by Lori Foster
Gabe suddenly emerged, pillows in each hand, yelling like a Comanche. He stopped, mid war cry, as he noticed the new participant and saw Charlotte on the ground.
“What happened?” Gabe asked, quickly dropping the pillows and falling to his knees by Charlotte’s side. “Angel, are you all right?”
She grimaced at him. Did she look all right?
Adonis cleared his throat. “I’m sorry. I…she was running around the house, and I didn’t know she was coming, and we bumped into each other. I think maybe she got the wind knocked out of her.”
Charlotte groaned and pushed herself up to her feet, glad that at least the oatmeal covered her blush. “No, I’m fine,” she muttered. Of course I’m fine. Adonis moves in next door to me, and I run at him like a stampeding wildebeest. “I guess I should have been more careful of where I was going, but I didn’t know anyone lived here.”
Adonis smiled, dimples pitting his cheeks. “No problem. I just moved in. A friend of mine owns this place, but he’s subletting it to me for a while. I’ve always liked Manhattan Beach. It’s fun.” He winked at her, a gesture that reminded her of Gabe. “Always something crazy going on.”
“This isn’t what you think,” she protested weakly.
Gabe was obviously enjoying the predicament she’d landed in. “What, exactly, do you think he thought this was?”
“You…” she began, only to be stopped by Adonis’s laugh.
“Do you two live next door, then?” Adonis glanced curiously at her house.
“I live there,” Charlotte answered, giving Gabe a quick glare. “The comedian over here doesn’t. He just stopped by to make my life miserable.”
“Oh,” Adonis said slowly, looking back at her. “I thought you two were married.”
“Us?” Charlotte’s eyebrows jumped up, causing crackling oatmeal to sprinkle into her eyes. She blinked hard.
“Not just no, but hell no,” Gabe said. “Marriage is miserable enough by itself. Why would I compound it by marrying her?”
This time, she aimed a kick at him. He dodged it, still grinning.
“Oh,” Adonis said, smiling broadly. He offered his hand to her. “Then let’s get introduced. I’m Jack Landor.”
“Jack Landor? Society magazine’s Most Eligible Bachelor in America?” She laughed. “Sure you are. And I’m Glinda, the Good Witch of the North.”
He laughed, a deep, rough laugh that appealed. When he smiled, he did sort of resemble Jack Landor, she noted.
“Well, Glinda, you can just call me Jack.”
“Hi, Jack,” Gabe said, stepping slightly in front of Charlotte and putting his hand out. Jack had to release Charlotte’s hand to shake Gabe’s. “I’m Gabe Donofrio.”
“I’m Charlotte Taylor,” Charlotte added, nudging Gabe a little. He didn’t budge.
“Hi, Charlotte,” Jack said, smiling. He added a nod to Gabe. Charlotte smirked when Gabe finally moved aside a little.
Gabe smiled back at her, too smugly for her peace of mind. His gaze shifted downward a little, and his smile widened, amusement dancing in his eyes. She tried to track his line of vision. What was so funny?
Abruptly, she remembered the comment that had started all of this. She had oatmeal between her what?
“Well, welcome to the neighborhood, Jack,” she said quickly. Hoping that she wasn’t nestling cereal between her breasts, she smiled sheepishly and added, “I’ve got to go slip into something less, er, edible.”
Jack smiled back, this time with a hint of heat. “Oh, don’t bother on my account.”
She paused for a moment.
That sounded like a come-on.
Shaking her head, Charlotte laughed, waved and walked back up toward her house. Of course it wasn’t a come-on. Adonis, hitting on the oatmeal mud girl? She’d been out of the dating scene way too long if she could entertain a crazy idea like that!
Gabe trailed behind her, pillows in hand, but with no obvious intention of throwing them, thankfully. They walked into the house together. Dana waited for them in the living room, a horrified expression on her face.
“I can’t believe you just did that,” Dana said, her fingers tugging at her short red hair. She’d obviously been spying from the bedroom window. “Did you see that guy?”
“Couldn’t miss him,” Gabe said sourly, before Charlotte could answer. “He’s Jack Landor.”
Dana’s eyes bugged. “No way.”
