She had forcibly turned her attention to the practicalities, such as what she should do with all the food, when at precisely seven twenty-five she heard a key in the front door lock.
Win let himself in. He stopped dead on the threshold. "That smells...good." His expression was stunned. "Roseanne, did you make dinner?"
"Supper, you mean?" She was safely shielded by a simmering pot of soup. The heat from it must have been what flushed her face. "Go wash up." She gave the command briskly, as though the fact she'd made a meal was really quite ordinary. "This is ready any time you are."
He hesitated a moment longer, with something peculiar in his gaze. "I won't be long."
When Win returned, it was without his jacket or his tie. His shirtsleeves were rolled up, exposing blond hair curling over nicely-muscled forearms.
Roseanne frowned, wondering why the sight of Win's forearms gave her an inner thrill. The sensation reminded her of the way the rough stubble of his beard had felt two days before in the ice cream parlor. Kind of...sexual. But, still. This dinner wasn't about romance. Truly. Friendship, friendship, friendship.
She cleared her throat. "Go ahead and sit down."
Win's gaze was considering on her as she brought the soup bowls to the table. "I thought you only knew how to scramble eggs."
"True. Call it my inspiration from living the life of a housewife the past day or two. One starts to feel useless."
Win picked up a spoon. "Do I detect a note of discontent?"
"Who, me? Nah, I know how to take care of myself."
"So you keep telling me." Win looked down and dunked his spoon into the soup.
Roseanne watched anxiously. Meanwhile, Win lapped up his spoonful, then dipped his utensil down for another. But he didn't say anything.
Frustrated, she tried the soup herself. She couldn't taste a herring from a bagel, though, having burnt her tongue while sampling the first batch.
"The soup is quite good," Win suddenly surprised her by admitting.
Looking up, Roseanne felt a ridiculous burst of gratification. She was careful to keep any of this from showing in her face, however. "Why, thank you, Win." Her voice held just the right tinge of irony.
He smiled faintly. "What's the idea with this dinner? Trying to prove something?"
"What would I be trying to prove?"
"That you can do anything I can."
Roseanne could only stare at him, quickly losing her gratification. "That is completely ridiculous. Of course I can't do everything you can. For one thing, I haven't the foggiest idea about mathematics or computers or any of that stuff."
"No, but you have your own profession, which George tells me you're very good at, so you might feel even there." Win turned his attention back to the soup. "But I cooked for you a couple of times this weekend. And, you being you, that made you uncomfortable."
Roseanne splashed her spoon haphazardly in her soup. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"You considered that I was taking care of you, right? Upsetting your precious independence."
"Right now I consider you insulting." Though now that she thought about it, maybe he had a point. She had kind of wanted to take care of him this evening, to show him she could. Or maybe to show him she wanted to. Oh—it was all so confusing.
Win's gaze hit her with cool speculation. "Don't mean to be insulting, but I'd like to know what's the deal here. Why have you gone to all this trouble?"
Roseanne slammed her spoon on the table. "Dammit Win! If you can't figure that out by now—" She had no idea how to finish her completely unfair retort. Truthfully, she still wasn't sure, herself, what she was after. She liked him, okay? "Oh, if this isn't just—" She halted again, this time distracted by the distinctive aroma of smoke.
Oh no. Not again! The very same mistake she'd made the first time, leaving the chicken in the oven too long. With a muffled curse, Roseanne leapt from the table and raced to the oven.
It was too late. Far too late. The poor legs of the beast were blackened to char and the body as dried as a gourd.
"Blast!" Roseanne drew the miserable thing out of the oven. She knew Win was right behind her, taking in the full panorama of her humiliation. Smoke poured out of the oven, emphasizing the extent of the damage. Roseanne kept her eyes firmly fixed on the caved-in chest of the bird.
"It was perfect ten minutes ago," she claimed, coughing in the smoke.
"I'd say closer to twenty minutes," Win corrected, eyeing the bird closely as he moved forward. He shut the oven door, thus taking care of the smoke problem. "It's hard to ruin chicken." His tone held a certain degree of admiration.
