Bride Quartet Collection (60 page)

“Tools work better when they’re taken care of.”

“Words to live by Most people don’t. So, what’s after the meeting?”

“Sorry? Oh ... errands, and work.”

“You ever not have meetings, errands, and work?”

“Rarely.” She knew when a man was hitting on her, but couldn’t remember the last time it had flustered her. “I really need those keys.The car won’t start without them.”

He dropped them into her open palm. “If you hit one of those rare times, give me a call. I’ll take you out in my ride.”

While she tried to think of a response, he jerked a thumb. She followed the direction to a big, burly, gleaming motorcycle.

“I don’t think so. I really don’t think so.”

He only smiled. “If you change your mind, you know how to reach me.” He waited a beat while she got into the car. “It’s the first time I’ve seen you with your hair down. It goes with the dress.”

“Um.” Jesus, Parker, she thought, what has tied your tongue into a knot? “Thanks for the work.”

“Back at you.”

She shut the door, turned the key, and with a genuine sense of relief drove away. The man, she decided, just threw her off balance.

IT WAS SILLY, LAUREL TOLD HERSELF, AND HAD TO BE HANDLED. Ignoring Del and his childish game had seemed like a good idea initially, but the more she chewed on it, the more it seemed ignoring it could be construed as avoidance.That gave him the upper hand, which would never do.

She kept her plan—such as it was—to herself. Since she wasn’t needed at rehearsal, it limited contact with her friends, and the temptation to share. She kept to her kitchen, making the cream filling and buttercream frosting for Saturday afternoon’s Summer Strawberry cake. She checked her board and her timing, and tried not to feel guilty about sneaking out of her own house.

She pulled off her apron, then cursed. She wasn’t going over to Del’s to face this situation all sweaty and mussed. Cleaning up didn’t equal fussing.

She took the back stairs, slipped into her own wing to shower off the day. Putting makeup on wasn’t fussing either. It was just basic grooming. And she liked wearing earrings. She was entitled to wear earrings and a nice top, wasn’t she? It wasn’t a crime to want to look her best, whatever the circumstances.

Refusing to argue with herself any longer, she took the back steps again with the idea of getting out without being seen. She’d be home, she assured herself, before anyone noticed she was gone.

“Where are you off to?”

Busted. “Ah.” She turned to see Mrs. Grady in the kitchen garden. “I just have something to do. A little something to do.”

“Well, I guess you’d better go do it. That’s a new shirt isn’t it?”

“No.Yes. Sort of.” She
hated
feeling the heat of guilt creeping up the back of her neck. “There’s no point in buying a shirt and not wearing it.”

“None at all,” Mrs. Grady said placidly. “Run along then, and have fun.”

“I’m not going to ... Never mind. I won’t be long.” She circled around the house toward her car. An hour, tops, then she’d—

“Hi. Heading out?”

Oh, for Christ’s sake, it was like having a community of parents. She worked up a smile for Carter. “Yeah. I just have a thing. I’m coming right back.”

“Okay. I’m going to beg a casserole from Mrs. G. We’ll be defrosting later, if you’re interested.”

“Thanks, but I grabbed a salad before. Enjoy.”

“We will.You look nice.”

“So what?” She shook her head. “Sorry, sorry Distracted. Gotta go.” She jumped in the car before she ran into anyone else.

As she sped away, it occurred to her she should’ve gone to Del’s during the day, when he’d be gone. She knew where the spare key was hidden, and had his alarm code. Except he probably changed it regularly, as that was the safe thing to do. Still, she could’ve risked it, and gotten inside, found her shoes. Left
him
a note, she thought. Now
that
would’ve been clever.

Too late now But he might not be home, she considered. He had an active social life—friends, clients, dates. Seven thirty on a pretty summer evening? Yes, he probably had a hot date—drinks, dinner, debauchery. She could get in, find the shoes, leave him a funny note.

Dear shoenapper: We escaped and have informed the FBI. A tactical team is on the way. The Pradas.

He’d laugh, she decided. He didn’t like to lose—who did?—but he’d laugh. And that would be the end of that.

As long as she didn’t set off the alarm and end up calling him to be her attorney of record. Think positive, she advised herself and warmed up to the new plan as she drove.

And imagined it falling like a bad soufflé when she spotted his car in the drive.

Oh well, back to Plan A.

He had a great house, one she’d admired since he’d had it built. Probably too big for one man, but she understood the need for space. She knew Jack had designed it with very specific requirements from Del. Not too traditional, but not too modern, lots of light, lots of room. And the sprawl of river stone, the pitch of the triple roofs had a kind of casual elegance that suited the owner.

