"Why not?" Cookie was ingenuous enough to inquire.
His expression was that of an outraged professor. "We sell only through the finest department stores and a select group of exclusive specialty shops."
"Pardon me."
"Four months ago," Chess went on, "I was in this very store, buying some—well, never mind what I was buying—when I happened to turn around. And, lo and behold." He reached out and picked a glass bottle off the shelf. It contained an amber-colored liquid. "This is what I found."
Cookie took the bottle out of his hand. "'Desirous,'" she said, reading the label. "'Identical to Scents Allure Desire, minus the cost.'" Fascinated, she continued into the smaller print. "'Three hundred dollars value only twenty-nine ninety-nine.'" Cookie handed the bottle back to him. "Wow! That's quite a discount. How close is it to the real thing?"
Chess put the bottle of Desirous back on the shelf with exaggerated care. The line of his mouth was straight and grim. "It's just what the label claims: identical."
"Another wow." Cookie's brows drew down. "Er, how easy or hard should that be to do?"
The muscle in Chess's jaw jumped again. "It should be impossible."
"Impossible? But surely a chemical analysis—"
"Rebecca, there are over one hundred ingredients in that scent, some in mere trace amounts. There is no way to find them all by chemical analysis. The best a fake should be able to do is a rough imitation. Identical is impossible."
Cookie bit her lip. "Are you sure it's identical?"
His fingers clenched into a fist where his hand leaned against the drugstore shelf. "I'm sure."
"How?"
"I have a 'nose,'" he curtly returned, and then shook his head. A small smile curved his mouth. "I have the capacity to smell things. Very well."
"Oh, yes." Cookie dimly remembered hearing this about Chess.
"It's a necessity for the kind of work I do. The new scent we're putting on the market—I designed. If I didn't have the talent, I wouldn't be able to compose the variety of ingredients that go into a perfume."
"Talent," Cookie repeated, picking up on the word. "Does that mean it's something you're born with?"
Chess shrugged. "Most people think so. Maybe they're right. Kate doesn't seem to have developed one even after all these years in the business."
"She doesn't have it?"
Chess's smile grew. "Skipped a generation. Supposedly my grandfather had a great nose."
"Ah," Cookie repeated, thinking about that. "Your grandfather."
"At any rate," Chess went on, "Desirous, here, is completely identical to our Desire." He tapped another bottle on the shelf, this one colored green. "Crave here is the same as our Craving. Seducing the same as our Seduction. You get the picture."
Cookie got the picture. She peered up at Chess. "So, if a chemical analysis is out of the question, how did they make it identical?"
The ironic smile faded from his face. "That, my inquisitive intended, is a very, very good question."
Cookie felt her insides go cold at the look on his face. "Someone found out inside information, the formula you use for the ingredients."
Chess gave a curt nod. "There's no other way these knockoffs could be identical."
"So, whoever stole the formulas sold them to whoever's making these fakes, and now they're undercutting your market."
"In a nutshell." He paused, watching her. "Rebecca. I have now told you my last dreadful secret. I hope you understand why I need that loan to launch a new perfume and get the company back in the black."
"Ye-es," Cookie agreed, confused. He appeared to imply a question in there, but she wasn't sure what.
Chess looked exasperated. "Will you ignore Kate, then, and still marry me?"
Cookie's jaw dropped. "Did you think—? Is that the only reason you told me all this, because you thought Kate had talked me out of marrying you?"
Chess lifted a shoulder. "I considered it a good possibility."
Cookie swallowed her growing rage with difficulty. If Chess could be controlled and unemotional, so could she. "As I recall, you asked for my word, Chess. I gave it."
That checked him. "I...see."
"It's a kind of habit of mine," Cookie went on, "keeping my word. But, Chess, I don't understand. Considering the situation, why isn't Kate backing you on this launch?" She glanced toward the offending bottles. "Obviously, the classics aren't going to be much good to you."
