The Trouble With Love (41 page)
Losing herself to find herself.
Hiding until she had the funds to fight fire with fire.
Being a nobody had paid off in ways she’d never dreamed. Working with the children at Sugar Tots had been a dream. Joining the Cupcake Lovers and baking cupcakes for charitable causes had been a joy. If only Sam McCloud hadn’t fallen for her. (
How could any man fall for drab, shy Rachel
?) If only Rae hadn’t fallen for Sam’s cousin, Luke Monroe.
Another dicey situation.
Disappearing,
again
, seemed the best course. No one would miss her, right? People came and went all the time—at least in Rae’s life.
“Stop moping.
Jeez.
” Disgusted with her blue mood, Rae pushed to her feet and smoothed the wrinkles of her cocktail dress. “It’s your birthday. You’re a millionaire. Whoop-de-flipping-do.”
Time to find new happiness. Honest joy and real contentment. As for love …
There was always the Hallmark Channel.
“Someone to see you, Miss Deveraux.”
Rae blinked, startled by the depth of her daydreaming. She hadn’t heard the doorbell. She hadn’t even heard Ms. Finch, her mother’s latest housekeeper, enter the room. “Who is it?”
“Said he’s an old friend.”
That heightened Rae’s curiosity. True friends were sacred, a rarity in Rae’s life, and she was certain she didn’t have any in Bel Air.
Ms. Finch, who struck Rae as having a broomstick up her butt, raised her fastidiously penciled, coal-black eyebrows. “He seemed harmless so I allowed him access through the security gate and asked him to wait in the foyer.”
“Oh. Right. Thank you.” Rae dragged her fingers through her Bordeaux-colored, newly cropped hair. In her desperate need to cut ties with Rachel Lacey, she’d invested in a stylish makeover and a chic wardrobe. Months ago she would have been wearing a mid-shin peasant dress and clunky, flat-heeled sweater boots. This afternoon she’d zipped herself into a knee-length emerald green sheath with an empire waist and donned Jimmy Choo platform pumps. A dash of holiday spirit combined with an air of sophistication—perfect for the dinner at the Wilshire.
Rae bolstered her shoulders as she moved across the pristine living area and then through two other rooms in order to greet her
old friend
—who was more than likely a smooth-talking reporter or an annoying member of the paparazzi. She’d begged Olivia not to brag about her inheritance but that was like asking her mother not to pose for the camera. Nothing would have surprised Rae. Except …
“Luke.” His name scraped over her constricted throat, sounding choked and raspy and, to her utter embarrassment, besotted. Rae had never considered herself shallow, but she’d fallen for Luke Monroe’s boyishly handsome face and incredible body the first time she’d laid eyes on him—much like every other woman in Sugar Creek. His ornery smile and easy charm were irresistible and his devotion to family and friends admirable. The fact that he openly dated several women at the same time should have been a turn-off, except he was honest about his no-strings-attached intentions and that was oddly refreshing.
As always, he was dressed down in faded, baggy jeans and a snug tee that accentuated his muscled torso. He’d rolled up the sleeves of a blue flannel shirt that hung unbuttoned and untucked, and he was wearing heavy boots more conducive to the snowdrifts of Vermont than sand and sun of California. Rumpled and unshaven, he looked incredibly out of place in Olivia and Geoffrey’s ostentatious mansion.
Luke Monroe’s presence … here, now … was surreal and though stunned, Rae couldn’t suppress a giddy thrill. “What are you doing here? How … how did you find me?”
“It wasn’t easy.”
His clipped tone betrayed his anger as did his grim expression. Luke was one of the most jovial, easy-going men she’d ever known. She’d seen him harried once, frustrated, but never angry. Well, except for the fateful night a randy college kid had grabbed her butt when she’d been taking a drink order. Luke had interceded and he’d been angry, no,
outraged
on her behalf. She’d been smitten with Luke for months, but that night she’d fallen in love.
