The Makeover Takeover

by Sandra Paul

Damn, the lady could hold one mean grudge. For the first time he realized that getting Lauren to change her mind about things wasn’t going to be as easy as he’d first thought. He glanced at her. “Lauren—”

  The doorbell rang.

  “Oh, the others must be here.” She walked to the door.

  Until that moment, Rafe hadn’t believed Lauren’s story—that she’d invited others to help at a tree-trimming party. But obviously, he decided as a small, dark-haired woman and a tall blond man entered the apartment, he’d been wrong.

  “Hope we’re not late,” the woman began, “Sam just got back from the store, and— Oh!” She broke off at the sight of Rafe and gave Lauren a sidelong glance. “You must be—”

  “Rafe,” he supplied, setting down his pen and ball of wool and stepping forward with his hand held out. “And you’re—?”

  “This is Jay, Rafe. Jay Leonardo,” Lauren interjected, not meeting his eyes. “I know you’ve heard me mention her. And this is her fiancé, Sam McNally.”

  So this was the Jay she’d been dangling before him, Rafe thought. He should have known. He couldn’t wait to tease Lauren about her small deception. To make her squirm a little about—well, not telling a lie exactly, but definitely letting a misconception stand.

  “Glad to meet you.” Rafe shook hands with the couple. Suddenly things were looking up.

  The bell rang again.

  This time when Lauren answered it, a pine was standing there. A huge, majestic tree with dense, gleaming green needles.

  A man peered around one of the branches. “Lauren?” he said.

  Chapter Eleven

  It didn’t bother Rafe that another tree had turned up on Lauren’s doorstep. He liked trees; especially pines. But he didn’t feel quite as tolerant about the man attached to this one.

  The guy had dark hair and light-colored eyes. Rafe instinctively sized him up as he would another boxer in the ring, instantly recognizing an opponent. Because from the moment Lauren opened the door, the stranger didn’t take his eyes off her.

  Rafe glared at him, but the sap didn’t notice. He was too busy trying to score points.

  “Here it is, just like I promised,” he told Lauren, sounding as smug as if he’d hunted the tree down and shot it, rather than buying it off a local tree lot.

  And without waiting for an invitation—or giving her a chance to explain that there was already a tree on the premises, he pulled it inside.

  To Rafe’s disgust, the big tree slid smoothly through the doorway with nary a struggle. He’d never seen such a passive pine.

  As the stranger tilted it upright again, Rafe stepped forward to help, an expression of sympathy on his face. “Hey, tough luck, pal. It seems you’ve gone to a lot of trouble for nothing. Lauren already has a Christmas tree.”

  The guy’s head whipped up to stare at him as if he’d just realized there were other people in the room beside Lauren. He eyed Rafe up and down. “And you are…?”

  “Rafe Mitchell.”

  “Rafe’s my boss,” Lauren told the newcomer as she closed the door. And she politely explained to Rafe, “This is Jeff Ingram. Jeff just moved into the apartment downstairs a couple of weeks ago. You remember Jay and Sam, don’t you, Jeff?”

  Ingram nodded and smiled at the couple. But he didn’t smile at Rafe. The two men simply exchanged nods and measuring looks.

  “So you’re Lauren’s boss, are you?” Ingram drawled.

  “Yep, I’m the lucky man,” Rafe replied with a smile that was as false as it was wide. He stepped behind Lauren, establishing a silent claim. “I’m her boss—and also her very good friend.”

  Lauren jerked around at that and gave him a wary look. Then she moved away to stand by Jay, who was perched on the couch, watching the exchange with great interest. Next to her, Sam was eyeing the tray of appetizers.

  Ingram looked at Lauren again, saying with a reproachful note in his voice, “I thought you said you didn’t have a tree yet?”

  She spread her hands in apology. “I didn’t. Rafe surprised me.” As she spoke, she gestured at Rafe’s tree.

  Everyone turned to look in that direction. Rafe’s tree squatted in the corner, bare branches poking out hostilely as if daring anyone to approach.

  “What an… interesting tree,” Jay said, amusement dancing in her eyes.

  “Different,” was Sam’s succinct contribution.

