by Lori Wilde
What an embarrassment.
The crazy, overblown hype underscored his decision to leave California at the end of his residency and accept Dr. Jackson’s job offer. He needed to remember that he’d come to Houston for a fresh start.
A fresh start that did not include trying to help his beautiful office mate when she so did not want his help.
Face it, Gregory, you overstepped your boundaries. Apologize to her. You can go to Saturday dinner with her mother to keep from being rude, but after that, butt out of Janet’s life for good. Got it?
“I want you to break off this ridiculous engagement in front of my mother,” Janet outlined her plan. “Pick a fight with me, tell her you’re gay, tell her you’re already married. Anything, just do something.”
They were in his 1965 fully restored ice-blue Mustang convertible with the top up—Janet’s request, although he would have loved to have seen her windblown and tousled—on the way to Gracie’s house for Saturday afternoon dinner. She dressed in a cream-colored business suit with a red silk blouse and sensible beige flats.
Cruising to a stop at a traffic signal, he glanced over at her, wondering what kind of lingerie she had on beneath that oh-so-proper attire.
Red satin thong? A purple silk teddy? Black lace garters?
He imagined those mile-long legs wrapped around his waist. He visualized her firm, high breasts encased in a sheer bra. He fantasized she wore belly jewelry. Maybe a braided gold chain that showed off her fabulous waist.
“Did you hear me?”
“Huh?”
“You have this sappy, glazed expression on your face. What were you thinking about?”
“Uh... nothing.”
“Men.” She shook her head.
He was teasing himself with impossible daydreams. She probably had on high-waisted white cotton underpants and one of those Gestapo-style under wire bras. And belly jewelry? As his second cousin Nick, the nightclub owner from Jersey, would say, Fuggediboutit.
“I want you to break up with me in front of my mother,” she repeated.
“I heard you.”
“So why didn’t you say something?”
Duh, because I was busy envisioning you naked, you repressed sex goddess, you. Geez, how I’d love to unrepress you.
He shrugged. “I dunno. Maybe because I’m not crazy about being the bad guy. Why don’t you break up with me?”
“Much as that would please me, I can’t. If I break it off with you, my mother will think I’m just being difficult. According to Nadine, I’m refusing to see the treasure that’s right under my own nose. That’s why I have to keep wearing this stupid pin to please Gracie.” She fingered the Saint Jude pin on her lapel. “To remind me that I’m not a lost cause.”
“Maybe you are.” He winked.
“What, a lost cause?” Her voice rose slightly.
“No, no.” Gage shook his head. The light turned green and he zoomed on down the road. “Maybe you’re refusing to see the treasure right underneath your nose.”
“Meaning you?”
He shrugged. “All I’m saying is that maybe if you weren’t so picky, you might find someone to love.”
“Picky? I’m not picky. What do you mean picky?”
“Pul-lease, you’ve got an emotional barrier thick as an underground bunker surrounding you.”
“I do not.” She paused and moistened her lips. “Do I?”
“You erected the damn wall, you tell me.”
That gave her pause.
“Okay,” she admitted after a moment. Did he really see her as emotionally closed off and inaccessible? The thought stung. Was he right? Was she afraid to trust her feelings? “Maybe I do keep my emotions in reserve, but it’s because I don’t believe in romantic love.”
“You don’t?”
“No. Do you?”
“Sure.”
His confession surprised her. She had pegged him for the kind of guy who flitted happily from one woman to another, not someone’s Prince Charming in the making.
“Romantic love is such a load of hooey. Pure fairy-tale hogwash. You find someone you’re compatible with, someone that shares your common interests and goals. Then, when you’re both ready, you get married. That’s all there is to it.”
“You’re so clinical about the whole thing. What about romance? What about getting swept off your feet? What about feeling your heart pound and your stomach swoon and your knees go weak?”
“Sounds like the flu to me. Wait it out and it’ll pass.”
He looked at her as if she were an uneducated child. “You poor thing.”
“Stop pitying me.”
“How can I not? You don’t believe in true love.” He clicked his tongue in dismay.
“So if you’re such an expert, where’s your Miss Right?”
“I haven’t met her yet.”
“Come on, you expect me to believe that out of six billion people in the world, you think there’s one right person for you?”
“Yep.”
She shook her head. “You sound just like my friend, Lacy.”
“Has she found her Mr. Right?”
“Well, he’s Dr. Right and yes, she did. They’re getting married in December.”
“See there.”
“Lacy and Bennett’s love affair was a coincidence, not some weird bolt from the blue.”
“I agree with your friend, Lacy. Guess I’m just a romantic at heart.”
“Whatever.” She rolled her eyes. “Either way, I want you to break up with me.”
“But why would I do that? You’re smart, independent, accomplished, and gorgeous. Even if you don’t believe in true love.”
“Gorgeous?” She blinked, totally taken aback by the word. “You think I’m gorgeous?”
Gage snorted. “Get a mirror, woman, will you? You’re incredible.”
“Really?” She straightened and met his gaze, the faintest hint of a smile hovering at her lips.
“Come on, you’re trying to tell me that tons of men haven’t told you how attractive you are?”
