He grinned. “You have to ask?”
Leanne joined them, two red blotches in her cheeks indicating that she’d caught most of their spontaneous romantic moment. “Oh, Mr. Whiting! I’ll pick these up.”
Grant nodded his appreciation as he quickly helped tidy things. “And when Miss Campion finishes shopping,” he instructed Leanne, helping to move the rack to just the right spot, “please give her a fifty percent discount.”
Then, before another glance into Mitzi’s eyes could tempt him to take her in his arms again until they’d overturned every clothes rack in the store, Grant pivoted on his heel and headed back to his office, waving to a More-land man in a black suit as he passed.
The grim-faced fellow made him laugh. “Security’s terrible here,” Grant informed the fellow blithely. “We call it shoplifter heaven.”
Grant strolled on, feeling as if he were walking on air. Even discovering the person he least wanted to see, sneaking through the back employee entrance, failed to dampen his spirits. Just the opposite. A plan began to formulate in his head the minute he saw his brother.
He greeted Ted with a clap on the back as they went up the rear stairs. “Imagine running into you here.”
Ted stiffened. “Okay, I know it’s a little past ten, but I had to take my truck in for an oil change. You can’t put things like that off, you know.”
Grant nodded. “Of course not. Anyway, don’t worry about it. You got here just in time.”
Ted eyed him suspiciously. “In time for what?”
Automatically, Grant began ordering his thoughts. “I have four things I need from you, Ted.”
His brother began to speed his pace. “If you really need me, I’ll be in my office.”
Before Ted could scamper away, Grant launched into his plan. “First, write up a memo telling all employees that there will be no layoffs, and that no change in the benefits package is in the works.”
Ted looked doubtful. “I haven’t written a memo since—”
“It’s like riding a bicycle,” Grant assured him. “Second, there is a prospectus on my desk. I wrote it up to make our store look subtly unattractive to the Morelands. I need your opinion.”
“Oh, sure,” Ted said, brightening a little. He was always glad to give an opinion. “Anything to help out.”
“The next thing is to tell Herman Little to start handing around his union petitions. Tell him he can walk around the store with a sandwich board if he wants.”
Ted’s eyebrows drew together. “Whoa! Are you sure?” Grant laughed, which only made his brother look more confused. “What’s the fourth thing you want?”
“Your boat.”
Ted froze. “My...?”
As Grant stared into his brother’s eyes, he realized he hadn’t witnessed such an expression of horror since watching Janet Leigh in the shower scene from Psycho.
THE TROUBLE WITH FISHING, Mitzi decided as she sat with her legs flopped over the edge of Brewster’s bass boat, a forgotten fishing rod perched in her hands, was that it gave people way too much time to talk. Apparently, Brewster had spilled all his fish stories, along with more than she ever wanted to know about chunking and winding, and now his topic of choice seemed to be Grant.
“Grant’s mother died when he was little—about five, I think—and his father passed away while he was in college. He’s been the bulwark of the Whiting clan ever since.”
Imagine. She’d been kissed by a bulwark.
The trouble was, Mitzi couldn’t let this intriguing subject drop, either. “To me he seems rather unpredictable.”
The kind of man who would meet a woman and tell her she was brittle and devious, and then two days later take that same woman into his arms and kiss her silly right in the middle of a department store. Every time she relived the moment his warm lips captured hers, liquid heat surged through her.
“Grant? Unpredictable?” Brewster chuckled. “He’s as reliable as an almanac.”
She’d never had a reference book sweep her off her feet before. Nor had she imagined that the mere touch of skin against skin could create such a furor of sensations. Cut loose? Since that kiss, she wondered if perhaps she hadn’t been cut loose from the land of reason. Her emotions were as hard to straighten out as a Rubik’s Cube. Foremost in the jumble of feelings was her desire for another of those kisses. Then there was an equally strong dose of distrust. After all, he was still Grant Whiting, the bridesmaid’s nemesis. And how could she feel so giddy over a man who couldn’t even speak to her in public without causing some kind of scene? Who, even though their every encounter ended in calamity, kept turning up in her thoughts? The man was more annoying and harder to shake than a Bee Gees tune.
