by Jane Drager
There he goes again, giving so much in his kind and generous way. How in the world had she gotten so lucky? “I’d appreciate that.” Damn, her voice cracked. She swallowed hard. “I used Jan’s computer on occasion, mainly to research some of the information Antonio feeds us.” And save on my cell phone bill. She glanced his way to see a soft smile curling one side of his mouth. With every look, the man melted some part of her. How could she possibly survive any more chance encounters if her body struggled to remain in solid form? She cleared her throat and cast her gaze forward. “On lunch break the other day, I accessed the High-Rise International website.”
“Oh?” He squeezed her arm. “Curious about me?”
She playfully nudged him. “Your website didn’t tell me much. Every link goes to your public relations woman.”
“We’re a privately-held firm, Lauren. The company doesn’t follow SEC rules about posting salaries or a board of directors. Worldwide, our staff is roughly twelve hundred employees of which a third are overseas.”
“Then, I can honestly say I’m glad you’re the North American agent. Otherwise, we’d never have met.” She smiled because she meant every word.
He patted the hand on his arm and smiled in return.
Ordinarily, she’d avoid any after-dark walks on the streets of New York, but strolling on Fifth Avenue with a handsome man by her side on such a beautiful spring evening flipped her viewpoint from leery to cheery. Lit street lamps created a romantic air. A cool breeze blew from the direction of Central Park, which helped disperse some of the car exhaust from the passing traffic. A perfect night for a walk. Her light jacket sufficed, but some people were bundled like the wind blustered straight out of the arctic.
An odd feeling swept over her. She strolled with a man who obviously made good money, yet he accompanied a woman with hardly a dime to her name, just to do a little grocery shopping. His job surrounded him with clients like Carol and Bill Stewart, the muck-a-muck of New York society while her friends included the offspring of other farmers. She was so far out of his league, her heart took a nosedive.
As they turned onto Eighty-Second Street, he lifted her hand to his lips and kissed her fingers. “What are you thinking?”
Too many thoughts, unfortunately. Like how your kiss makes me feel warm all over. She’d never say the words out loud. “Oh, you know.” She stared into the distance. “How different we are, and yet how comfortable I feel around you.” She shot him a glance. “You don’t strike me as the domesticated kind.”
His mouth twitched. “Then you perceive me as the big-city bachelor who parties all night and sleeps all day?”
She hid a smile and lowered her gaze. “Something like that. We’re heading to a food market of all places.”
“Like an ordinary couple?” He intertwined his fingers with hers. “When I arrived in New York and for quite a few years after, I shopped on my way home. These last two years, my schedule prevents any leisurely trips to the market, so I delegated the task to my housekeeper. In a lot of ways, I miss such a simple part of life.” He patted her arm and pointed to a store. “I think this is the place.”
She followed his finger to see the last of a vegetable cart bounce over the threshold as a young boy tugged it into the store. A woman in a stained white apron swept a broom across the pavement and toward the curb. She gave them a quick scan and nodded.
Stepping toward the woman, Lauren pointed at the door. “Are you still open?”
“Twenty minutes,” she said with a thick, German accent. “My husband’s inside. He’ll take care of you.”
Lauren hurried to the fruits and vegetables first. A couple of green peppers, some tomatoes, onions, and, of course, Granny Smith apples. Then over to the bread aisle.
Deems followed with a small shopping cart of which he snuck in some chocolate chip cookies, fudge brownies, and peanut butter.
She glanced at the latter and raised a brow. “No jelly?”
Grinning like a kid in a candy shop, he grabbed a jar of peach jam. The whole scene filled her with a warmth she hadn’t experienced in a long time. He was great company, and yes, they were turning into good friends.
“Store closes in ten minutes!”
Dragging her thoughts away from Deems, she hurried to the refrigerated section. Eggs were next. Then milk, cream, butter, and topping her mental list, coffee. “Mr. Stewart gave me money before he left. Even at exorbitant New York prices, I think I can pack the fridge. Since you’re with me, you can help carry the stuff.”
“I’m paying. Save your money.”
