Chasing Temptation

by Lane, Payton

  “I didn't ask.” He shook his head.

  “You wanted to.”

  “You've been putting a lot of words in my mouth lately.”

  Lynne pumped the brakes on her defensive response, because she had. “Then what did you hear?”

  “You were making come-hump-me eyes with the enemy camp.”

  “Aren't you the one to talk?” She pointed out.

  “You may be right there, but at least I'm not in denial. I accept that I have the hots for the enemy.”

  “The hots?” She snorted with laughter. “When did this conversation digress to junior high?”

  Jeremy shrugged. “When you secretly started writing your name on pieces of paper as Lynne Craine.” He tilted his head to side and a smile crept out. “Has a nice ring, doesn't it?”

  She bit back the next comment when a customer came in. A tourist, passing through town. She did her best to not growl when the woman asked if there were any stores for men. If only she were more petty.

  “You can check out next door.” Lynne gestured to her right to indicate the direction.

  “Thanks.” The woman waved and left the store.

  “Giving him customers now,” Jeremy muttered.

  “I'm being professional,” she said slowly.

  “Last night, when I had to explain this to Sylvia, I used this phrase.” He tilted his head to the side again but nodded. “It's quite apt.” He took in a deep breath and began to sing. “Lynne and Nathan sitting in a tree...”

  She reached for one of the sweaters behind the counter, but couldn't get at it to throw it at him. With a huff she settled back on the stool.

  “Just wait,” she promised, her voice dark. “Your day's coming.”

  He shifted a some dresses on a rack and took out a pair of slacks. “The proper word is comeuppance.”

  The bell over the door rang. Lynne perked up and smiled. Then she saw the woman who had walked in. Crap. Her stomach filled with lead and she wondered if it was too late to hide behind the counter.

  “May I help you?” Jeremy asked.

  “I'm looking for, oh.” Her mother slowed when their gazes clashed.

  Lynne knew her mother's eyes were on the red hair. Probably had zeroed in on the tattoo along her wrist. And, right about now, her mother's mind was calculating how long before she could talk Lynne into changing it all.

  “Hi, Mom,” Lynne managed to squeak out even though her breath refused to come out.

  Her mother glided forward, and Lynne caught Jeremy mouthing That's your mom? If words could have exclamation points, Jeremy's would have fifty at the end of his statement.

  “Lynne.” Her mother cleared her throat. “I figured I should stop by and see the store you bought. You know your father was upset you didn't consult him. He could have gotten you a better deal.”

  “I bought Hart and Style from a friend.” She couldn’t keep the defensive tone out.

  Just that quick, in a matter of a few words, she doubted herself. She wasn’t measuring up. She had hoped to leave behind all the crap of feeling less, not enough when she'd moved away home.

  There was a reason she only made occasional calls and even fewer visits home. Parents, well, at least hers, had a way of making her feel less.

  Oh, you're president of a Fortune 500 company...Why couldn't you be the President of the United States? We had such high hopes.

  Lynne swallowed back the bile in her throat.

  Her mother pulled off a cardigan, revealing arms that Michelle Obama would be jealous of. “Well, where can I help until you're free?”

  She quelled the knee-jerk answer in her mind and smiled. “Folding. I always need things to be re-folded and put back on the shelves.”

  “Great. When do you close? You do close around six or seven? We can go to the local store for roast and other things. I've got the wine.”

  “Of course you already have the wine.” Probably already had made napkins in the shape of swans.

  “Do you?”

  “Do I what?”

  “Close at a decent hour?”

  Lynne sighed. “Yes, I close at a decent hour.”

  When her mother turned, Lynne mouthed to Jeremy, Kill me now. He was no help, though, because his gaze kept jumping between the both of them. She'd told him several times her mother wore cardigans, sometimes pearls, and Donna Reed had nothing on her.

  Why people never believed her when she described Eloise, Lynne would never know. The ends of the short bob cupped her mother’s chin. The chestnut strands moved when her mother moved but would somehow settle perfectly again. God, she even glided with grace and elegance.

