The Commitment (11 page)

Miranda rotated on her stool every now and then as she followed his progress through the kitchen. What he ended up doing was a more than fair display of Tappan cooking, like she'd seen at her favorite Japanese restaurant. He tossed knives around as if it were second nature. The moment of truth, when he lit the fiery sake with a wooden match causing a whoosh of flame, had her on the edge of her seat.

At last he piled two plates with the deliciously scented stir-fry and led her through a swinging door into a small dining area. The circular table was set for two as if he'd thought this through ahead of time. The table was in an alcove encased by windows that overlooked the Front Range. During the day the view would be stunning. At sunset she wagered the view would take her breath away.

He held her seat then sat in the facing chair. All she could do was stare at him. His face glowed as if he'd just had the time of his life.

"Well?" He frowned. "I should have asked what you wanted. You hate stir fry, don't you?"

She answered by putting a forkful into her mouth. Delicious. She shut her eyes to savor the explosion of flavors on her tongue as she chewed. When she opened her eyes she found Drake staring at her. "It's great," she said.

"I'm sure you're embarrassed that your big, tough, wealthy husband cooked it for you." His statement came out flat--a challenge.

"The only thing that embarrasses me is that I can't cook this well. From now on you have kitchen duty." She gulped from her water glass; what she'd just said implied that she'd be staying.

"I'll hold you to that. Wait until you see what I can do with eggs at breakfast." His dimple deepened.

"Just for tonight," Miranda stated. "One night. I'm too tired to argue anymore."

Drake nodded and drank a tiny cup of sake. She wasn't sure, but Miranda thought he looked pretty pleased with himself.

He was more than pleased. One night would lead to two, then a weekend, then the next week, and then she'd be so comfortably entrenched that she wouldn't want to leave.

Watching her enjoy the meal he'd prepared, sitting across from him in his house, filled him with more content than he'd felt in a long time. He'd had damned little contentment with Lucy.

Lucy. Time to stop comparing the sisters. How could two such different individuals share the same gene pool and upbringing? They were as different as fire and ice. He much preferred Miranda's honest to Lucy's glamour. Miranda's deep-seated intellect to Lucy's charm.

Miranda looked delicious in red.

Which reminded him of his other hunger. The one she'd satisfied so unexpectedly last night. He wondered how much was the alcohol. He knew for damned sure she wouldn't have been a willing partner in her own seduction if she'd been sober.

Shifting in his chair, he poured another tiny cup of warm Japanese wine. "Would you like some sake?" he offered her.

She lifted on eyebrow, and then surprised him by crossing her eyes. "No thanks. I'm swearing off alcohol for a while."

"The morning after's a real bear, isn't it?"

Her blush started at the low neckline of her dress. Fascinated, Drake wondered how far in the opposite direction it went.

"I don't like to be out of control." Miranda sat straighter.

"Doesn't bother me a bit." He raised his cup in mock salute. He enjoyed watching as the embarrassment in her eyes shifted to annoyance. She narrowed her eyes at him.

"Don't think it will work again, Drake."

"I won't even try. I much prefer knowing a woman wants me for who I am, not for the whiskey she's drunk." He meant it to be sarcastic but the caustic tone of his voice made him flinch. Miranda threw down her napkin.

So much for a congenial dinner together.

"Drunk or sober it will take more than a miracle to find me in bed with you again," she shouted. She stalked out of the room.

He leaned back and waited.

Two seconds later she returned, flames in her eyes, mouth tight and tense. "Where the hell is my bedroom?"

Chapter Eleven

Miranda's first night at Drake's house was a bust as far as he was concerned. Instead of a rerun of the wild passion of the previous night, icicles shot from her eyes as she slammed the bedroom door in his face.

He had four weeks to melt icicles.

Instead of Miranda sharing his king-sized bed, Pumpkin snored on the rug on the floor beside him.

In the morning he found a piece of white notepaper at her place at the table instead of her. The note said, "Had some things to do before work. Will see you there." Polite, bland, passionless except for the thickness of the dark lines of her script.

