The Last Marchetti Bachelor. Teresa Southwick
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felt better if he’d yelled at her and slammed the door. She would have felt better if he’d slid her his boyish grin, his seductive smile, his wolfish, hang-on-to-your-hat-here-I-come expression. All of the above she could handle. But that look of abject desolation made her feel like the worst despicable lawyer joke she’d ever heard.
“Oh, Luke. Please don’t do anything desperate.”
From the picture windows in his family room, Luke stared down at the lights in the San Fernando Valley north of Los Angeles. A vision of Maddie came to him. There was something so fragile about her. Was that why he couldn’t stay angry at her for turning him down?
That feeling didn’t extend to his parents. He didn’t blame Tom, except for the conspiracy of silence. But his mother… How could she sleep with another man, then live a lie? Worse, how could she let him live a lie?
Anger still burned hot in him, but before he could explore it further, the doorbell rang. Maddie had turned her back on him. There wasn’t anyone he was expecting or even wanted to see. He was tempted to ignore whoever was there, but something made him curious.
He opened the door and was surprised to see Maddie, holding a large brown bag. Before he could stop it, a sensation of pleasure welled up inside him.
“Hi,” he said. He pulled the door wide. “Come on in.”
“Thanks.”
“You brought food if my sense of smell is still working.” He sniffed. “And I’m guessing it didn’t come from a Marchetti restaurant.”
“I was craving Chinese.” Her sweet, hesitant smile burrowed inside him and surrounded his heart.
“Then I’m guessing you’re going to join me?” At her nod, he took the bag from her. “Let’s go into the kitchen.”
“Okay.”
Her heels clicked on the entryway tile as she followed him, then went silent when they got to the plush beige living room carpet.
“I like your furniture,” she said, wryly commenting on the empty space. “It allows one’s imagination free rein.”
“I haven’t had a chance to furnish the room yet.”
“How long have you lived here?”
“A couple of years.”
“Ah. I see your dilemma of time versus motivation.” She slid him a saucy look. “Maybe you haven’t heard. There’s a handy little invention called a decorator. You just pick up the phone, tell them what you want and they do all the footwork. It can be done from the convenience of home or office.”
He glanced down at her and couldn’t help grinning. “Is that sass? From my attorney?”
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