by Gina Wilkins
Scowling, Donovan rapped on the door more sharply than he had intended.
Chloe opened it quickly. “What is it?”
“It’s nearly one o’clock. I thought you might be hungry.”
She looked surprised, as if the morning had slipped away from her. “I didn’t realize it was so late. I hope you’ve already eaten.”
“No.”
“Then you must be starving. Since you cooked breakfast, I’ll fix something for lunch.”
“Too late. I’ve already prepared lunch. I hope grilled chicken and vegetables sound good to you.”
“That sounds fine, but you really shouldn’t have gone to so much trouble. I let the time get away, but I certainly don’t expect you to cook for me.”
He shrugged. “I had to eat, anyway. I’ll meet you in the kitchen when you’re ready.”
“I’ll wash my hands and be right down.”
He really hadn’t minded preparing lunch; it had given him something to do other than think about Chloe. He had the table set and the food ready to serve when she joined him.
“This looks delicious,” she said, taking her seat. “Don’t even think about doing dishes after we’ve eaten. Cleaning up is the least I can do.”
He wouldn’t argue with her. If doing dishes made her feel like she was pulling her weight, then he wouldn’t try to stop her.
“You’re a very good cook,” she said a few minutes later.
“I get by as long as I’ve got a grill and a microwave.”
Glancing toward the state-of-the-art, chef’s dream kitchen attached to the sunny nook in which they were eating, she replied, “You have a lot more than that here.”
Following her glance, he nodded. “Bryan always goes top-of-the-line.”
“Does Bryan like to cook?”
“He knows how, of course. Even though he’s always been able to pay for services, he believes everyone should know ordinary living skills like cooking, doing laundry and basic home and car maintenance.”
“That’s a very practical point of view. If he ever loses his fortune, at least he’ll be able to take care of himself.”
Donovan knew she was joking. He knew she doubted—as did he—that Bryan Falcon would ever have to count his pennies.
Donovan had no doubt that he would still be there if Bryan lost everything. His loyalty to Bryan had nothing to do with fortune or social position. He wasn’t confident that Chloe could say the same. If her relationship with Bryan wasn’t based on love but on the promise of financial security, then bankruptcy would certainly put an end to that connection.
When he failed to respond to her quip, Chloe changed the subject. “You told me a little about your recent trip to Venice. Has your work with Bryan involved a lot of travel?”
“At times.”
“Do you enjoy it?”
“My work or the travel?”
“Either.”
“I like the work. I tolerate the travel because it’s part of the job.”
She looked vaguely dismayed, reminding him that she’d told him she dreamed of travel.
“I didn’t say I dislike the travel,” he said, feeling almost as if should apologize for disappointing her. “I enjoy it sometimes.”
He must not have convinced her. She changed the subject again. “Have you worked with Bryan since you finished college?”
He stabbed his fork into a cauliflower floret. “I never went to college, actually. I went into the army after high school.”
“I didn’t realize that. Bryan said you’d been with him since the beginning.”
“We’ve been friends for a long time. Stayed in touch while he went off to college and I went into the military. When he broke away from his father’s company a few years ago to start Bryan Falcon Enterprises, he brought me on board.”
“Were you still in the army then?”
“No. I’d been out for a while.”
“What did you do in the interim?”
“This and that.” He didn’t want to talk about those years in between.
He knew she was only trying to keep the conversation flowing, trying to avoid those awkward lapses between them. Lapses during which they both became self-conscious and tongue-tied, when stray glances tended to lock and hold for long moments—until Chloe looked away, her cheeks turning pink and her voice becoming a little breathless. He didn’t try to convince himself that she was fighting the same inappropriate attraction he was, but there was definitely an awareness between them.
They’d spent entirely too many hours alone together. It would be better for everyone involved if Bryan arrived soon.
