She wasn't used to seeing him in anything but tailored suits and dress shirts, so the jeans and tight gray T-shirt were a definite surprise. A breath-stealing, heart-pounding surprise.
Oh, what the man could do to a thin, worn cotton T-shirt. And a tight pair of faded, threadbare jeans that hugged his thick thighs and did sinful things to his lean hips.
"Hi," she whispered, then cleared her throat and strove for nonchalance. "This is a coincidence."
He smiled, bringing forth those dimples and that twinkle in his eyes, and suddenly Rachel forgot every single thing she'd been telling herself for days about why she needed to stay away from him.
"Do you always talk to yourself?"
"Do you always spy on people in bookstores?" she countered.
"I wasn't spying."
"What were you doing then?"
His smile faded. "Trying to work up the nerve to leave."
Oh. Wow. Damn. That said a lot, didn't it?
She played dumb. "I don't understand."
He lifted his hand, an intimate look in his eye as he raised his fingers to her mouth. She gasped, having no idea what he intended, until he brushed something off the corner of her lips. "Whipped cream mouth," he explained.
And wobbly, jelly legs, she mentally replied.
"Thanks."
He eyed her cup. "You looked like you were enjoying your drink so much, I might have to try one."
"They're sinful. The real reason I come here."
"The books are just in the way, huh?" he asked with a knowing grin. He'd obviously been watching her raptly concentrating on the shelves.
"Okay, I confess. I'm a reader, too. Hopelessly addicted to violence and mystery and sci fi and sex." She instantly stiffened, feeling her face grow hot. "I mean, uh, I like genre novels. Romance. Not sex."
"You don't like sex?"
Oh, somebody just shoot me now and put me out of my misery.
He put one hand up, palm out, and shook his head. "Forget it, don't answer that. I don't think I wanna know."
She could take his words two ways. Either he was so completely uninterested in her that he frankly didn't care if she liked sleeping alone or with ten people at once. Or else he was so interested, he wanted to steer the conversation away from such a dangerous topic.
She voted for what was behind door number two. Then she mentally kicked herself for caring. "What about you? Why are you here on a Friday night?" Swallowing hard, she added, "Where's Maria?"
He shrugged in visible resignation. "Dentist appointment."
Odd. It was eight o'clock on a Friday night. Her skepticism obviously showed.
"I know, I know. But apparently her dentist keeps evening hours for working patients."
"So her dentist has as pathetic and boring a life as I do, I guess, huh?" she asked.
"You calling me pathetic and boring?"
Eyes widening, she shook her head. "No. You're fiancée-less due to dentistry. There's a difference."
Oh, how she wished he was fiancée-less, period. Because she was enjoying this playful conversation with this man. And would have enjoyed nothing more than curling up on the sofa in the nearest reading area, chatting for hours with him about anything and everything. What they liked to read, to drink. The best flavors of Frappuccino. Heavy desks and big Italian families.
Whether or not she liked sex.
"So how about you tell me what flavor to order, and I'll get you a refill?" he asked, looking at her nearly empty cup. "Then we can sit down and talk more about books and gore and sci fi and other things you like to read. Or maybe we could go to the martial arts area and see whether bony knuckles really are a good substitute for karate."
The dimples flashed and she almost smiled back, liking the gentle, playful way he teased. Then she lifted her hand and fisted it, waving it threateningly at him. "You calling my knuckles bony?"
He reached out and took her hand, oh lord, he took her hand, and heat sparked and for a second, time stopped again.
She loosened her fist, letting him extend her fingers, so he could scrape the pad of his thumb up and down on her pinky. A simple, innocent touch—but one which sent a reaction spiraling through Rachel's whole body.
Luke's eyes grew darker and the moment stretched on. Then, finally, he said in a huskier voice, "You do have bony knuckles."
God, how could he make her laugh when she was so incredibly aroused? She tugged her fingers away, almost mournful at the loss of physical contact. Then she strove to return to their casual, playful interaction, as if that intense connection created by nothing more than his fingers on her own had never happened at all.
