Beauty and The Best (Once-Upon-A-Time Romance)

by Fennell, Judi

  “Yeah, what were you just thinking?” He had his own Barry White going, mesmerizing her. Honestly, she could just stare at his mouth all day.

  “Your mouth,” she answered.

  “My mouth?” He groaned. “You’re not making this easy.”

  “Easy?”

  “You know, I don’t think I’ve ever heard you so monosyllabic before.”

  He started to reach for her hand again and Boots shifted on her lap, his raised paw fending off approaching fingers.

  Todd did the “hands-up” stance. “Okay, Boots, I give up. She’s your property. Got it.” He looked at her. “But I’m going to be trespassing whether that cat likes it or not.”

  She couldn’t stifle the shiver that raced down her spine until Boots dug his claws in her leg, ending that delicious moment.

  “So.” Todd sat back and folded his hands on his (flat, sculpted, toned, hard, six-pack) abdomen. “Guard cat aside, what was it you came in here for in the first place?”

  “Um… ” Yeah, what exactly had been her motivation? At this point she was lucky she remembered her own name, let alone motivation. “Oh, I was wondering what I should make for dinner tonight since Mr. and Mrs. Gray are here. Is there anything special they like?”

  “Anything you want to serve is fine. I doubt if they’ll even stay. They just got back and they’re not as spry as they once were. My bet is they’re probably already on their way home to recover from their trip and get to bed early.”

  Truly he did not understand women. That whole Venus/Mars dichotomy. After that conversation she’d had earlier with Mrs. Gray, she was betting the Grays wouldn’t be out of Todd’s house until their stay was bordering on rude.

  “Humor me.” She set Boots on the floor and stood.

  Todd followed her up, giving Boots a nudge with his toe. “She’s a big fan of Italian food.”

  “Okay, I’ll do manicotti.”

  “Isn’t it late in the day for spaghetti sauce?” He traced her arm from wrist to shoulder.

  “Trade secret.” Boots was doing figure eights around her ankles. All sorts of touchy-feely stuff she was suddenly finding more than bearable.

  “Honestly, Jolie, don’t bother. I’m sure they’re gone. And, really, I’m not picky about dinner.”

  “Trust me, okay? I have a feeling they’re staying so I want to make a nice dinner for them. Besides, cooking is what I do. Why I’m here, remember?”

  His hand stilled on her shoulder and he searched her eyes. “You’re right. Jasmine will probably have a ton of pictures she wants to show me of her new grandson. It’s her fourth, but she treats each one as if it were the first. Family’s important to her.”

  “I know. She told me.”

  “She did?”

  “Yep. And she considers you family. That’s why she’ll stay.”

  Todd dropped his hand, shoving both in the back pockets of his shorts, and turned toward the easel. “Actually, Trista was more her family.”

  “I know, she told me.”

  He stopped. “That, too?”

  “Yes. She told me how she pretty much raised Trista and how you—”

  He turned around, eyes narrowed. “How I what?”

  Oh darn. She didn’t mean to bring up his and Trista’s early years together. “Um, how much she cares about you?”

  Todd shook his head and walked back toward her. “I’m not buying that. What’d she say?”

  Okay, what happened to cajoling? His growl would rival a deadly panther’s on the prowl. And, yeah, maybe she was feeling just a bit hunted. And not in a good way.

  She stepped around the corner of the sofa. “I don’t really remember.” And she didn’t—not verbatim. General gist? Yeah, got it. Word for word? Slipped her mind.

  He followed her. “Jolie.” Definitely not cajoling.

  “Oh, well, she might have mentioned how you weren’t exactly Trista’s parents’ first choice for a son-in-law,” she said, gripping the back of the sofa.

  “I see.” The seconds ticked by, each one marked by a tic in his cheek. His jaw was clenched and, while that increased the masculinity aspect of his face, it wasn’t a good thing at the moment.

  “I would prefer if you wouldn’t discuss my private life with Mrs. Gray. Or anyone, for that matter.” He rubbed his eyes with the finger and thumb of one hand, exhaling.