She opened her mouth to protest, but he held up a finger to stop her and grabbed a bag of cheese curls before heading to the register.
Dangling plastic bags from their arms, they talked all the way to the condo, laughing at stupid jokes, and exchanging stories about their youth. He sold comic books from a red wagon at the age of seven. She made her first apple pie at the age of nine and won first prize at the county fair.
Once inside the Stewarts’ condo, they plunked their packages onto the counter. She unpacked while he rummaged through the bags.
With a soft cry, he took out the chocolate chip cookies, ripped open the bag, and shoved a whole cookie into his mouth. She prayed he didn’t choke to death, since her Heimlich maneuver might be a bit rusty. “You’ll spoil your dinner.”
He stopped chewing and stared. “You’re inviting me?”
“If you give me a cookie.” Holding the egg carton in one hand and the butter in the other, she opened her mouth, and he obliged, brushing his fingers ever so softly across her cheek. His simple touch caused a shiver to travel the length of her spine. Damn, he made her feel good.
He popped three more cookies into his mouth before she finished her first.
The poor man’s starving. She emptied another bag. “Where do you live?”
“Not far. I’m in a company-paid condo.”
Wow. Not to worry about paying the rent, she’d be in heaven. Finished with the groceries, she opened the carton of eggs. “Since the time’s late, we’ll eat light. How about an omelet?”
“Sure, if you allow me to open a bottle of wine. Bill has a wine cooler in the corner here.” He opened a glass-covered door and bent over to study the contents.
Whoa! She whirled. “Wait a minute, Deems. I can’t replenish what we drink.”
“But I can. I know Bill’s taste. Ah, this wine will do nicely.” He straightened while holding a long-necked brown bottle. “A German Spatlese to go with the food purchased from the German couple.” He grabbed a towel and wiped the moisture from the bottle.
Lauren searched the lower cabinets for an omelet pan, found one, and then broke the eggs into a bowl. “I don’t know the first thing about wine, except apple and peach. Some of the orchard farmers make a batch every year.” From one of the drawers, she extracted a cutting board and prepared to chop a green pepper and onion. “One farmer makes this fantastic grape juice. Gad, is that good!”
Deems opened one drawer after another until a soft exclamation escaped from his throat. “Success!” He held a corkscrew and promptly popped the wine cork.
A strong wave of comfort swept through her. She hadn’t experienced such contentment since she finished her first three-D mural for a swanky Harrisburg hotel. She and Deems acted like any domesticated couple, preparing a meal as if they’d done it a thousand times.
She shot him a sideways glance. A curl of a smile moved his lips. Sexy as hell, and such a simple expression melted her knees. But the tug he created was so damn puzzling, yet exciting, and downright dangerous. She’d love to drag him to the bedroom and unveil the man under the suit.
Oh, shit.
She had whipped the eggs into a dense froth. Dumping in the vegetables to cut down the foam, she stirred and then poured enough of the mixture into the preheated pan for the first omelet. “You realize I know very little about you.” A statement more than a question since he hardly talked about himself. She wasn’t sure if tha
t trait was good or bad. Jo-Jo bragged with every opportunity.
Deems lifted two wine glasses from an overhead rack and poured. “Know that I am not married, never have been, but plan to marry someday as soon as I find the right woman to tolerate me.”
She smiled down at the pan. “You shouldn’t have trouble finding the right woman, Deems.”
“So you say, but I find dating incredibly hard.” Reaching across the counter, he grabbed napkins from a holder. “Do you mind if we eat at this small table?” He pointed.
He had indicated the two-seater table against the wall, a more intimate setting than sitting on one of the bar stools. “No, I don’t mind.” She flipped the omelet. Cheese would have been nice to add, but she totally forgot to buy some. Maybe tomorrow. “Why do you say dating is hard? You seem like a great catch.” She probably shouldn’t have been so blatantly truthful, but the words poured out before she had a chance to stop them.
