Harlequin KISS August 2014 Bundle

by Amy Andrews, Aimee Carson, Avril Tremayne

  But...no. It was more than that.

  Something that had been sneaking up on her.

  Something to do with the way he jumped a foot inside his skin when she kissed him on the cheek. The little tic at the corner of his mouth that came and went, depending on his level of agitation. The slightly fascinated way he looked at her, as though he couldn’t believe his eyes. And listened to her as though he couldn’t believe his ears. The way he gave in a lot, but not always. And how, even when he let her have her way, the way he did it told her he might not always be so inclined, so she was not to take it for granted.

  How bizarre was that? She liked that he gave in—and also that maybe he wouldn’t!

  She even kind of liked the fact that he tried so hard never to smile or laugh—as though that would be too frivolous for the likes of him. It was a challenge, that. Something to change. Because everyone needed to laugh. The average person laughed thirteen times a day. She would bet her brand-new forest-green leaf-cut stilettoes that Leo Quartermaine didn’t get to thirteen even in a whole year! Not good enough.

  Now that she’d acknowledged the attraction it felt moth-to-a-flame mesmeric, standing beside him. No, not a moth—that was too fluttery. More like the bat that had flown smack into the power line a block from her apartment. She’d seen it this morning, fried into rigidity, felled by a jolt of electricity.

  Poor bat. Just going along, thinking it had everything under control, contemplating its regular upside-down hang for the night, then hitting a force that was greater than it and—frzzzzz. All over, red rover.

  Poor bat—and poor her if she let herself get too close to Leo. Because she had a feeling he could fry her to a crisp if she let him.

  Not that she would let him. She never got too close. That was the whole point of her ‘four goes and goodbye’ rule. Protecting her core.

  Leo had managed to move a little away from her—which she rectified.

  ‘This is a simple fettuccine with zucchini, feta, and prosciutto,’ he said, clueless.

  He moved once more, just a smidgeon. And Sunshine readjusted her position so she was just as close as before. Poor Leo—you really should just give up!

  He managed another little edge away. ‘We’re going to fry some garlic, grated zucchini, and lemon zest, and then toss that through the pasta with some parsley, mint, and butter. Finally we’ll throw in some feta and prosciutto—again tossed through—with a little lemon juice, salt, and pepper.’

  He was—gamely, Sunshine thought—ignoring the fact that she was practically breathing down his neck.

  He cleared his throat. Twice. ‘This—’ he was showing her a container ‘—is fresh pasta from Q Brasserie. I thought about making it here, but that might have been too much for a two-minute noodler to cope with.’ He shot her a teeny-tiny smile—more of a glint than a smile, but wowee! Be still my heart, or what?

  Sunshine watched as Leo started grating the zucchini with easy, practised efficiency. There was a long scar on his left thumb, and what looked like a healed burn mark close to his right wristbone. Assorted other war wounds. These were not wimpy hands.

  And, God, she wanted his sure, capable, scarred hands on her. All over her. It was almost suffocating how much she wanted that.

  She kept watching, a little entranced, as Leo set the zucchini to one side, then grated the lemon rind. Next he grabbed some herbs and started tearing with his beautiful strong fingers as he talked...

  His voice was deep and kind of gravelly. ‘...into strips,’ Leo said.

  Hmm... She had no idea what the start of that sentence had been.

  He unwrapped a flat parcel—inside were paper-thin slices of prosciutto—and put it in front of her. ‘Okay?’ he asked.

  ‘Sure,’ she said, figuring out that she was supposed to chop it, and grabbed a knife.

  ‘No,’ Leo said, and took the knife away.

  Lordy, Lordy. He’d actually touched her.

  Sunshine felt every one of the hairs on her arm prickle.

  She was staring at him. She knew she was.

  He was staring back.

  And then he stepped back, cleared his throat again. ‘Tear—like this,’ he said, and demonstrated. Another clear of the throat. ‘You do that and I’ll...I’ll...find the...cheese.’

