Bringing Home a Bachelor

by Karen Kendall

  “Don’t you get sarcastic with me, Bug-Eyes.”

  “Wouldn’t dream of it, Fozzie.”

  “Mel, at the wedding breakfast, I asked what you were doing tonight before I realized that I had to come to this party.”

  “And as I recall, my mother showed up before I could tell you that I had to come to this party. Anyway, I told you already, you’re off the hook.”

  “But the point I’m trying to make, Melinda, is that I don’t want to be off the hook,” Pete said. “I want to see you again.”

  “Could you be sweet and get the door for me?”

  “Sure, but that’s not an answer.”

  “What was the question, exactly?” Mel stalled for time.

  Pete positioned himself right in front of the doors to the ballroom so that she couldn’t get past him. “Will you go on a date with me?”

  He looked sincere, his face open and honest, his gray eyes holding absolutely no guile. He also looked muscular, and despite the Pepto-Bismol-pink striped tie, hot. She remembered exactly how he looked, smelled and felt naked.

  “If you will get out of the way, open the door for me, and promise never to wear that ridiculous and criminally expensive tie again, then yes—I’ll go on a date with you.”

  Pete nodded once, threw open the doors and got out of the way. “I can explain the tie,” he said as Mel passed him with the edible Governor’s Mansion.

  “I sure hope so.” She gave it a tug as she passed.

  He leaned into her space and whispered, “And by the way, since you yanked off the price tag I can’t return it now. So I’m gonna use it to blindfold you or tie you to my bed.”

  Mel felt the blush start at her chest and rise all the way up her neck before flourishing in her cheeks. “Promises, promises,” was all she said.

  And then people began to notice the cake coming in. They turned to applaud.

  There was nothing like a ballroom full of guests clapping for a woman to make her feel good, but Mel knew that most of her elation stemmed from one simple fact: that Pete wanted to see her again.

  Mel smiled and nodded her thanks for the appreciation. Then she and Scottie eased the huge cake off the cart and into the space on the table that they’d designated for it. Now their job was to disappear quickly and cede the spotlight to Governor Vargas, who was stepping up to the podium and microphone in the corner.

  Mel’s preference had been to set up the cake before everyone got there, but Mrs. Van der Voort was a friend of her mother’s, and had wanted to give her a little attention so she’d get more business.

  She found Sunny Van der Voort in the crowd, kissed her cheek and whispered her thanks as the governor began his speech.

  “I’ve already had close to a dozen people ask me for your business card, honey. Do you have any more?”

  Mel nodded. “In my purse. I’ll go get some.” She threaded her way through the room as the lights dimmed and Vargas told everyone how honored he was by their presence.

  The audience ate it up, even though they’d paid five hundred dollars a plate to be here. Melinda was surprised but relieved that her parents weren’t in attendance. She didn’t think she could handle any more of her mother for a while.

  She was walking past an alcove that held an old-fashioned telephone desk when she glimpsed a flash of pink snaking through the air. Mel yelped in surprise. Next thing she knew she’d been lassoed and yanked into the small space.

  “Gotcha!” said Pete, pulling her against his chest.

  She struggled briefly. “You scared me!”

  “Sorry.”

  “And aren’t we a little too old to be playing Cowboys and Indians?”

  “Not at all,” he said, spinning her around and planting a smooch on her. He used the fact that her mouth was open to slide his tongue inside and kiss her until she was breathless.

  “Pete! What is the meaning of this?”

  “Dunno,” he said. “Does it have to have a meaning, other than me wanting to kiss you?”

  She changed the subject. “I agreed to go out on a date with you, not to be manhandled at a political fundraiser.”

  “Huh. So it’s going to be a completely kissless date?”

  “I didn’t say that…”

  “Good. Kissless dates suck, if you want my opinion.”

  “Pete, why were you wearing that ugly tie with the price tag still on it, and why is it now around my shoulders?”

  “My boss borrowed it from the Playa Bella Boutique because he wanted me to wear it. And I’m supposed to be flirting, I think, with Vargas’s campaign manager. Which rubs me the wrong way, since I’m not gay.”

