The coolness he’d come to expect from her resurfaced. She straightened, brushed a stray piece of hair behind her ear and leveled her eyes at him. “I’m not afraid of you. This just isn’t a good idea.”
The mood shattered. “Yeah, I know. You keep telling me that. I just don’t see what the big deal is. I like you. What’s wrong with that?”
“A multitude of things.” She shook her head, dismissing any further conversation. “I really do have to go. I have edits to do and...other things.” she waved her hand in the air.
“C’mon, then.” He pushed off the bar and started toward the kitchen.
“Where?” She didn’t move.
“Back to the bike. So I can give you a lift home.”
“No, thanks. I’ll take a cab.”
He wanted to push it, wanted to feel her wrapped around him again, her tight thighs cradling his backside, but let it drop. She’d be back tomorrow night. “Don’t forget Tuesday.” He waggled his brows. “You do want to know if you figured me right, doncha?”
She snorted out a soft breath. “Oh, I’m pretty sure I figured you right.”
“I’ll tell you tomorrow.” He offered his arm. “Let me walk you out?”
“Okay.” She slid her hand through the crook of his elbow. “You get points for being a gentleman. Very unusual for...”
If she knew his thoughts, she wouldn’t think he was much of a gentleman. He patted her hand and finished her sentence. “A guy my age, huh, doc?”
“I was going to say ‘for this day and age’.”
“Sure, doc. Whatever you say.”
She slanted a smile at him. “You’re incorrigible, you know that?”
He glanced down and caught a glimpse of her scalloped pink lace bra beneath the vee of her sweater. His groin tightened. “And you’re sexy as all get out. But I guess all the guys tell you that.”
He reached to open the door but she stopped him. “Nobody’s told me that in a long time.” She smiled wistfully. “Thank you. You really are sweet.” She went up on her tiptoes, her hands on his chest, and kissed his cheek. “See you Tuesday, Chef.”
With his mouth hanging open, Kelly watched her push through the door and leave. As many times as he’d been called chef, never in his life had it made his heart gallop as when she said it.
The door swung shut and he slumped down onto the bench in the lobby. He drove his fingers through his hair and tipped his head back against the wall.
She made him plum crazy.
He whooped at the top of his lungs and stomped his boots on the rough wood floors. Damn if he wasn’t loving every minute of it.
Chapter Eight
What had she been thinking? Regardless of her situation, she could not date that man. He was too...too...male. She’d find someone safer. Someone who didn’t make her work so hard at keeping her head on straight.
She got a few steps away before she realized she had to go back.
Her hands pushed the door of Gauchos open just as a loud “yeehaw” rang through the air. Kelly sat on a bench just inside the door, stomping his feet on the floor. She raised her brows. “What was that all about?”
His feet stilled and his face went as red as a little boy caught stealing cookies. “Nothing,” he mumbled. The embarrassment faded into a happy grin. “Miss me already?”
“Not exactly.” She crossed her arms. “My purse is locked in your office at Sedona.”
“Oh.” The smile diminished slightly then brightened once again. He stood and offered her his arm again. “Your chariot awaits, my lady.”
The motorcycle ride back was almost pleasant, now that she felt more confident about not becoming a stain on the macadam. Still, she was grateful to hand the helmet back and call the ride over. Being so close to Kelly made her question her decision to dissuade him from chasing her. The man was flat out sexy. But he was also twelve years younger than her.
She followed him into the restaurant. The soft strains of new age Spanish guitar provided enough background noise to mute the conversations of the few tables of early lunch patrons. She hoped no one recognized her.
Once inside the elevator, Kelly spoke. “You liked the ride back better.”
“What makes you say that?” Mercy, he was hot.
“Saw you smiling in my side mirror.”
“Shouldn’t you have been keeping your eyes on the street?”
He grinned. “We were parked at a red light.”
The doors opened. She got off and headed for his office. “Doesn’t matter. I won’t be riding that accident waiting to happen again.”