“Way.” Gabe plunked down on the couch. “And he was hitting on Charlotte.”
“No way!” Dana threw a quick hug around Charlotte’s shoulders, then just as quickly pulled back, rubbing at some clay that had gotten on her sleeve. “He hit on you? Looking like, um, that?”
“Coated in oatmeal and mud, you mean?” Charlotte gave an exasperated sigh. “He couldn’t take his eyes off of me. I’m literally like no other woman he’s ever seen before…or ever hopes to see again, I’m sure.” She frowned at Gabe, kicking at the feet that he’d propped up on her coffee table. “Gabe’s just pulling your leg, Dana. Jack Landor wouldn’t be interested in me in a million years, and besides, I’m not even convinced that Adonis really was Jack Landor. Either way, that guy was not coming on to me!”
“Adonis?” Gabe repeated, frowning.
“What do you mean, he wasn’t Jack Landor?” Dana persisted.
“He wasn’t that good-looking,” Gabe interrupted, standing up. “Are you interested in him or something? Because I think he’s a little out of your league, Charlotte. I mean, I know you’re taking this bet seriously and all, but you don’t want to rush into anything.”
“Right. That does it.” Charlotte tugged the plastic cap off of her head. “Dana, I’ll see you at the hairdresser’s. Gabe, go to the supermarket, then go home. I’m going to take a shower. And we are not going to talk about oatmeal, mud packs or Jack Landor ever again, are we clear?”
Dana smiled. “See you at twelve.”
Gabe got up, following Charlotte to the bathroom door. “Need help scrubbing off your back? I’m sure I could dig up a volunteer next door.”
She slammed the bathroom door in his face and turned the shower on, full blast. Feeling the oatmeal run off her face under the pounding spray, she had one thought…
She might not win this bet, but the next time Gabe saw her, he wouldn’t know what hit him. She’d stake her life savings on it.
3
BY THURSDAY, GABE was sick of being put off for Charlotte’s “makeover agenda.” She wouldn’t see him, barely even had time to talk to him. Now he had only one goal: getting her to give up this stupid bet, for her own good.
He pulled his sleek black Mustang convertible into the parking lot of Howes Design, jetting into the nearest parking space. Getting Charlotte to do anything was difficult. Getting her to do something for her own good was damn near impossible.
“I am such an idiot,” he muttered under his breath, retrieving the bouquet of white roses he’d gotten for her. Charlotte was a sucker for flowers. Two dozen red roses had saved his butt when he’d accidentally cracked her car’s back window last year with a practical joke, he remembered with a smile.
Somehow, he doubted he’d get off the hook that easily this time. Once he and Charlotte shook hands on a bet, she was like a ton of cement: hard, completely set and impossible to budge.
He had handled Saturday badly, he realized. Even if she wouldn’t believe it, he had been trying to help her. He knew how pushy his sister could get, and she had been after Charlotte for years, trying to “girl-ify” her. He was just trying to help Charlotte stop them, he thought logically. Then she’d gotten that fire in her eyes, and he’d indulged in pricking her temper. He knew he shouldn’t get as much of a kick out of it as he did, but when Charlotte sparked, he couldn’t help but react. He loved watching her go to any lengths to beat him at whatever it was they were shaking on. Besides, he’d thought she was bluffing, and he wasn’t about to knuckle under if she was. It wasn’t until he’d seen her the next morning that
he realized everything the bet entailed.
What if she did meet some guy, like that jerk she’d dated in design school? The guy had turned into a psychotic Pygmalion, trying to turn Charlotte in as his final project. Gabe had just graduated himself and was looking forward to spending more time with Charlotte…they hadn’t been close when he was in high school, but when he’d moved away to college on the East Coast, he realized he missed the tomboy brat who lived around the corner. But instead, she’d spent all of her time with her boyfriend until the jerk dumped her, and she’d wept on Gabe’s shoulder and told him the story she couldn’t tell the girls: how the guy had been trying to change her, how he’d said he’d given up because “the project was only as good as the materials…and you’re not good enough.”
She’d then made Gabe promise not to kill the guy, a promise Gabe still regretted.