  “O-kaaay.”

  “So I’d rather rub you the right way.” He grinned at her.

  “Nobody’s rubbing anyone at the moment.” Mel eyed him severely. “So it was your boss who picked out the tie? He has really terrible taste.”

  Pete’s grin disappeared. “No, that’s the thing—he doesn’t. He has excellent taste. He picked that particular tie to send a message. I’m supposed to become Gareth Alston’s bitch, so that we’ll get a bunch of the governor’s fundraisers booked at Playa Bella.”

  Mel stared at him. “Are you saying Reynaldo expects you to…”

  “Not gonna happen,” Pete said definitively. “Absolutely not. But I’m in a bind, that’s for sure. I don’t know what to do.”

  “Hmm.” Mel eyed him thoughtfully. “Maybe what you need, Fozzie, is a redheaded boyfriend to protect your honor.”

  “No, no, no—”

  Pete was still protesting when she slipped the tie “lasso” off her shoulders, threw it over his head and tightened the noose. Disregarding everything he had to say, she towed him outside and called Scottie on her cell phone.

  13

  “SCOTTIE,” MEL SAID into the phone.

  “No,” Pete said again, forcefully.

  “I need you to—”

  Pete grabbed the cell phone from her hand and hit the End Call button.

  “Wow. That was really rude, Mr. Customer Service.”

  “Yeah, it was. Sorry, Mel. But I don’t want a redheaded boyfriend.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “Redheaded girlfriend?”

  “Nope. I’d prefer a brunette, thanks.”

  Mel rolled her eyes. “May I have my phone back, please?”

  Pete grinned. “I don’t know. What will you give me in return?”

  “In return, I won’t call security and tell them that you’ve stolen my property.” She held out her hand.

  “That’s cold.” Pete took her hand, pulled her close to him and looked down into her face. A second ago he’d been teasing her, his eyes crinkled at the corners. Now they’d gone serious on her.

  “Hey, Beautiful,” he said, and paused as if he were gauging her reaction. “Thanks for trying to help me out, though. Again.”

  She stiffened. That word.

  I’ll bet he told you that you were beautiful, didn’t he? And you took your dress right off for him.

  “Yeah, no problem.” She tried to tug her hand away.

  “Why don’t you like that word, Melinda?”

  “What word?” She played dumb as she continued to struggle against the strength of his grip.

  “Beautiful,” he repeated.

  She fumbled for an answer, anything but the truth. “Because it’s generic,” she said. “It’s overused. It’s—”

  Pete shook his head. “That’s not why,” he said flatly. “Something about that word causes you pain.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  “I’m not. I know what I’m talking about.”

  Her hackles rose with her defenses. “Oh, so you’re a mind reader?”

  “Nope. But I can read your face. And when I say that particular word, your features turn to stone. You won’t meet my gaze. Your lips flatten into a narrow line, as if you’re trying to make them disappear.”

  “Yeah, whatever.”

  “And you know what else?” Pete
continued.

  “No, please tell me. You clearly know lots more about me than I do myself.”

  He smoothly overrode her sarcasm. “When I say that particular word, your shoulders hunch forward as if you’re trying to camouflage your breasts. You fold your arms across your body. You even turn your toes a little inward. You hang your head so that your hair hides your face.”

  She sighed. “Fine.”

  “Huh uh. It’s not fine.” And he bent his head to kiss her.

  Mel let it happen. His lips brushed hers lightly at first, almost tenderly. He let go of her hand and trailed his fingers along her nape, up into her hairline. Then he began to kiss her as if he meant it.

  He smelled faintly of whiskey, of his breezy aftershave, of the starch in his laundered shirt. Best of all, he smelled like himself, the scent intensely familiar, somehow.

  A longing built within her, deep inside. Pete turned his head to kiss her neck, and the beard shadow on his face scraped the tender skin at her throat.

  Breathless, Mel was torn between urging him on and needing to push him away. “We can’t do this here,” she managed to say.

