Working on a Full House (15 page)

"Oh, no. No, no, no." He was laughing. Laughing! Not only that, but he didn't miss a step keeping up with her long-legged stride. "I came on too strong there, didn't I? Just because I happen to know you're the love of my life doesn't mean you agree. Nah, of course not. Right now I'm a bug on your windshield. But don't get out the Windex yet, darling. I'm not as annoying as I first appear. Really. Besides, I'd die if you didn't even give me a chance. Oh, man, those
cheekbones
."

Despite herself, Cherise's flattened lips twitched.

"Okay, maybe not die," Kenny Doubletree admitted, "but at least succumb to some terrible disease, my immune system shattered by disappointment." He grinned.

His good humor was so profound, Cherise almost found herself grinning back.

Alarmed by the impulse, she retrieved her North Pole expression and continued on her way, doing her best to pretend the man wasn't there...that he wasn't keeping up. Easily.

Yes, she tried to pretend that she didn't notice he was tall. Very tall. Though she was wearing her heels today, he rose several inches above her.

Hardly any of the men Cherise dated could match her height, even when she was in her stocking feet.

Meanwhile, he was talking, yes, the mouth constantly going.

"I'm sure I've spent my entire life looking for you," the man chattered. Affably. Completely unthreatening. "And to think, I find you here, in Palmwood, where I never even planned to be, myself. Ever. And when I'm currently unmarried. The luck of it. Astonishing odds!"

Cherise had to struggle not to slant him a glance. Exactly how often was he married that the odds against it today were astounding?

They'd crossed Wesley and were approaching the art supply store. It occurred to Cherise she probably shouldn't let this persistent stranger see where she hung out. But she frankly found him more obnoxious than menacing. Really, could a girl be frightened of a man who wore plaid chinos and saddle shoes?

"And you're quiet," the Kenny man went on. "You have incredible self-control. Why, I'll bet we could walk this way for...a whole
mile
and you wouldn't deign to say a word to me. What discipline!"

Cherise spared him an ice chip regard before turning into Norman's Art Supply store. It was possible she ruined the effect by letting one corner of her mouth twitch. He was giving her a whole mile, huh?

"See? See, there? That's exactly what I mean." He paused to point at her, then rushed to catch the store's door before it slammed between them.

Reminding herself she was there to get paint tubes, Cherise looked about, trying to recall where to find them in the store that was bristling with colored pencils, art books, and drafting supplies.

"Wow," Kenny said, gazing about himself. "This is some — Say, are you an artist? Oh,
man
." He sounded beside himself. "So you're gorgeous, obviously intelligent — since you won't say a word to me —
and
artistic." He clutched both hands to his chest. "If I hadn't been sure before, I'd know now. I
am
in love."

He was so completely over-the-top, and somehow self-deprecating at the same time. Cherise had to admit he
did
make her want to laugh. Meanwhile she wished she could remember where the damn oil paint was. She picked an aisle and went down it. Triangles and T-squares of varying sizes told her this was not the right place, but she continued anyway.

Kenny, of course, followed right after her. She wondered what it would take to get rid of him. Then, feeling his height, sensing his warmth — his life — she wondered just how seriously she wanted to get rid of him. He
was
amusing.

Not to mention, she didn't happen to be in a hurry to get anywhere tonight.

She reached the end of the T-square aisle, turned and went up the pastel and colored pencil aisle.

"I want you to know I do appreciate you haven't called the police," Kenny told her, conversationally. "That could turn into a mess, especially with my — Hey, lookit this! Glitter pastels. Now,
they
look cool."

"If you're eight years old." The words popped out of Cherise, stunning her, but they didn't appear to surprise Kenny at all.

"Too playful for the likes of you?" He put back the pastels and shot her a smile of arresting familiarity. "You're into, what, like, oils?"

She whirled to return his look.
How had he known
? With a sharply drawn breath, she turned forward again, and stalked to the end of the aisle. Around the corner, she paused before the selection of colored paint tubes. Her heart was pounding.

So, he'd guessed she painted in oil. That wasn't so amazing. Lucky, that was all. Easy luck at that. She'd given him a mighty broad hint.

But why had she spoken to him? Responded?