He slid his card through the security scanner and let her in first. “Do you avoid fun on purpose or is safe and predictable just how your life normally goes?”
“What is that supposed to mean?” She stepped into the office and snatched her purse off the chair she’d left it on.
“Well, you don’t want to go out with me, which would definitely be fun.” He strode past, threw his keys on the desk and settled his lanky form into the chair behind it. “You don’t like motorcycle rides or roses—“
“I like roses,” she interrupted.
“So you just don’t like roses from me?”
“I like roses,” she repeated.
“Ah,” he said, kicking his feet up onto the desk. “So it is me. Well, that’s different then, isn’t it?”
Prickles of exasperation crept along her hairline. She shook her head. “That’s not what I meant. I just don’t think becoming involved with you is the appropriate path for me at this time.” No matter what her publicist and agent thought.
“You wanna put that in layman’s terms, doc? ‘Cause that sounds like psychobabble to me.”
The horrid word grated across her nerves like fork tines on a chalkboard. She put her hands on the edge of his desk and leaned toward him. “You know how you feel about being referred to as a boy?”
He nodded.
“That’s exactly how I feel about the term psychobabble. What I do is serious work.” She stabbed the desktop with her finger. “Your lack of understanding doesn’t invalidate it.”
He whistled. “Tender spot, huh? Didn’t mean to ruffle your feathers. Just can’t understand how getting involved with me would take your life down the wrong path. How do you know unless you try?” He clasped his hands behind his head. “You might even have fun.”
She took her hands off the desk and resettled her purse on her shoulder. “I doubt it.”
“You’re probably right. I mean, you’d have to learn to unclench before the fun could even begin.”
“Unclench?” she sputtered at his implication.
“Just saying you’re a little uptight, doc. Even though you don’t dress like it.” He nodded appreciatively at her sweater. “Except for the book signing.”
“I am not uptight.”
He raised a brow and smirked in a way that said he didn’t believe her.
“I’m not.”
Laughter greeted her ears. “You can tell me all about how not uptight you are at dinner tomorrow night.”
* * *
Not until she got home did Meredith realize she’d forgotten to ask Kelly how he’d gotten her address for the flowers. She tossed her purse and keys on the entry table and headed for the phone. Uptight. Hah. She itched to add a new post to her blog.
The scent of roses greeted her when she walked into the living room. She stared at the abundance of yellow blooms, her annoyance fading.
She grabbed the phone, plopped on the couch and punched in Viv’s number.
“Walthem-Chatsford residence.”
“Hi Swan, it’s Meredith. Can you put Viv on?”
“Right away, Dr. Black.”
Meredith stared at the roses. They were unforgivably beautiful.
“Meredith, darling! How are you today?”
“Fine. Viv, tell me the truth. Am I uptight?”
“Mercilessly, but I still love you.”
“I am?” Meredith tucked her knees up under he
r.
“Terribly.”
Meredith blew out a breath. “Have I always been that way?”
Viv stayed silent for a moment. “A little but you didn’t reach the uttermost heights of uptightness until after Michael died.”
“Oh.” That was interesting. “But I still have fun, don’t I?”
“What is this about?” Viv’s disapproving tone came through loud and clear. “Don’t tell me you did something foolish like refuse the flowers?”
“I didn’t refuse the--how do you know about the flowers?” Meredith asked.
“Where do you think he got your address?” Viv laughed, obviously pleased with herself.
Meredith groaned. “Why on earth did you do that?”
“Do you know how many women are dying to go out with that delectable specimen of manhood? What is wrong with you? For some freakish reason one of the hottest bachelors in the city has taken a liking to you, and you’re acting like the IRS wants to audit the last ten years of your tax returns. Snap out of it, woman.”
“He’s too young,” Meredith argued. “He needs a woman who can give him children.”
“I’m sorry,” Viv scoffed. “Did he propose?”
“No, of course not—”
“Then why can’t you just go out with him for fun? Have a little fling, for crying out loud? We’re not talking lifetime commitment here. Dinner and movie, a stroll in the park, a roll in the sheets, sure, but a walk down the aisle, no.”
