivia.”
Matt had a few questions of his own for his ex-wife, but he didn’t mention that to his father. “There’s nothing to say, Father. Olivia and I haven’t had so much as a conversation in a decade. Much like you and I.”
Edward tore a fresh-baked roll in half and applied fat-free margarine in precise, economical movements. He said nothing.
“I have no plans to resurrect anything with Olivia. We won’t be reconciling for the benefit of the country club.”
“I don’t give a damn about the country club,” Edward exploded, slamming the butter knife down. “That girl is hurting. She needs you. I will not have a son of mine ignore his wife, ex or not, when she’s still suffering from a horrible loss.”
Matt popped out of his chair and placed both hands on the table. He leaned forward, his gaze leveled on his father’s face. “You think she’s the only one that suffered? Do you? Do you even consider how I might have felt? No, you think about how your son’s actions might affect your social standing.”
Edward leaned back in his seat. “That’s not true.”
“When I walked out that door eleven years ago, I was in more pain than you will ever know.” Matt swallowed and willed the shudders of agonizing memories of that night to stop, prayed for the rage to replace the pain. “Do you remember what you said to me? �Think about how this will look.”’ Matt shoved his chair under the table and headed for the door. “That told me exactly how much you cared about my feelings, Father.”
Matt stormed out and headed for the one place he knew would take the edge off his anger—a bar.
Chapter Three
Katie hopped onto a barstool at the Corner Pocket, Mercy’s sole choice for evening entertainment, and tried to look cool and unaffected by her solitary status. It wasn’t easy. It seemed every eye in the place, including those of the massive moose-head over the restroom door, was watching her.
I can do this. I can sit alone in a bar and not feel like a twenty-five-cent sideshow at the circus. Come see the Lonely, Bitter Old Maid—scariest creature this side of the Mississippi.
“Hey, Jim. How are you?” she said to the bartender, desperate for anyone to talk to.
“Pretty good, Katie. It’s been a while since I’ve seen you here. Welcome back,” said Jim Watkins, the rotund, friendly owner of the Corner Pocket. His open face and perpetual smile were encouraging and just what Katie needed. “Hey, I heard you got engaged. Congratulations.”
For a second, Katie stared at him blankly. “Oh…oh that. Well, I—” What could she say? She decided to ignore it. In time people would talk about something else. “Thanks.”
Katie drummed her fingers on the bar and glanced around the room. It was early yet and there were only a few people she knew here. Thankfully she noticed that Steve and Barbara were nowhere to be seen. They were probably cuddling somewhere, getting popcorn stuck in their teeth and watching Stone Cold Steve Austin wallop Hulk Hogan.
Jim placed a napkin before her. “What’ll it be, Katie?” He laid a hand on the stack of glasses, waiting for her answer.
She was tempted to bolt out the door. Instead, she gripped the edge of the bar. “Umm…I don’t know.” She racked her brain for the name of a sophisticated drink, the kind ordered by women who ventured out alone. But she didn’t know any. She rarely drank and usually nursed a draft Budweiser all night. She doubted a beer-foam mustache would make her look cool.
“Make it a tequila sunrise for the lady,” said a voice from behind her. “And a…a Coke for me.”
She spun around on the stool. Matt Webster. In the flesh and at her elbow. His eyes skimmed over the floral outfit, lingering just enough to let her know he approved. The breezy spring dress had been a good choice. A very good one.
Chalk up a point for the new Katie.
“I thought you might like something sweet but with a little bite to it.” He grinned. “The total opposite of you, of course.”
Put that resolution to work, Katie girl.
“You didn’t find me sweet this afternoon?” She batted her eyelashes and did her best to look innocent.
“Sweet isn’t quite the word that comes to mind when I think of you. And as for having a little bit of a bite,” his voice was low, dark, “well, you didn’t let me get that far.” He was closer now, his breath warm on her face, his mouth inches away. “Fiery, spontaneous and bewitching are better adjectives for you.”
“A tequila sunrise and a Coke for the happy couple,” Jim announced, placing the glasses before them. Katie jerked back, away from Matt, and felt heat rise to her face.
She wrapped her hands around the glass, marveling at the way the drink mirrored its name. And how Matt looked as though he’d stepped out of the pages of a magazine. Granted, his leather jacket, white T-shirt and tight-fitting jeans were from an issue of Harley Rider instead of GQ, but the overall effect was the same. Enticing. Magnificent. One-hundred-percent American male.
