What a Man's Gotta Do (18 page)

Why not just have a salad, or some grilled chicken or fish? God, Mala—how can you live with yourself, eating that much food? And your mother's cooking is a coronary waiting to happen, you know that. If you're not careful, you'll be big as a house….

The waitress wafted off. Mala sucked in a surreptitious breath, calmly folded her hands in front of her on the table. “Well?”

Scott laughed softly. “Oh, come on, Mal…let's just have dinner first.”

“Forget it, Scott. Obviously, you didn't just happen to look me up because you were in town. So let's just get on with it.”

Movement out of the corner of her eye caught her attention: she glanced over, saw a little towheaded girl worming her way back through the tables. Wendy Farentino, she realized. Distracted, she watched the child's progress, her heart stopping when the child reached her destination and Mala caught Eddie King's hot-ice glare.

And she realized, as her heart rate sped up and her skin flashed first hot, then cold, that all the while she'd been telling herself that Scott Sedgewick no longer had even a smidgen of power over her, she'd totally missed just how much Eddie King
did.

And how the hell had that happened?

She forced her gaze back to Scott, who was looking at her very curiously.

“Sorry. I saw someone I knew.”

“Oh? Do you need to say ‘hello'?”

“No, no. Just…never mind. You were saying?”

For a second or two, she endured Scott's condescending regard. Then he wordlessly reached into his breast pocket and retrieved an envelope, which he passed to Mala.

“What's this?”

“Open it and find out.”

She did, blinking three times before she could trust that she'd counted the number of zeroes correctly. Stunned, her gaze flashed to Scott's.

“What is this?”

He smiled, took a sip of his martini. Very dry, no olive. “I missed a few child support payments. Figured this would cover it.”

“Like hell.” She shoved the check back into the envelope, pushed it back toward him.

“Mal, what are you doing?”

“Do you even remember your children's names, Scott?”

“Don't be absurd. Of course I remember my children's names—”

“Just not their birthdays.”

His jaw tightened. “Considering the way…we left things, I just thought it would be easier this way—”

“On whom? Them? Or you?”

He leaned forward, his features carefully arranged into a mask of concern. “I understand your animosity, honey. That's why…why it took me so long to get up the nerve to finally leave a message on your machine. But I've changed, Mal, I swear. I'll admit, I was a bit harsh with you when we were married—”

“Harsh?” Mala lowered her voice, grateful the tables weren't cheek by jowl in here. “You were a
prick,
Scott. You treated me as if I didn't have a brain in my head. Consequently, I have more respect for the mold on the green beans I tossed out yesterday than I have for you.”

She saw a muscle tick in his jaw, saw his supreme effort to
keep control, and she thought,
Hot damn! This guy wants something from me.

Something he wanted so badly, he wouldn't even fight back.

“That's not fair, Mala,” he bit out.

“Yeah, well, neither was walking out on your kids.” Then the light dawned. “Who is she, Scott?”

He jerked. “Who is who?”

“The bimbo-du-jour.”

Scott sucked in a breath, tried a smile that failed miserably. “Very funny. But while my…fiancée's hardly a bimbo, her identity is immaterial. You don't know her. Someone I met in Chicago.”

“Humor me.”

Behind the glasses, his expression turned glacial. “Her name's Beverly Sampson. She's a doctor, a heart specialist. Our parents…are old friends.”

Ah.

Mala took a sip of her wine, leaning back in a very Bette Davis pose. “What I can't figure out, is why you married me to begin with.”

Three years ago, his silence would have wrecked her. Now, it was a relief. Better to know he'd never loved her, than to think he'd fallen
out
of love with her.

In other words, she'd goofed, but she hadn't failed.

Hallelujah.

Mala bent forward enough to give Scott a good view of her cleavage as well as to pick up the discarded envelope, which she fingered for a minute before waving it between them. “This is guilt money, I know that much.” She threw down the envelope, then sat back, her arms crossed over her rib cage. “And you have a five-course meal in which to tell me why.”