Chess rubbed a thumb along his lower lip. "Kate doesn't know about the fakes."
"She—what?" Cookie looked at him, horrified. "But Chess, if she understood the problem with the classic formulas, she'd also understand you can't rely on them."
"Rebecca." His voice was stern. "You are the only living person who knows about this beside myself—and whoever the thief is."
"But Chess—"
"That's the way it has to be." His tone brooked no dispute. "Until I can find out who did this."
She felt nothing but pity for whoever had stolen those formulas. Judging by the look on Chess's face, they weren't going to live very long or very healthily once he caught up with them.
"All right, I won't say a word," she agreed. "But in return, I want you to tell me: why is this a secret from Kate?"
He shot her a peculiar glance before looking away. "The formulas are kept locked in a vault. Only a handful of people have access to that vault."
Cookie's stomach dropped. "Kate being one of them."
Chess nodded.
"Chess," Cookie said, low, "surely you don't imagine Kate—?"
He shook his head abruptly. "No, of course not. The company, our reputation—all of that means the world to Kate. But I have to handle this in my own way. Kate would provide unacceptable interference."
A frisson of unease shuddered through Cookie. No matter what he said, he did not actually trust his mother. In fact, now that Cookie thought about it, Chess probably trusted no one on earth—her father having been a sole exception. Chess lived on an island of his own, one he was clearly determined to protect. Ruthlessly.
Of course, he'd just trusted her. And, judging by Chess's rock-hard jaw, his bride had better take care not to betray that trust.
~~~
In the parking lot, Chess said, "By the way, you're putting me up for the night."
Cookie halted in the process of opening the passenger door of his car. "I am?"
"It's your turn," Chess casually replied, clicking his own door open.
Dismay settled inside Cookie as she lowered into the car. The dismay was absurd, however. Unnecessary. Chess didn't think of her in a sexual way. And besides, wouldn't it be wonderful, for once, not to be alone in her apartment at night?
Now, she didn't believe in ghosts. But it was a fact that she felt uncomfortable some nights while leaving the theater. And an eerie sensation could creep over her late at night while she was home all alone. It could be a comfort to have someone share her vigil for a change.
On the other hand, her fiancé's ghost-busting powers simply did not counterbalance the physical unease she felt about having him spend the night. "Um, my place is kind of small."
Chess started the motor. "We're only going to sleep there, not throw a dance party."
We're only going to sleep there. Cookie searched the words for reassurance. They did sound perfectly innocent. "You're really serious about this appearances thing, aren't you?"
"I am."
Cookie folded her arms under her generous bosom. "And here I thought you weren't any good at make-believe."
He gave a sheepish cough. "Oh, that reminds me, about the wedding. How good are you at organizing things like that?"
Cookie was astonished by the question. Was he actually willing to trust the fluffball with something so grand? She struggled to disguise how many years she'd dreamed of putting on a wedding, any wedding—the grandest stage production of all.
"I might let you talk me into it," she carefully allowed.
"It's going
to have to be big," Chess warned. "Or at least big enough to look real."
Delight lit her inside. Big! Then she remembered something. "Um, Chess, big weddings cost money."
"I know. I set aside a budget for the expenses and the honeymoon."
Cookie couldn't help it. She started to laugh. Mr. Businessman. He'd set aside a budget—probably as part of the advertising campaign.
"What's so funny?"
"I'm not sure." She struggled to sober herself. "So. You set aside a budget. Ahem. Just what size budget are we talking about?"
He gave her a worried look. "Ten thousand?"
Cookie closed her eyes. "A big wedding?"
"Am I even in the ballpark?"
"Keep it under a hundred guests," Cookie ordered. "And I can manage it. Somehow."
Chess looked even more worried. "You sure?"
Cookie smiled. "You're talking to an expert at stretching a buck. I'm sure." Somehow his continued expression of disbelief gave her pleasure. He'd see. There were some advantages to having lived below the poverty line for most of her life. This was one thing Cookie could handle.