Her absence disgruntled him. Until that moment he'd been unaware of how much he'd been looking forward to seeing her across the table from him again.

"She didn't even wait to see you this morning," he said to Pumpkin, who followed him everywhere. The dog even stood outside the shower door while Drake showered. At first the big brown eyes staring at him through the frosted glass disconcerted him. He became glad of the company soon enough.

He cut his morning routine short. He wanted his wife. More troubling, he wanted her to want him.

Rose and gold mist reflected the last of dawn's radiance on Pikes Peak. Fresh snow glazed the road making the morning sparkle. He was on the way to her. For the first time in years he enjoyed a frigid winter morning.

Her parking space at Millennium Tech yawned empty. It was early yet. The executive suite echoed with his footsteps as he strode across the hardwood floor.

He glanced into her office. The room and the position he'd created just for her was as empty as his stomach.

Where was she? She was as reliable as the sunrise, as the fact that it would snow in March.

"Get a grip," he mumbled. She must have gone back to her apartment for something he forgot to pack. He held that as a talisman against the worry that nagged at him. He turned on the computer. Soon he was engrossed in reading and answering email.

On the edges of consciousness he was aware of the sounds of the building waking up around him. He grunted his thanks as his assistant put his ritual morning coffee at his elbow. By that time he had the stock market quotes displayed on the screen. He studied what he saw there, then switched to the company stock system.

Something was wrong. More shares of private stock had been manipulated than when he last checked yesterday. An expert had shuffled them. He was being undercut.

He needed to talk to someone.

He needed Miranda.

* * * *

"He's a pig-headed jerk," Miranda said to Alice over coffee. She didn't care that she was late to work. She only knew that she needed to touch base with someone familiar.

Alice smiled around the steam from her mug. "Because he wants you to be comfortable in his house?"

"You're on his side?" Miranda asked. Her voice squeaked a notch higher.

"I am not taking sides, my dear. Just trying to see both of them."

"It's just that everything is moving too fast. And now," she stopped. As far as Alice knew the last time Drake and Miranda had slept together had been on their so-called wedding night. Miranda thought of it in capital letters, The Night of the Missed Conception.

Now conception was a definite possibility. Unless she wanted to spill her guts, admit her less than appropriate behavior, to Alice, she'd better stop talking about Drake. Except that Alice probably thought she and Drake were still married because Miranda wanted them to be. After all, why the month long commitment if it was unnecessary?

Now it was necessary. She didn't want to admit that to her best friend.

What a mess.

Alice patted Miranda's hand. "It will work out just fine. Drake seems like a reasonable man. Just talk to him."

Miranda sighed.

"Tell me about this stock thing again," Alice prompted.

Miranda was only too happy to change the subject. She hated telling the part about Lucy's possible role. The part about her own broken engagement and how she'd learned about the reasons was embarrassing. But a funny thing happened as she told Alice everything she'd learned since that night in Las Vegas. She no longer felt protective of her little sister.

Her heart twisted at the thought that Lucy's choices, while not ones Miranda could approve of, were her own. Miranda's sympathies were fast approaching Drake.

Lucy had manipulated both of them.

"But," Miranda said to Alice as she had insisted to Drake, "Lucy doesn't have the technical or financial knowledge to manipulate stock or to steal technology."

Alice tapped her chin. After several silent minutes staring at the wall, she said, "You said something about this Bob person. He and Lucy had been involved and now he wants to have lunch with you?"

"He was lusting after lunch with me, until I spilled a glass of wine all over him," Miranda remembered with heat.

"A little spilled wine is nothing to a man who thinks he can still get what he wants. And if that something is in the form of his rival's wife and control of his rival's company, he'd probably forgive a lot more."

"You're right. It's important to get his guard down so I can find out what he really wants." She suppressed a shudder. "I suppose I can call him and offer him lunch as an apology for that accident."

"Good girl. What does Drake think about all this?
"It's a big game to him. He's going to wire me like in spy movies."

