by Nora Roberts
Laurel frowned at Mac. “Because I ... had to think about it.”
“But it meant something to you,” Parker murmured.
“I don’t know. It was an impulse, a moment of insanity. I was pissed off. It’s not like I have a thing for him, really. Oh shit,” she muttered and dropped her head in her hands.
“Did he kiss you back? Well?” Mac demanded when Emma kicked her. “It’s a question.”
“He didn’t not. But he wasn’t expecting it. I wasn’t expecting it. It was mostly temper.”
“What did he say? Don’t kick me again,” Mac warned Emma.
“Nothing. I didn’t give him a chance. I’m going to fix it,” she promised Parker. “It was my fault, even though he was being irritating and patronizing. Don’t be upset.”
“I’m not upset, not about that. I’m wondering how I could be so oblivious. I know you as well as I know anyone, so how could I not sense or see or know that you have feelings for Del?”
“I don’t. Okay, I do, but it’s not like I pine for him day and night. It comes and goes. Like an allergy. Only instead of making me sneeze, it makes me feel like an idiot.” Distress rolled up from her belly and into her voice. “I know how tight you are. It’s great how tight you are, but please don’t tell him I said any of this. I wasn’t going to say anything, but it just spilled out. Apparently I have an impulse-control problem.”
“I won’t say anything to him.”
“Good. Good. It was nothing, really. It was just lips.”
“No tongues?” Mac scooted out of Emma’s reach, then hunched down as she got hit with scowls instead. “What? I’m interested. We’re all interested or we wouldn’t be here at one in the morning, with five thousand in cash on the table, talking about it.”
“You’re right,” Laurel decided. “We shouldn’t be talking about it. I only brought it up in the interest of full disclosure. Now, we can all just put it aside, take our bonus money, and go to bed. In fact, now that I’ve disclosed, I don’t know why I was so twisted up about it. It was nothing.”
She gestured broadly—too broadly, she realized, and dropped her hands again. “Obviously it was nothing, and Del’s certainly not losing any sleep over it. He didn’t say anything to Jack or you. Right?” she asked Parker.
“I haven’t talked to him since early in the week, but no. No, he hasn’t said anything to me.”
“Listen to me.” She managed a weak laugh. “I’m making it like high school. I didn’t make it like high school when it was high school. Stopping now. I’m taking my money and going to bed.”
She scooped up one of the piles Parker had counted out. “So, let’s not think about this anymore, okay? Let’s just ... be normal. Everything’s ... normal. So, good night.”
At her hasty retreat, her three friends looked at one another.
“It’s so not normal,” Mac said.
“It’s not abnormal. It’s just different.” Emma put down her glass, picked up her money. “And she’s embarrassed. We should leave it alone so she isn’t embarrassed. Can we leave it alone?”
“It’s more a question of whether she can,” Parker said. “I guess we’ll find out.”
PARKER LET IT GO—FOR THE MOMENT. SHE LET IT RIDE THROUGH the Sunday event, and gave her friend space on Sunday evening. But Monday, she carved out an hour from her own schedule when she knew Laurel would be trapped in her kitchen preparing for the last-minute weekday party.
When she walked in to find Laurel rolling out phyllo dough, she knew she’d timed it perfectly.
“I brought you an extra pair of hands.”
“I’ve got it under control.”
“The bulk of this Greek extravaganza got dumped on you. Hands.” She held hers up. “They can clean up behind you.” She walked over to gather empty bowls. “We could get you a kitchen assistant.”
“I don’t want a kitchen assistant. Assistants get underfoot. Which is exactly why you don’t have one.”
“I’m toying with the idea.” Parker started loading the dishwasher. “Maybe finding someone to train, to take care of some of the legwork.”
“That’ll be the day.”
“We have to decide whether we want to go as we are, or consider expanding. Expanding means we’ll need assistants. We could offer more weekday events if we brought in more staff.”
Laurel paused. “Is that what you want?”