If Charlotte went all out on this crazy bet, who knew what sort of lunatic she’d hook up with, just to show him she could.
And if she got married, where would that put me in her life?
He ignored the tiny voice that had been poking at him since Sunday morning. He’d make her see reason, no problem. From what he’d seen, she wasn’t unhappy with her life. She always seemed happy when she was with him, anyway…except for the wedding. But that was probably just a fluke, a mood thing. As he’d said to Brad, weddings did weird things to women. And if he knew Charlotte, he knew she didn’t want to be anybody’s Mrs. Right.
He’d make sure she remembered that.
“Say” came a woman’s voice from the front door. “Are you going to come in, or are you just going to loiter for the rest of the afternoon by our front door?”
“Huh?” He was startled out of his thoughts. “What?”
Wanda, the receptionist at Howes Design, smiled at him as she held open the door. “Those flowers for me, handsome?”
He smiled back. “No, they’re a peace offering for Charlotte. Is she in?”
A strange look crossed Wanda’s face. “She sure is.” Gabe followed Wanda through the door into the air-conditioned lobby. “So. Are you what happened to her?”
“What happened to her?” he echoed. “What do you mean?”
“She looks strange, Gabe,” Wanda said conspiratorially, leaning a little too close to him. “I mean, I’ve never seen her look like this before. It’s weird.”
He groaned. “Oh, no.”
Wanda shifted gears, her smile turning seductive. She was close enough that her red curls brushed against his shoulder. “So what are you doing this weekend, handsome?”
“Penance,” he muttered. Then he added more clearly, “Thanks, Wanda.”
He hurried down the hallway. What could Charlotte have done now? God, he hoped she hadn’t unearthed those bizarre designs that jerk had concocted…pastel granny dresses with combat boots. Or was it worse? Pinstriped straightjackets with sensible shoes? Leopard prints? Lederhosen? Or had she just given up completely and shaved her head?
Taking a deep breath, he courageously slapped on a big smile before throwing the door open and entering, flowers first.
He froze.
Charlotte barely glanced up, smiling tiredly. “Hey there. Come on in. I just need to finish up this sketch…this client is a nightmare. I’ve been working like a demon all morning.”
He felt like somebody had punched him in the stomach. “Um, sure,” he said slowly, wishing he could stop staring. “You look…good.”
She looked up at him for a second, with a little smirk. “Damn me with faint praise.”
Whatever he had been expecting, it wasn’t this. She looked strange, all right. Strangely alluring, strangely striking. Strangely beautiful.
Her straggly long hair had been cut to her shoulders, falling in graceful waves. Something else was different about it, he noted. It was darker, more chestnut, maybe. She wore it pushed back a little, showing off that swan’s neck of hers. It suited those high cheekbones nicely.
He blinked. When the hell had he noticed she had high cheekbones?
Her hazel eyes were huge, glowing with life. “Gabe? Hello-o-o, Gabe.” Her smile was shy and self-conscious. “That bad, huh?”
It was the smile that snapped him out of it. No matter what she looked like, that smile was pure Charlotte…that little softness that took the sting out of her sharpest, hippest remarks. “Nah,” he said, regaining his equilibrium. “I was just mentally balancing my checkbook to see if I could clear a grand, or if I’d have to raid my savings.”
She laughed, showing off a rosy little blush that added life to her clear porcelain complexion. If this kept up, he thought desperately, he’d start writing a sonnet about her. He thrust out the flowers almost aggressively. “For you,” he muttered.
The blush deepened a little. She was wearing some kind of dusty rose lipstick, and her lips looked full and generous as they curved into a delighted smile. “I didn’t get anything for you,” she joked, her voice low and husky.
Her voice had always been like that, hadn’t it? So why did his pulse suddenly rev up like an engine at the Indy 500?
Then she got up and took a vase off of the tall bookcase behind her worktable.
He thought he’d been shocked. Now he was beyond shocked. He felt like someone had taken a sledgehammer to his chest as he tried without success to take a breath.
