by Lynn LaFleur
“I didn’t mean to touch a sore spot.”
“It’s not a sore spot, it’s that…well…I’m just not Lily. Aunt Rose will never understand that.”
The warmth in Brett’s smile nearly melted her. “Hey, I understand where you’re coming from. Everyone thought The Bullet was such a cool nickname. Used to aggravate the hell out of me.”
“Really? I thought most jocks…”
His smile suddenly lost its warmth. “I’m not ‘most jocks’, Abby. I left that life on the field.”
“I’m sorry, I…” Her voice trailed off into a hanging silence.
Brett broke that silence. “Your aunt always attends the Gala as one of our special guests. Will you come instead?”
Hardly. She planned to spend Saturday night packing for her return trip to New York first thing Monday morning. “My aunt must have taken her invitation with her.”
“That’s easy to fix.” Before she could say no, Brett reached inside his jacket pocket and took out his cell phone. He pressed a button and moments later, frowned. “Going to voice mail.” He looked away. “Jordan, it’s Brett. Please messenger over one of the VIP invitations to Love In Bloom ASAP. For…” He looked at Abby and winked. “Ms. Abby Horton. Thanks. I’ll see you around three.” He pocketed the phone. “You’re all set.”
“I wish you hadn’t done that.”
“Why? You don’t dance? Don’t eat? Don’t like fine wine?”
“Of course I eat and dance and love fine wine.”
“Then it’s settled. Reception at six. Dinner at seven, dancing ‘til midnight.”
“Really, I…”
“Shh.” He pressed a forefinger to his lips, wonderfully soft-looking lips. Succulent lips. She was doomed. “When I say it’s settled, it’s settled.”
Abby knew when to stop arguing. Instead she began processing the charge. From the corner of her eyes, she saw Brett leaf through the Underground Guide and smooth the page that crumpled when she tossed the magazine aside.
“Have you been to Whispers?” He turned the book toward her. “Seaside’s naughtiest little secret.”
She looked up. “The flowers for your mother and Jordan Ito are $150.00 each. The other nine arrangements, $75.00 apiece.”
He brushed the expense aside.
Abby handed him the credit card slip. He scribbled his name and pocketed the plastic, then lazily rested his forearms on the counter. Leaning forward, he stood nose to nose with her.
With his face so near, she saw a hint of blond shadow forming on his cheeks. Pierce’s shadow had been coarse. Brett’s looked soft. She fought the urge to run the back of her hand along the side of his face to discover the answer for herself.
He smiled, and in that smile, she sensed mischief and lust. Heat rushed from the top of her head right down to her toes. “Aren’t you even a little curious about Whispers? I was the first time I heard about it.”
Curious? She’d been devouring the article when he walked in and they both knew it.
After an uncomfortable moment she said, “I am curious to know what adult sensual dining is. Does that mean the steaks are served with a side order of lap dance?”
To her surprise, Brett threw back his head and laughed. “Great observation, but the answer’s no.”
“Then what is it?”
He looked at her long and hard. Was he measuring how far he might take this? “One of the favorite pastimes of the good folks of Seaside is speculating on what goes on at Whispers. Especially after a holiday like Valentine’s.”
“I presume it’s not a place to take Mom for Easter Brunch.”
“Let’s just say what goes on at Whispers, stays at Whispers.” His fingertips slid over hers. “Call them fantasies, call them desires. Can you tell me you’ve never wished one of your fantasies might come true? Would you turn down the chance to live one of them?”
Abby wasn’t sure she could breathe now, or ever again. Did he hear her heart thundering against her rib cage? Did he know how many unfulfilled desires and fantasies she had? And to actually live one. Oh…my…god!
He reached across the counter and cradled her cheek in his palm while he gently ran his thumb across her lips. “Come to Whispers with me tonight, Abby Horton, and find out for yourself.”
