Falling Into You (Bachelors & Bridesmaids Book 5)

by Barbara Freethy

  "I told her I'd be happy with a burger somewhere, but she said she wants to treat me to something special. I have a hard time saying no to Aunt Ida."

  "Me, too. That's how I ended up with you yesterday."

  He grinned. "And me with you. But I'm glad she hooked us up. I had fun today, Maggie. I hope you did, too."

  "I did," she said softly, meeting his gaze. "But I should probably go home now."

  "I guess it is that time. I just don’t really want to say good-bye to you."

  Her stomach flipped over at his words and the look in his eyes. "I don't think it's good-bye, is it? You're not leaving for another week; I'm sure we'll see each other again."

  "You won't be trying to avoid me?"

  "I can't promise that," she admitted.

  "That's what I was afraid of. You have a habit of letting yourself go and then pulling yourself back just as quickly."

  "So I don't fall," she said.

  "Maybe you wouldn't fall; maybe you'd fly. But you don't give yourself a chance to find out."

  "Someday—maybe I'll do that."

  "But not today."

  She shook her head. "Not today." Today, she was playing it safe.

  Chapter Eight

  Monday morning, Maggie woke up after a couple hours of sleep with a head­ache that she blamed completely on Cole. Although she hadn't seen him or heard from him since he'd dropped her off Sunday afternoon, he'd been in her head ever since he'd said goodbye—a goodbye that had come without a kiss—a fact she should have been happy about but somehow wasn't.

  Shaking that disturbing thought out of her head, she showered, dressed in jeans and a knit top, and mentally planned out her day. The Cougars' playoff game started at three, so she needed to leave her house by eleven to get to San Francisco in plenty of time for the first pitch. Since it was only nine, she had two hours to get something done. Since she'd been too tired to bake the night before, she'd give her apple pie another shot this morning. The Harvest Festival opened on Wednesday, so she was running out of time to come up with the right recipe. She should probably just give up, but it wasn't in her nature to quit.

  As she headed into the kitchen, her phone rang; it was her brother Keith on the line.

  "Hi, Keith. How are you?"

  "Good. And you?"

  "Not bad. Where are you?"

  "Can't say."

  "But you're safe?" She didn't know why she always asked that question, because neither her father nor her brothers ever gave her a straight answer, but she couldn't help worrying about them.

  "I'm talking on the phone to you, so yeah I'm safe. What's going on in Napa?"

  "The Harvest Festival is coming up. I've grown a pumpkin that is over a hundred pounds."

  "Seriously? Why did you do that?"

  "Because I have a garden, and I had pumpkin seeds, and I thought it would be fun. Don't you remember all the state fairs Mom used to take us to? She always talked about growing a pumpkin and entering it in the contest."

  "I don't remember the pumpkins, but I do remember her apple pie."

  "I'm trying to make one of those, too, but so far I haven't been successful. I swear there's some secret ingredient she put in there. Do you know what it was?"

  "Are you kidding? I stayed as far away from the kitchen as I could. Don't you have better things to do than to grow pumpkins and make pies? Like your job?"

  "I go to work every day. The other stuff is just on the side. The Stratton is great. I love working there. Well, that's not completely true. My boss has got some stick up his ass these days and is making my life a little miserable. I don't know if he's going through a midlife crisis or what, but he's definitely become super critical."

  "That sucks, but sometimes it's good to have someone pushing you to be the best."

  "I don't know if that's what he's pushing me to be. Sometimes I think he's trying to push me out of the hotel."

  "Well, don't let him."

  Things were always very black-and-white where Keith was concerned. "I'm glad you called, because I wanted to talk to you about Thanksgiving."

  "Yeah, about that," he said, a heavy note in his voice.

  She sat down on the stool by her kitchen island, dreading what was coming next. "Don't tell me you're not coming, Keith. You know I'm planning a big celebration."

  "I don't think I can make it, Maggie. I'll have a better chance getting to Germany. I'm probably only going to have two days off. Why don't you come there?"