And now Brewster’s information about Grant’s family tugged her in a whole new direction. Mitzi was no stranger to tragedy. Both her parents had died while she was in her twenties, and it had taken years before she felt she was on an even keel. But to have lost both parents, and then have to go through a painful divorce...
Next to her, Chester, who was lying on his back, sunning his naked pink belly in the afternoon sun, shifted and let out a satisfied snort. At least he was enjoying their lake cabin getaway. Maybe because he wasn’t focused on the sexy department store proprietor they’d left behind. Chester, apparently, was more interested in his tan.
“Did I tell you Grant was third in his class in college?” Brewster asked. Then he went on to add that Grant was also on the boards of several prominent Austin charities. A pillar of the community.
She supposed she should be glad that they were discussing Grant and not, say, cleaning out fish guts, which had been the topic of their conversation earlier. But the more Brewster sang Grant’s praises, the more Mitzi wondered what she was doing out here in the middle of nowhere with nothing but a bass freak and a dachshund for company, when Grant and his expert lips were back in the city.
In fact, she was contemplating diving into the water and making a frantic swim for shore when Brewster looked up. “Uh-oh,” he breathed. “Boat motor.”
Mitzi squinted into the distance.
“Well, I’ll be,” Brewster said. “Look who it is—one of the Whiting boys! Ted, I guess.”
Mitzi looked, and couldn’t believe it when she saw the familiar blond hair and blue eyes come into view. “No, it’s Grant,” she said, leaning forward. You’d think after blathering about his friend all afternoon, Brewster would at least be able to tell him from his brother. “Grant!” She practically hopped off the end of the boat as the sleek vessel pulled close.
Brewster was even more surprised. “Grant? I can’t believe you pulled yourself away from the store on a weekday.”
“Why not?” Grant asked as he slid up beside them. “It’s a beautiful day, and I happened to hear that you and Mitzi were out here.”
“But you’re such a workhorse,” Brewster said.
Grant looked wounded. “Me? Why, there’s nothing I like better than to pick up and leave my troubles on the doorstep.”
How refreshing.
Unbidden, the memory of their kiss popped into Mitzi’s head, and she glanced up at Grant to find his blue eyes burning into hers. Obviously he was thinking the same thing.
“You’re in time to chunk for smallmouths with my new grubs,” Brewster told him excitedly. “Bring your rod?”
Grant tried to appear as if he hated to disappoint Brewster. “Dam it, I forgot my rod and reel. I was hoping just to get in a little swimming and relaxation.” He turned back to Mitzi, who, even standing in the middle of a breathtaking lake, had not the slightest difficulty putting Mother Nature to shame. “Would you be interested in going over to Miller’s Hole for a dip? It’s very close to here.”
Mitzi was already prepared to heave Chester onto Grant’s boat when she remembered Brewster. He was, after all, her host. “I might enjoy a break,” she said to Brewster, as if fishing had exhausted her. “Wouldn’t you like to go, too?”
“To Miller’s Hole?” Brewster a
sked disdainfully. “There’s nothing but perch over there.”
“Oh, but—”
She was about to tell him that he could swim, or just sit and talk to them, but Brewster was having none of it. “I like to save all my energy for that wily competitor, Mr. Bass,” he said gravely.
Mitzi felt a rush of warmth as Grant hoisted her and Chester onto his boat. As they roared away, with Chester rigidly nosing his pointy snout off the bow like a proud figurehead, she tried to tell herself that she was so glad to see Grant because she was tired of hearing about jigs, spoons and spinnerbaits. Not because she had the hots for him.
But who was she kidding?
“Bring your suit?” he asked, looking her up and down.
“Of course.” She was wearing it under the oversize T-shirt and jean shorts she’d also bought today. “Thanks for the discount, by the way.”
He sent her one of his heart-stopping grins. “Knocked over any clothes racks lately?”
