Georgeanne lowered her hand and sighed heavily as she eyed the special menu. Usually she thrived on challenge. She had fun creating wonderful events and planning unusual menus. She loved the feeling of accomplishment she got at the end when everything was packed back up and loaded into her vans. But not this time. She was tired and didn’t feel up to the task of catering a sit-down dinner for one hundred people. She hoped she would by September. Maybe her life would be more settled then, but for two weeks now, beginning with the day John had walked back into her life, she’d felt as if she were riding a roller coaster. Since the picnic in the park, he’d met her and Lexie at the Seattle Aquarium, and he’d taken them to Lexie’s favorite restaurant, the Iron Horse. Both events had been tense, but at least in the darkened warrens of the aquarium, Georgeanne hadn’t had to think of anything more mentally taxing than sharks and sea otters. The Iron Horse had been different. As they’d waited for their burgers brought to the table by a small train, attempting polite conversation had been excruciating. The whole time she’d felt as if she were holding her breath, waiting for the other shoe to drop. The only time she’d felt she could breathe was when hockey fans approached their table and asked for John’s autograph.
If things were strained between Georgeanne and John, Lexie hadn’t seemed to notice at all. Lexie had immediately warmed to her father, which didn’t surprise Georgeanne. Lexie was friendly, outgoing, and genuinely liked people. She smiled, laughed easily, and assumed that everyone just naturally thought she was the most wonderful little invention since Velcro. John obviously agreed with her. He listened attentively to her repeated dog and cat stories and laughed at all of her elephant jokes, which were pretty bad and not in the least bit funny.
Georgeanne set the contract aside and reached for a bill from the electrician who’d spent two days fixing the ventilation in the kitchen. She tried not to let the situation with John bother her. Lexie behaved no differently with John than she did with Charles. Still, there was a risk with John that wasn’t there with any other man. John was Lexie’s daddy, and there was a part of Georgeanne that feared their relationship. It was a relationship she couldn’t share. A relationship she’d never known, would never understand, and could only watch from a distance. John was the only man who could threaten Georgeanne’s closeness with her daughter.
A knock rapped her door as it swung open at the same time. Georgeanne looked up as her first cook stuck her head in the room. Sarah was a bright university student and a gifted pastry chef. “There’s a man here to see you.”
Georgeanne recognized the excited spark in Sarah’s eyes. Over the past two weeks, she’d seen it on a myriad of female faces. It was usually followed by giggles, ridiculous fawning, and requests for autographs. The door opened wide, and she glanced past Sarah to the man who reduced women to such embarrassing behavior. The man who looked oddly at ease in a formal tuxedo.
“Hello, John,” she greeted, and rose to her feet. He walked into the office, filling the small, feminine room with his size and masculine presence. A black silk tie hung loose down the front of a white pleated shirt. The top gold stud was left unfastened. “What can I do for you?”
“I was in the neighborhood and I thought I’d drop by,” he answered, and shrugged out of the jacket.
“Do you need anything?” Sarah inquired.
Georgeanne moved toward the doorway. “Please have a seat, John,” she said over her shoulder. She looked out into the kitchen at her employees, who weren’t even bothering to hide their interest. “No, thank you,” she said, and closed the door on their curious faces. She turned around and assessed John’s appearance in one glance. His jacket lay over his shoulder, held in place by the hook of two fingers. Against the stark white shirt, black suspenders ran up his wide chest and made a Y down his back. He looked good enough to eat with a spoon.
“Who’s this?” he asked, holding a photograph in a porcelain frame. Staring back at him, Ray Heron looked especially fetching in a pageboy wig and a red kimono. Although Georgeanne had never met Ray, she admired his skill with eyeliner and his flair for dramatic color. Not every woman, or man, could wear that particular shade of red and look so good in it.
“That’s Mae’s twin brother,” she answered, and walked behind her desk once more. She waited for him to say something derogatory and cruel. He didn’t. He just lifted one eyebrow and set the photograph back on her desk.
Once again Georgeanne was reminded of how out of place he looked in her environment. He didn’t fit. He was too big, too masculine, and too incredibly handsome. “Are you getting married?” she joked as she sat.
He glanced around, then tossed the jacket on the back of an armchair. “Hell no! This isn’t mine.” He pulled the chair forward and took a seat. “I was in Pioneer Square doing an interview,” he explained casually, and shoved his hands into the front pockets of the wool trousers.
Pioneer Square was about five miles from Georgeanne’s business. Not exactly in the neighborhood. “Nice tux. Whose is it?”
“I don’t know. The magazine probably borrowed it from somewhere.”
“What magazine?”
“GQ. They wanted a couple of pictures by the waterfall,” he answered so nonchalantly, Georgeanne wondered if he was being purposely blasй.
“I needed a little break, so I took off. Do you have a few minutes?”
“A few,” she answered, and glanced at the clock on the corner of her desk. “I’m catering a party at three.”
He cocked his head to the side. “How many parties do you cater a week?”
Why was he fishing? “Depends on the week,” she answered evasively. “Why?”
