It Started at Christmas...

by Jo McNally

  With that, she walked away. Her jeans were tight, and her top was tighter. And something on him was a little tighter than normal, too.

  He turned to look at the lake, trying to figure out how the hell he was going to be able to have dinner alone with her tonight. This wasn’t take-out food at the kitchen island. It was a sit-down meal together. He wasn’t sure he could come up with enough questions about the renovation to fill an entire dinner with business talk, and over the past week or so they’d covered every movie of the past century. Maybe he should invent some excuse to skip it. But the meal was already cooking—he could smell it. He was just going to have to control his attraction to his interior designer. Surely he was man enough to manage that.

  Chapter Five

  Amanda stepped back to admire her work. The beat-up old table was pretty now that it was covered with a crisp white tablecloth she’d borrowed from the resort. Blake mentioned one night over Chinese food that he hardly ever went into the solarium, and she wanted to show him how lovely the room could be as a casual dining and conversation area. The curved walls were lined with windows, with ornate white iron accents tracing up the high ceiling that radiated out from the stone walls of the main house. Tiny blue, green, yellow and white tiles covered the floor in a mosaic design. The room was in desperate need of cleaning and a coat of paint, but it was cozy and always seemed to smell of roses.

  The kitchen was boring, but large and nice to work in. Sure, the oven was temperamental and utensils were sparse, but she enjoyed the challenge. She’d plugged her phone into a minispeaker, and her playlist was at full volume. She’d showered and changed earlier, and her long blue skirt swirled around her ankles as she moved. The pork chops were almost done, and a freshly made blueberry cobbler sat on the counter. If there was one thing she’d learned growing up in the heart of the Midwest, it was how to cook.

  Bruno Mars was singing about all that funk. She tore up a head of fresh romaine for a Caesar salad, humming along to the music and dancing her way around the island. She was still singing when she grabbed the salad bowl to take to the table. She spun around and let out a squeal of surprise.

  Blake was leaning against the doorway to the kitchen, arms crossed, watching her with obvious amusement. The glass bowl bobbled in her arms, and he jumped forward and took it from her.

  “You were having such a good time that I didn’t want to interrupt your performance.” He was flashing her that smile that always melted her. “Are you planning on being my singing waitress tonight? If so, I’m not sure Mr. Mars is period authentic for Halcyon.”

  “A singing chef would be more accurate, I think. And I like Bruno.” She turned to the oven to check the meal, ignoring his snort of laughter behind her. She opened the oven door and started muttering. “Damn it. This thing just doesn’t want to stay lit.” She turned the knobs back and forth a few times, and the pilot light started clicking before the oven came back on with a soft whooshing sound. “There we go.”

  When she turned back to Blake, he was staring at her with some combination of amazement and confusion.

  “You’re cooking dinner?”

  “Yes.” She spoke to him as if she was talking to a small child.

  “You cooked it from scratch? It’s not Dario’s food?”

  She straightened. Did he think she wasn’t capable of cooking a meal?

  “Well, I didn’t go out and kill the pig, but yes, I cooked everything from scratch. Including dessert.” She gestured to the blueberry cobbler sitting on the marble counter. “It’s not that unusual for women to know how to cook, you know.”

  He looked at the dessert as if he’d just discovered a Rembrandt masterpiece sitting in his kitchen.

  “I’ve never had a woman cook dinner for me before.”

  Her mouth dropped open. “Never? Not even your mother?”

  He snorted and shook his head. “Especially not my mother. No woman has cooked for me unless she was paid to. My parents had staff, and now I always stay at my resorts, where I have staff. And the ladies in my life have all been firm supporters of restaurants and room service.”

  Her cheeks flamed. He was rich and handsome, and probably had plenty of “ladies” available to him. But she didn’t need to hear about them.

  He was still holding the salad bowl. “What would you like me to do with this?”

  She rolled her eyes. Was he really this inept at having a simple meal at home?