"Well, I wasn't trying to ruin it, for crissake." Roseanne threw the hot pad she'd just used onto the countertop. "Everything was turning out so well, too. Look!" She raised the cover for the rice. "Perfect, isn't it. And look at this!" She showed him the garlic beans. "Just right, aren't they?"
"Roseanne—"
"It was all going to be great. Perfect." Roseanne lifted a sleeve to wipe at her eye. Some of that smoke must still be in the air. Her eyes were watering. "The chicken would have been great, too, if I hadn't—gotten all distracted and left the oven on."
"It's just a chicken, Roseanne."
"It was the main course." Roseanne put a hand to the bridge of her nose, feeling an odd pressure building there. She shook her head vigorously and asked, "Now what am I supposed to do?"
Win cocked his head to one side. "Serve the rest of the meal? As you pointed out, it's perfect."
Something in his voice made Roseanne look up. She narrowed her eyes at him. "You think this is funny!"
"Well, uh." A smile struggled in vain to stay off his lips.
Roseanne picked up one of the hot pads.
"No, honey, it's not funny at all," Win quickly said, but not soon enough. The hot pad had been launched and connected with his right ear.
"Hey!" He reached for Roseanne but she jumped out of the way in time to avoid him.
Her hands scrambled over the top of the counter for something else to throw at him.
"Oh, no you don't," he growled, catching hold of the omelet pan just as she grabbed it.
Roseanne tried to twist it out of his grasp but he was far too strong for that. With his other hand he caught hold of her free wrist. "Oh, now we're talkin,'" he muttered.
"What are you—? Let me go!" Roseanne struggled vainly to free herself.
"You," Win informed her briefly, "just broke the rules."
Roseanne's mouth opened on a startled squeak and that's when Win's mouth met hers, covering it thoroughly and without reserve. She didn't even have time to think, let alone prepare resistance, before he was storming the fortress.
Oh, my. Oh my, oh my. This was—completely unexpected, and...utterly delicious. Like a gourmet meal. His kiss was masterful.
All of Roseanne's feisty anger departed. Gone. Besides, he was so tall and strong. How was she supposed to resist so much sudden, male energy?
On the other hand, it was unclear how much she wanted to resist it. Maybe, in fact, she'd been angling for exactly this outcome. In his arms, with his tongue boldly invading her mouth, she experienced a wave of pleasure. It felt like the relief from pain, though she hadn't been aware she'd been in pain until that moment.
The omelet pan crashed to the floor.
"Now that," Win finally muttered against her lips, "is much more like it."
He kissed her again. This time he was less of a warrior and more of the returning conqueror, dispensing tenderness along with his firm domination.
Roseanne's arms moved up his hard chest to twine around his neck. She heard a soft moan she was pretty sure came from her own throat.
When at last he pulled gently away, she opened her eyes in a daze. Her head was spinning and her legs felt like jelly. If it was any consolation, she could feel Win's heart racing right along with her own.
"All right," he challenged, "go ahead and say it."
Roseanne cleared
her throat and looked up. His face was strained, the skin tight over his cheekbones. He appeared both intense...and vulnerable.
In a husky voice, she asked, "You mean about how you really shouldn't have done that?"
Looking amused, if resigned, Win nodded. "I expect I deserve it."
A strange well of emotion made Roseanne have to clear her throat again. "The thing is, although I'm not above stretching a truth now and then, I have a hard time telling an out-and-out lie."
His brow furrowed.
"Okay, I'm not sure you should have done that, but I'm not exactly complaining here." Indeed, she was growing more and more suspicious she might have engineered the whole thing—unconsciously, of course, but still...
Win's expression grew more guarded. "You aren't complaining," he said. "Yet."
Roseanne expelled a breath. She dug her fingers into his shoulders—so broad, so enticing. The contrast between his male strength and the vulnerability in his expression hollowed out a place in her chest.
"Ever," she whispered. With a tug, she brought his mouth down to hers.