  Lynne’s gaze went down to her mother’s feet. Smart, three-inch pumps. Lynne wiggled her own toes in the carpet. Her mother didn’t exactly frown, but it wasn’t a glance of approval.

  “So...” her mother started. Eloise picked up a sweater and folded it with military precision.

  Lynne straightened and cleared her throat. “Jeremy, this is my mother, Eloise. Mother, Jeremy.”

  Flipping amazing. Jeremy turned a few shades of red. Jeremy. He’d also been gawking. She was surprised he didn’t trip over his own feet when he made his way over to take Eloise's hand.

  Her brows rose when he kissed the hand instead of shaking it. Her mother seemed to have that effect on people, and the gesture reminded Lynne that she would have to dig out the good silverware. She winced.

  It was starting already—the beginning of the end of her independence. One sign of her sanity unraveling came with the thought of polishing silverware. The fact she owned brass utensils showed how easily it began. The rest of the change began with little thoughts.

  She had to get her mother out of town, at a safe distance. Her very life depended on it.

  “It’s nice to meet you, Jeremy,” her mother said. “How long have you known my daughter?”

  He flushed again. “I came on after one of the employees was fired. So, that’s about eight months ago?”

  “Yes,” Lynne agreed. “I hired you eight months ago.”

  Lynne knew there was no going back, and from now on anytime she had anything bad to say about Eloise, “But she’s so nice,” would be thrown back at her.

  She sighed, rounded the counter to go in the back to take care of paperwork in her office. Her mother would help in the store. Jeremy would gladly direct Eloise about, having help instead of being the help.

  And, okay, fine, Lynne wanted to sulk. She powered up the computer and half-convinced herself she wasn’t being immature and childish. Unfortunately, immaturity was the natural process of being around one's parent for more than five minutes. Kind of like the process of grieving, in the stead of denial there was defeat. Though anger stayed the same.

  A knock sounded at the door, and Lynne jolted in her chair. Her mother stood there with her arms folded.

  “Hiding?” It was her mother’s turn to sigh. “I don’t know why. I want the best for you. I want to know how my daughter's doing.”

  She had the urge to run a hand through her hair but she'd gone heavy with the gel that morning. “What’s wrong with a phone call?”

  Her mother huffed. “You can’t avoid me if I’m standing right here in your face.”

  Eloise had a point. “Can’t blame a daughter for trying?”

  Lynne needed to know how long this visit would last. Would her father show up too? Probably not, but she wouldn’t rest until she knew for certain.

  Pussyfoot around or ask directly? The decision was easy. “Is Dad coming?”

  “On business,” Eloise replied crisply.

  A term Lynne had heard throughout her childhood. In essence, the first word she'd learned to spell was business. Right after that: money. “Oh, and you...”

  Eloise pursed her lips. “What exactly are you asking me?”

  When would Lynne learn you can’t pussyfoot around with a woman who could make professional chefs appear lacking in quality?

  She tapped her fingers on the top of
the desk and then asked the question, “How long are you going to be here?”

  Her mother raised a dainty brow. “Does it matter?”

  Not really. Any length of time would have Lynne on edge. “It would be nice to know.”

  Her mother clasped her hands together and pushed her shoulders back. “A week, maybe two. Depends on how long it takes for your father to come to his senses.”

  Lynne blinked. “What?”

  “I left your father,” her mother announced without blinking. “Sent him an e-mail, since he hasn’t been home for the past two weeks. Off on business. Once a man gets to a certain age he can’t work all those long hours. He shouldn’t have to put up with certain kinds of stresses. He can die tomorrow and what would he have left behind? An amazing portfolio.”

  She blinked again, still trying to process her mother's first statement. “You what?”

  Her mother finally sat down in the chair on the other side of the desk. “I left your father.” She'd softened her tone. “I know he won’t divorce me. I don’t want to divorce him, either. He just needs a wake-up call.”