  “Unless you’re planning to eat straight from the bowl, I’d suggest you set it on the dining table.” His eyes narrowed at her sarcasm. “We’re eating out in the solarium, if I can keep this damned stove running. Do you think you can handle pouring two glasses of wine for us? I’ve already opened it, so you don’t have to be nervous about learning any other new skills.” She nodded toward the bottle at the end of the island.

  “You may want to stow that sharp tongue of yours, young lady. I’m not usually fond of being mocked.” He was grinning again, playing along. She hadn’t seen much of the playful side of Blake Randall. She liked it.

  He walked out of the kitchen with the salad, then came back to pour the wine while she removed dinner from the oven. He watched in apparent fascination as she arranged the food on their plates and turned toward the solarium. She lifted her chin toward the wineglasses, and he obediently picked them up and followed her to the table.

  Conversation flowed easily over dinner. They talked about the legends surrounding Halcyon and his fight with the locals over his plans to demolish the building and the neighboring resort. She whispered a quiet prayer of thanks to the devoted citizens of Gallant Lake who weren’t afraid to stand up to Blake and his wealth. They’d saved this wonderful house.

  Blake’s deep voice interrupted her rambling thoughts. “Hey, where’d you go?”

  “Hmm? Oh, sorry.” She pushed her empty dessert plate away. “You may not want to hear this, but I’m glad the house was saved.”

  His eyes went wide. “Are you saying you’re happy I lost in court?”

  “Yes, actually, I am. They preserved an important part of Gallant Lake’s history.”

  “And do you support their fight against my casino, as well?”

  She couldn’t lie to the man.

  “Yes.”

  He sat back in his chair and stared at her. “You continually manage to surprise me, Amanda. Your honesty is refreshing.” The corner of his mouth twitched. “Even when it’s irritating.”

  “Yeah, well, my therapist says honesty is always—” she held her fingers up in air quotes “—the ‘fastest way through a problem’ and I’m trying to follow her lead.” She frowned. She couldn’t believe she just quoted Dr. Jackson to him. She never talked about her therapy. She ran her fingers up and down the stem of her wineglass absently, wondering if it was the alcohol or the company that had her talking so freely.

  “Tell me about what happened to you this summer.”

  Her head snapped up and she stared at Blake in surprise. “Wh-what do you mean?”

  They stared at each other in silence. He reached for the wine bottle and refilled her glass. And waited. Damn Mel and her chatty morning with Blake the day Amanda fainted. She must have spilled more than she’d admitted to. Amanda took a deep breath and ignored her pounding pulse.

  “It all started when I lost my job in May.” The memory still galled her. She never should have trusted David. “It was one of the hottest new firms in Manhattan, and I was thrilled to be part of it.” Until she’d discovered what David had done. How he’d used her. She did her best to appear nonchalant. “And then everything went to hell.”

  “Were you and David Franklin together?”

  “Ew. No.” Her face twisted. “But not for lack of trying on his part. He was more interested in my design ideas than me, though. He was taking credit for my work with the clients.” David stole the one thing from her that she
truly loved—her work. “He used photos of my work in his personal portfolio. Not as an associate’s work, but as his own. I found out he’d done the same thing with other designers. Hadn’t had an original idea for years. Instead of walking away, I confronted him.”

  “Good for you.” Blake’s voice was warm with admiration.

  “Well, it didn’t turn out very good. I’d been writing a proposal for a new client—a huge apartment in a historic building, overlooking Central Park. After I told David I knew what he was doing, he told my client I’d been caught overbilling another account. She refused to work with me.” Amanda took a deep breath, still feeling the burning shame of that afternoon. “I went back to the office and found my things in a box. But they forgot to lock me out of the email server. That’s how I managed to see your RFP for Halcyon.” He smiled at that, and she couldn’t help but return it. That rare burst of unethical behavior had worked out pretty well for her. And it served David right. “I had a small nest egg saved, but not enough to last long in New York. David started spreading all kinds of lies to destroy my credibility, just in case I decided to tell someone what he’d done. I couldn’t get hired.” Her eyes fell to where her fingers toyed with her wineglass. She hadn’t taken a sip since he refilled it.