Chapter Three
Abby’s eyes flew open wide. Holy smokes, the man worked fast!How easy to close her eyes and enjoy the touch of that wonderful hand, breathe in the hint of the aftershave still clinging to his palm. And how foolish. Brett Kincade may have left the game, but he hadn’t forgotten the moves. Talk about a quarterback sneak!
Abby distanced herself with a step backward. “I couldn’t possibly.” Not unless I took a dozen cold showers first. “This is the busiest week in the floral trade. I wouldn’t dream of abandoning my crew.”
His blue eyes darkened to sapphire. “You still have to eat.”
She’d seen blue eyes turn that color before. He wasn’t thinking about food.
“True, but just not at Whispers.” Abby busied herself straightening up a pile of scratch pads. “We’ll all be working late, so I’ll order in for everyone.” She looked up at him and smiled. “Thanks for asking. It’s not every day a customer spends—” She looked at his charge slip. “Spends almost a thousand dollars and then offers to buy dinner too.”
“It’s not every day I meet the most enchanting woman, with silky skin crying out to me to touch and a mouth I’m dying to kiss.”
Oh…my…god! If she lowered her lids even a millimeter, she knew he’d kiss her. Worse, she knew she’d love it.
Abby took another step backward, and hoped he didn’t hear her heart pleading with her to say yes. Somehow, she found her voice. “You’ll recall, Mister Kincade, the reviewer said Whispers wasn’t the place to take a first date.”
“And you’ll recall, Miz Horton, Charlie also said it wasn’t unless your date’s adventurous and uninhibited.” He reached across the counter and unsnapped the clip holding her hair in a loosely thrown-together topknot. Auburn curls fell in waves almost to her shoulders. “I’d bet my Porsche, Miz Horton, there’s an adventurous women inside you dying to be set free.” He lowered his voice and leisurely drew his finger along her cheek and jaw. “I think I know the man for the job.”
Abby’s mouth dropped open. How did she respond to that?
“Hey, Brett, come get these,” Judy shouted from the hallway. “I’m afraid I’m going to drop them.”
Brett’s smile wavered a bit as he came round the counter and met Judy halfway. She carried a cardboard crate almost as big as she was tall, with a crystal vase and two dozen perfectly matched long-stemmed roses.
“They’re stunning. Great job, as always.” Brett tucked the crate in the crook of his arm. “Mom’s going to love them.” He looked over the top of the roses and latched onto Abby’s gaze. “My offer still stands, Miz Horton. Think about it.”
A few minutes later, Judy walked back inside the shop. She’d helped Brett buckle the crate into the passenger seat of his Carrera. “I’m really sorry, Abby, if I interrupted something.”
Abby looked up from burying the Underground Guide beneath two other magazines. “Only a full court press, even if it is the wrong sport.”
*
A little before six, with a note pad and pencil in hand, Abby headed for the workroom where what looked like acres of red and white flowers lay piled high atop four worktables. The cooler held dozens of arrangements ready for delivery starting tomorrow morning. By midnight tomorrow, the tables would be cleared and ready for the Gala flowers when they arrived.
“The phones have calmed down and we haven’t had a walk-in in nearly twenty minutes,” she announced to the design team. “Think it’s safe to order dinner?”
“Hey, I don’t care if the Tooth Fairy knocks on that door.” Judy pointed to the door next to the loading dock. “No one’s coming between me and my dinner.”
On cue, they heard a truck roll to a stop at the loading dock, the e
ngine cut off, and seconds later, a loud pounding on the metal door.
“Nooooo,” Judy moaned.
Ronn Richardson, one of the top staff designers who sat thorning a rose stem, added, “If that’s the Tooth Fairy, hon, she’s not waving a wand, she’s waving a tree.”
“You.” Judy pointed to the intern nearest the door. “See who’s there and tell them to go away.”
The intern opened the door only inches before the fragrances of something wonderful with garlic wafted in.