  "So I can hang out with Dad's new girlfriend?"

  "She's not bad."

  "You already met her?" she asked in shock. "I just heard about her yesterday."

  "Dad wasn't sure how to tell you. He knows how close you and Mom were."

  "How long has it been going on?"

  "I'm not sure—a few months maybe. Why don't you come to Germany? If you need help on the ticket, I'll send you some money."

  "It's not just the money. I usually have to work at least one day on the holiday weekend, and I really wanted to show everyone my house. I wanted to cook dinner and sit around the table the way we used to."

  "Let's shoot for Christmas then."

  "All right," she said with a sigh, having a feeling that Christmas would be an even longer shot than Thanksgiving. "Stay safe, Keith."

  "I will. And think about coming to Germany. We'll talk soon."

  She set the phone down on the kitchen counter and felt another wave of disappointment run through her. It was possible she could still get her other brother to Napa for Thanksgiving, but the way things were going she suspected he'd probably go to Germany, too. The three men in her family had always been extremely close, and she'd always felt a little left out. They loved her, of course, but they didn't have as much in common with her as they did with each other.

  The sharp peal of the doorbell sent a tingle of anticipation down her spine. It could be anyone, but she couldn't help taking a quick peek in the hall mirror on her way to answer the door.

  Cole gave her a smile when she opened the door. "Hey, how's it going?"

  "Fine. What are you doing here?"

  "I wanted to say thank you, and you never gave me your number."

  "What are you thanking me for?"

  "Showing me around town, touring the wineries with me," he replied with a smile. He held up a shopping bag. "And I come bearing gifts."

  "What kind of gifts?"

  "Apples, flour, cinnamon, sugar and a few other things."

  "That sounds like the ingredients for a pie."

  "I thought we could make one together."

  "You're going to bake a pie with me?" she asked doubtfully. "Really? Why?"

  "So I can do more than just say thank you. Are you going to let me in?"

  "Maybe, but I think we should get something straight."

  He grinned. "You don't have to say it."

  "Are you sure I don't have to say it?"

  "Yes. You're not going to have sex with me just because I help you bake a pie. There, I said it. Really, Maggie, do you think I'm that shady?"

  She didn't think he was shady, but she also didn't think his motive was as altruistic as he said it was. "All right, come on in. I was actually just about to get started on my own pie," she added as they walked down the hall.

  "Maybe we should each make a pie and see which is better," he said.

  "You like to compete, don't you?"

  "It might make it more fun."

  "Great."

  He set his bag of groceries on the counter and looked around the kitchen. "I'll work over by the sink; you can work here. No peeking."

  "You think I'm going to steal your recipe?" she asked.

  He smiled. "I think you probably should steal my recipe."

  She made a face at him. "Where did you get your recipe?"

  "My grandmother used to make pies for the holidays."

  "I thought you were estranged from your family."

  "Not my grandmother on the Stratton side; my grandmother o
n my father's side. She was a lovely person and she liked to bake Sometimes I helped her."

  "I can't picture you in a kitchen with an apron." Even as she said the words, a sexy image of Cole wearing nothing but an apron flashed through her mind, and she felt the heat warm her cheeks.

  He laughed. "You are bad, Maggie."

  "You have no idea what I'm thinking."

  "Oh, I'm pretty sure I do."

  "Let's just concentrate on pie."

  "You're on."

  For the next half hour, they made pie filling and crust. While she did try to sneak a peek at what Cole was doing, she couldn't really see anything. Not that she wanted to copy him, but she was curious to see what he was putting into the pie. She also enjoyed watching him roll out flour dough, cut up apples, and measure spices. She'd never had a man cook with her or for her, and it was more appealing than she ever would have imagined.

  As beads of sweat dotted her forehead, she realized it wasn't just the oven that was preheating; it was also her. She forced herself to look away from Cole and stop imagining his hands molding her curves the way he was lovingly shaping his pie dough.

