My One And Only (10 page)

Before he could think better of it, he punched the intercom button on his phone. "Edna?"

"Yes, Ethan?" Edna asked.

"Get Bill for me, will you? I need him on the runway, fueled and ready to leave in half an hour."

"What should he put on his flight plan?"

"Chicago," Ethan said.

"Really?" She sounded disgustingly cheerful.

Ethan didn't try to suppress a wry smile. "Really. And don't sound so damned righteous about it."

"Temper, temper, Ethan. Ladies don't like that."

"Then this one should have called." He replaced the receiver and reached for his briefcase. Sitting inside was a preliminary memo Jack had given him an hour ago about his analysis of the MDS report. It would give Ethan something to read on the plane—something to take his mind off the way Abby had looked in a sweatshirt and jeans, with her color a little high and her lips slightly parted.

A sudden hunger pain reminded him of two things. First, it had been a hell of a long time since he'd actually
craved
a woman. Though he and Pamela had shared a satisfactory sex life, he'd never felt this yearning desire for her. Even toward the end, when he'd tried to let himself go, it hadn't been like a fire eating at his guts. That probably should have alarmed him, but once he'd made the decision to ignore all the warning signs, he hadn't looked back.

And second, with any luck, he could wrangle another meal or two out of Rachel—whom he suspected could easily become his strongest ally in this pursuit. He tossed a few more items into his briefcase, then snapped the locks shut and headed for the door.

As he entered the outer office, Edna gave him a
dry look. "Am I allowed to ask when I can expect you back in the office?"

"Wednesday."

Her eyebrows disappeared into her hairline. "I wonder what in the world could hold your attention in Chicago until Wednesday."

"Dinner."

six

A
bby opened the door of her town house three hours later and regarded Ethan with a sharp look that was seriously diminished by the smudge of flour on her nose. "What are you doing here?"

Not exactly the welcome he'd been hoping for. He braced one shoulder against the doorframe and wiped the smudge from her nose with his thumb. "Hi."

"Hi? It's ten o'clock at night and that's all you have to say for yourself?" She blew a curl off her forehead.

He caught a whiff of the incredible scent coming from the kitchen, as well as peals of laughter. "Actually," he said, "I have a few more things to say, but they can wait." He looked beyond her shoulder. "What's going on?"

She wiped her h
ands on the front of her flour-
streaked apron. "We're baking. Did you want something?"

"I want to come in." He shifted away from the doorframe and took a step toward her, so she was forced to tip her head back to maintain eye contact.

"You can't," she told him. "We're—"

"Abby?" Rachel had pushed open the kitchen door. "Who is— Oh, Ethan. Hi!"

Ethan chuckled. "At least someone here is glad to see me," he told Abby in a quiet voice meant for her alone. "Hello, Rachel."

Rachel hurried toward them. She was wiping her hands on a dish towel she had flung over her shoulder. "What are you doing here?"

"I hope I'm getting to eat whatever that incredible smell is. What
are
you making in there?"

Rachel slid between Abby and the doorframe. "Cookies."

He remembered. "The Baldovino competition."

"Yeah. Making the cookies counts toward the apprentice hours I have to complete to qualify."

"Rachel." Abby put a hand on her sister's arm.

"Come on in," Rachel told Ethan. "I'll show you."

He grinned at Abby. "I can't remember when I've had a better offer." He trailed after Rachel.

Abby muttered something that sounded distinctly unladylike and slammed the door. Rachel was explaining her baking project in extensive detail. They entered the kitchen with Abby trudging behind. "This is LuAnne," Rachel announced. "LuAnne, this is Ethan Maddux."

Ethan didn't miss the looks that passed between the blue-haired woman and Abby. They'd discussed him, and probably discussed his last conversation with Abby as well. He couldn't suppress a knowing smile.

"Nice to meet you," LuAnne said.

"He's not staying," Abby declared.

"Are you kidding?" he said smoothly. He glanced around the kitchen to see piles of baking ingredients filling every open space. "Why would I leave?"

Rachel beamed at him. Abby looked like she wanted to kick his shins. "If you want to stay," Rachel said, "you have to help."

"No one samples unless they help," LuAnne told him. "I gave up trying to get away with it years ago."

Ethan unbuttoned the cuffs of his denim shirt and started rolling back the sleeves. "Fair enough." He looked at Rachel. "What do I do?"