“I don’t know. It’s just something I think about now and then. Sometimes I think absolutely not. Others I think maybe. It’d be a big change, a shift. We’d have employees rather than just subs.We’re good as we are. In fact, we’re great. But sometimes a shift opens up other avenues.”
“I don’t know if we’re ...Wait a minute.” Laurel’s eyes narrowed on Parker’s back. “You’re using this as a metaphor, or a segue—or both—for the Del thing.”
They knew each other too well, Parker thought. “Maybe. I had to take time to think about it, then to obsess about what would happen if you and Del worked this out—then obsess about what would happen if you didn’t.”
“And?”
“Inconclusive.” Parker turned back. “I love you both, and that’s not changing. And, as much as I am the center of the universe, this isn’t—or wouldn’t be—about me. But it would be a shift.”
“I’m not shifting. See, I’m standing right in one place. Steady, no shifts.”
“Already done, Laurel.”
“And I shifted back,” Laurel insisted. “Right back to where I started. Jesus, Parks, it was only a kiss.”
“If it was only a kiss you’d have told me about it right away, and you’d have made a joke out of it.” She paused, just a beat, giving Laurel a chance to argue. Knowing she couldn’t. “It worried you, so that means it was more. Or you’re wondering if it was more. You care about him.”
“Of course I care about him.” Flustered, Laurel lifted the rolling pin, waved it. “We all care about Del. And okay, that’s part of the problem. Or the thing. It’s more a thing than a problem.” She continued to roll out the dough until it was thin as paper. “We all care about Del, Del cares about all of us. Sometimes he cares to the point I want to give him a shot right in the eye, particularly when he lumps us all together. Like we’re one body with four heads.”
“Sometimes ...”
“Yeah, I know, sometimes we are. But it’s frustrating to be part of the lump, and to know he thinks of me as somebody he has to look after. I don’t want to be looked after.”
“He can’t help that.”
“I know that, too.” She looked over, met Parker’s eyes. “Adds to the frustration. He’s wired, I’m wired, and the problem—the thing ... I prefer thing to problem.”
“Thing it is.”
“The thing is my deal entirely. And it has to be strange for you to have me talk like this.”
“A little bit. I’m working on it.”
“It’s not like I’m lovesick or have this major crush or anything mortifying like that. It’s just a ...”
“Thing.”
“Yes, it’s that. And since I did what I did, I’m already smoothing out about it.”
“He’s that bad a kisser?”
Laurel spared a bland glance as she reached for her bowl of filling. “I made the move, and now that I’m over being embarrassed, I feel better. It was just part of the argument really, which was my fault. Mostly my fault. He shouldn’t have tried to pay me for the cake. It was the red flag when I was already pawing the ground. You wouldn’t try to pay for a damn cake.”
“No.” Still Parker held up a finger. “So, let me see if I understand. You don’t want him to lump you in the pile, so to speak, but you don’t want him to offer to pay you for your work, because that’s insulting.”
“You had to be there.”
“Can we forget he’s my brother for a minute?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Let’s give it a shot.” To keep it casual, Parker leaned back against the counter. “You’re attracted.You’
re both interesting, unattached, attractive people. Why wouldn’t you be?”
“Because it’s Del.”
“What’s wrong with Del?”
“Nothing. See, this is weird.” She grabbed her bottle of water, then set it down again without drinking. “It’s not logical, Parker, and not something you can work out for me. We’re going to be fine—Del and me, I mean. I’m already over it, and I doubt he gave it a minute’s thought after the fact. Now, go away, so I can concentrate on this baklava.”
“All right. But you’ll tell me if there’s anything to tell.”
“Don’t I always?”
Up till now, Parker thought, but left it at that.
CHAPTER FIVE
GROWING UP IN A FEMALE-DOMINATED HOUSEHOLD PROVIDED DEL with certain basics to live by One, which he thought applied at the moment, decreed if a man didn’t understand what was going on, and the lack of understanding meant trouble, a certain distance was recommended.