Rae’s cheeks burned while she grappled for words, while Luke dragged his gaze down her body, soaking in the stylish transformation. She struggled not to fuss with her cropped hair or to tug up her scooped neckline. There was absolutely nothing she could do about her bare legs, and kicking off her pumps would be ridiculous and embarrassing. She’d never been one to flaunt her curves and there was nothing promiscuous about this dress, yet Rae felt naked.
Exposed
.
“Born and raised in privilege,” Luke said in the wake of her silence. “Exclusive private schools. Extended lavish vacations.”
Rae flinched at Luke’s caustic tone. He spouted the cards she’d been dealt as though she’d been lucky. As a teen, she’d been shipped off to various locations and pawned off on assorted relatives so as not to cast a shadow in her mother’s spotlight.
“College graduate with a master’s degree in education. A freaking
master’s
,” he said in a low, tight tone, “yet you were working as a teacher’s assistant at Sugar Tots and then came to work for me as a freaking waitress in a freaking
bar
. You said, and I quote:
I need the money, Luke
.” He stuffed his hands into his jeans’ pockets, swept a disgusted gaze over the opulent foyer, then back to Rae. “What the—”
“
Hello
. Who do we have here?”
Rae cringed at her mother’s sultry tone and knew without turning that the woman was shrink-wrapped in a sexy gown and no doubt slinking down the white carpeted staircase. Rae watched as Luke turned his attention to her mother, saw the moment he recognized her as the tabloid famous Olivia Deveraux, one-time starlet, all-time sex kitten. Rae waited for Luke to get that bewitched, lustful expression most men, ages eighteen to eighty, got when they saw her voluptuous and overtly stunning mother in person. Instead, he just looked annoyed.
“Friend of yours?” Olivia persisted, moving in alongside Rae, and reeking of Chanel #5 and fruity martinis.
“We worked together,” Rae blurted, because
friend
didn’t really describe their association. Especially not now.
“Luke Monroe,” he expanded, while offering Olivia a hand in polite greeting. More than he’d done with Rae. “Pleased to meet you, Ms. Deveraux.”
“Are you
really
?” she asked in a coy tone, clasping his palm and pursing her crimson lips in a sexy pout. “You don’t
look
pleased.”
“Blame it on the long flight and the holiday crush,” he said in a gentler tone, which only made Rae feel worse. Instead of celebrating Christmas with his family, he’d flown across the country … for what? To give Rae hell?
“You just flew in from China today?” Olivia asked, looking mildly shocked. “Good heavens, Reagan. Invite the man in for a drink. I’ll join you.” She looped her arm through Luke’s and guided him toward Geoffrey’s well-stocked bar.
Rae’s heart pounded as she hurried after them, wondering how she was going to wiggle her way around another colossal lie. Wondering what Luke was thinking just now and wishing she’d booked herself into a hotel rather than buckling under Olivia’s invitation to stay here while seeking a new home suited to her birthday inheritance.
“Maybe Luke will tell me more about your volunteer work abroad,” Olivia said over her shoulder to Rae before turning her wide, kohl-lined eyes on Luke. “Every time I ask her about her work with those children, she declares those days the best days of her life, then changes the subject. It must have been
horrid
working in such a remote location,” she said to Luke, then pointed out the premium back bar. “I don’t suppose you know how to mix up an appletini?”
“I think I can manage,” he said with an enigmatic glance at Rae. “Vodka or gin?”
“I’m a vodka girl. And as Bond would say…” Olivia winked and purred. “Shaken, not stirred.”
Just as Luke reached for Grey Goose and vermouth, Geoffrey swaggered into the reception room in a dapper Armani suit, his salt and pepper hair slicked back from his handsome, aging face. “Olivia, sweetheart, what the hell?” he asked while checking his gold watch. “We’re late as is and…” He noticed shaggy-haired Luke in his rumpled tee and flannel shirt mixing drinks behind the Italian marble bar and frowned. “Do we know you?”
“This is Luke Monroe, dear,” Olivia said with a beaming smile. “A friend of Reagan’s.”
“Really.”
