Romancing His Rival

by Jennifer Shirk

  “Oh, no, don’t get comfortable,” she said, pointing to his socked feet. “You’re not staying.”

  He sighed. “I know you’re not thrilled to see me right now. I get that. But I only pointed out things to Scott about my own marriage that he already knew. As his best man, I owed him that. If Scott happened to take that information and form his own opinions on what does or doesn’t make a great relationship, well, I can’t be held responsible. Maybe what it comes down to is that you and Scott really weren’t meant for each other.”

  She gasped. “How can you say that? Who made you the Be-All-End-All Relationship Guru? Just because your marriage didn’t end well doesn’t mean my and Scott’s marriage would have ended poorly too. He loves me.”

  “I don’t doubt that he cares for you or even loved you, but that doesn’t always hold a marriage together. Trust me, I know.”

  He sure did know. Once upon a time he’d thought his marriage to Catherine was one for the romance textbooks. Everything he’d thought a good, loving relationship should be. At least on paper. They even had the house in the suburbs of North Jersey with the yard meant for a dog and several children. But after a few years, Catherine missed city living and the entertainment New York could bring and often traveled into the city to shop or meet friends for lunch. He’d learned later that one of her friends had been a male coworker from her old job—and more importantly, that they weren’t just meeting for lunch.

  It was his own fault, he knew now. He wasn’t meant for marriage. In fact, when he was born, he should have been slapped with a “does not play well with others” label.

  Still, failures hurt, which was why succeeding in his career felt like a balm for his soul. He could “win” at something, at least.

  “Save it, Lucas,” Elena spat, folding her arms defiantly. “Don’t even try to pretend you had my best interests at heart when you convinced Scott not to marry me. You’re… You’re… You’re deplorable.”

  He banked down his own frustration. He’d hardly convinced anyone to do anything. But he’d admit he was glad of the outcome. She and Scott never really made sense to him. She obviously was hurting, though, and Scott still seemed confused about his feelings. So, better she think Lucas was the villain in this situation. After all, he’d probably never see her again after this weekend anyway.

  “I am sorry,” he offered. He truly was. Sort of. Scott was a decent guy, but a little selfish in the relationship department. While Elena deserved… She needed a man like…

  Hell, what did he know what kind of man she should be with? But to be honest, he really couldn’t picture her with anyone specific.

  She turned away, but not before he’d seen the tears in her eyes. “Just go. If you are sorry, then the best thing you could do for me is leave. Please.”

  As soon as he saw the tears, his chest felt as if a gorilla had collapsed on it. But the whispered please she’d tacked on at the end nearly brought him to his knees. The last thing he wanted to do was make her cry. In fact, he’d been trying to save her from heartbreak. How did this get so complicated? “I…I can’t go anywhere.”

  Her shoulders stiffened, then she glanced back. “Well, then I’ll leave.”

  But before she could storm away, he took hold of her arm. It was a knee-jerk reaction. He wasn’t thinking beyond the fact that he couldn’t let her go out there alone in that weather. But touching her like that had him immediately pulling back and standing stock-still as if his fingers had been seared.

  He cleared his throat. “I don’t think you understand. You’re not going anywhere either.”

  “What? Why?”

  He guided her to the nearest window and raised the shade. “That’s why.”

  “Oh my gosh!” She pressed her nose up against the glass and blinked at the thick white flakes swirling from the night sky like a shaken snow globe.

  “Yeah, it’s really coming down,” he told her. “I was lucky to make it here when I did. There’s no way you’d go fifty yards before getting stuck in that mess. I heard on the radio there’s a special storm warning in effect from midnight until five in the morning.”

  Elena backed away from the window and looked at him in horror. “So, what are you saying?”

  “I’m saying what you’re not willing to hear. Like it or not, sweetheart, it seems we’re stuck with each other for the night.”

  Chapter Two

  This is so not happening.

  With what felt like the physical strength of ten rhinos, Elena collected herself with enough composure to not let out a blood-curdling scream. “Please tell me you’re not serious.”