The same rule, he felt, applied in more ... personal male/female relationships—which was also oddly apt under the circumstances.
He’d kept his distance from Laurel, and while it hadn’t led him to a brainstorm of understanding, he could only hope the space had given her room to simmer down.
He didn’t mind a fight. They kept things lively, for one thing, and often cleared the air, for another. But he liked to know the rules of the bout. In this case, he didn’t have a clue.
He was used to her temper, what he thought of as her quicksilver moods. And having her take a few swipes at him was nothing new.
Kissing him brainless? Brand-spanking-new. He couldn’t stop thinking about it, and thinking about it hadn’t helped him reach any conclusions.
Which just pissed him off.
Conclusions, solutions, alternatives, compromises—they served as his stock-in-trade. And with this very personal puzzle, he just couldn’t find the key pieces.
Regardless, he could hardly stay away indefinitely. He not only liked dropping in when he had the time, but the steady stream of business flowing between him and Parker and their business demanded attention.
A week was long enough for space and cooling off, he determined. They’d just have to deal with each other. One way or another. Which they would, of course. It was no big deal. No deal at all, he told himself as he turned into the long drive on the estate. They’d just had an argument—with unusual elements. She’d been trying to prove a point. On some level, he got the point. He tended to think of her—of all of them—as his responsibility, and it annoyed her.
She’d have to be annoyed because they damn well were his responsibility. He was Parker’s brother, he was their lawyer. And through circumstances none of them could control or change, he was head of the family.
But he could try to be more subtle about shouldering responsibility.
Although it wasn’t like he pushed his nose in her business every five minutes.
Still ... Still, he told himself, he could try to back off a little. He couldn’t argue the fact she’d made her point. She wasn’t his sister. But that didn’t mean she wasn’t part of his family, and damn it, he had every right to ...
Stop, he ordered himself. They’d get nowhere if he approached her already spoiling for trouble. Best to gauge the ground and let her take the lead.
Then he could haul her back where they belonged. Subtlety, he reminded himself.
Where the hell had all these cars come from? he wondered. It was Tuesday night, and he couldn’t remember anything on Vows’ slate. He swung off to park by Mac’s studio, got out, frowned at the house. No question an event was in progress. He could see Emma’s handiwork in lavish displays around the portico, and hear—even from the distance—the clatter and voices of a party going on.
For a moment, he simply stood where he was, watching. Lights glowed in the windows, turning the house into a welcoming celebration. Hospitality, with an elegant flair. It had always been. His parents had loved to entertain—small intimate gatherings, big flashy parties. He supposed Parker came by her skills there naturally. Yet when he came home unexpectedly—and it was still home—he’d feel that quick tug, that poignant sorrow for what he’d lost. For what they’d all lost.
He took the path, wound his way home, choosing the side door with its easy access to the family kitchen.
He’d hoped to find Mrs. Grady there, fussing at the stove, but a single light burned in the empty kitchen. He wandered to the window, watched some of the guests who’d gathered on the terrace, strolled the gardens.
Relaxed, at home, impressed, he judged. Infusing an event with those qualities was another Parker skill, or the blend the Quartet combined.
He caught sight of Emma and a few of the catering staff he recognized carrying linens, flowers. A last-minute adjustment, he assumed, then watched as they set up a table. Quick, efficient, he noted, with Emma chatting with some of the guests. All smiles and warmth—that was Emma. No one would know her mind was scrambling toward the next duty.
Emma and Jack, he mused. Now that was a last-minute adjustment for him. His closest friend and one of his girls. Even as he considered it, Jack came out carrying a tray of tea lights. Pitching in, Del thought, as they all pitched in from time to time. But it was different, he thought. And it occurred to him that this was the first time since Emma and Jack became ‘Emma and Jack’ that he’d observed them when they weren’t aware of him.
The look that passed between them, yes, that was different. The way Jack brushed a hand down her arm, casual and intimate, the way a man did when he simply needed to touch what he loved.
A good thing, he decided, what was between them. And he’d get used to it—eventually.
