by Day Leclaire
Fumbling for her purse, she removed her glasses. “It’s so annoying. I can’t see up close without these.” Settling the wire rims onto the bridge of her nose, she slipped from her chair and crossed to his side. She crouched down until their shoulders bumped.
He could smell her perfume. The tantalizing scent held a crisp floral freshness, chaste and sweet. And yet for some reason it stirred an image of hot sultry nights and desperate lovemaking. He shook his head, trying to dispel the impression. How the hell could one odor combine such innocence with such decadence? Whoever had marketed it must have been a genius.
She leaned nearer and he noticed that she’d worn her hair piled on top of her head instead of loose. For some reason, that drove him crazy, too. Fine, silky curls clung to her temple and the pale nape of her neck, swirling hypnotically with her every movement. All he could think about was satin skin on top of satin sheets.
“This is interesting,” she murmured.
He forced himself to focus. “What is?”
“The pattern your bread crumbs have made.”
“This little game of yours is ridiculous, not interesting.”
She laughed, the sound low and intimate, as though they shared a private joke. “Shall I see if I can remember how this works? It’s been a while since I’ve played this game.”
If it kept her this close, he’d agree to almost anything. “Sure. Be my guest.”
She reached for the shaker filled with Parmesan cheese. Capturing his hand in hers, she dumped a small amount in his palm. Blowing gently, she sent the grated cheese scattering in among the bread crumbs.
“What did you do that for?” he questioned.
“Supposedly, the bread crumbs are our actions and the decisions we make. The cheese represents our emotions.”
He stifled a laugh. “Of course. Makes perfect sense,” he lied without compunction. “So what does it say?”
“Well... First of all, you’re an innie.”
“Come again?”
“You snap your stick inward, so it stays contained in one small area. That makes you an innie.”
“You’re an outie, aren’t you?”
Her mouth tilted in a wry smile. “Oh, yes.” She gestured toward her side of the table. “See? My crumbs go everywhere. It means I’m exuberant about life.”
“Somehow that doesn’t surprise me.”
Her glasses slid to the tip of her nose and she fixed him with pure blue eyes. They were soft and pale, ringed on the outer edge in indigo. He’d never seen such unfettered warmth reflected in a woman’s eyes before. And the promises he discovered mere—promises of love and laughter and joy—stirred a craving he’d long ago suppressed. It had been years since someone had regarded him with such unconditional acceptance.
“What does it mean?” He held her gaze as he gestured toward the crumbs on his side of the table. “What characterizes an innie?”
“Innies like to control their life and those in it.”
“That doesn’t come as any surprise.”
“It also means you’re precise and careful.” With a small sigh of regret, she shifted her attention to the tablecloth. A frown crept across her brow. “Even your crumbs are organized. Except—”
“Except what?”
“See on the edges, how some have scattered off in little tangents?”
“It’s straight physics, sweetheart. You drop something from a specific height and it forms a similar pattern over and over.”
“Similar, but not the same. That’s where the art of reading bread crumbs comes in. Let’s see what I still remember....” She tapped the aberrant crumb trail with a long red fingernail. “These tangents are your future. The way they’ve fallen means you’re looking for something.”
“And what is it I’m looking for?” Cynicism had drifted into his voice. “You?”
“No. Not me.” She turned again and her lips were so close to his, he could feel her words brush by, like butterfly wings flitting lazily across his skin. “You’re looking for a woman. The one woman you can love for the rest of your life.”
Reed’s mouth twisted into a parody of a smile. He should have seen it coming. He’d been a fool not to. Reaching out, he swept the crumbs from the table. “Wrong, sweetheart. That’s the last thing I need in my life.”
He caught her elbow in an iron grip, fighting to ignore the softness of her skin, fighting to resist the urge to feather his calloused hands over the sensitive curve of her inner arm. He wanted her. Wanted to explore the pale, sweet swell of her breasts and the vulnerable length of her neck. To lose himself in the moist lushness of her mouth until her desire matched his.
He gathered his control, refusing to be sidetracked. He wasn’t about to let another woman screw up his life. Not again. Not ever again. “Now tell me what the hell you’re doing here,” he demanded. “And it had better be good.”
“Okay.” She offered a tentative smile. “You see... I’m your practice date.”
CHAPTER FOUR
IT TOOK Reed a full minute to assimilate Angie’s words. “Practice date?” he repeated.
“Right. Consider it a dress rehearsal. We go out and I show you how to treat a woman on a date.” Ever so gently she tugged at the arm he held. “For instance, you don’t grab a woman with such force. You might leave a bruise.”
He unclamped his hand and allowed her to slip free. In a graceful swirl of silk, she rose and returned to her side of the table. “Thanks for the advice,” he ground out. “I’ll try and remember. Mind if I give you a dating tip in return?”
She tucked her eyeglasses into the pale curls crowning her head. “Not at all.”
He leaned across the table. “Don’t set up your boss. It could lead to a serious case of unemployment.”
She sighed. “I suspected you wouldn’t take this well.”
“Then why do it?”