John glanced about the office. “You seem to be doing real well.”
She didn’t trust him for a second. He wanted something. “Are you surprised?”
He looked back at her. “I don’t know. I guess I just never figured you for a businesswoman. I always thought you’d gone back to Texas and snagged yourself a rich husband.”
His unflattering speculation irritated her, but she supposed he wasn’t completely without justification. “As you know, that didn’t happen. I stayed here and helped build this business.” Then, because she couldn’t help bragging just a bit, she added, “We do very well.”
“I can see that.”
Georgeanne stared at the man in front of her. He looked like John. He had the same smile, same scar running through his eyebrow, but he wasn’t acting like him. He was acting… well, almost nice. Where was the guy who scowled and loved to provoke her? “Is that why you’re here? To talk about my business?”
“No. I have something I want to ask you.”
“What?”
“Do you ever take a vacation?”
“Sure,” she answered, suspicious about where his questions were leading. Did he think that she never took Lexie on a vacation? Last summer they’d flown to Texas to visit Aunt Lolly. “July is typically slow in the catering business. So Mae and I close for a few weeks.”
“Which weeks?”
“The middle two.”
He tilted his head again and stared into her eyes. “I want Lexie to come with me to Cannon Beach for a few days.”
“Cannon Beach, Oregon?”
“Yes. I have a house there.”
“No,” she answered easily. “She can’t go.”
“Why not?”
“Because she doesn’t know you well enough to take a trip with you.”
He frowned. “Obviously you’d come with her.”
Georgeanne was incredulous. She placed her hands on the top of her desk and leaned forward. “You want me to stay in your house? With you?”
“Of course.”
It was an impossible idea. “Are you completely nuts?”
He shrugged. “Probably.”
“I have to work.”
“You just said you close for two weeks next month.”
“That’s true.”
“Then say yes.”
“No way.”
“Why?”
“Why?” she repeated, amazed that he should even ask her to consider staying at another beach house with him. “John, you don’t like me.”
“I’ve never said I didn’t like you.”
“You don’t have to say it. You just look at me and I know it’s true.”
His brows drew together. “How do I look at you?”
She sat back. “You scowl and frown at me as if I’d done something tacky, like scratch myself in public.”
He smiled. “That bad, huh?”
“Yes.”
“What if I promise not to scowl at you?”
“I don’t think that’s a promise you can keep. You are a very moody person.”
He removed one hand from his pocket and placed it over the even pleats of his shirt. “I’m very easygoing.”
Georgeanne rolled her eyes. “And Elvis is alive and raising minks somewhere in Nebraska.”
John chuckled. “Okay, I’m usually easygoing, but you’ve got to admit, this situation between us is unusual.”
“That’s true,” she conceded, although she doubted he would ever be mistaken for a nice sensitive guy.
John placed his elbows on his knees and leaned forward. The ends of his tie dangled above his thighs while his suspenders stayed flat against his chest. “This is important to me, Georgie. I don’t have a lot of time before I have to leave for training camp. I need to be with Lexie someplace where people don’t recognize me.”
“People won’t recognize you in Oregon?”
“Probably not, and if they do, no one in Oregon gives a damn about a Washington hockey player. I want to give Lexie my full attention, without interruption. I can’t do that here. You’ve been out with me. You’ve seen what it’s like.”
He wasn’t bragging, just stating a fact. “I imagine getting asked for your autograph all the time must get fairly annoying.”
He shrugged one shoulder. “I usually don’t mind. Except when I’m standing in front of a urinal and my hands are full.”
Hands. What an ego! She tried not to laugh. “Your fans must really like you to follow you into the bathroom.”
“They don’t know me. They like who they think I am. I’m just a regular guy who plays hockey for a living instead of driving a backhoe.” A self-deprecating smile twisted one corner of his mouth. “If they really knew me, they probably wouldn’t like me any more than you do.”
I never said that I didn’t like you. The sentence hung between them, unspoken and waiting for Georgeanne to employ some tact and repeat it. She could tell him she liked him-easily. She’d been raised on polite lies. But when she looked into his cobalt blue eyes, she wasn’t sure how much would be a lie. As he sat there looking like every woman’s fantasy, charming her with his smiles, she wasn’t sure how much she really disliked him anymore. Somehow, he’d moved up from a negative thirty to about a minus ten. An improvement over an hour ago. “I like you more than this paper cut,” she admitted as she held up her index finger. “But less than a bad hair day.”
He looked at her for several prolonged moments. “So… I’m somewhere between a paper cut and a bad hair day?”
“That’s correct.”
“I can live with that.”
Georgeanne didn’t know what to say to him when he was being so agreeable. She was saved the trouble by the ringing of the telephone. “Excuse me for a moment,” she said, and picked up the receiver. “Heron Catering, this is Georgeanne.” The male voice on the other end didn’t waste any time telling her exactly what he wanted.
“No,” she said in answer to his inquiry. “We don’t do naked-torso cakes.”