"Hmm," she said with an exaggerated frown, "maybe we should go to the self-help area so you can learn the difference between a hammer and a wrench."
He drew a hand to his chest. "Ouch. Now you're questioning my manly prowess?"
Uh, no, she would never do that. Because she had no doubt of the man's prowess … he merely had to touch her fingers and she was ready to leap on him. "Just your construction abilities."
"I'll have you know, I was the one who gave Joe his first K'nex construction set as a kid."
She tapped her cheek with the tip of her index finger and gave him an arched look. "Hmm … let me guess, it was because you got it as a gift and couldn't open the box?"
He threw his head back and looked heavenward. "What have I done to deserve such doubt?"
"Uh, nearly dropped a drill on your brother's head?"
Which he had the other night.
"Well, there is that," he conceded, his eyes still twinkling. "Now, what do you say, should we sit down in the coffee shop? If I'm going to be insulted, I think I should at least be allowed to do it over a cold drink."
She shouldn't. He was issuing exactly the kind of invitation she'd just been thinking so longingly about. There was nothing technically wrong about it, nothing sexual or forbidden. He was proposing exactly the kind of conversation she might have had with a girlfriend she'd run into at this same store. Or even the husband of a friend. Casual, friendly, entertaining.
It was the fact that Luke was the one offering that made her hesitate. She was already incredibly attracted to the man. Did she really want to get herself in any deeper here?
"Come on," he urged, "I want to hear what your aunt Ginny had to say about your new filing system."
"The shoe boxes are stacked on top of the desk. So far, that's the new filing system," she said, not even thinking about it.
His loud bark of laughter drew the attention of a few shoppers standing in the aisle. A woman eyeing the bestsellers gave Luke a thorough once-over, which made Rachel stiffen, even though he was nothing more than a friend.
That couldn't be jealousy. She wouldn't let it be jealousy. Because she had no right to be jealous.
Oh, please, let it not be jealousy. Because that would mean she was really falling for him.
"So much for you being the most organized person on the planet," he said.
"I lied."
"I know."
She smiled. So did he. Then, with a slow nod, she said, "Okay. Caramel Frap. And make it a Venti."
CHAPTER SIX
Luke didn't sleep well Friday night, and there was no question why. He'd been much too busy replaying every minute of his evening with Rachel.
The two of them had sat in the coffee shop area of the bookstore talking for hours. They'd literally closed the place down, being ushered out by weary employees who'd have had everything cleaned up already if not for their last two lingering customers.
He still couldn't believe how in sync the two of them had been. They'd talked so easily, like they'd known each other forever and could almost finish each other's sentences. He'd even opened up to her about his mixed feelings regarding his family, and why he'd needed to move away for several years to figure out that home was really where he wanted to be. He'd never shared that with anyone before.
Somehow, even though Rachel's family background had been
completely different, she'd understood. And then she'd opened up to him, making him smile as her southern accent grew just a bit thicker when she fondly spoke of her North Carolina upbringing. Making him ache for her when she misted up over her father's recent death.
They hadn't remained melancholy for long. They'd joked and teased and devoured more whipped cream than he'd eaten in the past five years. He now knew what she liked to read and knew what she was afraid of and knew her favorite movies and her political affiliations and her birthday.
God help him. Why didn't he know any of those things about the woman he was supposed to marry in exactly two weeks?
He mulled over the thought as he sat at a table in the restaurant Saturday, a little before noon, and allowed his mind to drift back to the last moments of the previous evening.
When everything had fallen apart. The memory made his mouth pull into a frown even now, nearly twelve hours later. Everything had been fine until he'd walked Rachel to her car. Since it had been after midnight, he'd stayed close to her side. And it had seemed the most natural thing in the world to lace his fingers in hers, to walk close enough so their hips and legs brushed.