For a moment her amusement dimmed and her smile had a bittersweet quality. It tempted him to enclose her in his arms until the laughter returned to her eyes. But he didn’t dare betray those feelings. She stirred in him a dangerous hunger, one he could never sate—a craving that wouldn’t ease over time or with familiarity. No. If he ever cut loose enough to enjoy Ms. Makepeace’s charms, one taste wouldn’t satisfy him. Better to stay angry. At least anger enabled him to hold her at a safe distance.
She leaned an elbow on the table and cupped her chin in her palm. Candlelight licked across her cheekbones and silvered the pale blue of her eyes. “I watched you with Pamela the other night.”
Watched and had taken notes. Were they still in that minuscule purse of hers, listed and numbered on that damned steno pad? “My personal life isn’t any of your business.”
“You made it my business when you requested my help finding a wife.”
He leaned back in his seat with an audible groan. “Don’t start that again.”
“Don’t you want to marry and have a family?”
His mouth thinned, her reference to a family more painful than he cared to admit. “When I’m ready and not a minute sooner.”
“If you’re not ready, why go along with all these dates your mother sets up?”
“Because it costs little to humor her and it eases her conscience over a past incident.”
“Eases her conscience?” Angie paused to consider his comment. “A ‘past incident’ suggests that you were once involved in a serious relationship.” He didn’t respond, totally unwilling to explain about Emily and the circumstances under which she’d left. Not that his silence deterred her. “I gather your mother interfered in some way that she now regrets?”
“I don’t want to discuss it. You’re my secretary, in case you’ve forgotten. I don’t know why my family saw fit to involve you in any of this, but I’d appreciate it if you’d stay out.”
“The list—”
“Must have been someone’s idea of a joke,” he interrupted. “I don’t need a wife. Should I change my mind sometime in the future, I’ll take care
of it myself, without the help of my mother, my brother or my secretary. Are we clear about this?”
She inclined her head. “Absolutely.” Laughter returned to her expression, like the sun emerging from a bank of clouds after a summer shower. It brightened her features, caught in her eyes and teased at the comers of her lips. “But since we’re here—”
“I should take advantage of your offer for a practice date?”
“Definitely.” She reached for her purse and removed the infamous steno pad. Untangling her glasses from the curls on top of her head, she propped the gold wire rims on her nose once more. “I’ve made a list of suggestions that might help you.”
His mouth twisted. “Big surprise.”
“Would you like to hear them?”
“Can I stop you?”
Her smile flashed again. “Doubtful.”
“Then get it over with.”
“Okay. Broken down into consumable pieces we have the following....” She ran her finger slowly down the length of the page. “The initial meeting. That’s vital, of course, since first impressions are the most important. Second is the preliminary conversation, which is the best chance you’ll have to pique her interest. That’s followed by discussing the dinner order.” She peered at him over the top of her wire rims. “I noticed you and Pamela didn’t do much discussing the other night.”
“You’re quite right.” He strove to appear suitably apologetic. “We were both so overcome by the urge to consume the sole, the conversation sort of dried up at. that point.”
She wrinkled her nose. “Why anyone would order sole at an Italian restaurant is quite beyond me.”
He shrugged. “Sorry. I guess we both lost our heads.”
“Humph. Perhaps if you had lost your heads a little, we wouldn’t be having a practice date.” She went back to perusing her list. “After the order you carefully enter into more serious conversation, find some common ground and learn more about each other. Next comes eating and the fine art of flirtation, followed by glances, a few brief touches and coffee.”
“Touches and coffee? Aren’t you rushing things a bit?” he asked mildly.
“No. Touching is vital. It cements the connection. Finally we have dessert or dessert. Also known as the love rush.”
“What the hell is that?”
She lifted an eyebrow. “You’ve never experienced the love rush?”
He’d be damned if he’d admit to any such thing. “I didn’t say that. I merely asked what it was.”
“It’s when the passion between the two of you is so strong, you don’t bother wading all the way through the meal. Other, more important matters are on your mind.”
“Oh. You mean her apartment or yours.”
“I most certainly do not.” She tossed her glasses to the table and glared at him. “Only a man would phrase it so crudely. I’m talking about romance. I’m talking about that irresistible attraction that flares between a man and a woman. An attraction that’s so strong, food is meaningless. The urge for privacy becomes paramount.”
Privacy, huh? He leaned forward. “It’s called sex, Ms. Makepeace.”
She leaned forward, as well. “It’s called love, Mr. Harding!”
“Women call it making love. Men call it getting—”
“Oh!” She straightened abruptly. “No wonder you need dating lessons!”
That stopped him. “My apologies, Angie. Perhaps you’re right. I guess I could use a few dating tips.”
She eyed him suspiciously. “Are you serious?”
“It can’t hurt.” And it would be interesting to see how far she intended to take the evening. “Let’s start from the top, shall we? We’ve just arrived at the restaurant and we’re meeting for the first time. What would make the best sort of first impression?”
“A smile.”
“That’s it?”
“It’s a great start.” She tilted her head to one side. “Do you realize you didn’t smile once at Pamela?”
“There’s a reason for that. Pamela didn’t make me want to smile.” When she started to interrupt, he held up his hands in mock surrender. “Okay, I’ll smile. Do we touch at that point?”