  She didn’t intend to tell Blake about what came next. She really didn’t. He’d never know the difference. What she’d already told him was surely bad enough to qualify as a Truly Terrible Summer.

  He cleared his throat and she looked up as he started to speak.

  “Franklin is a jackass. I’m sor—”

  “I’m not finished.” She inhaled sharply after she said that. Of course she was finished. She wasn’t going to tell him about that night. Stop talking!

  “I went out with some former coworkers in July.” Oh, hell, that was her mouth that just blurted out those words. Blake’s eyes widened, but he didn’t speak. “It was late and I decided to walk home so I could think things through. And I was...attacked.”

  Blake had started to raise the wineglass to his lips, but now he set it back down on the table very slowly, as if he was afraid of shattering it. His eyes grew dark and intense as he listened.

  “I was so deep in my own self-pity that I forgot to pay attention to my surroundings. A guy grabbed me from behind and forced me into a narrow alley. He reeked of cigarette smoke...” Her entire body shuddered at the memory. For the second time in her life she’d been helpless against an attacker. “He shoved me up against the wall and grabbed...” Her voice trailed off and Blake spoke, his voice gruff with emotion.

  “You don’t have to tell me any more.”

  She waved her hand at him in dismissal. “There’s not much more to tell. I struggled. He put a knife to my throat and told me he’d kill me if I didn’t do what he said.”

  * * *

  Blake blinked, then blinked again. Son. Of. A. Bitch.

  Amanda took a ragged breath and finished quickly. “A short-order cook stepped into the alley right then to smoke a cigarette, and he came running at the guy when he saw what was happening. The man took off. That cook saved my life.” She tried to grin again, but couldn’t hold it. “I guess my terrible summer could have been worse. It could have been my last summer.”

  She lifted her glass in a mock toast, but he didn’t touch his. He couldn’t shake the image of her body thrown against an alley wall. Thank God for that cook. This all happened in the past few months, and she was still standing strong. This woman was tough as nails.

  “I’m sorry you had to go through any of that.” They stared at each other in silence. The color that had drained from her face when she spoke about the assault returned now, turning her cheeks bright pink.

  He could see her sweeping it all away in her mind. Tucking it in some safe dark place so she could go on with her life. She finally pulled her shoulders back and met his gaze. Yep. Tough as nails.

  “I’ve made it to September—almost October now. Hopefully this job will be the start of a much better autumn. I’m looking forward to bringing Halcyon back to life.” She stood and started picking up the dishes. “Now come help me clean up.”

  She needed to close the door on the conversation, and he was more than happy to help her do that. But cleaning up?

  “I have staff for that, Amanda.”

  She rolled her eyes. She did that a lot. Then she laughed. At him. She seemed to do that a lot, too. And damned if he didn’t like the way it made him feel.

  “Oh, for God’s sake, Blake, pick up the dishes and help me clean the kitchen. Housekeeping is only coming up twice a week, and I’m not leaving them my dirty dishes. Of course, if the dishwasher is as reliable as the stove, we may both end up with dishpan hands.” She looked over her shoulder at him with a bright smile. And like an obedient little puppy, he found himself piling dirty dishes together and following her into the kitchen.

  He set a stack of dishes and glasses on top of the cooking pan in the sink when Amanda reached out to stop him.

  “What are you doing? You can’t wash that fine crystal with the pots and pans! Have you really never washed dishes before?”

  He stared at her in consternation. It never occurred to him that dish washing was a critical life skill he was lacking. Why did he feel embarrassed to admit to her that he was absolutely clueless in the kitchen?

  “Um... I...didn’t know...”

  Her blue eyes went wide, sparkling with humor.