"Ah, so this is what we're after." His voice was a broad, easy tenor. He picked up a can of paint thinner. "Landscapes? Portraits? Abstract?" A pair of neon blue eyes turned to take her measure. "No, a mixture of all three," he decided. "You wouldn't be disciplined when it came to your art. That's when you let it all out, isn't it? Throw the rules away."

Cherise stared at him, feeling like she'd been pinned to a wall. How had he known? How had he
known
?

His smile changed subtly, becoming reassuring. "That's how it is, between soul mates," he told her. "We just know."

Cherise snorted. Secretly, she was thankful he'd broken the spell with his absurdity. He was
guessing
, that was all. Being a regular pick-up artist, he'd obviously trained himself to be a very good guesser. She snatched a tube each of cadmium yellow and vermilion, then randomly snapped up a burnt sienna. Clutching them, she whirled to continue down the aisle. Dammit, she needed some new brushes, too. And if she was trembling a bit, well, that was just...leftover surprise. Unimportant.

He followed. "Oh, all right, it's not a soul mate thing." He spoke as if he
knew
how he'd shaken her, and now wanted to set her back at ease. "It's my job, you might say, to read people. Figure 'em out."

When he paused, Cherise couldn't help asking, "You're a psychiatrist?"

He laughed.

Cherise came to a stop before the cups displaying brushes and he stopped next to her.

"I play poker," he said.

She froze.
He played poker
?

While the outside of her remained frozen, her blood rushed hotly inside. Of course. Oh,
of course
! The charm, the dazzling good looks.

The utter duplicity.

This was Mr. Yummy. Valerie's boyfriend.
Who played poker
.

An arrow of intense, and utterly ridiculous, disappointment darted through her. The man standing next to her, the charmingly obnoxious, good-looking,
tall
man was Mr. Yummy, who'd over a one-night stand in Las Vegas weaseled the true heart of Cherise's best, and too-innocent, friend.

She'd almost started to like him, or at least to enjoy his attention — and he was that sleaze-ball, Mr. Yummy. Who was even more sleaze-ball, apparently, than either Valerie or Cherise had guessed.

With a harshly disciplined display of cool, Cherise ran a finger over the tips of the art brushes. So, the scum thought he could pick up other women while he kept Valerie hanging on a string, answering his IM-ing. Cherise picked out a number four round brush, put it back, and reached for a number six flat instead. Should she send him on his way, tail between his legs? Or freeze him with a poisoned barb or two?

Or...lead him on. Find a way to make him pay. Yes, Cherise felt like teaching the crumb a lesson. She felt like saving her friend from certain heartbreak. And maybe she even felt like punishing herself for having enjoyed his company the tiniest little bit.

"So, you're a poker player...from Las Vegas?" she hummed, thinking.

"I spend most of my time in Vegas." He plucked a palette knife from the shelf next to her, looking at Cherise, however, instead of the knife. "Although I have a feeling I'm going to be spending a lot more of my time now in Palmwood, California."

He did, did he? Well, sure. He had at least two women he planned to string along in Palmwood, didn't he? The two-timing —

"In that case..." Cherise reached for the palette knife in his hand. "In that case, I'd better be sure to get rid of you. Completely." She plucked the knife from his fingers with a smile colder than the South Pole.

His healthy white teeth flashed. "I have a possible solution."

"Do you?"

"Have dinner with me," the goat requested. "Tonight."

But he was supposed to have dinner with
Valerie
tonight. Cherise was almost sure of it. Her smile twisted. "And if I agree to this ordeal, you'll promise never to bother me again?"

"If I haven't convinced you we were meant for each other."

"The prospect is doubtful."

"You want to kill me. Just do it now. Sharp object through the heart. That ought to do the trick."

Fingering the palette knife, Cherise thought a sharp object through the heart would be much too easy for the likes of him. "Fine, I'll have dinner with you. But — not tonight." She spoke slowly, considering a suitable torment for him. "Friday," she decided.

"Friday?" He looked stunned, as if he hadn't actually dreamed his pick-up attempt would work. "No kidding?"

"We'll meet...here." Cherise didn't want him knowing where she lived or worked. "Six-thirty."