“Viv!” Meredith gasped. The woman was so bold. “I am not sleeping with him.”
“Not yet but play your cards right and anything’s possible.” The older woman chuckled.
Meredith rubbed her temple. “There is so much wrong with you, you know that?”
“You’ve known that for years. Now when are you seeing him again?”
“Tomorrow night, for dinner.” If Viv only knew she’d just been on the back his motorcycle.
“Fabulous. What are you wearing?”
“He’s practically young enough to be my son.” That was a lie but Meredith was grasping at straws now.
“No, he isn’t. Chef Spicer’s got to be in his mid-thirties, at least. Your son is twenty. Can we refocus?”
“Oh Lord. Jason can’t know about this. This would not be setting a good example.” She shuddered to think what her son’s reaction might be.
“I think it would be a great example,” Viv said.
“You would.”
“Back to the outfit. What are you wearing for this hot date?”
“It’s not a hot date. It’s just an informal dinner. I don’t even know why I agreed to it.”
“Because you’re warm for him, you just won’t admit it.”
Meredith didn’t answer. Instead, she rolled her eyes at the phone.
“Don’t you think he’s deliciously handsome?” Viv prodded.
Meredith sank back against the cushions and splayed her fingers over her face. “He isn’t ugly.”
“A resounding endorsement if I’ve ever heard one.”
“Fine! He’s attractive. In a boyish sort of way.” She could almost hear Viv rolling her eyes right back. “And I haven’t picked out an outfit yet. Probably slacks and a sweater.”
Viv groaned. “Slacks and a sweater? Where are you going for dinner, a PTA meeting? Don’t make me call Lizza.”
Meredith growled softly in the back of her throat. “Why are we friends again?”
“Do you own a little black dress? Wait, scratch that. Your idea of a little black dress is probably knee-length and long-sleeved. I’m coming over.”
Meredith sat up. “Wait. I can pick out an outfit on my own.”
Viv had already hung up. Meredith slumped back and propped her feet up on the coffee table. She ought to call Kelly and cancel Tuesday night’s dinner. It was just a bad idea. She looked down at the phone, still in her hand. That’s exactly what she was going to do, call and cancel. Just as soon as she had another of those wonderful chocolate fireballs.
Then she’d call Jillian and explain that there was no plan.
When Viv showed up forty-five minutes later, Meredith hadn’t called anyone. She would, though, just as soon as Viv left.
“I brought a few things,” Viv said, shopping bags swinging from both hands. Behind her, Swan’s arms drooped under the weight of numerous garment bags.
“I have plenty of clothes.” Meredith shook her head. “I don’t need any of those.”
“You have plenty of business attire. I doubt the hot date section of your closet is as well-equipped.” Viv motioned Swan forward. “Down the hall, straight ahead to the bedroom.”
“Right away, Miss Vivian.” Swan hustled past. Meredith took off after her with Viv right behind.
Viv dropped the shopping bags and made a beeline for the walk-in. She thrust the doors open with theatrical flourish. “Let’s see what skeletons you’ve got in here.” She looked over her shoulder and smiled sweetly. “Ignore that choice of words.”
“I wasn’t even listening.” Meredith sat on the one spot on the bed not covered in garment bags and watched her friend rummage through her wardrobe. Swan went to work organizing and unzipping the bags.
“Boring, dull, too workaday, too...what is this?” Viv held out a lumpy gray oblong of yarn.
Meredith jumped up and snatched it away. “It’s a scarf. Jason knitted it for me in high school when he had to take Home Economics.” She stared lovingly at the gnarled mess. “He hated that class.”
“I can tell.” Viv went back to rummaging. She pulled out a simple black dress with cap sleeves. “This isn’t bad.”
“No.” Meredith took it out of her hand and hung it back up. “I wore that to Michael’s funeral, I will not wear that on a date.”
“I can’t believe you still have it.” Viv shook her head and continued. “This has possibilities.” A slinky purple wisp dangled from a hanger.