  She smiled at that wicked thought, then got back to work.

  Finally, both pies were ready to bake. They put them next to each other in the oven and set the timer.

  "Yours did look pretty," Maggie said grudgingly.

  "So did yours. But we both know, the truth is in the filling." He wiped his floury hands on a towel. "Do you mind if I grab a cup of coffee?"

  "Of course not." She opened the cupboard and pulled out a mug.

  As he filled it up, she said, "How was the restaurant last night? Did your aunt take you to Echo?"

  "She did, and it was as you described," he said, sliding onto a stool by the island. "Luxurious dining room, pretentious waiters, and excellent food."

  "How was your aunt?"

  "She was in good spirits, but then Aunt Ida rarely lets herself get down about anything. She's always got a smile on her face."

  "I've noticed that."

  "She hasn't always had an easy life, either. Her husband was sick for almost eight years before he died of cancer five years ago. She spent a lot of time taking care of him, but she never complained. She adored him."

  "They didn't have any children, did they?"

  "No. Ida said she never wanted kids. She likes being an aunt, and she has thirteen nieces and nephews, so she gets a lot of practice." He paused. "We were all a little worried about her after her husband died. She seemed at loose ends for a long time. Last year she decided to spend several months traveling, and I think it was really good for her. She seems more like her old self now."

  "I'm glad she had a good time, but we missed having her around the hotel. I think things always run more smoothly when she's there."

  "Harry Stone doesn't keep things running smoothly?"

  "He keeps things running, but he is very rigid and inflexible, and as I mentioned before he's become difficult to work with the last few months. He's like a powder keg. Just about anything can set him off, and I seem to be the one who pushes most of his buttons. I'm good at my job," she added, wanting there to be no mistake about that. "I get along well with our guests. But sometimes, I go the extra mile, and it's not a mile Mr. Stone wants me to go."

  "Like what?"

  "Mrs. Kensington's dog, for one."

  He raised an eyebrow. "What happened?"

  "Mrs. Kensington had a poodle that she treated like a son. This dog lived better than I do. He was supposed to stay with her sister, but then her sister got sick, and she needed to have the dog stay at the hotel with her. She comes to the hotel every year and spends a lot of money there, so I wanted to make sure she was happy. Plus, it was her eighty-fifth birth­day, and except for her sister, Strauss—that was the name of her poodle—is her only family."

  "What did you do?"

  "I snuck the dog into the hotel. I didn't think one night would make that much difference. I was going to personally clean the room after she left and if there was any damage to the carpet, I was going to pay for it."

  "I'm betting you got caught."

  "Yes, but I was so close… I had the dog stashed under a food-service table, and I told the other clerk at the desk that I was going to make a personal room service delivery. I picked up Mrs. Kensington's favorite roasted chicken dinner from the restaurant, and I made it into the elevator with no problem. And then what happens? The elevator gets stuck. The dog and I were in there for twenty minutes. I can't control him. He eats all the food on the table. Then he has an accident on the floor."

  Cole grinned. "That's pretty funny, Maggie."

  "Mr. Stone was not amused. He wouldn't have known except Mrs. Kensington freaked out when I didn't appear with her precious dog and she told everyone in the world that her dog was stuck in the elevator. So when the doors opened, everyone was waiting for me. I got written up for what I did, but I was really just trying to help an old, lonely woman."

  "Your heart was in the right place."

  "That didn't matter. And you know what—Mrs. Kensington turned on me, too. She got mad at me for letting Strauss eat the chicken, as if I could have stopped him. He was a little biter. When I got too close, he tried to bite my hand."

  Cole started laughing. "I can see it so clearly."

  "It really wasn't that funny."

  "It sounds like it was. Maybe you should think of working at another hotel where the management is less restrictive."

  "No way. I love the Stratton, and I need three more paychecks to make my down payment, so I am going to do everything I can to stay on Mr. Stone's good side for the next six weeks." She sipped her coffee. "Tell me more about your previous job as a venture capitalist. What kind of ventures did you invest in?"

