Adam snorted.
“Did you say something?” Gracie asked, hand on his shoulder.
“Bug,” Adam said. “Hand me your keys and I’ll get the car.”
“I can do it myself,” Charity said.
“But I already said I’ll do it for you.”
At the intensity behind his dark stare, Charity’s stomach did a nervous flutter. Could he have made the request to be gentlemanly? Or had Gracie’s rambling about Sam actually upset him? At the very least, sparking his competitive edge where his office rival was concerned. Just in case, she, as demurely as possible, reached into her purse for the keys, handing them across the table, trying with all her might to ignore hot tingles when their fingers brushed yet again.
“Thanks,” he said, eyes suddenly bright. “I’ve been itching to get my hands on this baby’s wheel. See how she performs on that curvy section between here and Johnson Avenue.”
Pop. Charity’s mood fell like a deflated balloon. She should’ve known Adam’s request hadn’t been about chivalry, but trying out her ride.
“Let me know how things go with Sam,” Gracie said.
“If you all need a place to hold your engagement party, I’d be honored if you’d let me host it here.”
“Engagement party?” Adam snorted. “I don’t think anyone’s to that stage yet. Come on, Bug. Let’s go get that burger.”
“Love you, Adam!” Gracie called as her brother-in-law hustled Charity off into the night. Fingers crossed, she whispered, “Love you, too, Charity. It might look like Adam’s an impossible catch, but believe you me, with all three Logue women, plus Daddy Logue on the case, it’s only a matter of time before Adam’s begging you to head down the aisle!”
Chapter Four
Adam pulled up beside his truck in the office lot. He’d driven them here from the restaurant and Bug—Charity—had climbed out and now stood beside him, holding out her hand for the keys. He handed them over. Despite his best efforts, it’d been a twisted night. Ever since kissing her this afternoon, there’d been weirdness between them. Why had he done it? Why couldn’t he stop thinking about trying it again? “Guess this is it.”
“Yep,” she said, slipping her keys into her pocket, then yawning.
“You’re tired. How about we leave my car here and I drive you home.”
“I don’t have a problem driving,” she said with a funny smile. “And how come that statement smacks of you looking for another excuse to get behind the wheel of my new car? And what happens once we get to my condo? You inviting yourself to sleep over?”
“How come lately you’re always thinking the worst of me?” Lips pressed tight, shoving his hands into his pockets, he said, “I apologized for being an ass about you wanting to have a baby. I gave you a freakin’ car. What more do I have to do to show you how sorry I am?”
Taking his hands from his pockets, he cupped her slight shoulders. What was it about this transformation of hers that had him all the time wanting to touch her? It wasn’t normal. He wasn’t always touching his guy friends. “This is going to sound corny as hell, but, Bug—Charity—you’re pretty much all I have. You know, aside from my family.”
She looked down. “That’s sweet, Adam, but—”
“Dammit, Bug, I don’t wanna be sweet, I want things back the way they were. I like hanging out with you every night. You’re good company.”
“But don’t you get it?” she said, eyes all shimmery, as though she might cry. Bug, cry? He didn’t know it was possible. “I’m thirty-five years old, Adam. I’m tired of hanging around. I want what Gillian and Joe have.”
Adam snorted. “Don’t we all? What I couldn’t do with a spare hundred mil or so.”
“Quit joking around. I’m not talking about the money, but their relationship. What they share—their love—it’s priceless. Same with Beau and Gracie, and Caleb and Allie. Don’t you ever want that for yourself? Don’t you ever find yourself wanting more?”
What was he supposed to say to that?
His sister and two brothers had hit the jackpot when it came to love. What they all shared was so close to perfection, that from the outside, looking in, it didn’t even seem real. No one could actually be that happy, could they?
He’d once been. A long time ago.
But then, hell, come to think of it, he had been before this fuss with Bug, too. They weren’t…like romantic or anything, but what they shared worked. They made a great team.