  Ingram was less tactful. “The branches look a little dry. You’d better not put any lights on it.” He glanced at Lauren again and shook his tree enticingly, making the branches whisper. “In fact, are you sure you don’t want this one?”

  For a fleeting second, Rafe’s eyes met Lauren’s. Then he turned away, pretending to study the appetizer tray. He picked up a cracker dabbed with cream cheese, and threw it in his mouth, telling himself her decision didn’t concern him in the least.

  He couldn’t really blame her for choosing Ingram’s tree. Rafe had brought the scraggliest tree he could find to make her laugh. Even Charlie Brown wouldn’t have given it a second glance. He kept his expression blank, waiting for her to accept the bigger pine.

  From the corner of his eyes, he watched as she bit her lip in indecision. Then she clasped her hands in front of her, apparently reaching a decision.

  “Your tree is beautiful,” she told Ingram, her soft voice earnest and sincere. “I’d love for others to have the chance to enjoy it, too. Since the smaller tree is already up, would you mind if we take yours down to the women’s shelter? Then I can enjoy it when I’m there and everyone else can, too.”

  Ingram didn’t look thrilled at the suggestion, but when Jay exclaimed, “What a great idea!” he gave in with a shrug.

  “Okay, I’ll run it over there tomorrow. Let me take it back down to my truck.”

  His dissatisfied expression eased as Lauren immediately suggested, “Why don’t we all go and take it over right now? I’d love to see the children’s faces when we bring it in.”

  “Me, too.” Jay jumped to her feet and began gathering up her coat and scarf. Sam reluctantly rose also, abandoning the depleted appetizer tray to help her put them on.

  Rafe decided not to join the party. Watching Ingram play Mr. Bountiful in front of a bunch of kids was more than his stomach could take on a couple of crackers and cheese.

  “Well, I have to take off. Nice meeting everyone.” He picked up his pen and coat, then reached for his yarn ball, tucking it under his arm.

  Ingram lifted his brows. “What’s that?”

  “It’s my sweater,” Rafe told him. “Lauren made it for me.”

  Ignoring the other man’s surprised expression and the sudden flush of color in Lauren’s cheeks, Rafe headed to the door.

  A chorus of farewells followed him. If Lauren’s sounded rather choked—and Ingram’s especially hearty—Rafe didn’t let it bother him as he strode down the stairs and out to his car.

  All in all, he was fairly satisfied with the night’s work, he decided as he unlocked his car door. He might not have won the war yet, but he'd held his own in the opening skirmish.

  The angel—and even the chess set—had been a big hit with Lauren. He didn’t like leaving before Ingram, but the guy wouldn’t have the opportunity to put too many moves on her at a women’s shelter, especially with Jay and her silent shadow along. And when Lauren came home again it would be his tree—not Ingram’s—that she’d see in her living room, reminding her of him.

  Yep, it had been a fairly productive night. He wasn’t even sorry that the others had appeared. Now that he knew what he was up against, he’d simply have to alter his strategy a bit.

  He pulled out into the street, mulling that over. Lauren kept complicating the issue. First, with all those fantasies about love and marriage. Then, by denying that their kiss had meant anything to her. Now, she’d entrenched herself in her apartment and surrounded herself with her entourage—Jay, Sam and sappy Jeff—hoping to keep Rafe at bay.

  He had to convince her to quit hi
ding from the truth. To admit that she wasn’t as immune to his kiss—to him— as she pretended to be. Once she did that, then he was positive he could get her to agree to an affair and to putting thoughts of marriage behind her.

  So, what he needed to do was to lure her out into the open. Invite her to a place where she wouldn't be expecting anything romantic and then slip in under her guard.

  And he knew just the place to do it.

  “A hockey game?” Lauren regarded her boss doubtfully over the laptop computer she’d set on his desk. They’d been reviewing the Bartlett project in preparation for their trip, when Rafe had casually slipped in the invitation. “You’re asking me to watch a bunch of grown men skate around trying to hit a little ball with crooked clubs?’