  Really, he didn’t have to ask her twice. As if she’d go chatting him up with everyone—

  Oh. Her manuscript.

  Well, okay, maybe—in a way—he might see it as such. If he saw it, that was. But he wouldn’t.

  Besides, it wasn’t really about him. It was more about his emotions and how Tom felt and acted. Todd was just the inspiration. Her muse, you could say.

  She took a step back from him. “Look, Todd, it was just a conversation between me and Mrs. Gray. A lady, I might add, who cares for you a great deal. We weren’t carrying tales or gossiping. She just wanted me to know how special you are.” Not that she’d needed to be told.

  Silence stretched from terse to bearable, but it was a long agonizing journey to get there. Especially because he kept his gaze on her the whole time and she was beginning to squirm under it.

  That’s what a guilty conscience did for you. Interesting how Naughty Girl chose not to comment on any of this.

  “I’m sorry,” he said at last. “It’s just that when Trista died there was so much press coverage. Like the other day with the phone calls and reporter on my doorstep. Everyone wanting to know how I felt, if I’d paint again.” He laughed and it wasn’t kind. “You know, that’s my favorite line. Your wife dies or your dream falls apart, or whatever tragedy has just smacked you in the face, and there’s a reporter with a microphone inches from your nose and he’s asking you how you feel. What’s he want, an I’m-going-to-Disney-World response? I’m all for giving people the news, human interest stories, but for chrissake, can’t a man grieve in peace?

  “Um—” Honestly, what should she say?

  “Sorry. I overreacted. I realize Jasmine was just staking her claim. She tends to do that with anyone new around here.”

  Somehow Jolie doubted Mrs. Gray had quite those same words to say to just any chef who worked there, but he didn’t need to know that.

  “It’s just that any threat to my privacy touches a nerve. A few, actually.” He did the hand-raking thing and for once she was unmoved.

  Maybe she ought to toss her manuscript.

  But that was ridiculous. No one would ever know she based the emotions on his. It wasn’t like he was ever going to read the darn thing, so, not a problem. Right? Right.

  “Well, Todd, it’s not as if Mrs. Gray is—”

  “MEOWWWW!”

  Kitty terror grabbed their attention fast. Poor little Boots was tangled up in a drop cloth and running around in circles, which made the straightjacket he was working himself into even tighter.

  Todd and Jolie did some pretty fancy dance steps to cut off the kitten’s access to more of the cloth, then they sat on it to untangle him without losing a finger or an eye. Terrorized kitties were a touch manic.

  Finally, with a bit of laughter, some catching of breaths, and avoidance of Kitty Scissor-Paws, they managed to calm the little guy down just as the attic door swung open.

  “Oh, Todd.” There beamed Mrs. Gray, a vase of pink roses in her hand.

  “Hi, Jasmine.” They stood, managing to kick the drop cloth out of the way as Mrs. Gray sashayed into the room. “What brings you here?”

  Boots dug his claws into Jolie’s forearm and when she looked down at him, she could have sworn the cat was gloating. She wouldn’t blame him, actually, because this was the second time he’d saved her from a potentially embarrassing situation. Well, three if she counted that moment on the sofa, but she’d consider that scenario more exciting than embarrassing had it been allowed to play out, but maybe it was a good thing it hadn’t; they’d had the chance to talk some more. Get to know each other better.

&nb
sp; She did want to get to know him better. And if that wasn’t more than a little scary, she didn’t know what was.

  “I brought these roses for the kitchen,” said Mrs. Gray, holding up the flowers, “and thought you might like some to brighten up your studio. Although, it is pretty bright already.” She spun around. “You’ve been busy, I see.”

  “I better start dinner.” Jolie wanted to extricate herself from the impending little tête-a-tête. One was her limit for an emotion-laden day like this was turning out to be.

  Back in the house, she secured Boots in her room because, even though he might have saved her pride, kittens and spaghetti sauce were not a match made in heaven. And she had a lot to do to get the manicotti in the oven in time.

  She also had a lot to think about.

  Jolie replayed the scene from the attic in her head. Todd liked kissing her, wasn’t sorry he had, and would probably want to again. How’d she feel about that?