After placing napkins and silverware on the table, he turned to face her. “I can’t find a woman with substance. They want the easy life, you know, shop all day, party all night, like money grows on trees. They hook onto me as if I’m Fort Knox.” He retrieved the wine glasses, placed hers on the table, and took a sip of his own. “Do you want to know how I analyze women these days? I observe their cell phone use. If they constantly talk and text or interrupt a conversation to answer a call, then they have no meaningful purpose in my life.” He frowned into his wine glass. “Cell phones have made people rude and self-centered and are a killer for any serious relationship.” He lowered his glass to the table. “Being with you is refreshing. Your phone never rings.”
“I don’t have the gift of gab, Deems.” She slid the omelet onto a plate and handed him the dish. “Besides, I’m usually working and don’t have time to talk. My family and friends know my routine so they’ll call at night.” She poured the remaining omelet mixture into the pan.
“What do you expect in a relationship?” He placed the plate on the table.
His simple question caused her breath to hitch. Why, she wasn’t sure. She stared at the bubbling eggs. “I thought I knew. Jo-Jo proved me wrong on all counts. He made good money as a car salesman and was well on his way toward his own dealership, so I don’t understand why he disappeared.” With the spatula, she fussed with the edges on the eggs.
“Maybe he started his dealership in another state.”
“The cops investigated but came up empty.” She flipped the omelet. “Jo-Jo took the bank money in cash.” She glanced his way. “I discovered he put in a withdrawal request three days prior to his disappearance.” Just saying the words gave her a headache. For the first time in her life, she nearly fainted on the spot when the bank teller told her the news. After the initial shock, she turned into a raving maniac.
“I’d call him a foolish man.”
She slid the second omelet onto a plate and turned. “The warrants for his arrest will remain active for seven years. When they expire, who knows what will happen? He certainly can’t return to Arendtsville.” She put the plate on the table then paused, her gaze intent on the steaming eggs. “If I had one word to describe what I want in a relationship, I’d say honesty.” She shot Deems a sideways glance.
A guarded expression passed onto his face, and her gut sank. Was he already hiding something? Yeah—well, so what? They were in a new friendship. What he did when they weren’t together was his own business. “Come on, let’s eat.” As she lowered onto the chair, she drifted her gaze toward the wall clock. Nearly nine. “My mother would have a fit if she discovered how late I eat in this city.” After tasting her omelet, she shook on some salt. “Dad always wanted dinner on the table at five and even earlier during the harvest so we could eat and continue picking until dark.” She pointed to his plate. “You might need a little more salt and pepper.”
Acknowledging with a nod, he pulled out his chair and settled onto the cushion before digging into his omelet. “Perfect.”
She hated to always point out their disparities, but someone had to remind him. His world of concrete and asphalt contrasted to hers of fresh air and open spaces. Plus, he was a businessman used to the hustle of a big city. She was an unemployed teacher slash artist who recognized the origin and taste of every apple on the planet. What could they possibly have in common?
Except a mutual attraction.
She sipped her wine. Not bad. A gentle sweetness to complement the omelet. “How’d you know I was trustworthy? You recommended me for this job, and we barely know each other.”
Wiping his mouth, he leaned back and smiled. “There’s something about you, Lauren. You have two feet on the ground. I like that trait.” Gaze twinkling, he sipped his wine.
So odd. She hardly knew him, yet one look flipped her heart within her chest. How could he affect her to the point where she hardly knew her name? Hell, she almost married a guy she thought was her everything, and all he ever gave her was heartburn. Looking away, she toyed with her omelet. “I’m from a hard-working family. I may have my own career, but I still help at harvest time.” She met his gaze. “And I won’t ignore the town’s annual apple harvest festival. Everyone participates because people come from around the country.” She leaned forward and waved her fork to emphasize her point. “You should visit some time. The first two weekends in October, rain or shine. Lots of stuff to eat, countless crafts and demonstrations, and my favorite, folk dancing. Two solid weekends of fun.” She sipped more wine.
A smile tugged the corner of his mouth. “See what I mean? Two feet on the ground. You’ll make any man fall in love.”
Including him? She sure as hell teetered on the edge, and that tidbit of truth scared her half to death.