  “Mmm.” He stopped any further words with his mouth, his tongue exploring hers. He sucked on her bottom lip; slipped a hand under a breast to cup it.

  “Stop, Pete—”

  But he ignored her and slid his hand up her skirt.

  To her shame, she didn’t immediately knock it away. Mr. Customer Service knew exactly what he was doing.

  “Okay, stop, Pete. Not here. Not now.”

  He gave a muffled protest against her cleavage, but removed his hand from the happy zone and stood up straight, locking his fingers behind his neck. “Why do you always do this to me in public?”

  “Huh?” Mel clued in then, dropping her gaze to the tent under his belt buckle. “How is that in any way my fault? You kissed me.”

  “You incited me,” Pete said, his mouth quirking up at the corners.

  Mel got indignant. “I did no such thing!”

  “Yes, you did. Because you’re so off-putting in that low-cut, low-down black dress of yours…”

  “Off-putting?!”

  “Extremely so. In fact, I do think you may be the ugliest woman I’ve ever encountered.”

  Mel gasped. “What did you say?”

  “Troll-like, in fact. But I’ve always had a thing for trolls. Gnomes, too, if you want the truth.” Pete nodded, his face completely deadpan.

  Mel began to laugh in the face of this outrageousness. “You—you—you cannot—”

  Pete spread his hands, palms up. “Is there a problem?”

  “You just told me I was ugly! That’s not okay.”

  “But you hate it when I call you beautiful. And now I’m not allowed to call you off-putting or ugly. Jeez! What’s Mr. Customer Service, here, to do?”

  “Okay, Pete, you’ve made your point.”

  He lifted an eyebrow. “All I want to do is please you, honey.”

  “Then let me go inside and do my job.”

  He sighed. “I suppose that means I need to go in, too, and see to mine. But what are you doing later?”

  She shot him a look from under her lashes. “Another booty call, Pete?”

  “It’s not meant that way, and you know it, Melinda.” He fished her cell phone out of his pocket and tossed it to her. “My number’s now programmed into that, just so you know.”

  “Gee, I wonder how that happened?” But Mel shot him a smile over her shoulder as she walked up the steps of the big house.

  “Couldn’t tell you,” Pete said.

  She left him waiting outside until the tent in his pants subsided.

  * * *

  PETE HAD TAKEN four steps back into the ballroom of Mrs. Van der Voort’s vast house when Reynaldo spotted him and beckoned him over to where he stood with Alston and a couple of fat-cat attorneys. Dutifully, Pete went.

  “There you are, Pedro,” said Reynaldo genially. “Gareth, here, was just telling me how extremely impressed Governor Vargas was with his State Capitol cake this evening.”

  “Wasn’t that incredible?” Pete exclaimed. “A friend of mine, Melinda Edgeworth, did it. She’s so talented.”

  “I was just explaining to Gareth that we’re in the process of negotiating with Melinda to bring her on board as our pastry chef at Playa Bella,” Reynaldo added.

  Pete choked. “Uh, right,” he said, trying to recover. “Yes, indeed. The negotiations are a little complicated because she does have her own shop, though.” He shot a significant glance at his boss. “And needless to say, she’s building quite a name for herself.”

  Reynaldo waved a hand. “Yes, but this is Playa Bella, Miami’s premier luxury hotel. Not to mention the other jewels in the Reynaldo crown. She will jump at the chance.”

  “I certainly hope so, sir.”

  “Pedro. One does not negotiate with hope,” Reynaldo said expansively. “It’s a war, my boy. One negotiates with…how you say?…brass balls—and brass knuckles.”

  A war…knuckles. Pete had a brief flashback to his childhood; his brother and his teeth on the floor in a pool of blood; his father roaring with pain and clutching his own fist.

  The fat-cat attorneys and Gareth Alston chuckled, bringing Pete back to the present.

  “A war. Absolutely,” Pete agreed, then chuckled right along with them. He tried to tamp down his rising dislike of his boss. In his own way, the man was as big a bully as Pete’s father had been. And he, Pete, hated himself just as much for placating him; constantly avoiding conflict.