  * * *

  She was humming again as she massacred the prosciutto.

  And blow him down if it wasn’t a woeful attempt at Natalie’s signature song—the truly hideous ‘Je t’aime-ich liebe-ti amor You Darling’.

  He started crushing garlic with the flat of his knife as though his life depended on it.

  She was still tearing. And humming. Please tell him she didn’t have the same insane cheesy love song obsession as Natalie. Who was not going to be performing at his brother’s wedding! Once when he’d been mid-thrust, and Natalie had sung a line of that awful song, he’d choked so hard on a laugh he’d given himself a nosebleed; that evening had not ended well.

  ‘Done,’ Sunshine said, and looked proudly at the ripped meat in front of her.

  Leo winced.

  ‘What do you want me to do next?’ she asked, with that damned glow that seemed to emanate from her pores.

  ‘Salad,’ he said, sounding as if he’d just announced a massacre.

  Which it was likely to be—of the vegetable kind.

  ‘We’ll keep it simple,’ he said. ‘Give these lettuce leaves a wash.’

  Sunshine took the lettuce leaves and ran them under the tap, her glow dimming.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ he asked as he took them from her.

  ‘Salad. It’s so...vegetarian.’

  She looked so disgruntled Leo found himself wanting to laugh again. He swallowed it. ‘It’s just a side dish. And there’s meat in the pasta, remember?’

  She wrinkled her nose. Oh-oh. Convoluted argument coming.

  ‘I’ll do it with a twist,’ he offered quickly. ‘I’ll put some salmon in it, and do a really awesome dressing that doesn’t taste remotely healthy. All right?’

  Her nose unwrinkled. ‘Okay, if you go a little heavy on the salmon and a little light on the lettuce.’

  He choked. ‘Am I designing that boot for you? No? Then just shut up and see if you can cut these grape tomatoes into quarters. They’re small, so be careful.’

  She mumbled something derogatory about tomatoes, but made a swipe with the knife.

  ‘Quarter—not slice,’ Leo put in.

  She nodded, wielded the knife again.

  ‘And not mash, for God’s sake,’ he begged.

  Sunshine made an exasperated sound and tried again.

  Leo turned his back—it was either that or wrench the knife from her—and concentrated on the salmon he’d packed as a failsafe, coating it in herbs, then laying it in a pan to fry.

  Sunshine was onto the song about love biting you in the ass, throwing in the occasional excruciating lyric—and he wanted so badly to laugh it was almost painful.

  Mid-song, however, she laughed. ‘Oops—that song is just too, too, too much, Hideous,’ she said.

  Damn if he didn’t want to snatch her up and kiss her.

  Instead he gave her some terse instructions on trimming the crunchy green beans to go into the salad, which she did abominably.

  He put water on for the pasta, then turned back to the bench.

  ‘Next, we’ll—’ He stopped, hurriedly averting his eyes as Sunshine arranged the sal
ad ingredients in a bowl. ‘We’ll just slide the salmon on top—’ shock stop as his eyes collided with the mangled contents ‘—and now I’ll get you to mix the dressing.’

  He lined up a lemon, honey, seeded mustard, sugar, black pepper, and extra virgin olive oil.

  Sunshine considered the ingredients with the utmost concentration. ‘So, I need to juice the lemon, right?’

  ‘Yes. You only need a tablespoon.’

  ‘How much is a tablespoon?’

  Repressing the telltale tic, he opened the cutlery drawer and took out a tablespoon. ‘This is a tablespoon.’

  ‘Oh. How much of everything else?’

  Limit reached. ‘Move out of the way. I’ll do it. I put a bottle of wine in the fridge. I think—no, I know—I need a nice big glass of it, if you can manage to pour that. Then go around to the other side of the counter, sit on that stool and watch. You’ve already thrown my kitchen rhythm off so things are woefully out of order.’

  ‘It seems very ordered to me.’

  ‘Well, it’s not.’