And she was stalling, she admitted.

She got out of the car, walked straight to the front door, and rang the bell.

She shifted from one foot to the other, tapped her hand on her knee. Nerves, she realized. For God’s sake she was nervous about seeing a man she’d known her entire life. One she’d fought with and played with. They’d even been married a couple of times—when Parker had nagged, bribed, or blackmailed him into playing Groom in their Wedding Day games as kids. Now she had the jitters.

That made her a wuss, she decided. She hated being a wuss.

She punched the bell again, harder.

“Sorry, you were so quick, and I was just ...” Del, shirt open over a chest where a few drops of water glimmered, hair dark with damp, stopped, cocked his head. “And you’re not the delivery guy from the China Palace.”

“No, and I came for ...You can’t get delivery out here from the China Palace.”

“You can if you defended the owners’ son on possession and got him into a program instead of a cell.” He smiled, hooked a thumb in the pocket of the jeans he’d zipped but had yet to button. “Hi, Laurel. Come on in.”

“I’m not here to visit. I’m here for my shoes.Just get them, and I’ll be gone before your shrimp fried rice gets here.”

“I went for the sweet-and-sour pork.”

“Good choice. My shoes.”

“Come on in. We’ll discuss terms.”

“Del, this is just absurd.”

“I like some absurd now and again.” To settle the matter, he grabbed her hand, pulled her inside. “So, want a beer? I picked up some Tsingtao for the Chinese.”

“No, I don’t want a Chinese beer. I want my shoes.”

“Sorry, they’re in an undisclosed location until the ransom terms are determined and met. Did you know they let out this thin, high-pitched scream when you twist those skinny heels?” He fisted his hands, twisted to demonstrate. “It’s a little eerie.”

“I know you think you’re being funny, and okay, you’re not entirely wrong. But I’ve put in a really long day. I just want my shoes.”

“You deserve a Tsingtao after a really long day.And look, here’s dinner.Why don’t you go out back on the deck? It’s nice out. Oh, grab a couple of beers out of the fridge on your way Hey, Danny, how’s it going?”

She could argue, Laurel thought. She could even make a scene. But neither would get her the shoes until Del was good and ready Keeping her cool, that was the ticket, she decided and, grinding her teeth only a little, started toward the kitchen. She heard Del and the delivery guy talking baseball as she walked away. Apparently somebody somewhere had pitched a no-hitter the night before.

She turned into his spacious kitchen, washed now in the softening evening light. She knew he used the space for more than beer and take-out Chinese. He had a couple of specialties down cold—fancy little meals designed for seducing women—and had a hand with omelettes for the morning after.

So she’d been told.

She opened the fridge and took out a beer, and since it was there, took out one for herself. Knowing the setup here nearly as well as in her own kitchen, she opened the freezer, got out a couple of chilled pilsners. And noted a handy selection of Mrs G’s casseroles and soups in labeled containers.

The woman fed the world.

She was pouring the second beer when Del came in with take-out bags.

“See, I’m having a beer. I consider that terms met. When I finish the beer, I get my shoes.”

His look transmitted mild pity. “I don’t think you understand the situation clearly. I’ve got something you want, so I set the terms.” He stacked a couple of plates, napkins, then took two sets of chopsticks from a drawer.

“I said I didn’t want dinner.”

“Pot stickers.” He shook one of the bags. “You know you have a weakness.”

He was right about that, plus anxiety combined with the scent of food stirred up her appetite. “Fine. A beer and a pot sticker.” She carried the beers out to the deck and to the table overlooking the lawn and gardens.

The water in his pool sparkled. On the edge of its skirt stood a charming gazebo that housed a massive grill. He was known for manning it territorially when he threw a summer party where people played cutthroat boccie on the lawn and splashed in the pool.

He entertained well, she mused. It must be in the genes.

He came out with a tray loaded with cartons and plates. At least he’d buttoned his shirt, she noted. She wished she didn’t like his looks quite so much. She’d be able to get a handle on her emotional response if she didn’t find him so physically attractive.

Or vice versa.

“I figured I’d eat this with ESPN and some paperwork. This is better.” He put a place setting in front of her, opened cartons. “Rehearsal tonight, right?” He sat and began to take samples from every carton. “How’d it go?”

“Fine, I imagine. They didn’t need me, so I did some prep for the weekend.”

“I’ll be at the commitment ceremony Sunday,” he told her. “I went to college with Mitchell, and I wrote up their partnership contract.” He ate while she sat, sipping her beer. “So what’s the cake?”

