The Tea Shop on Lavender Lane. Sheila Roberts
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poured their drinks and returned to where she stood checking out one of the photographs. “You really think I need help?” he asked, his voice a purr as he handed her a glass.
He was standing so close she could smell his aftershave, feel the heat coming off his body. Her heart rate picked up.
Part of her wanted to grab him and wrap her legs around him, but caution made her step away and position herself in front of another picture. Like the one she’d just been studying, it was a masterpiece of camera special effects, this one showing a mountain flower in sharp full bloom with Sleeping Lady Mountain a soft blur in the background. “Did you take all these?”
Now there he was, right next to her again. “Yeah.”
“They’re really good.”
“Don’t sound so shocked. I have other interests besides my business.”
She cocked her head. “Yeah?”
He went to the couch, sat down and patted the cushion beside his. “Yeah.”
She joined him—at the other end, simply to prove she wasn’t going to be some easy lay. “You have quite an eye.”
He shrugged. “I was an art major in college.”
“How could an art major...” She stopped midsentence, realizing it would be insulting to ask how someone with real talent could end up owning a seedy tavern.
He’d seen where she was going, though, and finished the sentence for her. “...wind up owning a tavern? It’s a sound business investment. Anyway, I get a kick out of the place. And I still dabble in photography and painting.”
“The Neanderthal in lederhosen on the side of the building,” she said.
“Self-portrait,” he joked.
“An art major,” she mused. “I never would have guessed.”
“You probably never would have guessed a lot of things about me. But then, that’s because you’ve been too busy running away from me.”
“So, if a woman doesn’t fall all over you, she’s running away from you?”
“We’re not talking about a woman. We’re talking about one woman. You.” He set his drink on the coffee table and scooted over, closing the distance between them.
She cast her gaze around the room, looking for something else to comment on. Of course, that would only postpone the inevitable. What was she doing here?
He rested an arm on the back of the couch and began playing with her hair, stirring up her nerve endings.
She took a long drink of her rum and Coke to settle them down. It didn’t work.
He removed the glass from her hand and gently nudged her chin in his direction. “I’ve wanted to kiss you ever since I first saw you. Are you gonna let me?”
And then, assuming the answer would be yes, he did just that, and her nerve endings went from stirred to shaken. Oh, she was in trouble. Against her better judgment, she was falling hard for this man. She felt his hand drifting along her midriff, moving upward, and her nerve endings went into delirium. If she didn’t stop this right now, she never would. And she wasn’t ready to make that leap yet. She had to be sure.
She pulled away. “That was quite a kiss.”
“You’re quite a woman,” he said and started to move in for more.
She placed a hand on his chest. “I think I’ve had enough fun for one night.”
“Don’t like to kiss on the first date?” he teased.
“I’m not sure playing pinball at your tavern and then coming over here for a grope fest counts as a date.”
“Who groped? You never let me get that far.”
“It’s time for me to go home,” she said and stood.
He stood, too. Now they were just a breath away from each other. He reached up and began playing with her hair again. “Have I mentioned that I’m a sucker for blondes?”
And she was a sucker for having someone play with her hair. But she wasn’t about to be suckered by Todd Black—at least not tonight. “Thanks for sharing,” she said and removed his fingers from her hair.
“And you are truly the most beautiful blonde I’ve ever seen.”
Men had been telling her she was beautiful since puberty, and she wanted more than someone who was turned on by her appearance. She wasn’t interested in a relationship where sex was the driving force. Although, if that kiss was any indication, sex with Todd Black would be amazing.
Stop it! she scolded herself. To him she said, “I’ve heard that before.” And it didn’t move her. She needed to be with a man who wanted more.
“I bet you have. I bet men have been telling you you’re beautiful since the day you got your first training bra.”
She frowned at him. “That was poetic.”
“I try.”
“Try harder. I’m not looking for someone to sleep with.”
“Aw, and I put clean sheets on the bed and everything.”
Cecily frowned at him again. “Can’t you ever be serious?”
“Yeah, actually, I can. You’ll have to go out with me, so I can show you my serious side.”
“It’s a little hard to date when I work days and you work nights, doncha think?”
“I own the place. I can take a night off. I can take tomorrow night off. Let’s go out to dinner. Zelda’s, and a movie after.”
She should derail this train before it went any farther down the track. Instead, she said, “All right. Zelda’s, and a movie after. With popcorn. Don’t cheap out on me.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it.” He put his hand to the small of her back and gently steered her toward the front door. “Come on, Beauty. Let’s get you out of here before the beast ravishes you.”
And before her nerve endings betrayed her.
Who was she kidding? They already had.
The ride back to The Man Cave on his Harley didn’t calm them down any. Todd Black in leather, seated astride a big rumbling machine, was like a romance-novel cover come to life, and the minute she climbed on behind him, her zing-o-meter took another hit. What was she doing? Who was in charge here, anyway, her brains or her hormones?
As if she needed to ask that question? Oh, boy.
* * *
Bailey’s bank account was dwindling, and she was down to her last catering job.
The detective hired by her L.A. lawyer had learned that the doctors found no evidence of food poisoning when Samba Barrett came in and played her General Hospital scene. Big surprise. Bailey’s lawyer had sent Samba a letter threatening to sue her for slander and that had been enough to shut up her collagen-plumped mouth as she made the late-night talk TV circuit. It was one thing to be a tragic victim. Quite another to get taken to court for being a fake.
Sadly, it was all too late to bring back Bailey’s customers.
You still have the Amora Bliss baby shower, she reminded herself. That would have several Hollywood people at it, and if all went well, maybe she could rebuild her reputation.
Or not. Saturday morning, the day before the shower, Melinda Spooner, the hostess, called her. “It turns out we’re not going to need you,” she said.
Seriously? She was canceling the day before the event? After Bailey had purchased the food, begun making preparations? “But I’ve already started on the baby bootee cakes,” Bailey protested. “And they’re adorable.”