  Sunshine shrugged, unconcerned. ‘You know, I feel like one of those contestants on your show.’

  A thought too ghastly to contemplate!

  Sunshine slid past him on her way to the fridge, brushing against his arm. God! God, God, God! Her brand of casual friendliness, with the kisses and the random touches, was something he was not used to. At all.

  He didn’t like it.

  Except that he kind of did.

  * * *

  Dinner resembled a physical battle: Sunshine leaning in; Leo leaning way out.

  A less optimistic woman would have been daunted.

  But Sunshine was almost always optimistic.

  As they ate the pasta and salad they argued over assorted wedding details, from the choice of MC—‘What are you thinking to suggest anyone but yourself, Leo?’—to the need for speeches—Sunshine: yes; Leo: no!—to whether to use social media for sharing photos and videos of the function—over Leo’s dead body, apparently.

  By the time the pannacotta gelato was on the table Sunshine was in ‘what the hell?’ mode. Seven weeks to go—they had to move things along.

  ‘So!’ she said. ‘Music!’

  He went deer-in-the-headlights still. ‘Music.’

  ‘Yes. Music. I hear there’s no dancing, so we can scrap the DJ option.’

  ‘Correct.’

  She pursed her lips. ‘So! I’ve located a heavy metal band. I also know a great piano accordionist—surprisingly soulful. And I’ve heard about an Irish trio. What about one of those options? Or maybe a big band—but did you know that a big band has fourteen instruments? And where would we put fourteen musicians? I mean, I know the restaurant is spacious, but—’

  ‘I know what you’re doing, Sunshine.’

  She blinked at him, the picture of innocence—she knew because she’d practised in the mirror. ‘What do you mean, Leo?’

  ‘Suggesting horrific acts and thinking that by the time you get around to naming the option you really want I’ll be so relieved I’ll agree instantly.’

  ‘But that’s not true. Well...not strictly true. Because I have named what I really want. Natalie Clarke.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because.’

  ‘Because why?’

  ‘Caleb doesn’t want her there.’

  ‘Is that the only reason? Because I can talk to Caleb.’

  ‘It’s the only reason you’re going to get.’

  Sunshine gave him a bemused look. ‘Is this because you used to date her? You know, I’m good friends with all my exes.’

  ‘I, however, am not.’

  ‘Why not?’

  Leo scooped up a spoonful of gelato. Ate it. ‘I just don’t do that.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘They’re just not that...that kind.’

  ‘Kind?’

  ‘Kind of person. People. Not the kind of people I’m friends with.’

  She nodded wisely. ‘You’re choosing wrong.’

  He took another mouthful of gelato. Said nothing.

  ‘Because you don’t want someone, really,’ she said. ‘You’re like me.’ Sunshine tapped her heart. ‘No room in here.’

  Leo’s spoon clattered into his bowl. ‘I’ve got room. Plenty. But I want...’ He stopped, looking confused.

  ‘You want...?’

  ‘Someone...special.’

  ‘Special as in...?’

  ‘As in someone to throw myself off the cliff for, leap into the abyss with,’ he said, sounding goaded. ‘There! Are you happy?’

  ‘My happiness is not the issue here.’

  He dragged a hand over his head. Gave a short, surprised laugh. ‘I want all or nothing.’

  ‘And Natalie didn’t?’

  ‘She wanted...the illusion. She wanted the illusion of it without the depth.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘Yes—oh.’

  ‘Not that I think there’s anything wrong with not wanting the depth.’

  ‘Of course there’s something wrong with it,’ he said with asperity. ‘You’re wrong about the whole no-room, sex-not-love thing.’

  ‘Each to his or her own,’ Sunshine said. ‘And I still don’t see why Natalie can’t perform at the reception. You wouldn’t even have to talk to her. I could do the negotiations.’

  He snorted.

  ‘Why the snort?’

  ‘Forget it.’

  ‘I am not going to forget it.

  ‘Look—’ He stopped, shot a hand across his scalp again. ‘No, I don’t want to go there.’