Leaving Chloe to clean up, as she had insisted, he went into the smaller of the two offices in the house, the one he always used here. He turned on his computer and spent an hour replying to the most urgent of his e-mails, trying to keep himself occupied. When the phone rang, he answered it absently.
“How’s it going there?”
Bryan’s voice brought Donovan’s attention away from the computer monitor. “Tell me you’re in transit.”
“Problems there? You and Chloe are getting along okay, aren’t you?”
“Well enough. But she didn’t come here to spend time with me. Right now she’s probably wishing she’d stayed home.”
“What have you been doing today?”
“I’ve been working most of the day. Parker in L.A. wants an answer by tomorrow morning. And Hamilton’s got a proposal she wants us to look over soon.”
“You can take care of those things later. I’d rather you keep Chloe entertained now. I don’t like to think of her bored and lonely while I’m stuck here for the rest of the afternoon. I know you can be entertaining company when you make the effort, so give it a try, will you?”
Donovan made certain his exaggerated sigh carried clearly through the phone lines. “I really do have more important things to do than to babysit your girlfriend du jour, you know.”
The words had barely left his mouth when he happened to glance toward the open doorway. Chloe stood there holding a steaming mug. Her face was completely expressionless, but Donovan knew she had heard his cranky complaint. The set of her shoulders let him know she hadn’t liked it.
He cleared his throat. “Er…”
“Let me guess,” Bryan drawled, as eerily perceptive as always, “Chloe just walked in.”
“Yeah.”
“Put her on the line, will you? And, Donovan—after you pry your foot out of your mouth and apologize, be nice to her, okay?”
“Bryan wants to talk to you,” Donovan said, holding the receiver toward Chloe without bothering to respond to his friend.
She nodded coolly. “I brought you some coffee. I just made it.”
“Thanks. I’ll drink it out on the deck while you talk to Bryan.”
After swapping the mug for the phone, Chloe turned away from him. Pointedly.
Wincing, Donovan carried his coffee out of the room. It wasn’t easy walking with both his feet in his mouth, he decided wryly.
Chapter Four
Though Chloe wasn’t watching him, she knew Donovan had left the room by the time she spoke into the receiver. “Hello, Bryan.”
“I’m glad you’re still speaking to me.”
“I’m sure you couldn’t help being detained there.”
“No. Believe me, I’ve done everything I can to resolve this mess in a hurry so I can join you there, but it’s taking longer than I expected. I can’t tell you how sorry I am.”
“Does this mean you won’t be here tonight, after all?”
“No. I still believe I can get away in time to be there this evening. It could be very late, but we can start our vacation first thing tomorrow morning.”
It seemed oddly apropos that a cloud crossed in front of the sun at that moment, darkening the room for a moment. What might have been a frisson of premonition coursed through her. Maybe because the week had started so badly, she had a sudden feeling that she really should suggest to Bryan that he stay in Ne
w York.
She’d always believed that when something kept going wrong, perhaps it wasn’t meant to be. Grace had said repeatedly that Chloe was making a mistake coming here this week. And then Bryan had been detained. Now Chloe’s reactions to Donovan were getting all jumbled and confused—and he thought of her as a gold digger.
Things were definitely going wrong.
It was only her hesitation to ask Donovan to take her home, her reluctance to look wishy-washy or petulant to him, that kept her from canceling everything with Bryan.
“Chloe—about Donovan,” Bryan said, as if he’d sensed the direction her thoughts had taken.
“What about him?”
“Don’t take him too personally. He doesn’t mean to come across the way he sometimes does.”
“You’re not going to try to convince me his bark is worse than his bite, are you?”
Bryan laughed softly. “No, I’m not going to try to tell you that. But he doesn’t bite very often—and never without provocation.”
His words weren’t particularly reassuring.
Still, she didn’t want to seem ungracious, especially since Donovan had been going out of his way to entertain her. His comment about babysitting Bryan’s “girlfriend du jour” still stung, though. She hated the idea that he thought of her that way.