  Lucas jerked his thumb at the window. “You saw it out there, didn’t you?”

  She closed her eyes and prayed for serenity. No. Absolutely not. There was no way she was going to spend one more minute in the presence of this backstabber, let alone a whole night. She marched to the foyer and pulled her down jacket from the closet.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” he asked.

  “I’m going to go dig my car out, and then I’m leaving.” She jammed her arms into her coat and zipped it up to her chin.

  In two strides, he was at the front door before she could reach it and blocked her path with his body. “Oh, no you don’t. I’m not letting you leave. The weather is too bad.”

  “Out of my way,” she ordered, grabbing his arm and trying to pull him away. Damn, the man was as solid as concrete. Had he been working out? But then again, she never really had a reason to touch him before. She could barely budge him a centimeter. Nonetheless, she continued to try.

  “You’re crazy,” he said with a half laugh, which only infuriated her further. “You don’t even have your shoes on.”

  Shoes? She stopped wrestling with him and looked down at her socked feet. Damn, he was right.

  “I should probably let you go so I can get a semblance of peace tonight, but for some even crazier reason, I can’t have your death on my conscience.” He took her by the shoulders, pinning her arms at her sides, and stared her down with a don’t-even-try-to-open-your-mouth-to-even-potentially-argue look.

  Good grief, maybe she was crazy. Partly, because she couldn’t help but notice how crystal blue his eyes were at the moment and how nice he smelled, like he’d just rolled in a pile of dryer sheets. Ugh. Why would she have to notice anything pleasant about him? At least she could admit she was acting irrational. But he seemed to have a way of making her act that way long before he broke up her engagement. She’d frequently caught him looking over at her—almost right through her—whenever the three of them had gone out. It was as if Lucas was mentally checking off everything that was wrong with her. It was unnerving.

  She backed out of his grip and began unzipping her puffy jacket. “Fine,” she said, throwing up her chin to cover how foolish she felt. “But not because you’re right. Only because I’m tired and don’t think I should drive now.”

  “Thank God,” he muttered.

  Elena walked over to the dining table and hung her coat on the back of the chair. She stared down with longing at the drawings she’d been sketching before she’d heard Lucas at the door. She’d been Zen. Now, stress and anxiety emanated from her pores, mostly due to his arrival. Sketching had always relaxed her, and she desperately wanted to shut Lucas out and get back to it so she could fall asleep. She predicted a sleepless night—which had her suddenly questioning the sleeping arrangements. There was only one bedroom, since the other was converted into an office.

  She turned and gave him a sharp look. “Where do you plan on sleeping?”

  “Hmm…no woman’s ever asked me that. “ His lips curled in a slow, devilish grin. “I suppose wherever you want me.”

  She wanted him outside and away from her. Preferably on his head. Along with his skewed opinions of marriage, relationships, and what constituted a “career wife.” But she just smiled sweetly. “Enjoy the couch.”

  He walked over and flopped onto it, bouncing up and down for effect. �
�This is perfect.”

  “Great. Good night, then,” she huffed. She turned to go, but he called her name once again.

  “So, uh, did I smell burnt marshmallows when I came in?” he asked with a ridiculously hopeful expression.

  She planted a hand on her hip. “Oh, my gosh, Lucas. Seriously? You barge in on me late at night and now you want my marshmallows, too?”

  “You know, when you say it that way, it actually sounds a lot more interesting than what I had originally intended.”

  His eyes gleamed, and the way he’d assessed her with a single sweep made her feel as if someone had kicked her legs out from beneath her.

  That sudden reaction to him unsettled her more than a little.

  She picked up her pillow again and aimed it high. “Misconstrue what I had intended again, and you’ll get another pillow slap. And I won’t hold back next time.”

  He chuckled but kept his hands raised to protect his face. “Sorry, sorry. I blame the long drive. But I do happen to have graham crackers in my arsenal, so if you have chocolate, we could make s’mores. If you can bear to be in my company just a little bit longer, that is.”

  Her stomach grumbled right on cue.