Rachel pointed to a stack of egg cartons. "Separate eggs and yolks."

His expression turned blank. LuAnne shot Abby another look and said smoothly, "Abby'll show you how."

They spent the next two hours elbow-deep in baking ingredients. Ethan couldn't remember the
last time he'd enjoyed himself more. Until he'd tried it with Abby, he had no idea baking could be so erotic. She'd glowered at LuAnne, but
had
shown him the trick of separating eggs. He'd taken the opportunity to put his hands over hers where she held the eggshells. She'd given him a slightly chastising glance that reminded him of his third-grade teacher. "I asked you for a favor," she said in a low whisper, "not to invade my life."

"I'm a corporate raider. Invading is what I do best."

She'd rolled her eyes, but he didn't think he'd imagined the way her fingers trembled beneath his.

As the night progressed, he took every opportunity to touch her. He came up behind her while she was layering a sheet of filo dough with butter. He placed one hand on her shoulder and leaned forward in seemingly innocent curiosity. "What is that?" he asked, moving his thumb to her nape.

Abby tensed but didn't move away. "It's filo dough," Rachel told him from across the room. "Abby is buttering it so we can use it for pastry puffs."

He pressed his lips close to Abby's ear. "What do you have to do with it to make it into a pastry puff?"

"You slice it with a very sharp knife into extremely tiny pieces."

He swept his thumb over the bare skin beneath her ponytail. "Is it sweet enough to eat?"

Her color heightened to a delightful shade of deep pink. "Not until it's stuffed."

He touched the shell of her ear. "I'm getting tired of waiting."

LuAnne coughed and pushed him slightly aside. "Er, sorry, I need the eggs."

"No problem." Ethan lowered his hand and rested against the counter.

LuAnne retrieved the mixing bowl full of egg yolks and gave Abby her attention. "You holding up all right, Ab? You look a little flushed."

Abby slapped another slab of butter on the dough. "I'm fine."

Rachel checked the clock on the oven. "We're almost done," sh
e announced to no one in partic
ular. "As soon as we get the ingredients prepped, we'll quit for the night."

"Quit?" Ethan asked.

Rachel nodded. "I always do the ingredients the night before. It saves time with the baking."

LuAnne swiped another cutting board full of chopped chocolate into a bowl. "What time are we starting tomorrow?"

"Not too early," Abby said. "Rachel and I have Carlton's graduation party in the morning."

Rachel groaned. "I told you I don't have time for that. How am I supposed to get all this done by Monday?"

"I'll help," Ethan volunteered. "It'll make it go faster."

Abby looked at him with surprise. "I had no idea you were so domestically inclined."

"You're about to learn several things about me, Abby." He winked at her. "I've got stuff I'm dying to show you."

A
t 12:30
a
.
m
.,
Ethan and Abby were the only ones left standing. They'd finished preparing the ingredients a little after midnight. LuAnne had staggered to the guest room, while Rachel had curled up on the sofa and fallen asleep in front of the TV during a rerun of
Iron Chef.
Ethan had the advantage of West Coast time on his side—his internal clock said it was shortly after ten-thirty. Abby had dumped mixing bowls and utensils in the sink and was scrubbing them hard enough to wear down the stainless steel.

With a slight smile, Ethan eased up behind her and put his hands on her shoulders. They tensed. She kept scrubbing, so he started rubbing the knotted muscles. "Tough week?" he asked.

She sighed. "You could say that."

"I was expecting you to call."

She dropped a large spoon into the sudsy water. Her head came up, and she met his gaze in the reflection of the kitchen window. "Why?"

He tipped his head to one side. "Why not?" He
rubbed his h
ands down her arms. "Are you an
noyed with me?"

She shook her head. "I just want to know what you're doing here."

He wasn't sure he knew how to answer that. "My assistant told me I've been acting like a jerk. I gave it some thought, and realized there was some unsettled business between us."

"You said you were coming back Tuesday."

He studied her reflection, trying to decide if she was being sarcastic. "I said certain other things to you that night too. Things that warranted a little more attention."

"I don't think—"

He caught her wrists and pressed his thumbs to her pulse. "I'm starting to think maybe you didn't exactly understand me."

"Why would you think that?"