  The news refused to settle in her brain. “But you guys have been married for eons.”

  “I said we aren’t getting divorced.”

  “But you left him. It’s so...” She couldn’t think of a word so she just waved her arms around uselessly.

  “Scandalous? Rebellious?”

  Lynne tried for a description. “Unlike you.”

  “I know I act and look a certain way.“ Her mother took in a breath. “But that doesn't mean my well isn't deep. Or that I don't have a few surprises left. For example, I have a tattoo of a dragon on my inner thigh now.”

  She could only blink at her mother's confession and...regretted taking the scotch home. Her mother stood and clapped her hands together as if saying her work was done. If work meant breaking the very fabric of Lynne's mind, then job well done.

  “I’ll leave you to do your work,” Eloise said. “Don’t worry about the customers. I have everything under control.” She stopped mid-turn. “Oh, there’s a man asking for you in the front.”

  A man. No hard guesses as to who.

  “Not now,” Lynne muttered.

  Not after their baking and kissing fest the night before. She had agreed to stay away from him. Okay, silently to herself without him being the wiser. They were headed on a road that led to sex. Not something Lynne would regret. But how would he treat her afterward? As though the act would mean nothing, or worse, that sex had been a mistake?

  She put a little pressure on her temples. God, not now. “Tell him I’m busy.”

  Her mother fidgeted with her collar and a flush darkened her face. “He’s quite handsome.”

  Even her mother was snowed by the real Nathan. “He’s Satan in disguise.”

  “Then he should be right up your alley. A man easy to conquer would bore you. I’ll let him know he can come on back.”

  If her limbs could move, she would have grabbed her mother and stuffed her in a closet somewhere. Not only was she Susie Homemaker, Eloise had already decided Granny El was the coolest choice instead of Nana or Grandma. Lynne placed her head on her desk.

  “You hired more help?” Nate’s voice hovered above her head.

  She wasn’t going to tell him. He needed no more fuel to mock her. “A good-hearted volunteer.”

  She lifted her face and focused on the plant over his shoulder. There would be no direct eye contact today. She did not want to see the attraction for her in his gaze. It never boded well. The “gaze lock” always made her feel itchy, and she wanted him to scratch the hell out of it.

  “I’m not selling,” she settled on as a reply.

  He sat down across from her, as she had expected him to do. “As you keep saying.” He paused. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.” But he sat silently and the words fell out anyway. “My world's falling apart at the seams. This guy is trying to put me out of business. I have an employee who is driving me crazy because he’s so chipper. I’m dealing with a confession of midlife crisis and of a tattoo in the most unlikely place.” She pushed on her temples again in hopes the throbbing would cease and desist. “You know, the usual stuff that can make a normal person go insane.”

  “I wouldn’t call you normal.” There was a smile in his voice.

  She refused to look up because his smile always knocked her for a loop. “I said it would make a normal person go insane.” She gave in and looked directly at him. Her heart kicked because a smile was trying to fight its way out. “I never said that I was normal.”

  The corner of his lip twitched , but he didn’t let out the laugh. “Excuse me then for misunderstanding.”

  There was that damn itch. He would be the perfect remedy.

  Thankfully, Nate cleared his throat and leaned forward. “I’ve been thinking.”

  So had she, but none of the thoughts were good for her. “And?”

  “I think we should go on a business dinner.”

  “Ah,” she replied, unimpressed with the set up.

  “Ah?” His voice had grown a sharp edge. “That’s all?”

  Exasperated, she said, “Did you not hear the list of everything falling apart?”

  “I did, but any business man–um, person should be able to handle their personal life and their business responsibilities.”

  She laughed, too amused everything he'd just said. “So you plan to goad me into this date?”

  Any hint of smile disappeared. “I said business dinner.”

  She rubbed her chin with the backs of her fingers. “What am I to wear? A simple black dress?”