  Curse that man and curse her weakness for sweets.

  She dropped the pillow. “I suppose I could have a s’more or two.” Or twenty. Who would be counting, anyway? It’s not like she had to worry about fitting into her wedding dress anytime soon.

  Lucas stood, rubbing his hands together. “Great, because I need to get some work done tonight and I tend to brainstorm so much better on a full stomach.”

  Elena rolled her eyes but turned to lead him into the kitchen. When she had gotten off the phone with Arden earlier, she had unpacked her snacks and had put everything into perfectly straight columns, just like her desk at work.

  “Good God!” Lucas said, taking in the kitchen and making a face. “I had no idea you were such a neat freak.”

  Neat freak? Was she?

  She frowned at the items on the kitchen counter. Hmm… She supposed she was a tad on the tidy side. Organized, some might say. She liked to think of it more as efficient.

  “Everyone’s a critic,” she muttered, shooing him out of her way and unwrapping the chocolate. “Where are your graham crackers?”

  Lucas reached into a duffel bag he had placed in the doorway and pulled out a box. “As requested,” he said, handing it to her.

  “Thanks, I’ll—” She looked back up at him. “These graham crackers are expired.”

  He took the box back, glanced at the date, and shrugged. “Just a few weeks,” he said, trying to hand them back to her.

  “No. We can’t eat them.”

  “Why not?”

  She sighed. “Because, like I said, they’re expired.”

  “And like I said, it’s just a few weeks. What’s the big deal? They haven’t even been opened yet.”

  “Eww. But they might be stale. Or mushy.”

  He rubbed a hand over his jaw, and she had a feeling he was smiling. “Well, we’ll just have to see then, won’t we?” He paused. “Do you want to check the date on the chocolate, or are we going to have to take our lives in our hands with that, too?”

  Her cheeks grew hot. Oh, for Pete’s sake. Now he was making fun of her. But honestly, manufacturers wouldn’t feel the need to have those “use by” dates without good reason. So what if she happened to be a little calendar-oriented? It was a control thing. So sue her.

  “Fine,” she said, grabbing the bag of marshmallows from the counter. “But you’re taking the first bite.”

  Lucas looked around the kitchen. “You don’t have the fireplace working, so how did you roast the marshmallows?”

  “Easy. I broiled them.”

  He quirked an eyebrow. “You cooked the marshmallows in the oven?”

  “Yup.” She took a sheet pan and began placing the marshmallows on it in neat little rows and then turned the oven to broil and slid the pan in.

  “Wow. Just like camping,” he quipped.

  She suppressed a grin. “How would you know? You don’t look like a Boy Scout to me,” she said, rinsing her sticky fingers in the sink.

  He handed her a towel, but when she grabbed it, he didn’t let go. “You’re right about that, Elena,” he said, voice dark velvet. “I’m certainly no Boy Scout.”

  She blinked as certain parts of her body suddenly got all flushed and tingly. Oh dear. She was going to have to be honest with herself and admit that Lucas Albright III was six foot two inches of wholly and undeniably hot male. And he was definitely about as far from any Boy Scout image as a man could be.

  Irritated with herself, she whipped the towel out of his hand and turned away. Gosh, what was wrong with her? There was no way she would let herself be attracted to Lucas Albright. The saboteur. The Fiancé Reaper. No, no way. Obviously, she had to be standing too close to the oven.

  Feeling the need to keep her hands busy, she opened the oven and flipped the marshmallows over with the tongs. “They’re almost done,” she said a little breathlessly.

  “Great. Look, I even made little rows of graham crackers and chocolate on the plate.” Lucas held it out to her with a wide grin. “Does it pass your anal retentive inspection?”

  She snorted. “Now you’re just being silly.”

  But, as a matter of fact, yes, it did happen to pass her inspection.

  She turned back to the oven and pulled out the marshmallows, which turned out to be a nice golden brown. Much better than the ones she’d attempted earlier this evening.

  Lucas whistled. “I will never judge oven-roasted marshmallows again. Although they could have stood another minute or so in there.”