“That’s a nightgown, for Pete’s sake,” Meredith said.
“You actually sleep in this?” Viv’s botoxed forehead failed to furrow.
“No.”
Viv nodded. “I didn’t think so. Swan, give me that bag on top.”
Swan held up the first garment bag while Viv dug into it. She whipped out a champagne lace slip dress dusted with sparkling crystals.
“It’s lovely but this is an informal dinner, not an evening out at the Met,” Meredith said.
“How informal?”
“He’ll be at the restaurant working. I get the sense we’ll probably just sit at the bar or something like that.”
“Nothing I brought is appropriate for sitting at the bar.” Viv sighed. “Why didn’t you tell me that on the phone?”
“I would have if you hadn’t hung up before I had the chance.”
Swan rezipped the dress into the garment bag and settled onto the edge of Meredith’s bed. “You mind I go watch TV? My story is on.”
Meredith nodded. “My house is yours. I’m sorry she dragged you into this.”
The petite woman shrugged on her way out. “Long as Miss Vivian pays me, I don’t care what we do.”
Viv snapped her fingers. “I’ve got it. You do own jeans, don’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Wunderbar. Where’s that sweater I gave you?” She started poking through boxes stacked on the top shelf.
Meredith steeled herself for what was coming next. “That won’t work.”
Viv kept digging. “Of course it will. It’s lovely. You’ve probably never even worn it.”
“Yes, I have and that’s why it won’t work.” She groaned. This was not something she’d wanted to share.
Viv stopped looking through the boxes and with an evil glint in her eye looked at Meredith instead. “Do tell, naughty girl.”
As soon as Meredith gave up the details of her afternoon jaunt, Viv glanced at the closet then back at Meredith. She crossed her arms and leaned against the door jam. “I guess you know what we’re doing tomorrow morning, don�
��t you?”
Meredith sighed and slumped down on the bed. She had a pretty good idea and she wasn’t looking forward to it.
Chapter Nine
Viv’s driver dropped them in front of Barney’s at 10 am. Celia hopped out first with Viv and Meredith right behind her.
Lizza greeted them with her usual perky smile. Beneath a long black velvet military jacket she wore an excessively ruffled white shirt and skintight burgundy pants tucked into knee high black boots. Meredith leaned over and whispered in Celia’s ear. “Isn’t that the puffy shirt from Seinfeld?”
With a snicker, Celia whispered back. “I think it’s called Pirate Chic.”
“You mean there’s a name for that look?” Meredith raised a brow.
Celia snorted and Viv shot them both a dangerous glare. The woman took fashion way too seriously.
“Welcome back, Dr. Black. I understand you have a date—“
Viv wordlessly interrupted Lizza with a vigorous and not so subtle head shaking.
Lizza continued. “I mean, an informal dinner.”
“I’m sure you’ve picked out just the right things.” Viv nudged Meredith toward the dressing room. “Go on.”
Lizza smiled brightly.
Meredith sighed and trudged into the changing room. The fashion pirate and the beauty commando had her outnumbered. She looked at the stuff awaiting her and stuck her head out. “There are jeans in here. I already have jeans.”
“You have two pairs and they’re both ‘mom’ jeans. Try those on,” Viv commanded.
“Mom jeans?” Meredith said.
“Oh no,” Lizza whispered through her fingers. “High-waisted, tapered-leg?”
Viv gave her a wide-eyed, horrified nod. Lizza gasped.
Meredith rolled her eyes. “They’re jeans. You act like I’ve been wearing a coat made out of puppy skin.” She shut the door. Were her jeans that bad? Kelly must think her hopelessly out of date. Maybe he was just being nice to her. Or worse. Maybe he thought she was desperate. But if she’d been desperate, she would have kissed him.
She should have. He was a great kisser.
“What are you putting on first?” Celia called out.
Meredith refocused. Then sighed. “Jeans and one of these slutty tops.”
The Perfect Dish Page 7