“Chocolate butter cake, with white chocolate mousse filling, frosted in broad strokes with fudge frosting.”

“Triple threat.”

“They like chocolate.All that’s offset with alternate layers of red geranium blossoms on flower foam trays. Emma’s making interlocking geranium hearts for the topper. Now should I ask about your day?”

“No need to be bitchy”

She sighed because he was right. “You stole my shoes,” she pointed out, and gave in to the scent of the food.

“
Stole
is a strong word.”

“They’re mine, you took them without permission.” She bit into a pot sticker. God, she did have a weakness.

“How much are they worth to you?”

“They’re just shoes, Del.”

“Please.” He made a dismissive noise as he waved one hand. “I have a sister. I know the value you people put on footwear.”

“Okay, okay, what do you want? Money? Baked goods? Household chores?”

“All viable options. But this is nice for a start. You should try the sweet-and-sour.”

“What, this is nice? This?” She nearly choked on the beer. “Like this is some kind of a date?”

“Two people, food, drink, pretty evening. It has datelike elements.”

“It’s a drop-in. It’s a ransom drop. It’s . . .” She stopped herself because the jitters were back. “All right, let’s clear the air. I feel I started something. Something or ...”

“Other?” he suggested.

“Okay, something or other. Because I was in a mood, and I acted impulsively, which caused you to reciprocate the impulse. And I see now, I certainly see knowing you, that the ‘we’re even’ remark was a gauntlet thrown.You couldn’t leave that alone, so you took my damn shoes. And now there’s Chinese and beer and the whole dusk falling light show, when we both know perfectly well you’ve never thought about me this way.”

He considered for a moment. “That’s not accurate. An accurate statement would be I’ve tried not to think about you this way.”

More than a little stunned she sat back. “How’d you do with that?”

“Hmm.” He lifted a hand, turned it side to side.

She stared at him. “Damn you, Del.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

H
E COULDN’T SAY IT WAS THE REACTION HE’D EXPECTED, BUT WITH Laurel that was often the case.

“Damn me for what, exactly?”

“Because it’s exactly the right thing to say.You’re good at saying exactly the right thing, except when you say the completely wrong thing. But it’s usually the right thing anyway, just that I didn’t want to hear it.”

“You should’ve been a lawyer.”

“I’m eating another pot sticker,” she muttered.

She’d always delighted him, he thought, except when she’d irritated him. It was probably the same thing.

“Do you remember when we were all over at Emma’s parents’ for Cinco de Mayo?”

“Of course I remember.” She scowled at her beer. “I had too much tequila, which is only natural under the circumstances because, hello, Cinco de Mayo.”

“I think that’s
hola.”

“Har-har. You played big brother and sat with me on the front porch steps.”

“It’s not playing big brother to have some mild concern for a friend in a tequila haze. But anyway.” He scooped some sweet-and-sour onto her plate with his chopsticks. “Earlier Jack and I were standing around, and I was scoping the crowd, the way you do.”

“The way
you
do.”

“Okay. I spot this blue dress with a great pair of legs and ...” He made a vague gesture that gave her a clear picture of the
and.
“I thought, nice, very nice indeed, and made some mention of same to Jack. He pointed out that the legs and the rest I happened to be scoping were yours. It gave me a hell of a jolt, I admit.” He gauged her reaction, judged surprise led the way. “In the interest of full disclosure, I also admit it wasn’t the first time. So whether or not it was the right thing to say, it was accurate.”

“I’m not a pair of legs, or an
and.”

“No, but they’re still very nice.You’re a beautiful woman.That’s also accurate. Some have a weakness for pot stickers, some for beautiful women.”

She looked past him, toward the deepening shadows. “That should piss me off.”

“You’re also one of my oldest and most important friends.” Teasing no longer colored his tone. “That matters, a lot.”

“It does.” She pushed her plate away before she made herself sick.

“I think it’s also accurate to say something unexpected, or at least surprising, hit when you acted on impulse the other night.”

As dusk thickened, his garden and patio lights sent out a soft glow, and in the distance a loon’s eerie wail echoed. It struck him as oddly romantic, and somehow suitable.

“You’re being awfully delicate about it.”

“Well, it’s a first date,” he said and made her laugh.

“I just came for the shoes.”

“No, you didn’t.”

She let out a breath. “Maybe not, but I had this plan, banking on you being out on an actual date where I’d sneak in, take back my shoes, and leave you a clever note.”

“Then you’d have missed all this. So would I.”