  ‘Well, I do!’

  ‘Oh, for God’s sake!’ Leo looked at her, exasperated. ‘Natalie is a bunny-boiler, okay? She would not settle for negotiating with you—she’d be aiming for me. Always, always me. Got it?’

  Sunshine sat back in her seat. Stared. ‘No!’

  ‘Yes!’

  ‘But...why?’

  ‘How the hell do I know why? I only know the what—like eating at one of my restaurants every week. Driving my staff nuts with questions about me. Sending me stuff. So just leave it, Sunshine. I know another singer. Her name’s Kate. I’ll give you some CDs to listen to.’

  ‘Is she an ex?’

  ‘No. She’s just a good singer with no agenda.’

  Sunshine sighed inwardly but admitted defeat. ‘Fair enough.’ She stretched her arms over her head and arched her back. ‘Mmm. Next time maybe you should teach me how to make paella. I love paella.’

  ‘One problem with that plan,’ Leo said. ‘I am never entering a kitchen with you again.’

  ‘Oh, that’s mean.’

  ‘Think of the poor tomatoes.’

  ‘What was wrong with the tomatoes?’

  ‘Other than the fact that they looked like blood-spatter from a crime scene?’

  Sunshine bit her lip against a gurgle of laughter. ‘What about the prosciutto? I managed to tear that the way you showed me.’

  ‘Flayed flesh.’

  ‘Ouch,’ Sunshine said, but she was laughing. ‘What about how I scooped the gelato?’

  ‘Please! Like ooze from a wound.’

  ‘It’s a good thing I don’t have any coffee, or we’d be up to poison.’

  ‘Since I didn’t see an espresso machine in that shell of a kitchen, poison sounds about right.’

  Rolling her eyes, Sunshine pushed her chair back from the table. ‘We
ll, then, I will make you some tea—something all well-bred hippies can do. Unless you have some words to throw at me about scalded skin. The invitation is on the coffee table, waiting for your approval, so why don’t you check it out while I clear up? Something else I can do.’

  She watched from the corner of her eye as Leo moved to the couch, sat, reached for the invitation.

  He was smiling—full-on!—as he slid the pad of his thumb so gently across the card, as though it were something precious. Oh, he did look good when he smiled. It was kind of crooked, with the left side lifting up further than the right. A little rusty. And it just got her—bang!— right in the chest.

  Fried bat, anyone?

  Tearing her eyes away, Sunshine finished making the tea.

  ‘So! Is it okay?’ she asked, sliding two mugs onto the coffee table and sitting beside Leo.

  He turned to her, smiled again. Heaven!

  ‘It’s great. The calligraphy too.’

  ‘I guess the next step is to discuss the menu.’

  Leo picked up his mug. ‘I’m going with a seafood bias, given the location.’

  ‘Uncanny! Exactly what I was thinking.’

  ‘Canapés to start. Local oysters, freshly shucked clams served ceviche-style, poached prawns with aioli, and hand-milked Yarra Valley caviar with crème fraîche.’

  ‘Ohhhhh...’

  ‘Buffalo mozzarella and semi-dried tomato on croutons, honey-roasted vegetable tartlets, and mini lamb and feta kofta’

  ‘Mmm...’

  ‘Just champagne, beer, and sparkling water—we don’t need to get too fancy with the drinks to start. But any special requirements we can accommodate on request.’

  ‘Good, because Jon’s mother will insist on single malt whisky—and through every course. Nothing we say ever dissuades her.’

  ‘Well, it’s better than a line of coke with every course.’

  She gaped at him. ‘Line of...?’

  ‘Natalie,’ he said shortly. ‘Another reason she will not be performing at the wedding. Just to be absolutely clear.’

  ‘That’s...’ She waved a hand, lost.

  ‘Anyway, moving on. The first course will be calamari, very lightly battered and deep fried, served with a trio of dipping sauces—lime and coriander, smoked jalapeno mayonnaise, and a sweet plum sauce.’