“A true gentleman wouldn’t bring up that subject.”
“A true gentleman wouldn’t have ravished you in a department store.” He waggled his eyebrows rakishly.
“The Don Juan of retail,” she joked.
They dropped anchor in a small cove that formed a beautiful clear blue swimming hole. The water looked so cool and inviting Mitzi almost stripped off her clothes as willingly as Gypsy Rose Lee. Then she remembered Grant. She wasn’t overly modest, but usually she was hesitant to appear in a bathing suit in front of strangers, so she held back as Grant quickly doffed his T-shirt and dived into the water. She hadn’t been able to tell his swimming trunks weren’t shorts. In swimming attire, as in most everything else, men had it easy.
She took off her shorts and left her T-shirt on, dangled her legs over the side of the boat and enjoyed the view. And she wasn’t talking about the scenery. Forget clear blue water and towering pines. Her eyes were helplessly drawn to watch Grant’s glistening, muscled torso doing an easy backstroke.
He stopped, treading water, and aimed his dazzling grin at her. “Don’t tell me you’re afraid of sharks,” he teased.
Funny, there was a time when she’d thought he resembled a shark, but now that she knew him better she couldn’t imagine anything more preposterous. More like a cuddly harp seal.
He swam closer. “Is anything wrong?”
When she looked into his eyes, there was no sharklike or wolfish intent; it was something else entirely, and she racked her brain trying to find the right word to describe his look. He was looking at her as if he had wooing on his mind. He had taken an entire day off of work to woo her.
The realization made her feel as flustered as a teenager. “I was just thinking that maybe we should be wearing life jackets.”
“Can’t you swim?”
“Yes, but considering our track record of disaster, it might be wise to take a few precautions around the water.”
“I was a lifeguard in high school,” he told her.
It wasn’t difficult to imagine him as the Greek god of the public pool, breaking the hearts of scores of sunburned schoolgirls. “You already saved me,” she told him.
“From what?”
“Boredom,” she replied. “Next time, remind me not to cut loose with a man immersed in a love affair with lures.”
Grant’s laughter was interrupted by the high jangle of his cell phone on the boat deck. Mitzi looked over at the handset, then turned to Grant. He was so frozen she was afraid he’d sink. “Don’t you want to answer that?”
Grant’s lips turned up in a limp grin. He’d never not answered his cell phone before. But he was here to romance Mitzi, not to conduct business. This would prove he wasn’t really a workaholic, or a slave to technology. Besides, the call was probably Moreland, who he didn’t want to talk to anyway.
But what if it wasn’t? What if it was Ted? There might be some emergency at the store. What if Herman Little had actually unionized the employees in five hours?
He tensed as the phone rang again.
“Maybe it’s something important,” Mitzi said, unknowingly torturing him. Even Chester looked concerned. “Or business.”
Grant forced his shoulders to lift in a stiff shrug. “Business be damned! I’ve declared this a vacation.”
His tone might have lacked the enthusiasm his words called for, but Mitzi brimmed with admiration. Not many people could resist the call of the wireless. When the handset stopped ringing, she stood, feeling the sudden urge to frolic in the water with Grant. She decided he had unknowingly discovered a powerful aphrodisiac—not answering the telephone!
She looked into his eyes and saw a healthy male anticipation in them. “Would you stop leering? You’re making me self-conscious.”
“Just curious to see which of those suits you finally chose,” he said, wriggling those eyebrows again.
She laughed. “It won’t be much of a surprise. You picked it out!”
She tore off her T-shirt to reveal the cute navy blue bathing suit with the high neck and the modest skirt. She’d thought it was grannyish in the store, but now she was grateful for his good taste. “What do you think?” she asked, striking a model pose for him.
His face fell. “I think the next time I see a woman shopping for bathing suits, I should keep my trap shut.”
Mitzi dived in the water and swam toward Grant, trying very hard to present the grace of Esther Williams, which was difficult given that her only stroke was a refined dog paddle. “This is wonderful!” Even though she felt like a waterlogged landlubber, it was the truth. “I never get the chance to swim at home.”