She and Bryan chatted for another few minutes, and then Bryan said he had to go. “The sooner I get back to work, the sooner I can get away,” he added.
Chloe hung up the phone, then glanced toward the open doorway. She wasn’t looking forward to rejoining Donovan after the crack he’d made to Bryan. She was sure he’d try to apologize, and then they’d get all awkward and embarrassed. It was a scene she would rather avoid, if possible.
She found Donovan in the kitchen, rinsing out his empty coffee mug. “The coffee was good,” he said. “Thanks.”
“I was making some for myself, anyway.”
He set his mug in the dishwasher, then turned to face her. Braced for the awkward apology she expected, she was surprised when he said, instead, “I’m going into town for a few supplies. Want to come along?”
She would like to get out of the house, actually, but there was still that irritating comment hanging between them. “I’m sure you’d like to spend some time by yourself. I have some more paperwork to keep me busy here while you’re gone.”
“Actually, I’d like you to come along, if you don’t mind. I need to buy some groceries, and it will be easier if you’re there to help with the selections.”
If this was his idea of an apology—or an olive branch, perhaps—it was a strange one. But then, Donovan was definitely a different sort of man from anyone she’d met before.
She still resented being called Bryan’s “girlfriend du jour.” And she still suspected that Donovan questioned her motives for getting involved with Bryan—and she didn’t like him seeing non-existent dollar signs in her eyes. But he had given up two days of his busy life to spend time with her in Bryan’s absence. He had cooked for her and had done his best to entertain her, she supposed, even though there were things he would admittedly rather be doing. The least she could do was try to be gracious in return, especially since he’d placed her in the position of doing him a favor by going with him.
She kept her reply just a bit cool, because she wasn’t going to forget that babysitting crack too easily. “Then of course I’ll come with you. Just let me get my purse.”
She felt him watching her as she left the room, so she kept her chin raised to a regal angle, her back very straight. She intended to make it quite clear to him that she was perfectly capable of taking care of herself. She didn’t need a “babysitter”—and that certainly wasn’t the way she wanted Donovan to think of her.
Donovan was relieved when Chloe agreed to his plan. He’d concluded that it might be easier to control his thoughts about her if they got out of the house. Out in public with other people.
He probably should have apologized about that babysitting remark. He was fully aware that it still rankled with her. But, damn it, he did feel as if he were babysitting—or bodyguarding, which was even worse.
He didn’t know what was wrong with him today—since yesterday, actually. Specifically, since he and Chloe had left her apartment. First there was that itchy sense of impending disaster that had been bugging him for no reason. And then there was his growing physical awareness of Chloe.
It wasn’t so strange that he would notice her attributes, of course. She was attractive, if not as stunningly beautiful as most of Bryan’s women. Donovan was a normal, healthy male. They’d spent several hours close together. He could still almost feel her slender body brushing lightly against his when he’d stupidly attempted to teach her how to skip a rock. It had seemed like a good idea at the time—something she might consider fun—but he’d quickly realized his mistake.
Standing too close to her—watching her wrinkle her nose in self-derision when she repeatedly sank her stones—hearing her chuckle in resignation at her perceived ineptitude…she’d been entirely too appealing then. Had it been just the two of them involved, with Bryan completely out of the mix, he’d have kissed her there by the water. He doubted that he’d have wanted to stop at kissing.
He was sure he would have stopped before discussing marriage—no matter how much he might grow to admire her. He was beginning to strongly suspect that, where Chloe Pennington was concerned, Bryan was thinking with the wrong part of his anatomy.
Not that he blamed his friend entirely for that, he mused, eyeing the slight sway of Chloe’s softly rounded hips as she left the kitchen with her shoulders defiantly squared.
To his annoyance, the itchy feeling increased at the back of his neck again the moment he slid behind the wheel of his car. In automatic reaction, he scanned the grounds around them. He saw nothing but trees, brush, rocks, a couple of fat squirrels—nothing to cause him the slightest alarm.