  Rafe gave a long-suffering sigh. Leaning back in his chair, he looked up at the ceiling as if asking for patience. “I’ve told you before, Lauren. They hit pucks—not balls. And they do it with hockey sticks.”

  “I see.” Okay, now she knew the correct terms to use when describing hockey players’ balls and clubs. What he still hadn’t told her was what was behind this sudden invitation.

  She didn’t trust Rafe, and she especially didn’t trust him when he was being casual. “You’ve never asked me to a hockey game before.”

  “We’ve done a lot of things lately that we’ve never done before,” he murmured.

  Lauren felt a rush of heat in her cheeks as she thought about their kiss. But before she could say anything he added, “Kane was supposed to take Joe and Norma Benton to this game, but he can’t make it so I’m standing in for him. He suggested I take a date since Norma will feel more comfortable with another woman there to talk to.”

  Lauren knew the Bentons were long-time clients of the firm and that Kane or Rafe often entertained them by taking them to sports events. But she’d certainly never gone along before. “Why me?” she persisted.

  He gave her a sardonic glance. “Primarily because the women I’d normally ask aren’t speaking to me anymore since your necklace stunt. I figure since you caused the problem, it’s only fair for you to help me out. Besides, it will give us a chance to put all this recent unpleasantness behind us. Get back on a friendlier, more normal footing like we did the other night.”

  The other night had been nice, Lauren admitted. She loved the angel and chess set that he’d given her, and his tree had made her smile. He’d also been a good sport about the yam ball, and most importantly, not once had he made a sexual move toward her.

  Which was exactly what she wanted, she reminded herself, stifling the small pang the thought caused. Especially since her plan finally seemed to be progressing. She’d had fun with Jeff, taking the tree to the women’s shelter, seeing the excitement on the children’s faces. He might even have kissed her good-night, if Jay and Sam hadn’t been there too when he’d dropped her off. And she’d bet that, to Jeff, a kiss meant more than it did to Rafe.

  No, there wasn’t one tangible thing she could accuse Rafe of doing or saying that was out of line since their talk. Still, maybe it was all her imagination—heaven knew, she had a vivid one—but she couldn’t help feeling there was more to this sudden invitation than it seemed.

  “What should I wear if I go to the hockey tournament?” she asked, testing him.

  “It’s a game, not a tournament. As for what to wear…” He shrugged. “I dunno. Definitely something warm. Pants—a thick sweater. Sometimes the stadium can get a little chilly.”

  He went back to studying the report he'd picked up, and she went back to studying him. Thick sweater? Pants? That certainly didn’t sound as if he had seduction in mind.

  And he probably didn’t. You're getting paranoid, she scolded herself. This invitation didn’t mean a thing.

  As if to support her silent conclusion, he glanced up and met her eyes. “Don’t look so torn—it’s no big deal. If you have plans for tomorrow night or just don’t want to go, I’m sure I can find someone else to take.”

  “I’ll go.” After all, there was no reason for him to go to so much trouble. Especially since she’d never seen a hockey game. The niggling thought that she’d never wanted to see one surfaced, but she pushed it down again, adding, “I don’t have any other plans.”

  Rafe didn’t even bother to look up again. “Good,” he said absently. “I’ll pick you up at six.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Lauren could feel the excitement in the crisp air as they joined the crowd pouring into the United Arena. She drew a deep breath, letting it shiver through her as she hugged her coat tighter around her body.

  Rafe glanced down at her. “Are you cold?” he asked, and took her hand, feeling her fingers. “Where are your gloves?”

  “I forgot them,” she admitted. He must have forgotten his, too. His fingers were bare. They felt warm and good wrapped around hers. Too good. Alarmed at how his touch tingled through her, she started to pull away, but his grip tightened.

  “Don’t want to lose you,” he murmured in response to her questioning glance. “There’s quite a crowd here tonight.”

  There certainly was, Lauren decided, and since she didn’t want to lose him either—or make a big deal about it—she let him hold her hand as they headed down a wide hallway.

  She glanced at the people streaming past. “Almost everyone is wearing black.” She looked at Rafe’s shirt, revealed beneath his open black leather jacket. “Even you.”