John chuckled beneath his breath as he stood. He glanced about the room, then moved toward a bookcase beneath the window. The sun glinted off a gold cuff link at his wrist as he reached behind a thriving fern and picked up one of Georgeanne’s least favorite pictures. Mae had snapped the photo during Georgeanne’s eighth month of pregnancy, which was why it was hidden behind the plant.
“I’m sure,” she said into the receiver, “you have us confused with someone else.” The gentleman adamantly argued that he was positive Heron’s had catered his friend’s bachelor party. He went into detail, and Georgeanne was forced to lower her voice and say, “I know for a fact that we have never provided topless pool waitresses for any occasion. And I don’t even know what a bootie girl is.” She looked at John’s profile, but his expression gave no indication that he’d heard her. His brows were lowered as he stared at the picture of Georgeanne looking as big as a circus tent in a pink and white polka-dot maternity dress.
When she hung up the telephone, she stood and walked around the side of her desk. “That’s an awful picture,” she said as she came to stand beside him.
“You were huge.”
“Thanks.” She made a grab for the photograph, but he held it out of her reach.
“I didn’t mean fat,” he said as he stared at the picture. “I meant very pregnant.”
“I was very pregnant.” She reached for it again and missed. “Now give it to me.”
“What did you crave?”
“What are you talking about?”
“Pregnant women are supposed to crave pickles and ice cream.”
“Sushi.”
He grimaced and looked at her out of the corners of his eyes. “You like sushi?”
“Not anymore. I ate so much of it that I couldn’t hardly stand the smell of fish for a long time. And kisses. I craved kisses every night at about nine-thirty.”
His gaze lowered to her mouth. “From who?”
She felt her stomach go a little squishy. A very dangerous feeling. “Chocolate kisses.”
“Raw fish and chocolate, hmm.” He stared at her mouth for a few more seconds, then looked back at the picture. “How much did Lexie weigh when she was born?”
“Nine pounds three ounces.”
His eyes widened, and he smiled as if he were very proud of himself. “Holy shit!”
“That’s what Mae said when they weighed Lexie.” She grabbed for the picture again and this time snatched it from his grasp.
He turned to her and held out his hand. “I wasn’t finished looking at that.”
Georgeanne hid it behind her back. “Yes, you were.”
He dropped his hand to his side. “Don’t make me body-check you.”
“You wouldn’t.”
“Oh, yes I would,” he said, his voice low, silky. “It’s my job and I’m a professional.”
It had been a long time since Georgeanne had flirted and teased. She didn’t do that sort of thing anymore. She retreated a few steps backward. “I don’t know what body-check means. Is it like being frisked?”
“No.” He tilted his head back and looked at her from beneath lowered lids. “But I might be willing to change the rules for you.”
The edge of the desk stopped Georgeanne. The room felt as if it had suddenly gotten a whole lot smaller, and the look in his eyes made her heart flutter like a debutante’s fake lashes.
“Come on now, give it up.”
Before she knew exactly how it happened, seven years of self-improvement flew out the window. She opened her mouth and words poured out like warm butter. “I haven’t heard such sweet talk since high school,” she drawled.
John grinned. “Did it work?”
She smiled and shook her head.
“Are you going to make me get rough with you?”
“That didn’t work, either.”
His deep, rich laugher filled her office and lit his eyes. The man standing before her was intriguing and magnetic. This was the John who’d charmed her out of her clothes seven years, ago then dumped her faster than toxic waste. “Aren’t the people from GQ waiting for you?”
Without taking his eyes from her, he raised his arm and pushed back his cuff. He turned his wrist pulse side up and quickly glanced at his gold watch. “Are you kicking me out?”
“Absolutely.”
>
He tugged his cuff down and reached for his tuxedo jacket. “Think about Oregon.”
“I don’t need to think about it.” She wasn’t going. Period.
The door swung opened and Charles entered, putting an end to any further discussion and bringing with him a change in the air. With his brows raised, Charles looked from Georgeanne to John, then back again. “Hello,” he said.
Georgeanne straightened. “I thought we weren’t meeting until noon.” She set the picture on the desk.
“I finished with my meeting early, and I thought I’d come by and pick you up.” He looked back at John and something passed between the two men. Some primal and intrinsic male thing. A nonverbal encoded language that she didn’t understand. Georgeanne broke the silence and introduce the two of them.
“Georgeanne tells me you’re Lexie’s father,” Charles said after several strained moments.
“That’s right.” John was ten years younger than Charles. He was tall and athletic. A beautiful man with a beautiful body. His mind was as twisted as a curly fry.
Charles stood an inch taller than Georgeanne and was thin rather than beefy. His looks were more distinguished, like a senator or congressman. He was sane. “Lexie’s a wonderful little girl.”
“Yes. She is.”
Charles slid a possessive arm around Georgeanne’s waist and pulled her against his side. “Georgeanne is a fantastic mother, and an incredible woman.” He gave her a little squeeze. “She’s a talented cook, too.”
“Yes. I remember.”
Charles’s brows lowered. “She doesn’t need anything.”
Simply Irresistible Page 17