Janet shook her head. “Not unless you count being whistled at by construction workers, which I don’t. They’ll whistle at anybody.”
“You’ve got to be kidding.”
“No, really. Once, when I was a little girl, my grandmother and I walked past a construction site and they whistled their heads off at her. She must have been all of sixty at the time.”
“I’m not talking about the construction workers, Janet. I’m wondering why men don’t appreciate you. What kind of weirdos do you date?”
“Actually, I have dated little since college. In high school they called me Giraffe Legs. Doesn’t do a lot for a girl’s self-image.”
“What about those college boys? Didn’t they know a good thing when they saw one?”
“I had a few boyfriends. Nothing serious. They weren’t the ‘whisper-sweet-nothings’ sort of relationships.”
“What about now?”
Janet shrugged. “I think I intimidate most men.”
“You don’t intimidate me,” he said.
“No?”
“Not a bit.”
“Why not?”
“Because I can see through that hard-as-nails exterior of yours. You’re just protecting a tender heart. I’ve observed you with your patients. No one’s gentler with those kids than you are.”
Suddenly feeling very exposed, Janet whipped her head around and stared out the passenger window. She was breathless, apprehensive, and she didn’t know why.
“So you see,” Gage replied, “if I’m going to break things off with you, I need a powerful motivation for throwing back such a great—if somewhat unromantic—catch. Something your mother will buy into but doesn’t cast you in a terrible light.”
“You found out I eat crackers in bed,” she said.
He shook his head. “Sorry, so do I.”
“I drink milk straight from the carton.”
“Really? Me, too.”
“I squeeze the toothpaste in the middle.”
“Not gonna wash. We could just buy his and hers tubes.”
“Okay, smart guy, you got any bright ideas?”
“Hmm, I know. You want kids and I don’t.”
“You don’t want kids?” She blinked at him.
“We’re pretending here, remember.”
“So you do want kids.”
“Sure.” His eyebrows went up. “Three or four. Don’t you?”
Janet shrugged and glanced away. “I don’t know. I have mixed feelings.”
“Are you concerned about the pressures of juggling motherhood and a high-powered medical practice?”
“You’ve got it.” That, among other things. “But let’s not bring up the kid issue.” she said. “It’s a sore spot between Mom and me.”
“Good enough.”
Silence fell as they both considered the options.
“Why don’t we just go with the truth?” Gage said after a few minutes. “Our priority is to our pediatric practice, and our love relationship threatened to affect it.”
“But we don’t have a love relationship.”
“Your mother thinks we do.”
“Only because you told her we were dating exclusively.”
“Hey, I apologized for sticking my nose in where it didn’t belong and I’m working on repairing the damage, so cut me some slack.”
“You’re right. I do appreciate what you tried to do for me. At least I escaped dating Oscar.”
“So we’re square?” He grinned.
“We’re square.”
She couldn’t resist smiling back. He really was a nice guy. A little off-center, perhaps, but he meant well. She couldn’t hold a grudge.
“Oh, look, here we are.” Janet pointed. “It’s the third house on your right.”
7
Gage pulled up to the curb, cut the engine, and climbed out. He intended to go around the car to open the door for Janet and help her with the pecan pie they’d brought for dessert, but she was halfway up the sidewalk, the white bakery box tucked under her arm, before he could even round the bumper.
He sprinted after her. “Here, let me carry that for you.”
She looked at him as if he’d sprouted wings. “Come on. The box doesn’t weight half a pound.”
“Just let me do something for you.”
“Hey, dude, this isn’t feudal France. I lift thirty-pound kids every day. This may come as a shock to you, but I’m not some shrinking violet. I change the oil in my car; I repair my own plumbing, and I’m not afraid of insects. I don’t need some big he-man to lean on. I can take care of myself.”
“Sorry.” He backed off.
She was so damned independent. Couldn’t stand to have anyone do anything for her. Maybe that was why she didn’t have a boyfriend. She made a guy feel as useful as a third thumb.
He joined her on the front porch. Janet knocked and the door was immediately flung open, as if her mother had been waiting on the other side with her eye pressed to the peephole.
“Come in, come in,” Gracie called out gaily and escorted them inside the tidy house.
The minute he stepped over the threshold, Gage felt as if he’d come home.
Gracie ushered them through the living room, chattering a mile a minute. She had dressed for the occasion, wearing an apron over what appeared to be a new outfit. The air smelled wonderful, reminding him of his mother’s home cooking.
Living room walls adorned with pictures of Janet—playing at a birthday party, running through a sprinkler in her bathing suit, graduating from college. He lingered to examine them. There were photographs of Janet with her mother and a few with other women.
Grandmothers, aunts, neighbors, and friends, he figured. But the male of the species was clearly absent. No men. No father.
“That’s her first-grade picture.” Gracie came up behind him. “Doesn’t she look adorable with her front tooth missing?”
“Adorable,” he echoed.
“And this is her first baby photo. She was just three months old. That little fuzz of hair on her head was soft as duck down.” Gracie sighed wistfully. “They grow up so fast.”
This was how their daughter would look if he and Janet had a child together, Gage thought. Seriously cute.
