Love Songs (43 page)

“What good will waiting do?”

Sighing, she closed her eyes and laid her head back against the pillows. “I’m not sure. Put things in perspective? I don’t know. It’s all bound to hit me when I get back to work tomorrow. I just don’t want to rush it.”

“You’re postponing the inevitable, Serena,” he chided, but gently.

“You’re right.” She grinned, finding strength from some unknown source. “Would you rather take me home now?” The twinkle in her eye was deceptive. Tom saw through it.

“You stay.”

“On my terms?”

“On your terms.”

“Are you always this agreeable?” she queried in an attempt at lightness. But she hit a raw nerve.

“I’m really not the ogre you try to make me out to be, Serena. I
can
be a nice guy.”

Momentarily taken back by the force of his words, she grew sober. “I know that only too well, Tom. And what I’m saying is that I don’t want to talk about the ogre today. It’s the ‘nice guy’ I’d like to spend the day with.”

As quickly as she’d sparked him she brought a return of pleasure to his morning-fresh features. “The ‘nice guy’ you’ve got,” he promised, popping a kiss on the tip of her nose before bounding from the bed. “Now, I’d suggest you get yourself into the bathroom while I see to breakfast. Unless,” he peered mischievously at her, “you’d rather trade chores.”

“No, no. I need the shower.” Sitting up, she stopped short, looked around, then down. “Uh … Tom?”

“Uh-huh?” Hands on hips, he smiled wickedly.

“I’ve got one small problem.”

“I’ll say.” The suggestive grin he sent her way spoke of his complete comprehension.

“Well what should I do? I don’t really feel like putting that dressy silk thing on again.”

Taking pity on her, Tom crossed the room and opened a closet door, promptly disappearing into an interior Serena hadn’t known existed. Leaning forward, she caught sight of shelves and drawers in addition to the standard hanger-laden bar.

“Not bad,” she said at Tom’s return from the cedar-lined cubicle. “A walk-in closet.”

“It holds a world of goodies. Here.” Tossing her a large plaid flannel shirt, he continued through to the kitchen. Serena accepted the donation gratefully. Moments later she disappeared into the bathroom.

It was odd, she mused, taking in every detail of the newly refinished room, that the tables seemed to be turned. That first morning, over a month ago, following the more innocent night Tom had spent at her place, he had been the one to make himself very much at home; now she helped herself to towels and shampoo with similar ease. The heat of the shower did wonders for her muscles. The sharp spray drove away the last of the grogginess left by a meager night’s sleep. Wrapped tightly in a dark chocolate towel, she stood in delight beneath the overhead heat lamp, combing a semblance of order into her auburn tresses with the gentleness of her slender fingers.

There was a natural beauty about her when she emerged from the bathroom and walked barefoot to the kitchen. Tom was struck instantly.

“Is–is something wrong?” she asked hesitantly.

“Oh, no. Nothing’s wrong.” His very obvious appreciation underscored that claim. “You look great.”

Serena looked self-consciously down at the shirt that fell softly to mid-thigh. She had rolled the sleeves to the elbow and left the collar button undone. As it happened, the second button was sufficiently low to create a decidedly seductive slash from her throat to the swells of her unconfined breasts.

“Maybe I should put the tunic on after all.”

“Don’t be silly! That’s perfect!” In actuality his appreciation was as much for the freckle-studded face, heart-shaped and free of all makeup, with its reckless clusters of auburn waves all about, as it was for the lure of her attire. “Here”—he cleared his throat of its sudden rasp—“have a seat. Brunch is just about ready.”

Feeling more confident, she sat before one of the settings he had so carefully placed. “What’s on the menu?”

“Nothing exotic—French toast.”

“Great! Can I do something to help?”

“No, I’m all set. You just sit and relax. You had a tough workout last night.”

Serena propped an elbow on the table, smothered a grimace against her palm and shook her head sheepishly. “That was a cheap shot, but I’ll forgive you this once.”

Tom’s back was to her as he finished at the stove, so she missed his suddenly pensive expression. She did notice that he’d put on a jersey and wondered whether it had been for the sake of warmth or sanity. Either way, she was grateful. The shower had done nothing to purge her of the carnal cravings that his magnificent physique could so quickly stir. It would do well to talk, though. They had both agreed to that.

“I’m sorry I don’t have confectionery sugar,” he apologized as he put a filled plate before her.

“That’s OK. I certainly don’t need any. Maple syrup will do just fine.” Reaching for the dark brown bottle, she watched Tom settle gracefully opposite her. His eyes studied his own plate.

“It looks prettier with white sprinkles,” he commented softly, lost in memories of a favorite childhood meal.

Serena burst into a gay laugh. “You sound so disappointed.” Her hand covered his consolingly. “Look at it this way. At
our
age,
neither
of us needs the extra calories. As it is”—she looked helplessly down—“this is loaded!” She took a new tack. “Besides, I see enough sugar coating every day to go without on Sunday.”

The smile Tom sent her was devastating. It sent rays of pleasure echoing through her and left a telltale flush on her cheeks.

“Your smile threw me,” she confessed on impulse.

“What do you mean?”

“That day in the restaurant when I first recognized you. It was your eyes, their intensity, that seemed so familiar. I knew you from somewhere, but I couldn’t place you. Then, at one point, you smiled at your … date.”

“She’s an editor,” he corrected her firmly.

“Whatever.” It really was irrelevant at the moment. “Your smile is unique, you know.”

“So I’ve been told,” he drawled.
That
bothered her more than the thought of the editor she’d seen in person.

“Women must tell you that all the time.”

“No. But I have been told so before.” He paused. “It’s nicer coming from you.” He smiled openly at her.

“Ahh … you did it again. There it goes. It’s very distracting. But I was positive I’d never seen it before. I would have remembered if I had.”