  “Wow. I honestly thought you were exaggerating about no one ever cooking for you. But you really don’t know anything about how a kitchen operates, do you?” She quickly pulled the greasy cooking pans out of the sink, replacing them with the dinner dishes. She set the crystal glasses aside while she filled the sink with soap and water. “You were born into a wealthy family?”

  He turned and took a towel from the oven door. Surely he could dry a few dishes without embarrassing himself. When he turned back to face her, his breath caught in his chest. Her hair was falling loose tonight, curls rolling down her back. Her sweater matched her eyes. They were standing close enough that he could smell her spicy perfume. She looked up at him expectantly, but he was too busy getting lost in those eyes.

  “Blake?”

  “Hmm? What?” He took a step back in an attempt to regain his equilibrium.

  “You came from a wealthy family?”

  He grimaced. Talking about his family was a surefire way to cool his libido.

  “Wealthy? Yes—the proverbial silver spoon. My father comes from a long line of successful investors. My mother’s Texas family made, then lost, a ton of oil money. She married my father because he could keep her in the lifestyle she felt entitled to. Mother thought manual labor was vulgar.”

  And then she’d decided motherhood was equally vulgar, but he didn’t say that out loud. He glanced at Amanda, up to her elbows in soapsuds, and grinned. She was nothing at all like his mother. “No offense,” he added.

  She snorted. “None taken. My middle-class Midwestern family felt manual labor was somewhere akin to godliness. I’ve been washing dishes since I was five.”

  “I guess you had the quintessential perfect childhood, eh?”

  Her mouth trembled slightly. “Not exactly perfect.”

  “Let me guess—you lived in a pretty little house on a tree-lined street with sidewalks and picket fences. Your happy mom and dad had two-point-four children and a dog. You were an all-American girl with long blond pigtails. I bet you were even a cheerleader in high school, the one all the boys chased.”

  A dinner plate started to slip from her hands, but she caught it before it hit the side of the sink.

  “Amanda?”

  The color drained from her face. He forced himself to stand still, cursing under his breath when he noticed how badly her hands were trembling. What just happened? He wanted to reach for her, but he had a feeling touching her would be t
he wrong thing to do.

  She took a deep breath, putting that artificial smile on her face. Her overly musical voice sounded forced. “You only got the neighborhood right. I’m an only child. My father died at Christmas when I was six. My stepdad didn’t allow pets, so there was no dog. And I hated high school.” The last words were said with unusual force.

  They fell into an awkward silence. The atmosphere in the room snapped with electricity. Amanda worked at a frantic pace and flinched every time he brushed against her. He felt responsible for making her this way, but he didn’t know what the hell he’d done. His jaw tightened. He didn’t like problems he couldn’t fix. He had to figure out how to fix this.

  She hadn’t been this uptight when she’d talked about everything that happened all summer. Why was she freaking out now, talking about her childhood? There were a lot of possible answers to that question, and none of them were good. She reached past him for a large roasting pan. It slipped out of her fingers and dropped with a loud clatter against the stone counter. She let out a squeal of fright.

  Okay, enough was enough. The woman was going to give herself a heart attack at this rate. He set his hands lightly on her shoulders, being careful not to hold her too tightly, just enough to stop her perpetual motion. She stared, frozen, her breathing quick and shallow.

  “Take a deep breath, Amanda. In and out, nice and slow. You’re okay.”

  She did as he asked, closing her eyes and breathing deeply and evenly. Her body trembled under his fingers. Damn it. This was his fault.

  “Amanda, I didn’t mean to upset you. I don’t ever want to do anything that scares you.”

  She sucked in a deep, ragged breath, looking so terribly lost and sad. Her eyelids fluttered open. She stared straight ahead, talking to his chest.

  “You don’t understand, Blake. There are days when...when everything scares me.” Her voice was barely above a whisper. His heart jumped. He thought of that first day, when she ended up unconscious in his arms.

  Everything scares me.