“If I had a dinner bell, I’d ring it,” Brett Kincade announced from the doorway while a crew of caterers scurried around him. Two carried a portable steam table and placed it alongside the first worktable. The stainless steel containers bubbled with a variety of Chinese entrees and barbecued chicken, links and brisket. Behind him, the regular deliveryman from Mario’s down the street arrived with a half dozen pizzas in several combinations. Following him, two more of the catering crew carried a wrought iron bistro table, two chairs, two candles, and a garish plastic bouquet.
“Set up the table and chairs in the showroom,” Brett directed. “Everyone else, dig in!”
The crew quickly complied, oohing and ahhing about all the choices they had. Abby still stood with her pad and pencil, shaking her head at Brett’s latest move, and loving every second of it.
He walked up beside her with two plates piled high and offered his arm. “Miz Horton,” he whispered. “I think it’s time we got to know each other better.”
In the quiet of the showroom, with the lights dimmed and flames flickering from the candles, Brett seated Abby across from him. He plopped into his chair and slid his hand across the table until his fingers covered hers.
“I want to apologize for this afternoon,” he began. “My mama didn’t raise a fool, but I acted like one.”
Too surprised to answer, Abby said nothing.
“I’m very drawn to you, Miz Abby Horton. I’d very much like to get to know you better.”
There’s that Rhett-Butler-sweet-potato-pie-smoothness again, she thought, but didn’t fight it this time. “I’d like that too, Brett.”
“Then tell me about yourself.” He opened her napkin and handed it to her, then opened his and spread it across his lap.
“My life certainly wasn’t as exciting as yours.” She picked up her fork. “My dad was career military, so we lived in a lot of places. I even spent a few weeks here with my aunt while he and my mom set up our house in Germany.”
“I knew we’d met before.”
“Oh, I doubt you’d remember my visit—unless you were into ‘metal mouths’ with unruly orange hair.”
His gaze passed over her before he smiled. “No way I’d ever forget anything about you, Abby.”
Oh my, he is good. Probably had a lot of practice saying that to other women too.
Abby hoped he didn’t see her shiver. With a deep breath, she continued, “I graduated from Ohio State and moved to Manhattan. Been there ever since.”
“Doing what?”
Did she dare tell him? Would he laugh? She took a deep breath. “I’m a playwright.” And in a rush of words, added, “I also manage a business office.”
He looked surprised yet approving. “A playwright? That’s wonderful. Have you had anything produced?”
She couldn’t believe it. He hadn’t laughed. “One. Off-Off Broadway of course— miles off.”
“Do you know how many people only dream of writing plays or novels? They never even try. You ought to be so proud.”
Heat crawled up Abby’s neck and into her cheeks.
“Tell me about yours.”
“You’ll probably laugh.”
“Why? Is it a comedy?”
“Part satire, part romantic comedy.” She loved talking about writing. Why did telling him about it embarrass her so? “I called it Once Upon a Slipper.”
He looked properly confused.
“It’s the story of a dancer in search of magic shoes for an audition. She knows if she lands the role, it will lead to stardom. In a quaint little costume shop near the theatre, she finds the perfect pair. When she gets home she discovers that instead of the pair she thought she’d bought, the box contained a single glass slipper.”
“Let me guess. She goes in search of Prince Charming?”
“Not exactly. She rubs the shoe, like a magic lamp, and out pops the Prince. Except he’s less than princely. He’s spoiled and whiny and can’t believe what he sees out the window. Once she introduces him to contemporary Manhattan, he decides to become an actor and is never seen or heard from again.” She laughed. “Art imitating life.” She jabbed her fork into a piece of sesame chicken. “We extended the run three times. Unfortunately, everything we earned went to cover salaries and expenses.”
How tempting to pour out her soul to someone who seemed to care.
“The opening was the best night of my life.”
“Better than your wedding night?”
Abby lost her fork and her appetite along with it. “I wrote the play for the lead actor. Perhaps you’ve heard of him, Pierce Horton. He sings, dances and possesses incredible comic timing. He’s also my ex.”