So why not go for broke and make it more?
Suddenly hot despite the cold night air, he turned his back on her and walked away. “I’d better get going. It’s late.”
“Wait!” she called, chasing him to the driver’s side of his truck, her new high heels making a weird sexy clacking that echoed through the empty underground garage. He turned around, watching her hair bounce—not to mention other parts of her anatomy he hadn’t heretofore noticed her having been amply blessed. “I’ll help.”
“Help me get home?” he asked, mouth strangely dry at the sight of her flushed cheeks.
“No. With your dates. You know, with how your shrink says you have to go out. I’ll be your unofficial girl.”
“But I thought you had better things to do now that you’re looking for a husband.”
“I’ll do both,” she said. “Sam’s been showing interest, but who’s to say I can’t go out on early dates with him, then late ones with you?”
Just the thought of her being with that guy brought Adam’s blood to an instant boil. “No.”
“Excuse me?”
“Thanks for the offer, but in order for this to be convincing, I think it’d be best if you saw only me—at least until the shrink pronounces me cured.”
“Oh.”
“I know that’s asking a lot,” he said. “But surely it won’t take too long. A month or three—tops.”
“Um, sure. That’d probably be all right.”
“Good.”
“So then what do I tell Sam next time he asks me out? That is, assuming he does.”
“Oh, he will. And all you have to do is tell him you’re with me.”
“Am I? With you?”
“Um, sure. I mean…” He scrunched his nose. Was this one of those pass/fail women tests? How was he supposed to answer an asinine question like that?
A blue Impala revved by. The smelly exhaust only further befuddled his mind.
“Sorry I even brought it up,” she said, eyes all shimmery again.
“Good grief…” He pulled her into a hug. “No apology necessary. Besides, if anyone’s sorry, it’s me. I shouldn’t even be dragging you into this.” He kissed the top of her head. Had she always smelled this good? All sugary and sexy-sweet? “Promise,” he said, pushing Bug slightly back, just far enough so he could see into her big, wet eyes. “I’ll make this worth your while.”
“How? Because I don’t need any more cars or—”
Lord only knew why, but he stopped her infernal questioning with a kiss. No biggee. Just a peck between friends. “It’s late. Go home. Get into bed. We’ll hammer out the details mañana.”
“Okay,” she said, hands pressed to his chest, making her seem suddenly small and him so big and protective. Kind of the way he used to feel before losing Angela. He never thought he could feel that way again. Did this mean there was hope for him to eventually have a decent future? Or was he deluding himself?
“Come on,” he said. “I’ll tuck you in your car.”
She let him lead her there, open the door, help her in and fasten her seat belt.
“Want me to follow you home?” he asked.
“No, thanks. I’m good.”
“Just checking. If we’re going to be an official item, even if it is just pretend, I can’t have you ditching me for lack of manners.”
“WELL, WELL, Mr. Logue,” Adam’s shrink said Thursday afternoon. “You certainly have been a busy beaver. I only asked for one date and here you’ve had three. All with different women.”
“How did it feel?”
Kissing Bug? Holding her? Catching whiffs of that sexy new lotion?
“I’m sorry,” he said with a shake of his head, squashing the memory along with the stone in the pit of his gut. He cleared his throat, squirmed in his chair. “Could you please rephrase the question?”
“Once again entering the land of the living—how did that feel? Were the dates fun? Aggravating? Did any of the women make you feel especially glad to be alive?” She scribbled something on his chart. “Let’s go through each date—starting with the swimsuit model. Give me the first, one-word description that pops into your head.”
“Flat.”
“Hmm…Very interesting. And the legal secretary?”
“Manila folder.”
“That’s two words.”
“Isn’t it more like a compound word?”
She nodded, consulting his chart. “I’ll let it slide. And your co-worker? Charity Caldwell?”
“Pears.”
“Excuse me?”
“She got this new lotion from her sister, a gift from Victoria’s Secret. It’s the damnedest thing. The lotion, I mean. Smells like pears—only sweeter.”
