Chocolate Kisses (5 page)

Her
temper remained white-hot as she slid the platters of meat into the
refrigerator. The hell with all of them, she fumed. Melanie, Ned—and Edie, too.
She was part of the family, wasn’t she?

She
felt hands on her waist and flinched, jerking the tray in her hands. A half
dozen shrimp tumbled onto the floor, looking like succulent pink-and-white
parentheses.

“Damn
it!” She’d seen more food spilled in the past two hours than she had in her
entire career.

“No
swearing, Ned whispered, his hands still spanning her waist and his lips close
to her ear. “If anything makes Melanie mad, it’s naughty language.”

“Maybe
I should expose her to my complete vocabulary.”

“Let
her be mad at me, not you,” he advised. His fingers felt strong, his thumbs
digging into the cramped muscles of her lower back, his palms molding to the
curves of her hips.

It
took all her willpower not to lean into him, to draw his arms fully around her.
His breath ruffled her hair, warming the nape of her neck while the
refrigerator continued to throw cold air in her face. “I’m mad at you, too,”
she muttered, easing out of his grip. “Do you know what shrimp costs?”

He
scooped up the shrimp nearest his feet. “Edie always said her floors were clean
enough to eat off.”

“You
seem to have quite a habit of eating off floors.”

“These
are edible,” he said, collecting the last of the shrimp. “We’ll rinse them off
in the sink. It’ll be our little secret.”

“They’ve
been steamed in champagne,” she argued. “If you rinse them off, they’ll lose
the flavor.”

“Steamed
in champagne?” He appeared intrigued. “You actually boiled champagne?”

“Cheap
stuff.”

He
ran the shrimp under the faucet. Then he shook them off and took a bite of one.
“It tastes great.”

“Can
you taste the champagne?”

“I
don’t know what I’m tasting. All I know is, I like it.” He held the end of one
curling pink shrimp and jabbed the other end between her teeth. She remembered
the way his chocolate-covered finger had felt in her mouth. The shrimp made a
poor substitute.

She
mustn’t think that way. She mustn’t keep eating out of his hand. The symbolism
of it was as alarming as the act itself.

Ned
seemed unnaturally fascinated by the motions of her mouth as she chewed. She
turned away and forced herself to replay his sister’s ugly words.

One
thing Melanie had said was true: Claudia wasn’t going to be Ned’s fun and
games.

“I’m
done here,” she said quietly, closing the refrigerator door. “I have more food
to bring over. Why don’t you get the cookie basket out of the van and go on to
your mother’s?”

He
regarded her for a minute, his eyes filled with questions. “I can’t ride the
bicycle with that basket,” he finally said. “It was hard enough balancing the
candy box on the handlebars.”

For
her own well-being, she knew she should get away from Ned before he had the
chance to stick anything else in her mouth. She should tell him getting the
cookies to his mother was his problem, he’d just have to find a way. Instead,
when she opened her mouth, what came out was: “I’ll drop you off at your
mother’s on my way home.”

Seeing
the way his face lit up made her regret the offer…and then made her not
regret it quite so much.

She
liked Ned Wyatt. More than she should. More than was safe or wise. She liked
the way his hands had felt on her, the way his mouth had mirrored hers, opening
as he slid the shrimp between her teeth and closing as she bit down on it. She
liked the way his eyes danced with color and emotion, with challenges and all
those questions she couldn’t begin to interpret, let alone answer. She liked
the way he smelled, the way he sounded when he told her she was beautiful. She
liked the way he kissed her.

Maybe
it was fun and games to him. maybe he was as phony as his supercilious sister.
He was a Wyatt, after all.

But
no matter what she told herself, no matter how much she wanted to protect
herself and avoid unnecessary risks, she wasn’t ready to say goodbye to Ned.
Not yet.

Chapter Four

11:15
a.m.

“WHAT
A PLEAURE! Come in, come in!” Standing in the open front doorway, Ned’s mother
clasped her hands together and beamed at Claudia.