"That's an excellent idea." Alice nodded. "Have you thought about how you will steer the conversation once you and Bob are alone?"

"Well, no."

A grin twitched at the corners of Alice's mouth. "I'll bet Drake has."

"Maybe. You sure are enjoying this." Miranda glanced at her watch. She couldn't remember a time when she'd been less enthusiastic about going to work. "I need to get to the office. I left the house before Drake woke this morning. If I know him, I'll have more explaining to do."

"I'll come with you," Alice said. She retrieved her coat from the closet. "I have a little experience with this 'spy stuff.' Going into lunch with a script will help you be more convincing. I’ll see what I can gin up."

Even though she was pleased with Alice's offer, Miranda was still anxious about seeing Drake. Would he be angry that she'd left without more than a note? Worse, would he not care at all?

The second possibility worried her more than the first. Any emotion was better than none.

Drake's receptionist directed them into his office as soon as they stepped from the elevator. If Drake was anxious about Miranda's earlier disappearance he had a funny way of showing it. He sat behind his desk, telephone clasped to one ear while he hammered at the keyboard of the computer with his free hand. The only emotion he showed was a gleam in his eyes as Miranda and Alice entered the room.

Brief silence followed the end of his phone call. Then Drake directed his gaze at Alice. "Good morning. How's the book coming along?"

Miranda sank into a chair. What book?

Alice answered Drake, "I'm close to the end. The bad guys are about to get what's coming to them." She sat without waiting to be asked and crossed her ankles, the epitome of proper. "I'm here with practical advice today. Miranda tells me you plan to wire her for a meeting?"

Drake moved around his desk, leaning a hip against the edge. "Yes, but we didn't have a chance to pound out the details."

"I have some experience in this area; it may as well be put to use. Don't ask how I know. If I tell you," she smiled with grandmotherly sweetness, "I'd have to kill you."

"A woman after my own heart," Drake replied. "I have an expert on the way to set up the equipment. Your advice on the actual operation is appreciated."

"Good." Alice pulled a notebook and pen out of her voluminous purse.

"First, Miranda needs to make the phone call to Jones asking to meet her for lunch so that she can apologize for dumping her glass on him." Drake handed Miranda a three by five card. "I've made some notes on what you should say."

Miranda studied the words on the card. Heat crept up her neck. "No way. I can't say this to that creep."

Alice craned her neck so she could see what Miranda was reading. "Oh, very good, Drake. Treat him has such a seductive ring to it. Miranda, you must practice cooing a bit more."

"I don't coo," Miranda grumbled. She read a bit further. "The Oyster Palace? Why there?"

"Because, my naïve wife, oysters are sexy food," Drake drawled. "He'll be drooling and willing to tell you anything if you follow my script."

"What, exactly, do you want me to get out of him today? I'm hoping this is the one and only time I'll have to play this game. Spying is bad for my nerves."

"You have nerves of steel," Drake stated. He crossed his arms. "One more thing, I've got a special outfit for you to wear. One that will both carry the mike and make up for any verbal mistakes you make during your face to face."

"Not another tight red number, I hope. Maybe some sensible shoes this time, too."

Drake's eyes gleamed. "You're going to love it."

The level of deceit Drake was prepared to rise to in order to nail this guy astounded Miranda. Not only that, he didn't seem at all put out that it was Miranda's reputation he was putting on the line.

"Again," she said, "what exactly do you intend to accomplish from this meeting." Though she'd been eager to get to the bottom of the stock and technology scheme, she needed to know just what the stakes were now, today, and to her.

"Wheedling," Drake said. "See if you can get him to admit that his relationship with Lucy was more than just in the sack. And try to find out if he has any connection with Jack."

"What should she offer in return," Alice asked?

Drake turned to her. "I wanted your advice on that, seeing as you've dealt with this kind of thing before."

Miranda listened, feeling more and more like a lamb being led to the slaughter. Alice and Drake were deep into their discussion when a discrete knock on the door announced the wiring expert. When he joined the conversation, Miranda sneaked out.