He was beginning to believe he needed a vacation. He hadn’t actually taken one in several years.
All during the quiet twenty-minute ride to the nearest town, he tried to ignore that sensation, though he stayed vigilant. There wasn’t much traffic in the area, but he found himself studying each battered pickup and late-model sedan that passed them.
Shaking his head in self-disgust, he looked ahead. “Are you in the mood for something sweet?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“There’s a little diner near here that serves the best pies I’ve ever eaten. Want to try it out before we head for the grocery store?”
“Sure. It sounds good.”
Though he suspected she was agreeing more for his sake than her own, he nodded and turned right at the next light. The diner wasn’t crowded since it was mid-afternoon, too late for lunch and too early for dinner. There were only a couple of vehicles in the small gravel parking lot, which was heavily shaded by the building and several large trees. It was warmer now than it had been earlier, yet, as he pulled into a deeply shadowed parking space, he felt a chill go through him.
He wondered if he was losing it.
“Is your neck bothering you?” Chloe asked from across a small table a short while later.
Realizing he’d been squeezing the back of his neck as if he could make that nagging itch go away, Donovan lowered his hand. “Yes,” he said, but he saw no need to elaborate.
“I have ibuprofen in my purse, if that would help.”
“It wouldn’t. But thanks, anyway.”
A waitress with angelic blue eyes and a devilishly dimpled smile approached their table. “Well, hi, Mr. Chance. Haven’t seen you around in a while.”
He returned her smile with genuine warmth. “Hello, Judy. It’s nice to see you.”
“You, too. Mr. Falcon’s not with you this time?”
“He’s flying in later. I’m sure you’ll be seeing him in the next few days. He’ll be wanting his pie.”
Judy chuckled. “Mr. Falcon does love our chocolate-chip pecan pie.
I swear he could eat it every day if he had the chance.”
“I’m sure you’re right.” Donovan nodded toward Chloe. “Judy, this is Chloe Pennington.”
“I’ve seen your picture in the paper,” Judy said after studying Chloe a moment. “You’re Mr. Falcon’s fiancée, aren’t you?”
“Well, I…”
“I told Mama your hair was brown. That picture we saw wasn’t very good and she was sure it was red, but I told her I doubted Mr. Falcon would be getting involved with another redhead after that last one. Mama never could figure out what he saw in that—”
Donovan cleared his throat. He noted that Chloe looked a bit dazed, but he was accustomed to Judy’s chattering. It was her mother who made the pies he and Bryan were so fond of. They’d long since decided that the pies were worth the mostly harmless gossip. “I’ll have the coconut pie, Judy. Have you decided what you want, Chloe?”
She glanced at a hand-written list posted on a blackboard near the register. “The lemon meringue, please.”
“You want coffee with your pie?” Judy asked, switching easily from gossip to business.
They both accepted, and Judy bustled off.
“I guess I should have warned you that Judy knows everybody’s business.”
Chloe smiled weakly. “Apparently so.”
“Don’t let her rattle you. She means well.”
“She seems nice.”
“She is.”
Judy returned and slid two enormous slices of pie in front of them. She looked as though she wanted to stay and talk a bit longer, but a telephone call interrupted her, to Donovan’s relief.
Donovan tried to think of something to say to Chloe, but since nothing came to him, he turned his attention to his coconut pie with three-inch-high lightly browned meringue—the diner’s specialty. He enjoyed the food—but the itch at the back of his neck didn’t go away.
The only conversation between them while they ate consisted of Chloe telling him that he’d been right about how good the pies were here. He replied that he’d been sure she would like them, and then they fell into silence again. Donovan was aware that Judy kept giving them questioning looks, as if wondering why they were there together, and why they were being so quiet, but for once the waitress stayed discreetly in the background. He assumed she had realized that he wasn’t in the mood for chitchat today.