Tom grew serious. “You mean that I didn’t smile brilliantly in triumph on the day your father was sentenced?” His voice was thick with sarcasm.

Unfortunately, he wasn’t far off the mark. She lowered her eyes. “I meant that you never smiled at all during the proceedings. I’m sure you took it all very seriously.”

“Thank you.”

The silence between them was like a knife cutting into Serena’s heart. “Tom, I meant no offense. It was an observation.”

Nodding, he concentrated on eating. She studied his bent head. His hair was still mussed from sleep, its gray flecks suddenly more prominent. An odd protectiveness shot through her, making her want to reach out and comb through his hair with soothing fingers.

Needing a diversion, she jumped up. “I think I’ll help myself to some coffee. Can I refill your cup?”

“Please.” He remained distracted.

By the time she sat down again she felt discouraged. “I don’t think this is going to work, Tom.” Was bed the only place they could find true compatibility?

“Tell me about
Sweet Serenity.
”

She stared in surprise. “I will, if you stop gritting your teeth.”

Her pertness brought a merciful softening to his features. “Am I doing that?” he asked more gently.

“Uh-huh.”

“OK, no gritting,” he vowed, deliberately relaxing his jaw. “Now, tell me. How did
Sweet Serenity
get started?”

Between juice and coffee and French toast smothered in maple syrup, Serena told the simple story. Engrossed in a subject close to her heart, she felt thoroughly comfortable. Her enthusiasm was hard to ignore.

“It sounds as though Minneapolis has developed a taste for sweets.”

She grinned. “It took awhile, but I think we’ve caused a few addictions. The dental association must love us!”

Tom’s answering smile was as fresh and bright as any dentist would have wished. “Dentists may be your biggest fans. For all you know there are a slew of them eating Munch-N-Crunch on the sly.”

“Munch-N-Crunch? You remembered! You must have been really observant that day.” She recalled her own distraction during the time Tom had been in the shop and wasn’t sure whether or not to be offended that his mind had been so free to wander. Reluctant to begrudge him anything at the moment, she chose to forgive him that, too.

“Your stock is original. Very easy to remember. Catchy names. Bright packaging. Personal service. I think you’ve found the formula for success.”

Serena blushed under the praise. “I can’t take credit for total originality. Most things come to us with those names. As for the rest”—she shrugged—“it’s caught on.” Then she paused, suddenly wanting to bounce her idea off Tom. “I’m even thinking of expanding.”

“Are you?” he exclaimed, genuinely enthusiastic. “That’s great!”

Serena nodded. “
I
thought so. Unfortunately, André didn’t quite agree. We were discussing it that day in the restaurant, as a matter of fact.”

“What does André have to do with your expanding?”

“He’s my investment counselor. For the past few years I’ve handed over as much of my profits as possible for reinvestment.
If
I decide to go ahead with a branch of
Sweet Serenity
I’ll have to withdraw a good sum of the money that André has placed for me.”

“He didn’t like the idea?”

“Of expansion? No.”

“What exactly did he say?”

“He feels that it’s premature. That, with the economy and all, I’d be taking too great a risk.” She waited for Tom to rebut André’s claim. When he didn’t, simply continuing to frown deeply, she asked him point blank, “What do you think?”

He seemed to grapple with a dilemma. “I don’t really know all the facts, Serena. I haven’t seen your books.”

“But you do know something about the economy. And I’m sure, what with all the investigative reporting you’ve done over the years, that you’ve got some kind of a feel for business. Is it stupid to consider expanding into one of the suburbs?”

“Business has been that good in the downtown store?” He eyed her over his coffee, then sipped pensively.

“It’s been better than I ever dreamed. In addition, I’ve gotten into offering services that I never planned on, precisely
because
there’s a need. You’d be amazed at the amount of color-coordinated catering I do.”

“What the devil is
that?
” Tom looked at her skeptically.

“
That
is when people come in with dishes, bowls, flower-pots, decanters, soft sculpture, decorative crystal, you name it, and I fill it with goodies that are color-coordinated with the room in which the piece is to sit. Most people come in before parties. Some come in weekly for standard refills.” With Tom now lounging back in his chair, apparently amused by her eager sales pitch, Serena ran helplessly on.

“I never expected to get into corporate work, either, but you wouldn’t believe the number of businesses that order custom-made chocolate bars with their logo raised on the front.”

“You don’t do the actual candy-making, do you?” he mocked in horror. “Somehow I can’t picture you standing over a bubbling cauldron with a puffy chef’s cap on your head.”

The improbable image brought a smug grin to Serena’s lips. “Not quite. I’ve never gotten into candy-making. We have a specialist who takes care of orders like that. As a matter of fact, most of our things are shipped fresh from Chicago.”

“You go there often?”

“Not as much as I did at first. It took awhile to get orders straight and pick, by trial and error, the distributors whose goods met the standards I set. Things work pretty smoothly now.” She grew more alert. “Which brings me back to the question of expansion. What do you think?”

Tom inhaled deeply, then cast a troubled gaze out the window. “What other capital do you have to work with?”

“Other capital?” she echoed him meekly.

“Don’t tell me André’s got everything?”

“Just about. I mean, I have some money in the bank for emergencies. But I never had cause to stash any under the mattress, if that’s what you’re asking. I’m a single woman without dependents. I saw no reason not to let André take care of things for me. He came highly recommended.”

Tom scowled unexpectedly. “I’m sure.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Did Tom know something she didn’t?

“Oh, nothing. I just don’t trust the guy.”

“I thought you didn’t know him. Wasn’t last night the first time you two met?” Then she recalled the brief conversation between the two men that had sent her scurrying off to the powder room. “Hmm, he
was
a little offensive there, wasn’t he?”