“I thought New York City was surrounded by water.”
“But most of it’s not the type of stuff you’d want to take a morning dip in,” she said. “Unless you groove on the sewage experience.”
Grant laughed. He’d been treading water forever, and he wasn’t out of breath, whereas she already felt as if she’d just swum the English Channel. In fact, he appeared completely at home, with beads of water in his golden hair and his bronzed skin glistening in the sun. The lake god. He made her heart pump double time.
Or maybe the dog-paddling was doing that to her.
“Here,” he said, reaching out for her. She grabbed on to his shoulders as if they were a life buoy. Swimming backward, he tugged her gently through the water, so that she really did feel like Esther Williams in one of those crazy old water musicals.
Only, even Esther had never had such a sexy partner.
He stopped suddenly, his eyes darkening with sensual intent. She’d seen that look before, back in the swimwear department. Mitzi felt the bottom of her stomach drop like an out-of-control elevator.
“I don’t think this is such a good idea.”
“Why not?” he asked, reaching forward to nibble at her ear.
The temperature in the water shot up ten degrees. “It’s like that one summer when I was seventeen,” she said between nibbles. “Some friends and I went to the beach.”
“Mmm,” he murmured in her ear. “What happened?”
“I was swimming with this boy I really liked, Lou Herkimer.” His hand swept across her breast, making her shiver with desire.
At least, she hoped it was his hand. “See, there were jellyfish...”
His lips brushed lightly against hers. “And?”
It was as if she’d died and gone to a very wet heaven. “Lou was allergic,” she practically gasped out as he continued to tease her lips. “It was terrible...we had to go...to...to the...emergency room...and they gave him this shot...of...”
“Mitzi?”
Her eyes opened and she stared into mesmerizing blue eyes darkened by unmasked desire. “Yes?”
“Will you please just shut up about Lou Herkimer and the jellyfish and let me kiss you?”
She did. Gladly.
6
SHE FELT AS IF she were walking on air. Never mind that she’d eaten nothing but bass for twenty-four hours straight. Never mind that she barely got
a wink of sleep and had spent the entire night blinking up at scaly fish carcasses eyeballing her from the walls. Never mind that she was half-crazy in lust with Grant. She was happy.
For the first time in her life, she’d found a man who didn’t want to keep her at arm’s length. Far from it. It seemed she and Grant couldn’t stop flirting, touching, kissing. In one short day, they’d become addicted to each other. But with Brewster as affable host and chaperon, kissing had been as far as matters had gone. They were still perched on the edge of flingdom. Mitzi felt jubilant, and a little frightened, as if she stood on the edge of a high rocky precipice, and was about to hurl herself over the edge.
As she skipped down the path to the lake, she noticed Chester sniffing something behind a very large pine tree. She approached quietly, and discovered Grant, crouching with his back to her and whispering into his cell phone.
Looking at him, she felt a now-familiar tightening in her chest. He was so gorgeous. And those arms—she loved the snuggly feeling of having them wrapped around her. Crave was too weak a word for what she felt for this man.
She frowned, reining in her galloping lust. Why was Grant talking on the phone behind a tree?
She cleared her throat, sending him whirling around in surprise. He looked like a deer caught in headlights. “I’ll call you later, Ted,” he said, disconnecting the person at the other end. Then he sent Mitzi a bright smile. Overly bright. “I didn’t see you.”
She arched an eyebrow. “What were you doing?”
Grant laughed. A little nervously, she thought. A wave of foreboding shivered through her.
“Just thought I’d check in at the office,” he said.
“Ted, that was your brother, wasn’t it?” Without discussing it, they fell into step together toward the lake, with Chester padding happily in the lead. “Brewster mentioned him.”
Grant winced. It was bad enough to have Mitzi catch him sneaking a business call, now he worried that she might have figured out that Ted and he were identical twins. Not that he wanted to keep it a secret from her forever, especially now that they were growing so close.
Downhome Darlin' & The Best Man Switch Page 25