She
had never met Mrs. Wyatt before, although she’d certainly heard enough about
her. The Glenwood weekly newspaper ran a story about her in practically every
edition. But the photographs didn’t do her justice. Like her son and daughter
she was handsome, with strong, decisive features and piercing hazel eyes. She
had an easy smile and a down-to-earth manner that Claudia found refreshing
after her encounter with Melanie.

“I’m
afraid I can’t stay,” she demurred. “I’m just here to drop off Ned and his
bicycle.” After introducing Claudia and handing his mother the basket of
cookies, he had returned to the parking lot to unload his bike from the rear of
the van.

“Nonsense.”
Mrs. Wyatt took Claudia’s arm and practically dragged her into the townhouse in
one of Glenwood’s pricier condominium complexes.

The
living room was small, decorated with spare, tasteful pieces with Claudia knew
must have cost a fortune. Fresh flowers stood in vases in the foyer and on the
polished coffee table. The place looked warm and inviting, elegant yet lacking
the aristocratic starchiness of Wyatt Hall.

“Now,”
said Mrs. Wyatt, gleefully eyeing her reluctant guest, “let me fix some tea and
then we’ll have some of these scrumptious-looking cookies.”

“Mrs.
Wyatt—”

“I
want to know all about you,” Mrs. Wyatt continued, waltzing into the kitchen
with the basket. “Ned never introduces me to his girlfriends. This must mean
something.”

“I’m
not his girlfriend,” Claudia corrected her, following her down the hall to a
cozy, sunny kitchen. “I’m a caterer. Mrs. Steele hired me to do the food for
the Valentine’s Day cotillion tonight.”

“Be
that as it may,” Mrs. Wyatt said vaguely. She placed the basket on the
breakfast table and got busy preparing tea. Claudia had to remind herself that
this tall silver-haired dynamo in jeans and a baggy old sweater was in fact the
town matriarch, a woman who had once presided over Wyatt Hall with an army of
servants at her beck and call.

Sending
Claudia another beaming smile, she said, “Ned is in love with you, isn’t he.”

Claudia
blanched. “No! We only met this morning.”

“Please
sit.” Mrs. Wyatt pushed her, with surprising force, into a chair. “So you met
this morning and it was love at first sight.”

“No.
It was an accident. I almost ran him over.”

“I
suppose we should all be grateful that you didn’t.” She patted Claudia’s
shoulder. “He’s a good man, Claudia—may I call you Claudia? Ned is a little
frisky, but that’s part of the fun. Have you set a date yet?”

No
wonder Melanie had been worried when Mrs. Wyatt had moved away from the family
estate, Claudia thought. Someone had to keep an eye on her. Dementia was
certainly a possibility. “Ned and I are not getting married, Mrs. Wyatt,” she
said carefully.

“Nonsense.
The pendulum’s swinging back, my dear. Twenty years ago, eighteen-year-old
girls like my granddaughter wouldn’t have sat still for a debutante cotillion.
Now we’re seeing the old traditions return, the old rituals being embraced.
Living in sin is passé.”

“I’m
trying to tell you, Mrs. Wyatt—your son and I met when my van skidded on some
ice and he fell off his bike. We’re not living in sin. We’re not getting
married.”

Mrs.
Wyatt poured water into the teapot. “Why not? You don’t love Ned?”

“I
hardly know him.”

“But
what you know, you love,” she said with conviction.

“Well…he’s
very nice,” Claudia conceded, trying not to think of all the other things he
was: Forward. Mischievous. Virile. Gorgeous. Tantalizing.

Wealthy.
Upper crust. Patrician.

“Ned
and I come from very different backgrounds,” she said, wishing he would get
himself into the kitchen and set his mother straight.

“Where
you come from isn’t as important as where you’re going. Who cares about
backgrounds? You haven’t got a criminal record, have you?”

“No,
but—”

“Well,
then, it hardly matters.” With a flourish, she untied the white ribbon atop the
basket of cookies, then paused at the sound of Ned’s footsteps in the hallway. “We’re
in the kitchen, Neddy!” she called, folding back the red cellophane and
inhaling deeply. When Ned entered, she gave him a buoyant hug. “These cookies
smell wonderful. I’m glad you didn’t bring me one of those heart-shaped boxes
of chocolates this year. That’s so clichéd.”