~~~
Her apartment looked even smaller than usual once Chess stepped inside, Cookie thought. He was probably a couple of inches shy of six feet, but he made up for any deficiency of height in rugged male bulk. Just now, the living room appeared the size of a closet.
"I don't have a guest bedroom," Cookie warned, still hoping he would give up and go home. "You'll have to sleep on the sofa."
Both of them turned to look at the miniscule sofa.
"I'll live." But Chess didn't sound completely certain of it.
"I'll get some sheets."
Cookie was trying her damnedest to act casual about this. But in her bedroom while opening her dresser to get out some sheets, she had to fight a severe case of nerves. Which was purely ridiculous. Chess's needs and wants were crystal clear. In fact, in a lot of ways he was no different from Eric or Sheldon or any of her other platonic boyfriends. What he needed, she could supply.
What she needed, on the other hand...? Well, considering the way her stomach was twisting simply at the fact Chess was going to sleep on her couch, Luther had nothing to worry about Cookie going diabolical and getting herself a baby. Ha! Cookie could barely stand having Chess here sleeping in a separate room.
"I'll take those."
Chess's deep voice made her jump. She looked over to see him standing in the doorway of her bedroom.
He'd taken off his jacket and loosened his tie. The slight dishabille made him look thoroughly disreputable. He was the class hood, the company hit man, the town's black sheep.
He made her feel anything but secure.
As he came into the room, he shot a puzzled look toward the bed. "It's...rather small."
Taking a deep breath to calm down, Cookie shrugged. Everything in her apartment was small. "I think it's a twin. All my sheets fit, anyway."
"Your sheets," Chess repeated, looking at her now and still puzzled.
Cookie dumped said sheets into his arms. Her nerves were messing with her perception. Or maybe the problem was that the dim light spilling in from the living room gave the setting an unexpectedly intimate atmosphere. Odd vibrations hummed.
"Rebecca?" His voice was suddenly very deep.
She made a show of looking down at her watch. "It's awfully late, isn't it?"
"Of course." If there'd been a timbre deeper than usual in his voice, it disappeared now. "Good night, Rebecca."
"Good night, Chess." She closed the door to her bedroom, shutting him out. The vibrations ceased. That was better. Much, much better. And at the same time, she was perfectly assured of his presence on the other side of the wall. The ghosts had fled.
So, it wasn't that bad to have Chess stay overnight. Cookie had a feeling she might actually get a decent night's sleep.
~~~
Chess lay on his back on Cookie's hard wood floor and decided that sleep was not going to be an option. He'd figured the floor would be better for his back than the sofa, but a bed of nails might have been more comfortable.
A bed of nails was about what he needed right then. My God, he'd told the woman everything, absolutely everything! She knew about the losses Scents Allure was taking. She knew about the precarious state of his own finances. And now she even knew about the theft of the secret formulas. He had no secrets left. He'd made himself completely vulnerable.
Chess groaned and made the mistake of trying to turn on his side. Damn, the floor was hard. With a soft curse, he rolled to his back again.
At least the marriage was still on. Kate hadn't managed to talk Cookie out of it.
I gave my word, Cookie had explained.
Chess smiled, remembering her expression of outrage. It was nice to know his future bride believed she owned some integrity.
The shadows of Cookie's well-tended jungle fell around him. All of the quiet living things should have taken off his edge, helped him to relax. They didn't. The thought he'd been trying to avoid sneaked in.
Cookie's tiny bed.
Lord. Chess had never been jealous regarding a woman in his life but that bed! It was only large enough for the most intimate of encounters, which meant that every encounter was destined to become very intimate. A helpless, half-mad pain attacked him as he imagined the men who'd tangled with his future wife in her amorously-sized bed.
He knew his jealousy was absurd. For one thing, Cookie's large stable of men was not news to him. For another, he actually preferred a woman of experience, someone who understood the physical didn't always involve the emotional. So why care about Cookie's experience?