  “Besides,” his boss added, “she is only a girl. Dios mio, offer her free use of the spa, free silk-wraps on her nails, and she will fall at your feet.”

  Pete choked for the second time, especially since he’d just spotted Melinda out of the corner of his eye. She was well within hearing range, chatting with an older couple. She smiled at them, kissed each of them on the cheek, and moved away. She then turned to shoot Pete a look that would eviscerate the entire Navy Seal Team Six.

  She’d clearly heard the entire exchange from where she’d stood, approximately three feet away. Beautiful. Just beautiful. And yes, Pete did get the irony of that word popping into his head—because this was going to be a very ugly situation.

  He looked down at his feet. “Actually, sir, I don’t think Melinda wears those silk wrap things on her nails. You know, because she’s got her hands in batters and icings all day.”

  Reynaldo cast his eyes heavenward. “So offer her free massages, then. These are silly details. You will get them worked out.”

  “Of course. No problem.” Pete produced a sickly smile to match his sickly tie. “Now, if you’ll excuse me for a moment?” He felt like a ten-year-old asking to get up from the dinner table.

  His boss waved him off, and he made his escape.

  * * *

  MELINDA FELT SURE that her head could function as a rice-cooker at the moment, because steam was coming out of her ears. How dare that man? And Pete had just stood there, grinning like a jack-o’-lantern.

  Her more rational side reminded her that the guy was probably his boss. But still…

  “I take one step forward with you, and then two steps back,” Pete’s voice said behind her.

  She turned. “Got your brass knuckles on?”

  He winced. “Heh.”

  “Or do you think your brass balls will be enough to persuade me?”

  Pete rubbed the back of his neck. “Uh—”

  “That man,” Melinda stated not so quietly, “is a brass knucklehead. Who does he think he is?”

  “A major hotelier.”

  “I don’t even know what to say to you. What was that all about? It started with a lie—that we’re already negotiating—and ended with an insult. I’m just a girl.”

  “He’s from another culture and another generation,” Pete said, employing tact. “He’s very…traditional.”

  Mel snorted. “That’s a great euphemism for chauvinist assho
le.”

  “Please keep your voice down?”

  “Why?”

  Pete sent her a speaking look. “Instead of being insulted, Mel, try looking at the situation as a true compliment. Evidently you have very much impressed the governor with the cake. And my boss takes that seriously. He’d like to offer you a job.”

  “As you mentioned to him, I do have my own business. Why would I give up my freedom to work for someone else?”

  “We’d make it very much worth your while.”

  “No offense, Pete, but I did a couple of gigs for big hotels right out of culinary school. Those jobs weren’t exactly little slices of heaven.”

  “Playa Bella’s not just any big hotel. It’s—”

  “I know, I know, it has a spa! Where I could get my nails done.” She shook her head.

  Pete sighed inwardly.

  “Can you imagine what would happen to my business,” Mel said conversationally, “if a silk-wrapped nail tip turned up in someone’s cake?”

  “Yeah, that would be bad. But free massages could be nice,” Pete pointed out, trying to lighten the atmosphere.

  “That man can massage my big butt,” Mel fumed.

  “It’s not big,” Pete said. “It’s just right. I happen to like it very much.”

  “And you. You are a…a…” She fumbled for the right words.

  Pete raised his eyebrows and waited expectantly.

  “…a professional soother.”

  His lips twitched. “You make it sound so dirty, Mel.”

  She frowned at him. “It is.”

  He grinned back. “Well, if I’m dirty and you’re ugly, what say we meet up after the party and work toward getting downright nasty?”

  Reluctantly she laughed. “You need to stop calling me ‘ugly.’ It’s not good for a girl’s ego.”

  “Honey, as I said, you’ve left me no alternative. You hate being called beau—”

  Mel held up a hand. “Don’t say it.”

  “As I recall from last weekend, ‘gorgeous’ made you even more uncomfortable.”