  Honestly, part of her wanted to hope. Wanted to take a chance. The part of her that had lived without hope for so long was feeling like a drowning person grabbing for a life preserver. But was that a good thing? Was Todd her life preserver?

  And why did she need one? Why wasn’t she happy with her life as it was? Stick to her plan?

  She slid the dish into the oven and set the timer. She was happy with her life as it was.

  But she wasn’t going to deny that it could be better. Yes, she had her plan and would continue to study and save for her pastry shop, and finish her story, but why couldn’t she throw a relationship into the mix? Just because Mom’s love affairs (not that any of them had been based on love) had been disastrous, with men parading in and out, knocking the two of them around a few times, and Mom turning to booze to drown the pain and sorrow, but Jolie was an adult. She knew the dysfunction of those types of relationships. Recognized it for what it was and knew she didn’t want it. Even Chucky… For as disappointed as she’d been, she’d known their relationship wasn’t the for-real one she’d wanted. He wasn’t the type of man she wanted.

  Todd, however, might be.

  And that was the big question mark. Was he worth risking her heart for? Her barely-held-together psyche? She’d overcome a lot, but the family thing… The love everlasting, the til-death-do-us-part, that was what her soul ached for. The security of knowing someone was in her corner. Someone would be there to care for her. Love her. That’s what she wanted in the deepest, darkest part of every lonely night she’d ever had.

  It also scared the heck out of her.

  There’d been a time when not having a family had really bothered her. But then she’d realized it could be useful. When you had no one around who really knew you, you could be anyone you wanted to be. So she’d decided it was up to her to be responsible for every aspect of her life: financial, professional, emotional. She’d knew what could happen when she tried to depend on others who weren’t dependable, and had decided, at the ripe old age of eleven, that she wanted more.

  But she knew, eventually, she’d want her own family, someone to love who’d love her back. So why not now? Was there a law that said she couldn’t work toward all her goals simultaneously?

  Other people did it. Even though Mom had taken the wrong train to Happyville with any one of a host of male counterparts, it didn’t mean she had to.

  Todd wasn’t pushing her away. He’d purposely—on several occasions—reiterated his desire for her to stay, had said she was good for him, liked kissing her, wanted to kiss her. Plus, she had Mrs. Gray’s seal of approval. He wanted her, she wanted him; when was the last time that had happened?

  So, okay, it was risky. She got that. But with the first of her paychecks leaving a hefty sum in her bank account and the promise of more to come, if she had to pick up and start over, it wasn’t as if she’d be destitute. And it wasn’t like she’d never done it before.

  And, heck, she was even light on the personal property front due to the fire. It seemed the planets were aligned for her shot at the brass ring. With such indicators, she’d have to be the ultimate pessimist not to take the chance.

  She’d take baby steps with this “thing” with Todd. Allow a relationship to happen if it was going to. They’d already passed the “like” stage. He got her and they laughed at the same things. God knew they certainly found each other attractive.

  So what if nothing had lasted “F” before in her life? Other people had it all—why couldn’t she?

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Seven a.m. came way too early after last night’s dinner where, much to Jolie’s delight, she’d been proven right. The Grays had stayed. With a little cheating on her part (Signore Arena’s already-made homemade sauce and manicotti), she managed to whip up a nice meal. She added her own tasty loaf of garlic bread and a pretty salad—curlicues included. And with ice cream sundaes—whipped cream included—for dessert, Mrs. Gray had the perfect excuse to haul out those baby pictures.

  Todd had played with the carrot strips while Mrs. Gray waxed on and on about her son, Charles, and their new grandson, but luckily, she steered clear of The Trista Years, though the possibility had been there. But they managed to escape that, and Todd had had a huge look of relief on his face when they’d left.

  Which had been late. Later than folks their age should be out, but they wouldn’t consider staying—as Mrs. Gray made sure to tell Jolie on the sly.

  The implication had made for a pretty interesting dream. Unfortunately, with the alarm singing the latest Top 40 hits, she didn’t have the luxury of lounging around in bed replaying it, so she made her way to the kitchen to answer the call of Eggs Benedict.