“I see.” Scribble, scribble.
From the table beside him, Adam took a plastic snow globe of the Vegas strip and gave it a shake. Pretty. Maybe he and Bug could trek down to Vegas someday.
His shrink asked, “Do you have plans to ask any of these women out again, or would you prefer to select a fresh batch?”
“Charity. For sure, I’ll see her again. In fact, we’re supposed to have dinner tonight.”
“Wonderful. At a restaurant?”
“Nah. Her apartment.”
“Ahh…” She raised her eyebrows as she wrote. “That’s a relatively big step. A woman cooking for you in her home.”
“I’ll help. I don’t expect her to wait on me.”
That really sent the shrink into a writing frenzy. Was helpfulness bad or good? God, he’d give anything for some kind of gauge as to how this appointment was going. So far, he felt as though he was playing it cool. Giving the shrink everything she wanted, but—
“In the midst of your suddenly swinging new social life,” she said, “have you had many thoughts of Angela Jacobs?”
“No.”
Up went the doc’s eyebrows. “That was fast. None at all? No comparing her with the new women in your life? Rating how they stack up against her?”
“No.”
Scribble, scribble, scribble.
“This has been a highly productive session, Mr. Logue. I really do think we’re making progress, don’t you?”
“In what way?”
She beamed. “In every way. See you next week.”
“YOU SHOULD’VE HEARD her,” Adam complained at Bug’s that night. He sat on the kitchen counter while she scurried like a rooster, trying to make some fancy supper. Beef stroganoff, if he remembered correctly. “All up into my business. Making me talk and talk about all three of my supposed dates.”
“What’d you tell her?” Bug asked, stirring a bubbling pot of egg noodles.
“Everything.” He laughed. “She made me go on and on. All in all, I’d say it was excruciating.” Kind of like sitting here, watching his Bug get all sweaty from steam. And where in the hell had she gotten this latest get-up she had on? Low-riding faded jeans and a skintight pink T-shirt riding up her abdomen, giving him teasing little glimpses of her taut stomach. And what was that sparkle? Right there— “Whoa!” He’d tried so hard to catch a glimpse that he fell off the counter.
“You okay?” she asked, back to stirring the meat sauce. She’d put her new blond hair in a stubby ponytail, but even that was somehow different with escape strands wisping around her cheeks.
“Yeah. Sure. Just trying to figure out what you did to your stomach.”
“You mean this?” She raised her shirt, flashing him a shiny new belly ring. “Steph took me to get it. She said guys really go for this sort of thing. It’s like a fishing lure. And since…Well, you know, I’m trying to get out there and date, I figured why not go for it.”
“Sure,” he said with a gulp, wishing, praying she’d lower her shirt so he’d lose his ridiculous urge to lunge at her belly with all the aplomb of a large-mouthed bass. “Makes sense.”
“So? What do you think?”
“Strictly from a male friend’s point of view?” he asked. Had his voice come out as strained as it felt considering the amount of stress her question put him under?
“Of course. What other views other than friendly ones would you be having?” She winked before dumping a bunch of flour into the pot. It clouded, and she coughed and laughed, stepping back from the stove to wave her hand in front of her face.
“You all right?” he asked, patting her back.
She giggled. “Uh-huh. Who knew flour explodes?”
“Here,” he said, grabbing her wooden spoon. “Let me help.”
He took over stirring for her, damned grateful at having a safe place to hide the party going on behind his fly. How many hundreds of times had he been over here? Yet never once had this happened.
Well…The other night when he’d caught Bug in that sexy negligee, but that was different. This was just cooking. No way should he be aroused doing nothing but watching Bug stir.
He glanced over his shoulder to catch her take a salad from the fridge, then put it on the already-set table. The table he’d never once seen draped in a cloth, but that now sported not only nonchipped dishes and matching silverware, but flowers and a flickering candle. “What’s up with the fancy stuff?”