  “Nothing about you is simple, but, yes, where we're going is black tie.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “And you’re picking up the tab?”

  “Yes, since I’m the one doing the convincing.”

  “Then it’s a date.” She laughed harder. “I’ve given you my answer. I’ve been giving you my answer since the first day we met. We can have whatever business discussion you want right here and now to save you some money. But you, Mr. Craine, are using this dinner as an excuse. So it’s a date.”

  Nate stood and ran his hands down the button's of his jacket. His fingers were steady. “It’s business.” He stalked to the door then stopped. “The driver will pick you up around eight.”

  And then he was gone.

  “That man is delusional.”

  To be fair so was Lynne because she hadn’t tried to fight his offer of a...business dinner at all. Even now she could hear her mother’s laughter, then Nate’s voice, deep and low. Her skin tingled and a rush of heat rose to her cheeks.

  Why was everyone winning over the natives in her life?

  She pushed the thoughts aside and clicked on the quarterly report due in the next few weeks. She allowed herself to get lost in the activity and all the administrative duties of doing business until her mother cleared her throat at the door.

  She’d have known that “Ahem” anywhere. Given she'd ignored her mother since ten that morning, Lynne forced herself to glance up with a smile on her face.

  Only her mother could look immaculate after seven hours on a retail floor. The bob still had bounce; her face still held every inch of makeup, and—Lynne let her gaze go down to her mother’s feet–Eloise still had on her shoes.

  Her mother beamed. “How is the paperwork going?”

  “I want to stick this pen in my eye, so pretty well.” She tossed the ballpoint back on the desk.

  Her mother's smile held as she collapsed in the chair. “I’m glad I was a stay-at-home mom. I don’t know how you do this every day.”

  Maybe she hadn’t heard her mother right. Her brain was fried. “What?”

  Her mother's eyes twinkled. “Have you been having trouble hearing lately?”

  “Smart ass.”

  Her mother batted her eyelashes innocently. “Where do you think you got it from?”

  Lynne chuckled as she stood to shake out
the stiffness in her limbs. “You also gave me a good eye for clothes. I need your help. I have to wear something suitable for a date.”

  Her mother picked at some imaginary link but a knowing smile peeked out. “With tall, dark and cobra-like?”

  “The proper word's handsome. Yes, he’s calling it a business dinner, but I call a spade a spade. I don’t have anything new at home. I...” Rarely go out would be a lie.

  She never went out. She had flings. A woman had needs but that woman couldn’t exactly tell her mother about those needs.

  She cleared her throat. “I need you to pick something out from the store, and then we can run home to fix me up.” She checked the clock before shutting down the computer. “We’ve got forty-five minutes.”

  Her mother jolted as if slapped. “That’s not enough time.”

  “That’s the time I have.”

  The small huff filled the quiet room. “Then you need to hurry up. You still need to bathe.” She gave Lynne a pointed look. “You were going to bathe, right?”

  “That’s going to take twenty of those minutes, because I’m shaving my legs.”

  Her mother let that one slide and said, “And fifteen for hair and makeup? You do need to be on time.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with my hair. I don’t have on any makeup. I rubbed most of it off an hour ago. I don't see the point of putting more on.”

  “Your hair is stiff, with absolutely no gloss to it, but it’s done?” Her mother threw up her hands and sighed. “Come on, then, since you expect me to create miracles.”

  Lynne grabbed her purse and said, “I might have to wear my hair normal.” She mimicked air quotes. “If this is a date, or to him business, he’s taking me somewhere really fancy. Can’t go as myself, you know.”

  “Not everyone can accept you as you are.”

  Another silence fell between them, but this one held all the words Lynne wanted to say, all the questions she wanted to ask. She wouldn’t. Why stir things up when her mother didn’t plan to stay long?

  She told her mother, “We should pick something red that goes with my hair.”

  “Emerald or even an auburn shade would go better with the shade you have.”

  “You’re right. I don’t know why I’m better at dressing other people.”