He hesitated for a moment, perhaps surprised, and then returned her kiss, wrapping her close against him.
Roseanne felt herself spinning into another world, a world not only of physical sensation, but also of emotion. Her heart felt warm and open, soft. Somehow, that made her limbs feel...hungry.
"Oh Lord." Win's voice was uneven as he clasped her yet closer. Roseanne could feel the heat of him, the straining male energy beneath his clothes. Her hunger jumped.
Win mumbled something into her hair.
"What?" Roseanne pulled back to look at him, wondering if he was thinking what she was.
Win looked down at her with one of his shy smiles. Imagine that, after kissing her like a regular Lothario, he was still shy. "I said I'm afraid I'm ruining your perfect dinner."
Roseanne wrinkled her nose. "Yes, I suppose the rice may have gone sticky again."
"Again?"
"Never mind," she hastily replied. Far better he never discover all the trouble she'd gone to over this dinner. "I'm not that hungry any more, anyway."
His eyes rested intently on her face.
She knew what he was thinking then, and it was exactly what she was thinking. About the other kind of hunger, the man-and-woman kind.
Roseanne sucked in her lips. It had been a long time since she'd allowed herself to feel this way, not that she felt in control enough at the moment to consider she was 'allowing' any of her present sensations. Feeling her hunger, and a significant recklessness, Roseanne swallowed and said, "Win—"
"No, Roseanne." His tone was firm, and belied the expression on his face. "I'm not taking you to bed."
It was like a splash of cold water. She tossed her head. "How do you know that I—?"
"I've got three days," he interrupted matter-of-factly, brushing aside her attempt at denial. "Then you're going home. It'd be madness."
He was right, of course. Briefly, Roseanne closed her eyes. Thank God at least one of them was thinking. For goodness' sake, she was going home in three days, going home to get that partnership waiting for her. Had she forgotten? She opened her eyes again. "Then...?"
Then—what? They couldn't stop now. Now that they'd kissed. Surely he wasn't suggesting they go back to not touching. Oh, God. Did they have to?
"Then..." His smile widened. "We could always really—" It was amazing how abruptly he stopped himself. His smile froze. "Oh, now, what am I saying?" Shaking his head, he smiled again and looped his arms around her waist. "What I'm saying is that...this is up to you, sweetheart. All up to you. Where do you want this to go?"
It was up to her. He was giving her control. But for the first time in her life, Roseanne had no idea what she wanted. Her body was humming, wanting him to pull her against him again, while her brain was finally chiming in again. Just how close did she intend to get to this man? This divorced man? How much could she allow herself to trust him? Was she prepared to cross lines she'd never before crossed?
No, surely not...but there had to be a way—
"Like a vacation," Roseanne heard herself suggest. Oh, she was brilliant! It would be a bit more intense than her usual vacation fling, true, but still—short-term. They wouldn't go all the way, either physically or emotionally. In the end, the whole thing would be casual. No big changes required.
No risk.
Win looked thoughtful. "Just friends?"
Roseanne coughed. "Perhaps...a little bit more than friends. Only not—you know."
"O-kay." His brows drew down. "Not—you know." For a moment he pursed his lips and gazed at her, his expression inscrutable.
Roseanne held her breath, inwardly grimacing. He was a grown man, one who'd been in a state of denial for quite some time. Was it possible he'd agree to such terms? She could practically see the gears in his mind spinning, calculating it out, the pros and the cons. To be truthful, she had no idea what end result he came up with that led him to nod his head slowly.
"Okay," he said again. "That could work." His voice went a little gruff. "So we'll simply...enjoy the next few days with each other. With no promises, no commitments, and no regrets."
No promises, no commitments, no regrets. Yes, that sounded...perfect. And yet Roseanne met Win's eyes with a sense that for all that thinking of his, something was not quite right. Before she could start to figure it out, however, he was kissing her again and all useful thought went out the window.
After a long while, a while spent in drawn-out, lingering kisses, they finally sat down to dinner. True to Win's prediction, all of Roseanne's hard-won culinary achievements had been ruined: the green beans were like cold string and the chicken, of course, was nothing but dry scales. Win went ahead and served himself some of everything.