“I just figured in case your shrink wants specifics, this’ll add a more realistic flair to your report.”
“Good thinking,” he said, giving the simmering contents of the pot a few obligatory swipes. “Want me to pop the cork on that wine I brought?”
“It’s not twist-off?” she asked with another of her new winks.
“Ha, ha.”
She leaned over to get the wine from the fridge, in the process, treating him to the backside of her hip-hugging jeans. Was she wearing pink thong panties? He swallowed hard.
She set the wine on the counter, fishing in her junk drawer for the corkscrew.
“It’s in the silverware drawer,” he said.
“What’s it doing there?”
“Last time I helped with dishes, I think I stashed it there.”
“But you know I keep it in the junk drawer.”
“I know, but the game was on and—”
On her way to the silverware drawer, she swatted his chest. “You’re like a bad little boy shirking his chores.”
Corkscrew in hand, she tried doing the simple task, but couldn’t.
“Here,” he said, stepping up behind her, hands on top of hers on the cool, slick bottle. “Let me try.”
For the first time that night, her confidence looked shaken. For just a second she was back to the old Bug. The one who claimed insecurity about everything from her looks to her effect—or lack thereof—on men. “You don’t need to worry, you know?”
“A-about what?” Trapped in the circle of his arms, she looked up, in the process, unwittingly bringing her lips to a perfect kissing level.
“Your wine-opening skills.” He grinned. “Anything, really. I don’t know what’s got into you lately, but believe me—strictly from a guy friend’s point of view—you’ve got it going on.”
“Th-thanks.” She swallowed hard.
“Any time.”
“Ready to eat?” Charity asked, desperate to do anything other than stand in the circle of Adam’s arms. Did he have any idea what this closeness did to her? Because it wasn’t her skills—or lack thereof—that currently had her worried, but the erratic beat of her heart!
“Sure. Want me to help get everything on the table?” “Please.” Together, brushing shoulders and hips in the cramped kitchen, they put noodles and sauce
, salad, wine and rolls on the table Steph had coached her to beautifully set for two. Only once they sat, and Adam began heaping both of their plates with the lumpy, clunky white concoction Steph assured her would be not only easy to fix but taste divine, Charity began to worry maybe she’d overdone it with the flour.
Adam took the first bite. “Mmm. Good,” he said, deadpan expression not giving any clue as to how he really felt. “Wine?” he asked.
“Yes, please.”
While he poured, she took a bite only to promptly spit it out, then rinse her mouth with tart red wine. “Blech. I can’t believe you actually swallowed this stuff. What happened? I did everything Steph told me to.”
“It’s not that bad,” he said, forking another bite.
“Yes,” she said, hand on his, preventing him from making a potentially lethal mistake. “It is.”
He cautiously eyed her, almost as if checking to see if it really was okay to admit her first stab at making a fancy meal had flopped. Good grief, how did she expect to feed a baby when she couldn’t even prepare a meal for herself? Let alone the child’s potential father.
“Go ahead,” she said. “You won’t hurt my feelings if you tell the truth.”
“You sure? After all, you did go to an awful lot of trouble.”
I’m sure,” she said, pushing back her chair before snatching the stroganoff bowl, then heading for the disposal.
“Got any butter?” he asked right behind her.
“I think. Check the compartment in the fridge.”
He did and found half a stick. He melted it in the microwave, then drenched the noodles in it.
“Good idea,” she said, reaching for garlic salt. “Add some of this.”
He did. “Got parmesan?”
She checked, found half a can, then reached around him to shake it on, for once leaning into him instead of away. Up close, he smelled way better than dinner. Like his leather jacket and an autumn blend of fallen leaves and rain and the year’s first frost.
Back at the table, they split the noodles and doled out salad she’d already tossed with Italian dressing.
“This is good,” he said.
“Sorry about the first disaster.”
To Catch A Husband (U.S. Marshals, Born And Bred Book 4) Page 5