It had also seemed perfectly natural to kiss her goodnight, and he'd almost done it. Almost. He'd leaned close, brushing a strand of her hair off her temple, noting the softness of her skin against his fingertips. Inhaling her scent, he'd realized that if he didn't taste her lips soon, he was going to shrivel up and die.
Then they'd both realized what they were doing. Rachel had held her hand up, palm out, whispering, "Stop. Please stop. Don't do this to me."
He'd swallowed, hard, affected by the hurt tone in her voice. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean…"
"I know," she'd admitted. "It's nice that we can try to be friends, and you've been a gentleman. I know you have groom's cold feet, though, so let's not get carried away and think it's any more than friendship." Then she'd forced a smile. "You don't need to prove you've still 'got it' just because I'm handy and available."
Her words had stopped him cold. She thought his interest in her was simply because she was off-limits, because he was about to be tied down and wanted one last notch on his belt?
He'd opened his mouth to reply, but she wasn't finished yet. "To be honest with you, Luke, I think I'm a little more susceptible to you than I'd like to be, and I'm just not up to these games," she'd admitted, her voice shaking a little. Her whisper was so soft he almost couldn't hear it over the late night breeze. "So I think we should say goodbye, instead of goodnight." Then she'd hopped in her car and driven away before he'd had a chance to defend himself.
His first reaction had been anger that she'd accused him of playing games with her feelings, but it had quickly subsided. How could she think him any different than any of the other scumbag grooms who'd come on to her? Had he given her any reason to think he was much more serious about her than even he'd suspected until last night?
No, he hadn't. And it was time to remedy that. Which was why he'd called Maria and asked her to meet him here at Santori's for lunch this afternoon. It probably wasn't great to ambush her here, but he knew his mother well enough to know she'd be the perfect one to help Maria calm down if she hit the roof.
Which she might. Because the time had come to set things right. He finally knew what he wanted.
And it wasn't marriage to Maria.
"Hey, man, you okay?"
Luke looked up to see his brother Tony, standing beside the table. "Okay? Depends on your definition of okay."
He was okay in terms of knowing what he wasn't going to do—go through with the wedding. But was completely unsure of what would happen next.
Until he'd straightened out his botched engagement, he was going to respect Rachel's wishes and leave her alone. Afterward … well, that remained to be seen. But he had definite hopes about what was going to happen between him and the lovely blonde who'd occupied his every waking thought for days.
His decision to cancel the wedding was not because of Rachel. Well, not entirely because of Rachel. Honestly, he suspected something special would happen between them; he couldn't imagine he was alone in the intense feelings that overwhelmed him when she was around. But whether it did or not, he'd finally realized the truth: he was marrying the wrong woman for the wrong reasons.
If he couldn't even muster up enough interest in Maria to remember the color of her eyes, he knew he had to throw in the towel on this whole thing. Now. Today.
"Yeah, I'm fine," he muttered as Tony stood there, waiting for him to elaborate.
His brother raised a brow and kept silent. Tony had mastered the whole, "I'm the big brother and you can't put anything over on me," thing at a very young age. So Luke didn't try. "No, I'm not okay. But I'm going to do something about it."
Tony didn't ask stupid questions. He didn't have to. Because he really did have that big brother know-everything thing going on. "It'll be all right. The family will back you up."
"Ours, maybe," he muttered, bringing his coffee to his lips and sipping from it. It was too hot still. And he suddenly realized he'd lost his taste for coffee—he now much preferred Frappuccino.
"She might not take it as hard as you think," Tony said.
"What do you mean?"
Tony glanced over his shoulder, as if to be sure he wasn't being overheard. "Well, Gloria thinks she's been acting…"
Like the Bride of Frankenstein?
"Like she's not really happy about this wedding, either."
Or that.
He half suspected Gloria was right, because Maria sure wasn't playing the part of happy bride-to-be. In fact, lately she'd been behaving like someone who had something to hide. Obviously, his sister-in-law had noticed, too. But before Luke could ask Tony to elaborate, the door to the restaurant opened, and his fiancée entered.