Rae couldn’t tell if Geoffrey was frowning because he didn’t like the idea of Rae entertaining a virile, young man or because he was peeved about the way Olivia was ogling said virile, young man. Knowing the way her mother’s mind worked, Olivia was no doubt mentally comparing Luke to one of Hollywood’s young hunks, in this instance Ryan Reynolds, and imagining herself starring alongside him as the mature love interest. Olivia was constantly lamenting how Sandra Bullock was stealing all of her roles.
Instead of acknowledging Luke, Geoffrey eyed Rae. “Dinner starts promptly at five.”
“Maybe Luke could join us,” Olivia said.
“There’s a dress code,” Geoffrey said. “Reservations for three.” He spared Luke an annoyed glance. “No offense.”
“None taken,” Luke said, but he didn’t take the hint and leave either. Instead he poured sour apple liqueur into the shaker, then reached for the lemon juice.
Clearly he meant to have his say with Rae and it wasn’t a discussion she wanted to have in front of Olivia and Geoffrey. In a way, Rae was grateful for Luke’s obstinacy. The less she had to endure Geoffrey’s company—the man who’d threatened her in this very house
last
Christmas—the better. Also, Olivia was already three-sheets-to-the-wind. She wouldn’t miss Rae for long, if at all.
Feigning nonchalance, Rae moved behind the bar and stood beside Luke. Her skin tingled, her pulse tripped. He’d only held her once, kissed her once, yet she recalled every detail of that tender and then searing encounter. A brush with passion that would haunt her for the rest of her life. “Actually,” she said, speaking past the lump in her throat, “I’ve decided to skip the Wilshire in favor of spending time with Luke. He flew all this way and—”
“You’re going to waste a five-hundred dollar plate?” Geoffrey asked.
“No waste,” Rae said, holding the industry kingpin’s intimidating gaze. “All proceeds go to charity. You two go on. Don’t give me a second thought,” she said, unconsciously leaning into Luke. “I’m in good hands.”
“Do tell,” Olivia said with raised brows.
Geoffrey worked his clean-shaven jaw. “What is it you do, Monroe?”
“You mean aside from mixing a mean appletini?” Luke asked, shaking and pouring.
While Olivia sampled his creation, Luke snaked an arm about Rae and held Geoffrey’s cold gaze.
Rae’s heart pounded. Because of Luke. Because of Geoffrey. Because she was trapped in a web of lies.
“Sweet heaven, this drink is
orgasmic
!” Olivia moaned in ecstasy. “You
must
try it, Geoff.”
“Pass. Could I have a word with you, Reagan?”
Rae’s stomach turned as the walls closed in. This situation had just gone from awkward to intolerable. The last person she wanted to be alone with was her so-called stepfather. “Aren’t you running late for dinner?” she asked. “I know we are.” She looked up at Luke, her panicked heart in her eyes. “Ready?”
Hand at the small of her back, Luke prompted her from behind the bar. “Nice meeting you, Ms. Deveraux. Mr.—”
“Stein. Geoffrey Stein. Of Stein & Beecham Industries. And you’re Luke Monroe.”
“Of the Sugar Creek Monroes,” Luke said as he escorted Rae toward a temporary reprieve. “We’re in the book.”
St. Martin’s Paperbacks titles by Beth Ciotta
Fool for Love
The Trouble with Love
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
BETH CIOTTA
is an award-winning author who specializes in romantic comedy with a twist. Her work includes contemporary, historical, and paranormal romantic fiction. “I can’t think of anything more fulfilling than writing stories where everyone (except the villain, of course) gets a happy ending!”
Beth lives in New Jersey with her husband, two zany dogs, and a crazy cat. A retired professional performer, Beth now pours her artistic passion into her writing. To learn more about her colorful life, visit her website at
www.bethciotta.com
.
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novella are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
THE TROUBLE WITH LOVE
Copyright © 2013 by Beth Ciotta.
Excerpt from
Anything but Love
copyright © 2013 by Beth Ciotta.
All rights reserved.
For information address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, NY 10010.
eISBN: 9781466821217
St. Martin’s Paperbacks edition / April 2013
St. Martin’s Paperbacks are published by St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, NY 10010.