Meanwhile, he was here, there was a party. He might as well head up to the Ballroom and pitch in, too.
SHE’D BAKED LIKE A MANIAC, LAUREL THOUGHT, AND THERE WAS little more satisfying than seeing that work devoured. Now that the cake had been cut, dessert plates arranged, she left the serving to the caterers and took a minute to catch her breath. Music rolled, and those not swarming the dessert tables took advantage. Dozens more gathered at tables, most still tossing back ouzo.
Opa!
Happy, happy, she thought, everything under control. And the perfect time to slip away for five minutes and take off her shoes. She scanned for any potential problems as she moved to the door.
“Ms. McBane?”
Just this close, she thought, but turned and put on her professional smile. “Yes, what can I do for you?”
“Nick Pelacinos.” He offered a hand. “Cousin of the bride-to-be.”
And fairly gorgeous, she thought, shaking his hand. All bronzed Greek godlike with molten amber eyes and cleft chin. “It’s nice to meet you. I hope you’re enjoying yourself.”
“I’d be a fool not to.You throw a hell of a party. I know you must be busy, but my grandmother would like a word with you. She’s holding court over there.”
He gestured to the head table, crowded with people, drinks, food, flowers—and unquestionably ruled over by the steel-haired, laser-eyed matriarch. The grandmother, Laurel thought.
“Sure.” She walked with him, wondering if she should signal Parker for backup.
“She and my grandfather only come to the States every year or two normally,” Nick told her. “Usually we’re required to go to them, so this trip is a major event for the family.”
“So I understand.”
“And I understand you and your partners managed to put all this together in under a week. Kudos—seriously. I help manage the family restaurants in New York, so I have a good idea what went into this.”
She flipped back mentally to Parker’s rundown of the family. “Papa’s. I’ve eaten at the one on the West Side.”
“You’ll have to come in again, and let me know. Dinner’s on me.Yaya, I’ve brought you Ms. McBane.”
The woman inclined her head with the slightest of regal tilts. “I see.”
“Ms. McBane, my grandm
other, Maria Pelacinos.”
“Stephanos.” Maria tapped her hand on the arm of the man seated beside her. “Let the girl sit.”
“Please, don’t trouble—” Laurel began.
“Up, up.” She waved the man away, pointed to the chair. “Here, by me.”
Never argue with a client, Laurel reminded herself, and took the vacated seat.
“Ouzo,” the woman demanded, and almost instantly a glass was put in her hand. She set it down in front of Laurel.
“We toast to your baklava.” Lifting her own glass, she arched an imperial eyebrow at Laurel. With little choice, Laurel took up her own glass, braced herself, and drank. Then, knowing the routine, slapped the glass down again. “Opa.”
She got a round of applause and an approving nod from Maria. “You have a gift. It takes more than hands and ingredients to make food that matters. It takes a good head, and an open heart. Your family is Greek?”
“No, ma’am.”
“Ah.” She flicked that away. “Everyone’s family is Greek. I’m going to give you my own recipe for lathopita, and you’ll make it for my granddaughter’s wedding.”
“I’d love to have it, thank you.”
“I think you’re a good girl. So, dance with my grandson. Nick, dance with the girl.”
“Actually, I need to—”
“It’s a party. Dance! This is a good boy, handsome. He has a good job and no wife.”
“Well, in that case,” Laurel said and made Maria laugh.
“Dance, dance. Life is shorter than you think.”
“She won’t take no.” Nick held out a hand again.
One dance, Laurel thought. Her aching feet could handle one dance. And she really wanted that recipe.
She let Nick lead her to the dance floor as the band switched to slow and smooth.
“It may not seem like it,” he began as he took her into his arms, “but my grandmother paid you a very high compliment. She sampled a bit of everything you made, and she’s convinced you’re Greek. You couldn’t have made traditional Greek desserts with such skill otherwise. And ...” He twirled her stylishly. “You and your partners have saved the family an enormous argument. Getting her approval for this venue wasn’t easy.”