Just like one of her casual vacation flings, Roseanne reminded herself, watching as he cheerfully bit into another helping of limp green beans. When she went back to Seattle on Saturday morning, Win would pass quietly from her life—almost as if they had never met.
Wouldn't that be...great?
Win dumped a generous helping of the clumped-up rice onto his plate and looked over at Roseanne with a big, Texan smile.
A little shakily, Roseanne smiled back. Yes, yes, yes. Everything was just perfect.
There was no threat here. No threat at all.
CHAPTER TEN
"Hey, boss, workin' late again?" Donald, one of the technical engineers, stopped in the hall to grin at Win and Roseanne as they hovered over the printer in the copy room.
"Just finishing somethin' for Roseanne, here." Win scooped up the legal brief that had plugged the machine when Roseanne had tried to print it, but which had spit out perfectly once Win had stepped into the room. "Here y'are, honey. I think that's got all the pages. You might want to check."
Roseanne accepted the sheaf of paper, certain she didn't need to check. The machine wouldn't dare mess up for Win.
"It's good you found another workaholic, Win," Donald ribbed. "Now you got someone to work late with."
Win looked up with a laugh, but Roseanne felt a twinge inside, a twinge she'd been getting all day. It was the strangest thing. Before she and Win had become a bona fide item, she hadn't felt the slightest compunction about pretending to be his fiancée. Now she got this twinge every time someone assumed they were actually getting married.
"See ya tomorrow," Donald called and, with a wave, continued down the hall.
"I'm not a workaholic," Roseanne grumbled, though such a characterization wasn't what had disturbed her.
"Of course you aren't, sweetheart." Win visibly stuck his tongue in his cheek. "Uh...how much longer did you want to stay here tonight again?"
She shot him a dark look. "Never mind. I can do what I need tomorrow morning—at the crack of dawn when you insist on driving into town."
"Ah, but the early bird gets the worm," Win advised, putting an arm around her waist. With that arm, he steered her out of the copy roo
m and into the hall.
"I'd rather be a late bird—with a cup of strong coffee."
Win laughed.
"I'm not kidding," Roseanne retorted and goosed his waist. "Worm-eater."
He laughed harder, clutched her close and gave her a sound buss on the cheek.
A few stragglers on their way out of the building walked past them. Each face broke into a smile when they saw their boss goofing off so light-heartedly with a woman.
The twinge hit Roseanne again, the weird, brand-new twinge of conscience. She felt the oddest urge to stop each person who smiled, to explain that just because she and Win were enjoying a—a—light flirtation here didn't mean they were about to get married.
This was all just casual.
And a good thing, too, because she and Win argued over just about everything. This morning they'd argued over what time Roseanne had to get out of bed if she wanted to drive into the office with Win. On the drive downtown they'd argued over which radio station they should listen to. Roseanne called Win's country-western station cornfed bawling, and Win wondered acidly how an educated woman could prefer to listen to the radio news rather than read about it in the paper.
Then at the office they had argued about how much help Roseanne would accept from Win in setting her up on a modem and downloading her files from Seattle. That argument had soon gone moot as it became clear Roseanne was absolutely helpless with the computer connection. Win had fixed the problem in about five minutes. Earlier today, they'd argued about where to have lunch, and then about how much Roseanne was allowed to eat if Win were going to cook dinner.
Okay, so they were laughing during most of those arguments. Roseanne hadn't felt as purely joyful in years.
But that didn't mean the whole thing wasn't casual.
Now in Win's fishbowl glass office, he began the process of shutting down his bank of computers. Roseanne stuck the legal document Win had printed out for her in her briefcase. She'd make revisions on it after dinner...that is, if she and Win didn't get too distracted by, eh, other things. Not that they'd end up in bed together. They hadn't last night. They wouldn't take that plunge tonight, either, since they both knew Win was correct and it would be madness to get in that deep.
The Fiancée Fiasco Page 12