Beyond either of those considerations, it made no sense for him to consider Cookie in sexual terms at all. She wasn't his physical type. He liked sharp, slender women.
But when he'd met her at the theater dressing room earlier, he'd begun to notice things. The way Cookie's cheeks were full and round at the top, the way her lower lip was at least twice as full as the upper one, the way her tip-tilted nose gave all of this an almost irresistible, kittenish appearance. True, not his type, but a man would have to be dead to miss her appeal.
And he was going to marry her. That fact made a difference. She was going to be his. No human being had ever been his...
Chess's ruminations were cut short by a sound at the front window. He froze, holding his breath. Had he just imagined the furtive, scratching sound? No. It came again. Three sharp little scratches at the base of the window, as if someone were trying to get in.
Damn. In a flash Chess was on his feet. Bare except for a pair of briefs, he crept silently toward the wall of the window. When he was plastered up beside the glass, he peered behind the curtain.
No one was out there.
More bold now, he swept the curtain aside.
No one.
"Damn," Chess murmured, aloud this time. He could have sworn the sounds he'd heard had been human, not the mere settling of an old wooden building or even the rustling of a small animal. They had sounded very deliberate, even menacing. Slowly, he drew the curtain closed again.
This wasn't the worst neighborhood in San Francisco, but it wasn't the best, either. There were a lot of transients on the street, and Cookie didn't have anything better than a chain lock across her front door. He didn't like it.
Something had to be done.
Knowing what that something was, Chess padded back to his hard bed with a clear sense of relief. He'd take care of both the inadequate lock and that tiny bed of hers. Because Cookie was going to be—at least until January—exclusively his.
CHAPTER SIX
Cookie slept so well the night Chess spent at her apartment that she didn't wake up until the sun hit her face the next morning. Stretching, she opened her eyes and slowly became aware of a rumbling male voice in the other room.
The voice was Chess's, of course. She couldn't make out the words, but the tone was pretty clear. It was a low, coaxing murmur, the sort of voice a
man would use with his lover.
Chess was calling his mistress from her apartment!
Cookie sat up in bed, her dark hair falling around her face. The nerve! Okay, so maybe she was just a business-contract sort of bride, but that didn't mean she would put with—with—infidelity! Throwing aside the sheets, she got out of bed and crept toward the door.
She still couldn't hear what he was saying. Probably reassuring the poor woman that his new bride meant nothing to him, nothing at all. When it came to sex, men were beasts.
With her hand on the knob of the bedroom door, Cookie decided against flinging it open to catch him in the act. Instead, she silently eased the door open a tiny crack, just enough to peek into the living room.
Chess was not on the phone. He was standing at her kitchen sink. Wearing nothing but his trousers, he held one of her ferns. As he lifted the plant up to the sunlight, the powerful muscles under the skin of his back shifted.
Cookie went very still.
No distinct words were audible, but it was clear that Chess wasn't talking to anybody but her fern. And such talking! From the sound of it, sweet, reassuring, tender words.
Finally coming to her senses, Cookie eased closed the door to her bedroom. She could feel her hands shaking and her heart racing. Because Chess was talking to her fern? That made no sense. Pressing her trembling hands against her face, she closed her eyes. Get a grip, girl.
With a deep breath, she lowered her hands, opened her eyes, and went to pick up a heavy, terrycloth robe. She drew it over her nightie and then went back to the bedroom door. Making sure to create a lot of noise, she opened it.
Chess stopped talking abruptly. He turned around, the fern still in his hands.
Cookie didn't get any further than the threshold of her bedroom door.
Chess was...built. There was no other word to describe it. The muscles wrapped over his shoulders and strapping his chest had to have been built inch by painstaking inch. He was a warrior of a man, someone to wield a shield and spear, if need be.
Cookie forced her eyes up to his face. The size and strength of him made her feel frail and soft and very, very female.
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