Chapter Fifteen
After dinner, Lauren expected Deems to leave, but he helped with cleanup, found a cork for the wine, and even wiped the table. She wanted so much to loosen his tie and relieve him of his suit jacket, but one touch would turn into two, and she’d never stop herself. Her heart felt the tug of a man falling in love—like the way his gaze maintained eye contact over dinner. She couldn’t allow him to love her and purposely avoided physical contact.
Earlier, she had considered the possibility of an affair. But without the slightest nudge, she’d fall head-over-heels for him, and then what? Say goodbye and thanks for the memories? He deserved a woman from his own world, someone who lived and thrived in a big city. She wasn’t that woman.
“You have a dishwasher, Lauren.”
She looked at her sudsy sponge. “I can’t waste water for such a small number of dishes.” She glanced over her shoulder. “Water is precious to a farmer, Deems. We learn early not to waste such a valuable resource.” The ever-practical farmer’s daughter, that’s me. Her heart sank.
If she was a different type of woman, she’d go after Deems and never again worry about money. Hell, he lived in a company-paid condo. What if the place was just as swanky, high in the sky, and away from the noise and traffic on the streets? Would she reconsider?
Her gaze scanned the sparkling kitchen, the modern appliances, and the spaciousness leading into the brightness of a living room all in white. He couldn’t possibly have a condo so luxurious. Otherwise, women would be breaking down his door.
All her life, she had lived within the confines of a small space. At the first opportunity, she moved out on her own. Now, of course, she’d be moving back in with the family. A definite setback. The farmhouse was a four-bedroom, two-story structure that housed her parents, her brother and his wife, and their two kids. The only available spot to park another bed was a tiny office over the garage. Even her apartment with Jo-Jo wasn’t big—merely adequate for a young couple saving for marriage.
Living a life in cramped quarters probably influenced her love for the outdoors. The open space gave her room to breathe. And, of course, picking apples from the time she could walk certainly helped. For four years, she taught in Harrisburg, and when she could, she’d run to the farm to work i
n the orchard as an excuse to leave the city. Jo-Jo never had an itch to leave, and she hadn’t quite understood why he disappeared. They both grew up in Arendtsville, attended the same high school, and knew each others’ families. Even at an early age, Jo-Jo had an inner drive to become a big shot and to make tons of money so he could thumb his nose at the world. Ironically, he’d been on his way.
Deems cleared his throat. “I should go. It’s getting late.”
Agreeing with a nod, she tossed the kitchen towel on the counter. What else could she say? No, don’t go? She’d love for him to stay, but the suggestion wouldn’t be wise. Her fingers still itched to undo his tie. She followed him to the front door.
With his hand on the knob, he paused and gave her a faint smile. “Thanks for dinner.”
“You’re welcome. Thanks for helping to carry the stuff.”
My, my, so formal. Just two friends maintaining a safe distance. She should slap herself silly.
He kissed her lightly on the cheek but hesitated as he stepped into the hall. He said nothing and merely searched her face with unasked questions in his gaze. Was he waiting for an invitation to stay? Oh, God, should I? Do I even dare? She wanted so much to be in his arms and hadn’t had the pleasure of a man in her bed since her ex took a long walk. But Deems deserved more than a brief affair. Someday, he’d find the right woman and live the happily-ever-after dream.
Their gazes locked. The man was so friggin’ handsome. Not a touch of arrogance showed. Just a man looking at her with an unreadable expression. She started. No, not unreadable at all. Something shone within the honey gaze, and her breath hitched. “You don’t have to leave.” There. I blurted the words. A heart-before-brain impulse. What man had the ability to resist an outright invitation from a woman?
His gaze tender, he brushed her cheek with two fingers. “Yes, I do.” He lightly tapped her nose. “I’ll see you again, Lauren, sooner than you think.” Turning, he headed for the stairwell at the end of the hall.
Whoa. Nothing like crushing a woman’s ego then stomping on the pieces. Maybe she misinterpreted his signals and suddenly flunked Body Language 101.