She swallowed hard and tried not to think about how good he’d look in a tuxedo. That image was way too powerful. Her hormones were already raging. Picturing him in evening wear would definitely be her undoing.
“What shall we drink to?” He raised his glass. His gaze never left her face.
“To new beginnings.”
He nodded. “Appropriate.” He tapped his glass against hers with a soft clink. She watched him drink. When his lips met the rim, the powerful, gut-coiling memory of kissing him in the supermarket hit her.
“Celebrating your engagement?” Barbara’s voice sliced through the air with sarcastic precision. “Funny, no one else in town knows about this wedding. How long have you been dating?”
Katie froze. Putting on a ten-minute charade in the grocery store had been easy. A temporary game, not a life-changing experience. Flirting with Matt in the dimness of the bar was one thing; stepping away from who she’d been for the last twenty-four years and slipping into an entirely new persona, in front of people she knew, was another.
“Katie and I have known each other for months,” Matt said, saving her from a response. “We’ve just been long-distance lovers. Until now.” He took Katie’s hand, flashed her a wicked smile, and turned to face Barbara and Steve, who was bringing up the rear.
Barbara’s gaze narrowed. “Then why didn’t you get her a ring?”
Without missing a beat, Matt answered, “Because I’m having my great-grandmother’s ring reset for Katie. She deserves something as special as she is.”
Barbara harrumphed. “Katie always was lucky. In high school, it was grades. Now, she’s a store owner and she has you.” Her gaze roamed over Matt, making little secret of her desire. If he noticed, he didn’t react.
This was a new twist. Barbara, who looked like Madonna and had never had trouble getting a man, was jealous of Katie for her grades? Her store? Had that spurred Barbara to steal Steve, the one thing Katie had that was stealable?—
“Anyway, Steve forgot to ask Katie something earlier,” Barbara said. Steve shot Barbara a look of protest, but she nudged him with her elbow. “Go ahead.”
He cleared his throat. “I still feel bad about the way things ended,” he began. “You said there were no hard feelings and so, Barbara, well, I mean Barbara and I, want to invite you to the wedding.”
“My father’s managed to pull together quite a bash on short notice,” Barbara said. “We’re going to have—”
“You stood me up at the altar in front of half the town to run off with my bridesmaid and now you want me to come to your wedding?”
Matt put a hand on her arm and leaned to whisper in her ear. “It might be a good idea to go,” he whispered in her ear.
“Are you insane?” she whispered back.
“It would be a hell of a way to get closure.” He grinned.
This man could read her like a book. He’d pushed the right button, the one that triggered her compulsion to show the town she’d moved on, despite what Steve had done to her. But go to their wedding? Wasn’t that a bit much?
Then she thought about seeing Steve squirm in front of the minister, if he made it that far this time, of seeing Barbara eat her words about Katie being a recluse. And then there was the store—a bit of talk might spur some business. This was an opportunity, not an insult.
She turned to Barbara and Steve. “We’d love to come. Both of us.” The new Katie was brave, but she wasn’t quite up to doing this alone.
Barbara’s mouth dropped open. “Both of you? How wonderful. It will be so nice to have one of the Websters at our wedding,” she said.
“What a coup,” Matt said dryly.
Steve eyed Matt. “You aren’t planning on pulling one of your famous stunts at the reception, are you?”
“And just what is that supposed to mean?”
“I know who you are.” He leaned into Matt’s face, his voice low. “You tore up this town when you lived here, and you got arrested so many times, the sheriff had to hire a deputy just to keep an eye on you.”
“Yeah, well I’m older and wiser now. And a lot bigger.”
Katie saw the storm brewing between the two men. She scooted off the stool, grabbing up a handful of darts from the dish on a nearby table. She put a hand on Matt’s shoulder and tugged him away from Steve. “Come on, play darts with me.”
Matt backed up and accepted the darts she handed him. “I think that’s a good idea.” His gaze never wavered from Steve.
“We were on our way to the dining room to pick up some pizzas for the fight anyway.” Barbara grabbed Steve’s hand and started leading him toward the swinging door that separated the two halves of the Corner Pocket.
“One more thing.” Steve pivoted back to Matt. “Katie’s a good person. Don’t hurt her.” Then he walked away, leaving Katie stunned. Barbara was jealous of her? Steve was being protective? Had the world just turned upside down?
Then Barbara called over her shoulder, “See you next Saturday,” and the world flipped upright again.