  Todd walked in from the pool, mid egg-poaching, all dripping wet again, and she stared. She couldn’t help it because now she knew exactly how that chest felt against her breasts, the strength in those nicely defined biceps and exactly how she fit against the whole set of gloriousness.

  “Where’s the cat?” he asked.

  Not exactly the greeting from her dream, but whatever floated his boat. “In my room. Apparently ice cream acts like a sleeping pill. He snored all night long.”

  “Good.”

  She had about two seconds to register the “good” before Todd swooped in and planted one on her. Really planted. That kiss grew roots which wound around her heart then branched into all four limbs.

  She did some winding of her own. Her arms went around his neck and, yeah, his muscles were rock solid and his stomach twitched whenever her breasts made contact. Tongues renewed their acquaintance and, if it weren’t for the humming of the blood through her body, she’d swear she’d died and gone to Heaven.

  He slid his hands from her waist to cup her face and he pulled back just inches, his mossy green eyes full of warmth and maybe, just maybe, something more. “Good morning,” he said, nudging her nose with his.

  “Is it? I think I might still be dreaming.”

  “If this is a dream, I don’t want to wake up.”

  He kissed her again, a soft one this time. He tickled her lips and she felt that tickle in her tummy, all fluttery and jittery. Then her knees went to mush again.

  “Wow,” she said once she could breathe again.

  “Wow works.” Yeah, that was arrogance in his smile, but who cared? The man was entitled to it.

  And since it was her kiss that put the smile there, she was entitled to some of her own.

  “I’ve forgotten how nice it is to get a greeting like that in the morning.” He linked his hands behind her waist.

  “It is?”

  “Honestly, Jolie, is that all I had to do to render you speechless? Kiss you? You should have told me that at the beginning and it would have been quieter around here a lot faster.”

  “Are you saying I talk too much?”

  He kissed her nose. “No. I’m saying you talk a lot. There’s a difference. And—”he resettled his lower body against hers and she took a trip into outer space for a moment because there wasn’t much left to her imag
ination with wet swim trunks plastered against her nether regions—“even though I like the kissing part, I’m missing the chatter. So I think I’m going to have to curb some of the kissing.”

  “Oh no you don’t.” She yanked his hair to bring their faces within smooching distance. “I’ll talk your ear off all you want, but you don’t get to quit the kissing thing until all parties involved agree.”

  “Oh, so we’re involved, are we?”

  Good question—and not one she was going to be the first to answer. “Well, if you’re not involved, then who the heck am I kissing? I could swear it’s you.”

  “It most definitely is.” Which he again proved quite nicely.

  Until the Canadian bacon started to smell funny. Great. He really was going to sexy himself into starvation.

  “Oh, no!” Jolie pulled out of his arms to turn off the flame and catch the hollandaise right before it scorched. Didn’t matter though. Lightly scorched or burned, once hollandaise went bad there was no redeeming it.

  So now she had rubbery poached eggs, burned bacon, and hellacious hollandaise. What a day this was shaping up to be. Oven mitts, clanking pans, banging oven door, their quiet interlude was shattered. And then the smoke detector kicked in.

  “It’s never a dull moment with you, is it, Jolie?” Todd laughed as he grabbed a dishtowel and swatted the smoky bacon air away from the detector. “Don’t tell me. Excitement Jolie?”

  “Ha ha, very funny. I wanted breakfast to be perfect.”

  The alarm went silent and Todd flung the towel over one shoulder. He took the pan out of her hand, removing the mitts with it, then tilted her chin up. “It is.”

  The heck with scorched hollandaise. Her skin was on fire, her bones were melting all over again and pretty quickly they were in another lip lock that could’ve gone on forever, if not for the little pitter-patter of petite paws. Well, actually, claws on limestone tiles. And said claws pouncing on her sandal-clad foot and Todd’s naked one. (The man did like naked in the kitchen.)

  “Boots!” they yelled in unison as they jumped apart.

  Boots, the little meddler, catapulted into the air, executing a perfect full-twisting inward somersault, and landed on all four of his black, claw-bearing paws as if nothing had happened.