“If you’d like to shake her hand, that’s acceptable. A kiss on the cheek strikes me as too practiced, so I’d avoid that. And whatever you do, don’t kiss her hand. Unless you’re European it’ll seem fake.” She regarded him with a wistful expression. “I don’t suppose you’re European?”
“Born and bred in the good ol’ U.S. of A. Why?”
She shrugged. “I’ve never had a man kiss my hand before. I thought it might be a new experience.” Before he could think of a response, she buried her face in her steno pad again.
Plucking her glasses from the center of the table, he perched them on the tip of her nose. “Here. Try these.”
“Oh, thanks.” She adjusted them slightly, the crystal lenses appearing to wink at him. “That’s much better. Okay, after the initial meeting, there’s the preliminary conversation. You know, that initial break-the-ice chitchat.”
“I’ve never been very good at that.”
“Try asking how she met your mother.”
“Excellent suggestion. How did you meet my mother?”
He’d caught her totally flat-footed. She stared at him, her eyes wide and startled. “I—I didn’t.”
Reed’s regard turned sharkish. “Really? She called and arranged tonight. How could she have done that if she doesn’t know you?”
She’d really stepped in it this time. “That’s not important—”
Fury gathered in his eyes as he slowly put the pieces of the puzzle together. “You arranged this with her, didn’t you? Perhaps with Joel’s assistance?”
Angie watched him apprehensively. “You’re beginning to look angry again. That’s not a very good idea for a first date.”
“Did the three of you put your heads together and decide that I needed dating lessons? Are you all in on it?”
She couldn’t lie. Nor did she want to answer with the truth. Silence truly seemed the best option. Not that he’d let her get away with it.
Any remaining hint of humor vanished from his expression. “You set me up.”
“You’re not smiling anymore.”
A dangerous glint appeared in his eyes. “It would seem everyone knows what’s best for me. And they know it better than I do.”
“That’s not quite—”
“You’d like to teach me how to be a good date?” he interrupted.
“If it means another change of subject, I’d love to teach you how to be a good date.”
“Then get on with it, Ms. Makepeace. It may be the last job you have at Harding’s.”
Actually, it was her last job opportunity. Not that she could explain that to him. “You’re supposed to smile, remember?”
“Oh, right.” He bared his teeth. “How’s that.”
“I guess it’ll do.”
“Next we’re supposed to exchange general chitchat.”
“Perhaps we should skip that part,” she muttered. “It seems to bring out the worst in you.”
“Only when I discover I’ve been deceived.”
“I haven’t lied to you. Not once. You may not care for my methods, but I’ve answered every question you’ve ever asked with the truth.”
“Then answer this one. Do you really think I’m in need of your services, Angie? That I don’t know how to treat a date?”
He asked the question ever so softly, the words a blatant challenge. She studied him in open curiosity. Did he need help? She wouldn’t have thought so.
Reed was a striking man, large and yet carrying himself with assurance and grace. She’d had over a week to watch him at work, to take note of his intelligence and patience. Sure, he had a temper, but he balanced it with justice. She suppressed her amusement. If he hadn’t, she’d have been fired on her very first day. And what woman could resist the warmth in his eyes, the hint of molten gold that accented the autumnal
greens and browns? If she’d still been a woman, instead of an angel—
The sharp pain of loss caught her totally off guard. What had she been thinking? This man wasn’t for her. No man was. She’d been sent to provide him with an earthbound woman. One who would love him all his days and who would bear his children. A woman who’d greet the kiss of morning trapped snug within his arms. A wife who’d fill the night’s passage with the music of her sleep-laden breath and the scented heat of her body. Someone he could grow old with, someone to delight in all the special memories they’d experience together and share the burden of their joint sorrows.
And that someone wasn’t her.
“What is it, Angie? What’s wrong?”
The urgent timbre of his voice banished her thoughts, forcing her to focus on the task she’d been set. “I was thinking about your future—”
“They didn’t look like happy thoughts.”
“They were,” she insisted. For you.
“And you don’t lie.”
“I can’t. Although there are times when I’d like to.”
“Is this one of those times?”
“No. Actually, it isn’t.” She lifted her gaze to his, willing him to believe. “It’s not always comfortable telling you the truth. It seems to irritate you.”
“Nicely put.”
“Thanks. But I’d still rather be frank.”
“And you really think that as long as we’re here, we should go ahead with our practice date?”
“I watched you with Pamela,” she reminded. “Trust me. A little practice wouldn’t hurt.”
“Okay.” She didn’t like the way his eyes glittered. He looked like Scratch at the dog’s most mischievous. “I’ll practice my dating skills on you. I trust you’ll warn me if I make a mistake?”
She regarded Reed with acute suspicion. How was it possible that this man could fill her with such uncertainty? No man had been able to do that, not in all her years on earth or all the time she’d spent within heaven’s gates. And why now? Reed represented her very last chance to prove herself worthy. Just great. Her last chance and Goodenkind had stuck her with a man capable of muddling her thinking and arousing desires totally inappropriate in an angel.