“There you go again,” she murmured. “I think part of my thing here is a direct result of my sexual moratorium.”

Amused, he tipped up his beer. “How’s that going for you?” “All too well. I’m probably a little more—what’s the delicate term? Itchy, more itchy than usual these days.”

“In the spirit of friendship I could take you upstairs and help you scratch that itch. But that doesn’t really work for me.”

She started to say she could scratch her own itch, thanks all the same, but decided that was too much information, even between friends. So she shrugged instead.

“It’s not like Jack and Emma,” he said.

“Jack and Emma aren’t scratching an itch. They’re—”

“Simmer down, Quickdraw,” he said mildly. “That’s not what I meant.They were friends—are friends—but they became friends, what, ten or twelve years ago? That’s a long time, but you and I? It’s basically our whole lives. We’re not just friends, we’re family. Not in an illegal and incestuous way that makes this conversation creepy, but family. Tribal,” he decided. “We’re from the same tribe, you could say.”

“Tribal.” She tried it out. “You have been thinking about this. And I can’t disagree with you about any of that.”

“Which is a nice change. We’re talking about changes, and not just for us, but for, well, the tribe.”

“I bet you get to be chief.” With her elbow on the table, she propped her chin on her hand. “You always get to be chief.”

“You can be chief if you can beat me arm-wrestling.”

She was strong—she prided herself on it. But she also knew her limits. “And being tribal chief you’ve already decided how this should go.”

“I have what you could call an outline. What would be a draft of an outline.”

“You’re so like Parker. Maybe that’s part of it. If Parker were a guy, or we were both gay, we’d be married. Which would mean I’d never have to date again. My annoyance thereof the key cause for the sexual moratorium. And very likely this conversation.”

“Do you want to hear the outline?”

“Yes, but I’m passing on the quiz that follows.”

“We give it a month.”

“Give what a month?”

“The adjustment. Seeing each other this way. We go out, stay in, have conversations, socialize, engage in recreational activities. We date, like people do when they’re easing into a different dynamic. And, given the tribal connection, and given what I assume is a mutual desire to limit potential damage to our current connection—”

“Now who’s the lawyer?”

“Given that,” he went on,“though it gives me no pleasure, literally, we continue the sexual moratorium.”

“You’d also be in a sexual moratorium?”

“Fair’s fair.”

“Hmm.” She switched from beer to water. “We do all the stuff normal, consenting, unattached adults do with each other, but no sex, with each other or anyone else?”

“That’s the idea.”

“For thirty days.”

“Don’t remind me.”

“Why the thirty?”

“It’s a reasonable time line for both of us to determine if we want to take it to the next step. It’s a big step, Laurel. You matter too much to me to rush it.”

“Dating’s harder than sex.”

He laughed. “Who the hell have you been dating? I’ll try to make it easy for you. How about we catch a movie after the event on Sunday? Just a movie.”

She angled her head. “Who picks the flick?”

“We’ll negotiate. No tearjerker.”

“No horror.”

“Agreed.”

“Maybe you should draw up a contract.”

He took the dig with a shrug. “If you’ve got a better idea, I’m open.

“I don’t have any idea. I never thought we’d get to a point where I would need an idea. How about we just sleep together and call it even?”

“Okay.” When her mouth dropped open, he grinned. “I not only know you, but I know a bluff when I hear one.”

“You don’t know everything.”

“No, I don’t. I think that’s part of it, and I guess we’d better take some time and find out. I’m in if you are.”

She studied the attractive and familiar face, the calm eyes, the easy posture. “We’ll probably want to murder each other half the time.”

“That won’t be anything new In or out, Laurel?”

“In.” She offered a hand to close the deal.

“I think this calls for more than a handshake.” But he took her hand, used it to draw her to her feet along with him. “Plus we should see what it’s like when neither of us is irritated.”

A little frisson, as much anticipation as nerves, jittered up her spine. “Maybe I am.”

“No. No little crease here.” He skimmed a fingertip between her eyebrows. “Dead giveaway.”

“Wait,” she said when he ran his hands down her arms. “Now I’m self-conscious. It’s no good if I’m thinking too much and—”

He shut her up, drawing her in and up to brush his lips over hers in slow, soft sweeps.

“Or,” she murmured, and let her hands glide up from his shoulders until her arms could link around his neck.

More surprises, he thought, when there was warmth and exploration instead of just heat and impulse. Sweet and easy wrapped in layers of the familiar and the new. He knew her scent, her shape, but the taste of her, ripe and seductive, merged what was into what might be.

He took his time, drawing it out, drawing her in, to savor the new mix of sensations.