Their appetizers arrived. Mala noticed the Farentinos and Eddie getting up from their table. Once again, she caught Eddie's gaze, which was now downright scary, and momentarily panicked he'd take it on himself to mosey on over and punch Scott's lights out. God, she could practically taste the testosterone from here.

As someone who'd never, ever spurred any sort of rivalry
between a pair of chest-beating, grunting males, it stunned her to discover just how arousing the caveman routine could be. Okay, yeah, infuriating, sure—would men ever evolve past the point of thinking a woman couldn't protect herself?—but this was about something much more…basic.

And there was a lot to be said for getting back to basics.

Her jog in the conversation was enough to make Scott turn around again, then back to her. “Who's the guy?”

She shrugged, tamping down an almost insane urge to tell Scott she'd just been more turned on by Eddie's eyes than any part of Scott had been able to accomplish the entire time they'd been married. Thank God it was dark in here. “The woman's a client, owns a restaurant in town. The dark haired man's her husband, the other one's her chef while she's on maternity leave.”

She decided telling him that Eddie was also her tenant would serve no useful purpose. Especially as it was more than apparent that Scott really didn't give a flying fig who any of them were, or what any of it had to do with Mala's life. Oh, no, nothing had changed. If it didn't orbit around Scott, it wasn't worth bothering about.

She held her breath as the little party wended their way back out of the dining room. But she could feel Eddie's gaze, lingering on her, on Scott, until the very last second before he disappeared into the lobby.

This was going to be the longest dinner of her life.

 

His stomach churning, Eddie stood in the restaurant lobby, his hands crammed in his pants pockets as he faced the dining room. He would've left already, except Galen and Wendy had disappeared into the restroom before he had a chance to say thank-you. So here he stood, staring at Mala's table, although the room was too dimly lit for him to make out much of what was going on.

It scared the very devil out of him, how much she mattered.

Del came up beside him, nudged Eddie's arm. He looked down, saw a proffered York mint in Del's hand.

“Thanks.” Eddie unwrapped the mint, poked it into his mouth.

“Between my pregnant wife and my daughter,” Del said good-naturedly, “I spend a lot of time hanging outside of bathrooms.” His gaze drifted out to the dining room, then back to Eddie. “I hate to break this to you, buddy, but you look like someone who gives a damn.”

Eddie grunted, then ambled over to a padded bench, dropped onto it.

“And walking away won't change anything. Trust me.”

“And don't go readin' more into this than there is,” Eddie said, crossing his arms. “Mala's a nice lady. I just don't like the idea of the jerk bothering her, is all. It's nothin' personal.”

Del popped another mint into his mouth, then lowered himself onto the bench beside Eddie, his long legs sprawled out in front of him, his head resting on the bench back. “Whatever.” Then he pivoted his head, a grin teasing his mouth. “But what you'd really like to do is go back in there and beat the
fap
out of the guy.”

“Believe me, it's tempting.”

“Looked to me like she was holding her own, though.”

In spades. Oh, Eddie could tell she wasn't exactly acting like her usual smart-ass self, but she sure hadn't been runnin' scared, either. She could've taken the easy way out, not met with the creep on her own, let a lawyer or somebody run interference. But she hadn't.

Woman had a lot of guts, that was for damn sure.

Moving with surprising grace for such a big man, Del sprang back up from the bench, swiping another handful of mints from the bowl by the cash register when the cashier wasn't looking. “D'you suppose they even have a clue how much it scares us when they go off on their ‘I am woman, I can damn well take care of myself' numbers? I mean, it's not like I begrudge them their independence or anything, but what're we supposed to do with our protective streak, huh? Just ignore it?” Del stared off into the dining room for a second or two, then turned back, shaking his head. “God, I hate smarmy types like that. Heads
up!” He tossed a couple more mints to Eddie, who neatly caught them.

“Did you know Scott?” Eddie asked, mulling over that protective streak business and how he'd never really noticed he'd had one before he came back here. “When they were married, I mean?”