  He stopped in his tracks, pulling her to a halt beside him. Ignoring the people eddying around them, he made a big production of looking her up and down. “Uh-oh,” he said ominously.

  Lauren knew he was teasing her; he had to be. But she couldn’t help looking down at her jeans and blue mohair sweater apprehensively. “What? What’s wrong? Did I tear something?”

  The lines by his eyes crinkled. “No. I don’t think so… here—turn around a minute.” He whirled her around to check out her backside.

  Lauren quickly whirled around again. “Rafe!”

  He was shaking his head. “No, that’s not it. It’s worse. Much, much worse.” His voice was full of doom. “You’re wearing the opposition colors. I’m not sure I want to sit by you.”

  “So don’t,” she said tartly. She started to walk away, only to be tugged back by his hold on her hand.

  “I have to.” He started walking again, giving her a sidelong glance. “Numbered seats you know.”

  He chuckled as she muttered, “Very funny.”

  “Besides,” he added, as he led her through a doorway and down a series of steps, “these are really good ones.”

  They were good seats, Lauren silently agreed, located by the players’ box and right above the glass overlooking the rink.

  “Where are the Bentons?” she asked, as she took off her coat.

  Rafe shrugged. “Joe mentioned they might be a little late. They live outside the city, and he and Norma were going out to dinner first.”

  Lauren nodded and handed him her coat, which Rafe placed along with his on the empty chair next to him. She sat down next to the players’ box.

  The Bentons could have eaten here, she thought. The scent of food filled the air, and the noise of the crowd buzzed around them. People were still arriving, but Lauren noticed that the teams were already warming up on the ice. She watched as they swooped and dived, surprised by how graceful they appeared. It reminded her of a ballet—the black team performing on one side of the rink, the blue team on the other. Each pushing their giant black checkers to the nets guarded by the goalie players.

  The goalies were like bears, lumbering around, guarding net caves. They wore black, lobster-claw gloves on their hands and snapped at the checker every time it came near.

  The warm-ups ended and the teams skated back to their benches. As they clumped into the box on their skates, Lauren realized she was sitting next to the visiting team, the St. Louis Blues. Their uniforms were exactly the same color as her sweater, she noticed. It made her feel a certain kinship with the team.


  “I’m going to cheer for the Blues,” she told Rafe.

  He shook his head. “I’m telling you, the Blackhawks will cream them.”

  “No, they won’t.”

  He gave her a goading look. “Ya wanna bet?”

  Lauren could feel heat rising in her cheeks. She knew that he was mocking her, using the same term she’d used when she’d said she wanted a man. The words were definitely a challenge.

  She lifted her chin. “Fine. Ten dollars says St. Louis wins.”

  “Lauren, Lauren, Lauren,” he said in a chiding tone. “Aren’t you always telling me that gambling is illegal? I was thinking of a more friendly wager.”

  Suspicion pricked her. “Like what?”

  “Oh, I dunno. How ’bout a kiss?”

  She turned to stare at him, her eyes narrowing. “So I’d have to kiss you if I lose?”

  He widened his eyes in shock. “Of course not. You get to kiss me if you win.”

  She wanted to laugh—she didn’t dare. Just the thought of kissing him again made her heart pound. She said as casually as she could, “I don’t think so.”

  He sighed. “All right, we’ll do it your way. I get to kiss you if you lose.”

  She didn’t respond to that, trying to pretend she hadn’t heard. Leaning closer, he whispered provokingly, “Unless you’re… afraid?”

  His warm breath caressed her ear, making her stiffen. Darn right she was afraid—but no way was she going to let Mr. Know-It-All know it. She was sure she could manage one quick peck on his cheek if she had to. “You’re on.”

  She was looking over at “her” team again, hoping they’d score lots of points, when her gaze met that of one of the players—a handsome blond with a crooked nose.

  He smiled. It was a charming smile, despite the conspicuous gap in his top row of teeth, so Lauren smiled back. He winked. Involuntarily, her smile widened.

  “What are you doing?”

  She glanced at Rafe, surprised by his annoyed tone. “I’m encouraging my players.” She raised her eyebrows, enunciating each word crisply. “Do you have a problem with that?”