“Oh.
Well—” he exchanged an amused glance with Claudia “—I thought you might prefer
cookies. Claudia baked them.”

“What
a marvelous talent to have! Ned, she’s perfect.”

Ned
exchanged another look with Claudia. If he noticed her puzzlement, he chose to
ignore it. “She’s very talented, Mom. Go ahead, dig in.” He offered the basket
to his mother, then helped himself to a cookie, took a bite and groaned
contentedly. “What is this?”

“Butterscotch
and rum,” Claudia told him.

“I
thought it was going to be vanilla.” A wicked smile traced his mouth as he
gazed at her. “I should have known to expect something more complicated. Try
one of these, Mom.” He searched the mound of cookies for another
butterscotch-rum one and handed it to his mother.

Claudia
pushed back her chair. “I’ve really got to go. I have so much to do—”

“Oh,
please, have a cup of tea first,” Ned’s mother said. “It’s nearly lunchtime,
and I’ll bet you’re planning to skip lunch. Am I right?”

“I
usually do eat lunch,” Claudia said, feeling the need to defend herself. “But
the cotillion begins in just a few hours, and I have a lot of preparation—”

“So
fuel up. Have a cookie.” The telephone rang and Mrs. Wyatt sighed and rolled
her eyes. “It’s been like this all morning. You’d think this party was the
biggest event of the season. Then again, I suppose it is.” The phone rang a
second time and Mrs. Wyatt put down the teapot. “If you will excuse me…” With
a blithe smile, she left the kitchen.

Claudia
turned to Ned. “your mother thinks we’re getting married!”

Ned
didn’t appear at all concerned. “She’s always about ten steps ahead of the rest
of us.”

“Ned!
Would you please tell her we’re not ten steps behind her? I tried to explain
that I was the caterer, but she wouldn’t listen to me.”

“She
knows who you are. I introduced you and now she’s eating your homemade cookies.
They’re almost as good as your chocolate kisses, by the way,” he added, helping
himself to a second cookie. “But I don’t think my mother could handle a treat
as intense as those kisses.”

“Forgive
me if I sound harsh, but I don’t think your mother can handle reality. She
thinks I’m your girlfriend!”

“My
mother is very realistic,” he argued. “Take a look around you, Claudia. This is
the way she is. No muss, no fuss. She likes to keep things simple.”

“Sure.
And when she gets sick of the simple life she can buy herself a penthouse in
Trump Tower or forty beachfront acres in Greenwich.”

“That’s
not her style,” Ned insisted. “Wyatt Hall was my father’s home. My mother loved
him, so she moved in and made a happy life for herself there. And now she’s
happy here—in a five-room condo, with a lady who comes in once a week to dust
and vacuum. She drives a six-year-old car and buys most of her clothing through
a catalog.”

“Maybe
that just proves that she’s off her rocker,” Claudia muttered.

“Or
else it proves,” Ned said, “that she’s a working-class woman who feels most
comfortable living normally.”

“Your
mother? The queen of the Glenwood Historical Society—a working-class woman?”

“Her
father was a union man. He worked on the Bridgeport docks. She won a full
scholarship to Pembroke. John edward Wyatt III happened to be the captain of
the crew team at Brown. It was love at first sight.”

So,
you met this morning and it was love at first sight.
His mother’s words reverberated inside
Claudia.
Where you come from isn’t as important as where you’re going….
Well, just because things had worked out that way for Ned’s mother and father
didn’t mean they would work out that way for Claudia and—

“You
aren’t John Edward Wyatt IV, are you?”

Ned
grimaced. “My dirty secret is out. Promise you won’t hold it against me.”

“I
really have to go.” She stood and crossed to the door, feeling the need to
clear out before Ned’s mother’s perspective started to make sense to her. She
didn’t care if Mrs. Wyatt was the daughter of a union man. She’d gone on to
give birth to a son with a multimillion-dollar name.