"Friday. Six-thirty." His smile was absolutely delighted and even, strangely...innocent. "I'll be here."

Cherise tightened her hand around her art supplies. He wasn't innocent. Far from it. She made herself clear to him. "But the deal is you have to go now, leave me alone."

A flicker of suspicion crossed his face, but he seemed to will it away, as if he'd much rather believe than suspect. "Okay," he said meekly. "I'll leave. And...thanks." He smiled with pure joy, like a man without a speck on his conscience.

And then, before Cherise could guess what was coming next, he took her wrist, pulled her toward him, and punched a brief, smack of a kiss on her lips. Warm, vital, and full of life.

Damn if it didn't make Cherise's lips tingle.

A moment later she was watching the back of his sweater vest as he strode down the aisle and out of the store.

Her lips were still tingling.

No, oh no
. She wasn't falling for this man. Not even a little bit, not even enough to feel sorry for him.

And on Friday she was going to destroy him. She tossed the palette knife back onto the shelf. Just see if she didn't.

~~~

Fifteen minutes after leaving the office, Valerie parked her car in her garage then hurried through the door to the kitchen. She'd just set down her purse and keys when the telephone rang.

Her heart jumped with excitement. Okay, she was excited. Sue her. She made sure to keep her tone normal, however, when she answered. "Hello."

"Hello, Val."

Her eyes closed at the sound of his rich brandy voice. "Roy," she said, her lips curving into a smile. It was okay to smile, though, even to smile dopily, since he couldn't see it. Nor could he hear the way her heart beat or see the way she'd rushed home in order to get this call. She couldn't embarrass herself by the way she totally overreacted to this friend of hers.

"Glad I caught you," Roy said. "How are you feeling today?"

"Better," Valerie claimed.

"Really? No nausea?"

Her smile widened at his tone of disbelief. "Well, not exactly, but I figure if I tell myself that often enough, it'll start to come true."

His chuckle was deep and vibrated through Valerie with undiluted pleasure. Oh, and why should she dilute it? With him there and her here, she could fantasize all she wanted. Over the telephone she couldn't do anything too dangerously stupid — like fall into bed with a man who felt friendship and responsibility, but nothing more.

Valerie took the mobile phone and ambled through the dining room. "How have
you
been?"

"Me? I'm great. Funny thing that. Pregnancy doesn't affect the man at all."

Valerie stuck her tongue in her cheek. She didn't know if she'd agree. Once Roy had found out he was going to become a father, his attitude toward responsibility had changed completely.

In the living room, she sank into a sofa. "How's Kenny?"

"Oh, Kenny? Ahem. He's fine. As obnoxious as ever, but fine. Did that horrible woman come back into the office today?"

"You mean Mrs. Appleby?" Valerie shuddered. As she recounted the latest in the saga of the over-demanding parent, she relaxed into the sofa. Their conversations did digress from the baby, she had to admit. After she finished talking about the horrid Mrs. Appleby, Roy told her about a game he'd been at the night before, making Valerie laugh. They discussed the quality of various hotels on the Strip and then a proposed zoning ordinance for the district in which Valerie lived.

Friendship. Valerie wasn't imagining that much was growing between them. They had plenty to talk about every night, even though they'd only spoken the night before. When they fell into a silence, as they did now, it didn't feel uncomfortable. Sometimes they paused for long interludes until one or the other thought of the next thing they wanted to say.

Roy was the one who broke the silence this time. "I was thinking..."

Valerie leaned back on the couch and crossed one leg over the other on the cushions. Lazily, she asked, "What were you thinking?"

"I was thinking of coming to see you."

Valerie froze with the toe of one foot poised to idly scratch the ankle of the other.

What
?

"No big deal," Roy went on, his voice deep. "Just for a few days."

No big deal
? Valerie's heart started attacking her chest.

"You're pregnant, so you're automatically taking care of the baby," he went on. "I...want to help. The closest I can come up with is taking care of you."

Valerie was still frozen with one foot atop the other ankle, utterly panicked. He wanted to come see her. But — he couldn't come
here
. They couldn't see each other, in person. That's what made these conversations — and her ridiculous fantasies — safe. If he came
here
— ?