“So you played the dancer, and Pierce Prince Charming?”
“Heavens no. My acting skill fits nicely on the head of a pin.” She sat back in her chair and crossed her arms, in an unconscious, defensive gesture. “Pierce and I met at a tango club. I thought I’d died and gone to heaven.”
“You wrote the play about him?”
“Not about him, for him.”
“Were you married by then?”
“He proposed on opening night. How romantic was that?”
“Sounds like something out of a play.”
They both laughed at that. Then Abby sighed and continued, “Unfortunately, the curtain dropped too soon on both the play and our marriage. A few weeks after we eloped I discovered his real love, cocaine.”
Brett winced. “I knew a lot of guys who messed up great careers with coke.”
She licked her lips. “Pierce insisted he didn’t have a problem.” She looked down at her hands and her laced fingers. “I wanted so badly to believe him, to make our marriage work.”
“Kids?”
She looked up at him. “No, thank God. I love kids, but it would have been wrong to drag them into a situation like that. Maybe someday.”
“Pets?”
“Love them too, just not in Manhattan.” She gestured toward the street. “If I lived in a place like Seaside, in a house like my aunt’s with a big backyard, I’d not only have six kids, I’d keep a dozen dogs and cats, maybe more. It’s unfair to keep an animal locked in a small flat all day.”
Brett squeezed her hand. “And what about Abby? Did your time with Pierce make you give up on love?”
Her pulse raced at the thought of it. A year ago, she would have sent a brick flying at anyone who suggested she might love or trust again. Suddenly, sitting here with Brett’s warm hand covering hers, loving and trusting didn’t seem as much a fairy tale anymore.
“I suppose I’m too much of an optimist and a romantic at heart.” She sat forward and picked up her fork again. “I know this will make me sound like a nut, but at fifteen I met my soul mate. Even the day I married Pierce, I thought about him, wondered where he was and what he was doing. And if he’d ever thought of me as his soul mate.”
“What happened?”
She smiled and cut into an egg roll. “Remember that skinny little metal-mouthed kid? He was leaving for college in a couple of weeks. We held hands, nothing more.”
“What if you met him today? Do you think you’d feel the same?”
She looked him squarely in the eyes. “Absolutely.”
Brett’s gaze intensified. She saw something in his eyes she could not quite read. It thrilled her yet made her uncomfortable too.
“What about you, Brett? We all know your public persona. Who’s the real Brett Kincade?”
He shrugged and held o
ut his hands, palms up. “What you see is what you get.”
And god, I like what I see. “According to the tabs, you never married. Is that true?”
“True.” He didn’t elaborate.
“Ever been in love?”
He opened bottles of water for each of them. “I was thirteen…” He hesitated. “When I…ah, became a man, shall we say.”
“Ooh, an early achiever.”
“I was sure I was in love then, and probably a hundred times since.”
“But no one special?”
She could almost see the wheels turning in his brain, and a touch of sadness in his eyes. “One very special someone. Like you, the timing was all wrong.”
This time, Abby rested her hand on his. “I’m sorry.”
He chuckled. “Don’t be. At ten o’clock this morning, I met a fabulous lady whom I intend to sweep off her feet in the next few weeks. You never know what might happen.”
She laughed. “If you’re talking about me, you’ll have to work a bit faster. I promised Aunt Rose I’d see Love In Bloom through Valentine’s Day. Come Monday, I’m outta here.”
He started to say something when Judy interrupted them. “Okay, you two, break time’s over. Abby, walk Brett to his car, then come back. We still have a hundred dozen roses that need to be thorned by midnight.” She clapped her hands. “Move!”
Chapter Four
Once they stepped outside, Brett noticed that the wind off the ocean had blown the afternoon fog farther inland. With the temperature holding steady in the sixties, the air felt crisp and fresh.
The caterers had already loaded what they were taking back tonight. They waved as they drove past and turned into the street. Only Brett’s car remained in the parking lot.