  Leave it to Lucas to have yet another know-it-all opinion he couldn’t help voicing. Although she refrained from telling him so, since in this particular case, he might actually be right. Another minute or two would have been perfect.

  Nonetheless, she took a graham cracker, two pieces of chocolate, and a marshmallow and made a sandwich. After Lucas did the same, she waited until he ate his first.

  He raised an eyebrow at her. “Do you really believe I’m going to die from expired graham crackers?”

  She grinned, batting her eyes. “Wishful thinking, I guess.”

  He took a bite, chewed, and swallowed. “Delicious,” he said, rubbing his stomach for emphasis.

  She hesitated just a few more seconds, then tasted hers. Closing her eyes, she let the richness of it sit on her tongue a moment before chewing. Oh, wow, it was delicious, partly because she didn’t skimp on the chocolate she brought with her. She specifically ordered it from one of her favorite stores in New York City. It tasted like heaven and could probably even make a character on Game of Thrones temporarily forget his or her troubles.

  When she opened her eyes again, her gaze clashed with the dark blue of his.

  “What?” she said, feeling around her face for crumbs. “What’s wrong? It’s the graham crackers, isn’t it? You don’t look so good.”

  He cleared his throat and placed his s’more down on the plate. “No, the graham crackers are fine. Really fine. All fine.” He cleared his throat again and ran a hand over his short, light brown hair. “So, uh, you like chocolate, huh?”

  She smiled a little. “Yeah, I do. However, I give humble deference to all varieties of dessert.”

  “So you have a mega sweet tooth.”

  “Precisely.”

  “Me, too,” he said, picking up his s’more again and finishing it.

  “Really? You don’t seem the type,” she said honestly.

  “What kind of type do I look like?”

  “Actually, you seem more a flax-seed-in-your-smoothie-double-helping-of-kale kind of guy.”

  He flashed her a grin. “You confuse me with Scott. He’s the health nut. I’ll even prove it to you.” He pointed to the chocolate on the plate. “They’re from Jacques Caron on West Thirty-Third Street in New York.”

  Her eyes
widened. “Wow, you’re right. You really do know your chocolate.”

  “True, I do, but it helped that you didn’t throw away the bag they came in.” He gestured behind her. “You even folded it nice and neat for easy reading.”

  Her mouth twitched. She couldn’t help it, and to her further horror, she even let out a little chuckle. Good grief, first Lucas gave her tingles and now he made her laugh.

  She was now resigned to the fact that she had landed in Hell. And not only was it a cold day, but it also explained the blizzard conditions.

  He smiled back at her, then he glanced over at the table in the living room. “Hey, what are those?”

  She followed his gaze but didn’t notice anything out of the ordinary. “What are you talking about?”

  “Those papers on the table.” He started to walk in that direction, but before he could get close enough to see her drawings, she ran in front of him, shuffled them together in a pile, and turned them over.

  “They’re nothing,” she said, placing her palm firmly on top.

  “Really?” There was a mischievous gleam in his eye that she had a sudden itch to punch right out. “Looked like some doodles to me,” he told her.

  “Hey, they’re not doodles!” Leave it to him to belittle her work like he did everything else about her. Lucas worked with tons of artists in his job. If he saw them, they probably would look amateurish. “They’re my…drawings.”

  His interest seemed further piqued—curse her big mouth—and he stepped closer with his eyes narrowed. “Scott never told me you were an artist.”

  “That’s because I’m not. And…and because he didn’t know about my drawing.”

  Lucas blinked. “Why would you hide something like that from your fiancé?”

  Her cheeks caught fire. Yeah, why would I hide something like that from the man I was supposed to spend the rest of my life with?

  Ugh. It galled her that she really didn’t have a plausible explanation aside from her own lack of confidence in her work. People would think it kind of silly to carry around a sketchbook. And it really was just for stress relief. Nothing more. The one special part of her life where she didn’t feel the need to be in control. She could just let go. She had started drawing a little in high school around exams time, then after her parents died, it had picked up in frequency.