“I wouldn’t miss it for anything,” Katie grumbled.
When the door swung shut behind the couple, Matt released a gust of air. “A few years ago, I would have knocked a guy like that clear across the bar, just for the hell of it.”
“And why didn’t you today?”
“I’m not who I used to be.”
“Well, that makes two of us.” She smiled. “Thanks for coming to my rescue. Again.”
“It was my pleasure. Both times.”
“I don’t usually kiss strangers at the corner grocery,” she said. “I was trying to…”
“Make him jealous?” Matt supplied.
“No, not jealous. I wanted him to see I’ve gone on with my life.”
“And have you?”
“Of course.” That was mostly a lie. All Katie knew now was she didn’t want to go back to who she was before, no matter how safe and comfortable it felt.
Matt twirled a dart between his fingers. “I don’t want to be mean, but what did you see in him in the first place?”
Katie snorted. “The better question is what did he see in me? I was the class geek, complete with the glasses and the physics books. He was the captain of the football team.”
“Let me guess. You tutored him in geometry?”
She let out a laugh. “Algebra.” Something about the chase, or the bonus of good grades, had kept Steve with her throughout high school. She’d been the one who could have used a tutor—in how not to be fooled by the illusion of a relationship. Steve had dumped her at graduation—for the hot cheerleader who’d given him the time of his life under the bleachers.
“You’re a beautiful woman, you know,” Matt said. “You probably could have had any guy in high school.”
“They weren’t exactly lining up for dates.”
“Well, they were stupid.”
She shook her head. “I was the stupid one. I went away to college and when I came home, Steve was there. He told me I was good for him, that being with me kept him from getting into trouble. I guess he believed that, too. Maybe I had an extra-bad case of homesickness or jet lag or something, because I took Steve back, even knowing he’d cheated on me. I was still half in love with those high-school memories. Mostly, though, I was half idiot. I believed him when he said he wanted to marry me and be faithful. I thought he’d changed.” She scowled. “A bona fide Oprah moment.”
Matt gestured toward the door to the restaurant. “And that’s when Babs there came into the picture?”
Katie dropped her gaze to the darts in her hand. “On my wedding day, no less. He sent me a letter afterwards that summed up all my shortcomings and defended his choice of Barbara.”
Matt cursed under his breath. “I ought to—”
“Don’t. It’s over, in the past.” She fidgeted with the darts. “Anyway, thanks again for helping me out.”
“Are you trying to get rid of me?” He moved closer, a breath away. She could feel the warmth of his body, smell the scent of leather mixed with musky cologne.
“Should I? After what I’ve heard, maybe it would be in my best interests.” Katie’s heart began racing at triple-speed, her pulse hammering through her veins.
It was as if a rocket had launched itself in her midsection. She’d wanted a little spice in her life—a dash of pepper, maybe—not a truckload of red-hot chilies roaring through her at the speed of light. He was too handsome, too desirable and way too dangerous. She would be crazy to get involved with him. He seemed to be a lot more than even the new Katie could handle.
“Don’t you feel the connection between us?”
“A single kiss doesn’t make us soul mates,” she countered. Each breath caught in her throat. The memory of that encounter, and all its deeper implications, still quivered within her.
“If it were an ordinary kiss.” He traced along the edge of her bottom lip and she inhaled, resisting the urge to taste the tip of his finger, to do much, much more. “Which that most certainly wasn’t.”
“No, it wasn’t.” She wanted him to touch her, kiss her again. Anything to assuage the strange and furious storm inside.
“Who are you?” he asked softly, his deep blue gaze boring into hers. “An angel sent to tame me or a devil to tempt me?”
“Neither,” she murmured. Heat radiated from his body, charging the air between them. Her breasts were taut, the nipples puckered against the confines of her bra. She chanced a glance downward and saw that Matt was in the same state as she. That knowledge, that power, sent a thrill straight through her.
“If we’re going to get this close,” he said, watching where her gaze went, “I think I should at least know your least name.”
“You…you already do.”
“I think I might have remembered that tidbit. A beautiful woman ravages me in the spaghetti aisle and I definitely wouldn’t forget her first or last name.”
“I didn’t ravage you!”
“Honey, if I’d been a side of beef, there wouldn’t have been much more than bones left after you got through with me.”
She laughed and the sound of it broke the simmering tension for a moment. “A bit of an exaggeration, don’t you think?”