"I'll talk to you later," Tony mumbled. As he walked away, he gave Luke a reassuring pat on the shoulder.
A pat for good luck? A reminder that his family would back him up? Or just a last touch between brothers because he was afraid the very volatile Italian bride was going to stab Luke through the throat with a bread knife when he told her he wanted to call off the wedding.
Maybe all of the above.
"God, what a morning. I hate traffic. I hate this whole city and every person in it." Her voice held a whiny edge he'd heard all too often in recent weeks.
"Good morning to you, too," he said to Maria as she took the seat across from him. Brown. Her eyes were brown. Which, of course, he knew. But he hadn't been able to call to mind the color ever since first meeting Rachel's blue-eyed stare earlier this week.
She frowned, a perpetual expression these days. "Sorry. It's been one of those days."
"One of those weeks," he said, nodding in agreement. "Everything seems to have gone crazy lately."
Her gaze shifted away, and her mouth tightened. "Yeah, more than you can imagine."
That was an opening. Her frown, her unhappiness, the slump of her shoulders. He didn't know Maria Martinelli as well as he ever should have, but he sure knew misery. This was about as close as he'd ever seen it. "Maria, tell me what's wrong."
She stiffened, but didn't meet his gaze. "Wrong?"
"Something's going on. I think it's about time both of us open up about it. Before it's too late."
She finally looked up. Her eyes grew suspiciously bright as she opened her mouth. But before she could say a word, the front door opened and his mother and sister-in-law, Gloria, came in, jabbering and chatting a mile a minute.
And the moment was lost. Whatever confession she'd been about to make was gone. Which meant Luke was going to have to do this the hard way.
He had to come right out and tell Maria Martinelli he didn't want to marry her.
Rachel had been able to put Lucas's engagement completely out of her mind during their casual, friendly hours at the bookstore Friday night. Right up until the intense, heady moment when he'd come so close to kissing her.
She'
d sensed how much he wanted to, and had longed for his kiss, which would have been absolutely perfect. Absolutely wonderful. Absolutely incredible.
If it hadn't been so absolutely wrong.
So she'd put a stop to things before they could get any worse than they already were. Thank God nothing serious had happened between them; she could console herself with that much, at least. It had been close. If he'd persisted—if he'd been less than a complete gentleman and had leaned down one more time so she could practically feel the warmth of his cheek, nearly taste the sweet, coffee flavor of his breath, she likely would have kissed the lips right off the man.
But he hadn't. And it had been too late. The moment had passed. She'd somehow found the strength of will to drive away, watching his figure get smaller and smaller in her rearview mirror.
Enough was enough. She couldn't deal with the temptation anymore. So it was time to be completely businesslike when it came to the Martinelli-Santori wedding. Starting with this: a sizeable package that had just been delivered by the mailman. The return address was a familiar Internet-based wedding favor supplier, domeafavor.com, from whom Rachel had ordered favors for several couples. The package was addressed to … "Mr. and Mrs. Luke Santori."
Something inside her clenched, bringing an almost physical pain with it at seeing the stark words, so blatant and harsh.
So much for completely business-like. She wanted to melt into a weeping puddle on the floor just thinking that the man she greatly feared she'd fallen head-over-heels in love with was about to walk down the aisle with someone else. He'd be out of reach forever.
"He's been out of reach all along, you fool," she reminded herself.
She was a fool for allowing that fact to slip out of her mind.
No more, however. Rachel had woken up. Gotten her head on straight and thrust all images of strong hands lingering on silk, twinkling eyes, and sexy smiles right out of her brain.
It was over. She was finished being susceptible to his wit, his humor, his charm, his laugh. Not to mention his incredible looks. "Finished," she told herself, thrusting the mental picture of him in those tight, worn jeans—and nothing else—out of her brain. "You're never going to be alone with him again."
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