“Nope. Wasn't around then, so I didn't have the pleasure. But Mala's brother Steve's told me plenty. Guy sounds a lot like Galen's first husband. A total control freak when it comes to women. You know, the type who's not happy unless he calls all the shots?” He stuffed another mint into his mouth, spoke around it. “And then to walk out on his own kids… There's no forgiving that in my book.”

A fresh wave of anger nearly made Eddie choke on the remnants of the mint. He swallowed both of them down, then said, “Yeah. You got that right.”

 

Mala could see Eddie sprawled on the porch's top step, his back propped against one of the railing posts, before she even pulled Whitey into the driveway.

His presence didn't surprise her. The rush of pleasure that streaked through her, however, did.

Since she hadn't been home, the Christmas lights weren't on, but the glow from the streetlight, accentuated by a single red pinpoint in the vicinity of his knees, sufficiently illuminated his slouched figure. Apprehension trampled her earlier delight: giddiness at having survived her meeting with Scott could easily lead to recklessness, if she weren't careful.

She got out of the car, mincing over the icy patches in her high heels as she approached him. He'd changed back into his jeans, she could tell, topped by a shearling-lined denim jacket she didn't remember seeing before.

“You wouldn't by chance be waiting for me, wouldja?”

“Yep.” He shifted to stretch out one leg along the next to top step. For some reason, the movement made her stomach go all jittery. “Wanna make somethin' of it?”

She tucked her arms over her stomach and shivered. “It's cold.”

“I like the cold.”

Even from where she stood, she could hear Grateful snuffling at the front door. “Is this some Papa Bear protective thing?”

“Don't know. Haven't figured that part out yet.”

“So this means you're not mad at me?”

He tilted his head. “I take it you mean about the other night?”

She nodded.

“I told you then, I wasn't mad.” Harsh shadows carved his face as he looked away for a moment, than back at her. “You had your reasons. And I don't hold grudges.” He took a hit off the cigarette, languidly spewed the smoke into the air. “Not for long, anyway.”

“Thought you said you didn't smoke anymore?”

Eddie held up the cigarette, studying it as if he couldn't figure out how it got there. “I don't. Well, not on anything like a regular basis. I doubt one every month or so's gonna kill me. Where're the kids?”

“Spending the night with friends.” The initial euphoria was beginning to wear off. Not that she wasn't proud of herself, but… “I figured…well, I wasn't sure how I might feel. Afterward. And there are times when even perfect mothers like me don't want to deal with their kids.”

His chuckle spun out into the cold air. When it died out, he said softly, “I understand what you did tonight. Why you had to go fight that dragon all by yourself.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah.” Another pull on the cigarette, another stream of smoke released. Then he looked at her, a half smile teasing his lips. “I'm real proud of you, Miss Mala.”

His compliment stole her breath. “Thanks. And I really mean that.”

“I know you do.” Then his gaze narrowed. “You okay?”

She climbed the steps to sit on the other side of the top step, tucking her coat under her butt. “I think I am. Or I will be, anyway.”

“You gonna see him again?”

“I somehow doubt it.”

“Wanna talk about it?”

“Not yet, I don't think. Not until I sort it all out in my own head a little better, anyway.”

Eddie didn't look particularly pleased, but he was smart enough not to probe.

“So,” she said brightly. “How come you were there tonight? At
Gardner's?
”

He propped the hand with the cigarette on his knee, seemed to take the out-of-left-field question in stride. “Galen's fixin' to buy the place. Wanted my opinion about what she might change.”

“You're kidding?”

He grinned. “About her buying the place or about her wantin' my opinion?”

“The first.”

“Nope. She's already put a bid on it, in fact. Del said something about his father backing her. That developer, what's his name?”

“Hugh Farentino.”

“Yeah, that's it.” He angled his head to stare at her shoulder. “That real fur?”

“What? Oh, the coat. Uh-uh. First off, who could afford it? Secondly, I doubt my conscience would let me wear a bunch of dead animals. Score one for the animal rights folks, I guess.”