She poured herself into it, taking every ounce of the moment she’d imagined dozens of times. A dying day, soft lights, the quiet sigh of a summer breeze. Foolish fancies of a young girl’s crush, longings transformed over time into a woman’s need.

Now the fancies were real, the longings met. And in the kiss she felt his need rise with hers. Whatever happened, this moment, this dying day, would always be hers.

When their lips parted, he stayed close. “How long do you think that’s been in there?” he wondered.

“Hard to say.” Impossible to tell him.

“Yeah.”

He touched his lips to hers again, testing, stirring, then deepening until they were both breathless.

“I’d better go get your shoes.”

“Okay.” But she pulled him back, racheting up the heat, groaning with it when his hands stroked down her sides to grip her hips.

He teetered on the edge, but made himself pull back. “Shoes,” he managed. “Free the hostages.You really need to go. Home.”

Stirred and shaken, she leaned back against the deck rail. “I told you dating’s harder than sex.”

“We don’t shirk from challenges.You’ve got some lips. I’ve always liked the look of them. I like them even better now.”

They curved. “Come over here and say that.”

“Better not. I’ll be back in a minute with the shoes.”

She watched him go and thought it was going to be a really long month.

S
NEAKING BACK INTO THE HOUSE SHOULD BE, BY ALL THE ODDS, simpler than sneaking out. Carter and Mac would be tucked into their place, Emma and Jack in theirs. Mrs. G would either be watching TV in her cozy apartment with her feet up and a pot of her evening tea, or out with some cronies. Parker? Probably still working, but in her own suite and in comfortable clothes.

Laurel parked, reassured by the lights in the studio and guest-house. She just wanted to get into her own space, alone, and think about everything that happened, everything that had changed or started to change tonight.

Her lips still tingled from his; her skin still hummed. She could all but dance to the tune. If she’d kept a diary, she’d cover today’s page with little hearts and flowers.

Then rip it out and tear it up because that was embarrassing. But still, she’d do it.

Smiling at the idea, she let herself into the house, carefully and quietly locked up behind her. She didn’t exactly tiptoe up the stairs, but it was close.

“Are you just getting in?”

She didn’t scream, but that was close, too. Whirling, Laurel gaped at Parker, then sat down hard on the steps before she tumbled.

“Jesus Christ! Jesus! You’re scarier than a Rottweiler. What are you doing?”

“What am I doing?” Parker waved the carton in her hand. “I went down for a yogurt and I’m going up to my room. What are you doing sneaking up the steps?”

“I wasn’t sneaking. I was walking. Quietly. You have yogurt in the little fridge upstairs.”

“I’m out of blueberry. I wanted blueberry. Do you mind?”

“No, no. God.” Laurel took a ragged breath, patted her heart. “You just scared the crap out of me.”

This time Parker pointed with her spoon. “You have guilty face.”

“I do not.”

“I’m looking at it. I know guilty face when I’m looking at it.”

“I’m not guilty. Why should I be guilty? I don’t have a curfew, do I, Mom?”

“See, guilty.”

“Okay, okay, put away the rubber hose.” Laurel threw up her arms in surrender. “I just went to Del’s to get my shoes.”

“Laurel, I can see that.You’re holding them in your hand.”

“Right. Right. Well, they’re great shoes and I wanted them back.” She stroked one affectionately. “He’d ordered Chinese.There were pot stickers.”

“Ah.” Nodding, Parker walked up to sit beside Laurel.

“I wasn’t going to stay, but I did, so we sat out on the deck and talked about me kissing him, then him kissing me. Which I didn’t actually mention to you. It feels weirder talking to you about it than it does talking to him.”

“Get over it.”

“I’m working on it, aren’t I? Anyway, we had to get to what do we do about it, if anything. He had an outline.”

“Of course.” Parker smiled as she spooned up yogurt.

“You’d expect that because the two of you are from the same mold. I told him if you and I were gay we’d be married.”

Parker nodded again as she ate her yogurt. “I could see that.”

“We talked it over and we agreed we’d see each other and do stuff that people do, except no sex.”

Brows lifting, Parker licked her spoon. “You’re going to date but not have sex?”

“For thirty days. The theory being we’d know by then if we really wanted to have sex, or if it’s just ... hmm. I know it’s reasonable and adult, but we know we want to have sex now.”

“You take a little time first to make sure you’ll still like each other if and when you do.”

“Yeah, that’s the sticker.There was more in there. Tribes and my legs, but the upshot was we’re going to see how it goes.You’re really okay with it?”