She wasn’t wearing her usual baggy jeans. Instead, she wore a short, flirty sundress in a fragile pastel pink that floated like a cloud around her body. The neck scooped to reveal the gentle swell of her breasts. And she was wearing strappy white sandals. With heels. He wasn’t sure what weird equation of physics made heels do what they did to women’s legs, but they were acting in overdrive on Charlotte’s. Her legs were long and luscious, just the way he liked…
This is Charlotte you’re ogling.
The thought brought him up short.
She paused in her impromptu flower arranging, pulling out the little white flag he’d tucked into them. She turned, tapping one foot as she smirked at him. “So what’s this for?”
“Unconditional surrender,” he murmured, wrenching his gaze up from her legs and wondering just when the hell he had lost control of the situation. “On both our parts. Let’s just call this stupid bet off, Charlie.”
He watched as her face turned hard, and sighed. It just wasn’t going to be that easy.
“So what brought this on, Gabe?” She walked over to the drawing table, her heels clicking viciously against the hardwood floor.
“What do you think?”
One of her finely arched eyebrows quirked up. “Let’s see. Because you don’t think I have a prayer of doing anything but making a fool of myself with this bet?”
“I never said that,” he interrupted. “I just don’t want you to get hurt.”
“Translation—you think I’m going to get hurt because I’m not the sort of woman that men go bonkers over.”
Until today, he thought. He couldn’t remember exactly what he’d thought before today. “I never thought you were ugly,” he said instead, more sharply than he’d intended.
“Oh, really? Then what did you think?”
He opened his mouth, then shut it, reconsidering. “You’re sweet, and nice, and funny. You’re a mean poker player and a great quarterback. You’re brilliant at your job….”
“Oh, and all that keeps my organizer filled with dates,” she said, breaking in sarcastically. “My looks, Gabe. How did you think I looked?”
He sighed. “You’re my best friend. How am I supposed to know? I don’t think of my friends that way!”
“That is the biggest cop-out I’ve ever heard.”
“I knew it. You’ve only been doing this for a few days, and already you’re turning all girly on me,” he said with asperity. “Looking at you, hearing you talk, I know this is a bad idea. Besides, do you know the kind of men that are prowling around these days? You don’t know what you’re getting into!”
Her eyes blazed. “I can take c
are of myself, thanks very much. I have for years. You don’t need to worry about me!”
“I’ve been worrying about you for years,” Gabe raged back at her. “And that was when you were still in your right mind!”
They stood there for a long moment, their words like fallen swords between them. Before either could break the silence, the phone rang. They both jumped, startled.
Charlotte snatched up the receiver. “Yes?”
Gabe took a deep breath. Okay, he’d botched that one thoroughly. He’d meant to be convincing, suavely persuasive. Then he’d taken one look at her and his well-laid plans went straight out the window. Hopefully, he could still salvage the situation. Once she got off of the phone, he’d try to be a little more smooth.
“Glinda, Good Witch of the North?” Her eyes widened, bewildered, then closed. “Oh, my God. Hi, yes, I’m sorry. This is Charlotte Taylor. I didn’t mean to snap like that, I’m just in the middle of something. Is this Jack?”
Any thoughts Gabe had of peacemaking disappeared. Jack Landor? What was he doing, calling Charlotte here? And what did he want?
Gabe stopped himself, midthought. Oh, he could guess what good old Jack wanted, all right.
“Hi, Jack. Yes, I’ve recovered fully from this weekend. You’re a brave man, not to run off screaming at the sight of me. I’m sure I was something to see.” She chuckled, halfheartedly. “What? Oh, that.”
She laughed again, and Gabe saw a deep red blush creep across her face. “You weren’t supposed to notice that blop of oatmeal there.”
Gabe saw purple. Suddenly, he felt the overwhelming urge to hit something, preferably Jack. That lech!
“Hmm… So, you want a local person’s advice on what the hot spots are in Manhattan Beach, huh? Well, I guess I could help you a little. I know several excellent restaurants, a ton of sports bars and a few dance clubs…what?” Gabe suppressed the urge to hit the speaker button and hear what was causing the shocked look on her face. “Um, I’m, uh, not sure. Today’s Thursday, right? No, I don’t have any other plans tonight….”
Gabe clenched his fist. The man was railroading Charlotte into a date. The nerve of the guy!