“Perhaps. But until we get a chance to finish what we started,” he said, tracing a finger along the outline of her jaw and starting that fire roaring all over again, “we’ll never know the truth about your ravaging skills, now will we?”
She couldn’t answer. Heck, she could barely breath when he did that.
“So tell me, Mystery Kissing Bandit, what’s your last name?”
“Do you remember running into a piece of fruit this morning?”
It took him a second to make the connection. “You’re the banana?”
She nodded. “When I’m not going around kissing strange men, I masquerade as fruit for kicks,” she said, amazed at her ability to exchange witty remarks. It had to be the tequila that had emboldened her—because the real Katie would have had her tongue tied in double knots.
“My, my, Katie Dole, you surprise me more every minute I know you.” His gaze ran over her face, lingering on her lips. “I’m not often surprised by women.”
“That’s me, a surprise a minute.” What a complete lie. I couldn’t surprise a cow. She needed to change the subject, to give herself a second to think. She was playing a game where the rules were foreign and where Matt had the upper hand. “We were about to play darts, remember?”
“I’d much rather play something else.”
“Darts is all you’re going to get tonight,” she said. “So work out your frustrations on the bull’s-eye.”
“Let’s raise the stakes. Loser takes the winner to dinner.”
“Deal.” Yesterday, she would have backed down from the challenge, would have run when she encountered a man with such dangerous sex appeal. But now, she was determined to hold her own against him—at least in darts.
It should be an easy bet, she reasoned. A girl didn’t grow up with four brothers and not learn a thing or two about competing in barroom sports.
Katie stood on the line a few feet from the board, holding the gold-and-teal dart between her thumb and forefinger. She sighted the bull’s-eye over the feathers and took aim.
As soon as the dart left her fingers, she knew the launch was wrong. Matt was two feet away, watching her from the sidelines and wreaking havoc with her concentration.
The dart landed in the ignominious outer circle. Zero points. Katie squinted at the board and redoubled her concentration. She threw the other two darts at the board. One landed in the ten-point spot, the other flew wide of the board and hit the wall.
“Might I offer a suggestion?” Matt said.
“I know how to shoot darts. I don’t need any lessons.” She stalked over to the board and ripped her darts out, knowing all the while that their placement said otherwise.
When she was safely behind the painted white line on the floor, he aimed his dart and let it go. It sailed smoothly into the bull’s-eye. With resounding thwaps, the other two followed.
He was good. Better than she was. “All right. Show me what you know and save me the cost of feeding you when I beat you with your own techniques,” she conceded.
“How much time do you have? I have all night.”
The innuendo in his voice made flames rush to her cheeks. “I’ve got five minutes. That should be more than enough time for you to teach me all you know.”
“Good one.” Another smile. He led her over to the line. Then he sidled up behind her, raising her right hand beside his.
The heat from his body, inches away, was incredible. She forced herself to stand steady, to resist the urge to back up and melt against his chest—and all his other desirable parts. The sexual charges detonating throughout her body were new, completely unexpected, and nearly consuming in their power over her mind.
“When you aim, be sure to oversight it a little. That compensates for the flight arc,” he was saying. “Let me show you.” He took her hand and placed a dart between her fingers. Then he rocked her hand back and forth, as if they were shooting the dart. “Keep it steady and remember, it’s all in the wrist.”
“Thanks. I will,” she exhaled on a shaky breath. Concentrate. On the darts.
This time, she focused on the dartboard and blocked Matt from her mind. Thwap, thwap. Two hit the bull’s-eye, the third landed on thirty points.
When it was his turn, she moved into place behind him. Just as he took aim, she purposely brushed her breasts against his back. The feel of him, of the simple intake and exchange of air that made his back slip along her chest, was intoxicating. Wanton need, so foreign to Katie, pounded through her veins.
For the first time in her life, she felt alive. Invigorated. Completely, totally feminine. “I, ah, wanted to get a closer look at your technique.”
Matt’s dart flew wide of the mark and landed with a thunk in the wall.
“You missed. What a shame.”
“Pity, isn’t it?” He glanced over his shoulder at her, his gaze telling her he knew exactly what she was up to and that he was enjoying every minute of it.
And, if she admitted the truth, so was she. She felt bold, brazen, ready to take on any challenge.
“So, are you going to go?” Matt sent another dart sailing into the board.
“Where?” she asked, confused.
“To that wedding.”
Any challenge but that one. “I don’t know.” Katie walked to the bar and took a drink. “I’m not up to watching one of my former friends marry the guy who left me at the altar.”
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