  "A lot of them were technology based. It wasn't very exciting and certainly not as entertaining as your dog story."

  "But I'm guessing it was lucrative," she ventured. "Obviously, you're able to finance your gypsy lifestyle with your savings—unless it's with family money."

  "I don't take money from my family," he said flatly. "And, yes, I made a lot of cash with the firm, but I never had time to spend it. Now I do have time, but I find myself living fairly simply. I don't need a lot."

  "Lucky you."

  "I am lucky," he said, meeting her gaze. "I was able to take control of my life and not live according to someone else's expectations."

  "Sometimes expectations are good; they make you try harder."

  "I can motivate myself; I think you can, too. You haven't given up on your pie."

  "Well, not yet, but this might be my last attempt. I'm running out of time and hope." She picked up her phone as a text came in. It was from her other brother. She read it quickly and let out a sigh. "Well, the family mutiny is now complete. I talked to one brother earlier; he's going to Germany for Thanksgiving, and now my other brother is going to join him and my dad."

  "You could go, too."

  "I usually have to work part of that weekend."

  "If you wanted to get off, don't you think you could?"

  "I don't know—maybe. But I'm a little tired of being in a family that only wants to see me on their terms. That probably sounds childish, but it's how I feel."

  Understanding filled Cole's eyes. "No, I get it. But speaking as a man who knows something about how men think, I have to ask you if you've ever talked to your father or your brothers about how you feel."

  She sighed. "You don't talk to my dad about feelings. He only wants to hear plans or achievements."

  "You should try to get past that wall."

  "He's never been the kind of father I could talk to about personal things."

  "He still could be. Sometimes you have to tell us exactly what's going on and don't expect us to guess. My gender is not good at guessing what women think and want. Your father and brothers may have no idea how unhappy you are."

  "I did tell them I wanted them to come here."

  "So, t
ell them again and again until they hear you."

  "How can I do that, Cole? My brothers and my father are serving our country. They're risking their lives every day. They're heroes. Why shouldn't they have the holiday where they want it? What am I doing that's so important?"

  "Maggie, stop."

  "What?"

  "Stop putting yourself down."

  "Why? I'm just being honest. I don't save lives in my job. And my spare time isn't spent saving the world, that's for sure."

  "You make people happy, Maggie. You give them your attention. You make them feel special and important. And if you enjoy baking and gardening, good for you. Someone is going to enjoy your gigantic pumpkin and hopefully your pie as well."

  She smiled. "That's a nice thing to say. I'm sorry, Cole. I don't know why I keep dumping my family problems on you. I'm not usually this talkative, especially with someone I don't know that well."

  "You don't have to apologize. I like our talks. I'm going to miss them when I go."

  She was going to miss them, too. "You know, I think you're more intuitive than you think when it comes to women. You always seem to make me feel better."

  "I'm glad, but I'm definitely a work in progress."

  She liked his admission. She liked him. She just didn't know what to do about it. She got up and turned on the oven light so she could see the pies. They were cooking nicely. She glanced at the oven timer. "We have about five more minutes until the pies are done."

  "What should we do in the meantime?" he asked, getting to his feet.

  She saw the wicked light in his eyes. "Not that."

  "Not what?"

  "I can read your mind, Cole."

  He stepped forward and put his arms around her. "Do you know how long it's been since I kissed you?"

  "Too long?" she answered with a breathless sigh of desire.

  "Exactly. Way too long."

  "Then kiss me," she said, breaching the distance between them.

  Their lips touched together in steamy heat and as she moved into his arms, it felt so completely and utterly right. She closed her eyes and opened her mouth and enjoyed every swipe of his tongue, every warm corner of his mouth, every tiny escape of his breath as desire rose between them. She ran her hands up under his shirt. His body was muscled, hard and powerful, and she was very aware of how different they were and yet how perfectly they fit together. She was also aware of just how alone they were, how close her bedroom was, how easy it would be to take him down the hall.