What a minute! What was he thinking? A daughter with Janet? Hell, as independent as she was, she probably wouldn’t even need him there for the conception, much less the birth or the eighteen years afterward.
He had to stop creating these fanciful scenarios about her. She was most definitely not his true love.
He wanted an equal partnership of marriage. A symbiotic give and take. With Janet, no matter how much he tried to give, she simply wouldn’t take from him. How could he ever achieve the intimacy he craved with a woman like that?
And yet, he was so damned attracted to her.
“What’s that wonderful smell coming from the kitchen?” Gage asked Gracie.
“My specialty.” Gracie beamed. “Beef Stroganoff.”
“You’re kidding,” Gage exclaimed. “Stroganoff is my favorite.”
Gracie tittered.
“I’ve got a feeling you’re a fabulous cook.” Gage winked.
“I do my best.” Gracie blushed and patted her hair into place.
“Can I see you in the kitchen for a minute, Gage?” Janet asked through gritted teeth.
“Can’t it wait, snuggle bunny?” He knew he was irritating her, but he couldn’t help it. Ruffling her oh-so-controlled feathers seemed like a step in the right direction.
Snuggle bunny? she mouthed silently, frowned, then said, “No, it can’t wait.”
“Go on, Gage, I bet she just wants to sneak a kiss.” Gracie laughed and waved. “I know what it’s like to be young and in love.”
“We will not be kissing,” Janet exclaimed, taking Gage’s arm and dragging him into the kitchen behind her.
“Stop endearing yourself to my mother,” she muttered the minute they were alone.
He leaned insouciantly against the counter and leveled her with one of his irritating grins. “I’m not.”
“You are.”
“I’m just being myself.”
“And beef Stroganoff is your favorite meal.” She sank her hands on her hips and narrowed her eyes at him.
“It is.” He jutted his chin forward. “Just because I’m from L.A., doesn’t mean I’m insincere when I give compliments.”
“Fine. Okay. All right. Let’s assume you’re the real McCoy. You adore everything about my mother. Now cut it out.”
“Why?” He seemed genuinely puzzled.
“Because you’re supposed to be breaking up with me, that’s why.”
“I’ve been giving that some thought…”
“No.”
“Do you really think it’s such a good idea to break up now?”
“Yes, I do.”
“I mean if I ditch you, she’s only going to go fetch Oscar and bring him around again. Or maybe she’ll even recycle Max Crispin.”
Janet shuddered. He made a good point, but never mind. She simply couldn’t go around masquerading as Gage Gregory’s girlfriend.
“Look, as annoying as I find my mother’s matchmaking, it’s better than what’s going to befall us if we keep up this charade. The longer we say we’re going out, the more likely she is to think this is a permanent relationship. I’m not kidding, Gage. She’s hot for a wedding and even hotter for a grandchild. So break up with me now, please.”
“Can’t it wait until after dinner?” He sniffed the air. “That stroganoff smells heavenly.”
“Oh, all right.” She shook a finger. “But then you pick a fight with me.”
“Fine.”
“Knock, knock, kids. Don’t let me interrupt. I’ve got to check on those homemade yeast rolls.” Gracie popped through the swinging double doors and into the kitchen. She bustled over to the stove, shoved her hand into red oven mitts shaped like lobste
rs, took a dozen rolls from the oven, and set them on a trivet to cool.
“You’re a woman after my own heart, Mrs. Hunter.” Gage smiled at her.
“Didn’t I tell you to call me Gracie? Mrs. Hunter makes me feel so old.”
“Forgive me, Gracie.”
“Apology accepted.”
The man could charm plaster off the walls, Janet thought with a mental eye roll.
“Here, let me butter one for you.” Gracie retrieved a stick of butter from the fridge and slathered some across a roll. She wrapped the roll in a paper towel and passed it over to Gage.
He took an enthusiastic bite. “Incredible,” he pronounced.
Double eye roll. If she hung around these two much longer, her eyes would get stuck to the ceiling. What was Gage plotting? Why was he buttering up her mother like a Thanksgiving turkey?
“You like them?” Gracie grinned from ear to ear. “I’ll give Janet the recipe when you two set up housekeeping.”
Janet shot Gage an I-told-you-so expression and crossed her arms over her chest.
“I have to warn you, though. She was never much of a cook.” Gracie leaned in close and whispered to Gage as if Janet wasn’t standing right there in the room with them. “Can’t boil water in a microwave, poor thing, if you know what I mean.”
Gage grinned at Janet and smugly took another mouthful of bread. “Do tell.”
“Mother, I can hear you.”
“Well, sweetie, you were never much interested in cooking.”
“And that’s not likely to change anytime soon.
“It will. When you and Gage have children, you’ll want to bake cookies and make brownies and many other pleasant things.”
She groaned. “Mom! I’ve only known him three weeks. Aren’t you putting the cart before the horse?
“You’re not getting any younger, dear.”
Argh! She might as well bash her head against the wall as talk sense to her mother.
“Don’t worry about the cooking thing,” Gracie said to Gage. “She’s got other talents.”
From the speculative look on Gage’s face, Janet knew he was contemplating bedroom talents.