"Because I got this funny little note from you that sounded like we were colleagues at a dinner party," he said patiently. "Obviously, you missed some of the, ah, undertones of the conversation." He stroked the inside of her wrist with his thumb. "I thought I'd better come and set things straight with you."

Abby pulled her hands free and t
ur
ned to face him. He should have backed up a step so she wouldn't have to stand so close to the counter, but he was enjoying the sensation of having her
pressed against him in such tantalizing proximity. "I know you think I'm some kind of moron, but if I'm supposed to have figured this out, I haven't. I've lost plenty of sleep over it, though."

"I'm glad to hear I wasn't the only one."

Abby searched
his gaze. "I'm kind of a plain-
speech sort of person, you know. And if you're saying what I think you're saying, then maybe you've got the wrong girl." She blew an errant curl off her forehead.

No, he thought as he watched the curl spring back over her face, definitely the right woman. No question about it. He barely resisted the urge to topple her into his arms. He wasn't going to wait much longer to kiss this woman. "I don't think so," he assured her. "But I haven't quite got you figured out yet."

"And it's driving you crazy, isn't it?" She managed a slight laugh. "Good grief, Ethan, I'm really not that complicated."

"On the surface maybe. But there are layers. I'm very interested in layers."

He thought he saw her color rise. "I don't think—"

"I told my CFO today that I was taking off for the holiday."

"So?"

"So I haven't taken a holiday in eight years. He was a little stunned."

"Did you tell him you're thinking about getting involved in Harrison's life again?"

"Yes. He may never recover."

"I doubt Harrison will either."

He put his other hand on the counter so that he bracketed her hips.
"I
don't give a damn about Harrison. He's not the reason I'm here, and you know it."

Her eyes widened. "I was really afraid you were going to say that." She scooted several steps away before she slid a chair between them. "And I wish you'd stop."

"Stop what?" He advanced a step.

Abby's fingers tightened on the chairback. "Stop trying to unbalance me."

"Is that what you think I'm doing?"

"Of course it's what you're doing. Did you even look at those reports I gave you?"

"Yes."

"And?"

"I have some people looking into it." He took another step. Abby held her ground.

"Then unless you're prepared to tell me what you can or can't do for MDS, we have nothing to talk about. You said so yourself."

"I did
not
say we have nothing to talk about." He rounded the chair in two quick strides. "That was your line. I remember."

She reached for the chair. "Why couldn't this wait until Tuesday?"

"I'm sick of waiting."

"Are you always this impatient?"

"Definitely." He eased the chair aside with his foot. She didn't look nervous, he noted, or even wary. There was simply an awareness in her eyes, a certain shimmer of energy under her skin that she might excuse away as anxiety, but which looked an awful lot like anticipation. "I don't believe in delayed gratification."

"Oh, crud, Ethan. I—"

It was the look of recognition in her eyes that pushed him over the edge. She might as well have said yes in the same sultry voice she'd used the other night. It gave him the assurance he needed, and the willpower to wait until the time was right. He wasn't prepared to start something with her sister sleeping in the living room. When he finally gave vent to his physical desire for Abby, he wanted her undivided attention.

He thrust his hands into his pockets. If he couldn't accomplish his first goal for the evening, then he might as well settle for the second. "Look, Abby—"

She held out a small hand. "Can you just give me a minute to think? I can't do it when you do that."

"Do what?"

She waved her hand at him. "That. It's that look. It unnerves me. I'm having that gazelle feeling again. No," she said sharply when he would
have moved toward her. "Stand right there and don't budge."

Ethan stilled. "You know,"
he said, "I'm not very good at taking orders."

Her hand dropped to her side. "Are you always such a pain in the ass?"

That made him laugh. "That's what I've heard."

"Look, I came to you with one request, and it seemed pretty simple. I just wanted to know whether or not you were willing to help your father. If you're not, you're not."

"I didn't say I wouldn't do it."

"But you didn't say you would, either."

It was just as he thought, he realized. Abby wasn't the kind of woman to settle for anything less than a total commitment. She'd be that way in her personal life as well, instinct told him. The same depth of loyalty that kept her tied to Harrison would demand a similar commitment in return. If he'd ever entertained the notion that any relationship he might have with Abby could be uncomplicated, he cast it aside in the cluttered confines of her kitchen.