Mr Destiny (25 page)

Staying the rest of the week would be even better.

But Tony wasn't going to push her too fast.

She'd told him all about Harold, their argument, and why she'd called off the wedding. But that didn't mean seeds of doubt
weren't still keeping him worried.

How could it not cross his mind that Kate's showing up at the cabin really was nothing more than one last fling before she
settled down with Harold for the rest of her life?

Hadn't Harold challenged her to do just that?

Finish whatever was going on with the dim-witted cop before he returned from Chicago?

Tony winced inwardly at the thought.

Except, if that's what Kate's showing up at the cabin turned out to be, he knew he had no one to blame but himself. He,
not Kate, had been the one who had opened the door far and wide for that disaster to happen.

Sending her the dress.

Sending her the message he was interested.

Breaking every rule he swore he wouldn't break.

Is this what love does to a guy?

Tony didn't have a clue.

He'd never been in love before, not even close.

It only made perfect sense he was confused right now, worried that Kate could never feel about him the way he already knew
he felt about her.

Stop borrowing trouble!

True.

He needed to stop worrying about the future and enjoy what time he did have with Kate. Her showing up at the cabin was the
closest thing he'd ever come to a miracle.

Unless I'm standing at the altar when Kate walks down the aisle in the wedding dress I bought her.

Jesus!

He really was on the verge of losing it.

So maybe his parents had gotten married within a month after
they
met each other.
As far as I know, love at first sight isn't hereditary, dammit!

He needed to live for the moment.

He needed to enjoy spending time with Kate while he had her here in his arms. And most importantly, he needed to stop filling
his stupid head with empty wishes that quite possibly would never come true.

“Look!”

Tony followed Kate's finger to the shooting star streaking across the ebony night sky.

“Hurry, make a wish,” she said.

Baby, if you only knew the half of it.

She turned all the way around, pressing everything he wanted in this life fully against him.

“Did you make a wish?” she asked, nibbling at his bottom lip.

“I did,” Tony told her.

“And will you tell me what you wished for?” she asked, teasing his earlobe with the tip of her tongue.

“Nope. Wishes told never come true.”

Her lips moved back to his mouth for another teasing kiss before she said, “Well, if I remember right, Officer Petrocelli,
the first time I saw you, you said you didn't have a superstitious bone in your body.”

Tony tensed when her hand slid downward.

“Oops,” she teased. “I think you were lying to me.”

“You'd better be careful,” he warned.

“Or what?” Her hand rubbed against him even harder. “How will you punish me? Place me back under house arrest unless I agree
to strip off my clothes and get into the hot tub with you?”

“Uh-huh,” was all Tony could manage.

She got up in slow motion, rubbing her body down the full length of his, then pulled her sweater over her head and let it
drop just as slowly to the deck. The sight of her naked breasts bathed in the silvery glow of the moonlight took his breath
away.

The jeans came off the same way, slowly and seductively.

When she shimmied out of her thong, Tony stood up.

He'd been wrong.

Occasionally, wishes did come true.

O
n Sunday evening, Harold ushered his pretty dining companion to the best table available at
Une Fourchette
, the most expensive restaurant in Chicago when it came to French cuisine. He smiled inwardly as they walked across the room,
knowing every eye in the place was focused in their direction.

The attention from his wealthy peers fed his ego.

That no one suspected his beautiful date's profession turned him on.

She was dressed to perfection again tonight, wearing a clinging royal blue Versace dress and carrying herself with more dignity
than any
blue
blood he'd ever encountered. It struck him funny that, had she been from some notable family with a prestigious background,
he wouldn't even be attracted to her.

Then, Carla Matthews would only be another pretty face.

Another boring female who had always played by the rules, never once daring to step outside the realm of what society perceived
as acceptable behavior.

Carla's
unacceptable
behavior was what excited him.

Keeping
her behavior unacceptable was his goal.

He remained standing while the waiter seated her, but a white-hot anger flashed through him when he noticed the leering expression
in the young punk's eyes. It didn't matter how many men had enjoyed her body in the past, she was going to be his now. Only
his. Any man who dared come near her again would rue the day he made that mistake.

“When I made reservations, I ordered the best merlot you serve here,” Harold snapped, jerking the waiter's head in his direction.
“I fully expected to have a bottle waiting when we arrived at our table. See that you don't disappoint me again.”

The punk darted off, his face various shades of red.

Harold seated himself properly at the table and snapped his napkin open. When he looked across the table at her, Carla seemed
anything but impressed.

“Are you always that rude, Harry?”

What?

“I beg your pardon?”

“No, you need to beg that young waiter's pardon,” she said, staring him down. “He's the one you just talked to like he was
dirt under your feet.”

“Did I?” Harold feigned surprise.

“News flash, Harry,” she said, tossing her long dark hair back away from her exquisite face. “When you talk to people like
that, it doesn't make them look bad. It makes you look stupid.”

Harold laughed.

But it was nervous laughter, not the ha-ha kind.

“How amusing,” he said. ”
You
giving
me
tips on social etiquette.”

She replied, “How amusing
I
would have to give someone with
your
upbringing a lesson in common courtesy.”

The sting of her words caught him off guard.

Who the hell did she think she was?

Did she not realize even being in a restaurant like this one with a man of his stature was a goddamn privilege for a woman
like her?

The waiter hurried back to the table and quickly placed the wine in front of him. Harold glanced in her direction, then back
at the waiter.

“My beautiful companion has just pointed out that I was extremely rude to you a minute ago,” he said. “I hope you will accept
my deepest apology for talking to you in such an unacceptable manner.”

The young man nodded politely. “And please accept my apology, sir, for not having your merlot at your table when you arrived.”

The waiter dispensed with pouring the wine, informed them he would give them a few minutes to peruse the menu, and hurriedly
left the table. Harold pretended to study his menu for a few seconds, then glanced up at her nonchalantly.

“Well?” he said. “Happy now?”

She smiled slowly, drawing his attention to her full, glossy lips, and calling up heated memories that made him instantly
grow hard for the want of her.

“You are one fine piece of work, aren't you, Harry?”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning heaven wouldn't have your ass, and hell would be too afraid you'd take over.”

Harold laughed.

Ha-ha this time.

But a sudden thought scared him.

Everyone met his or her match sooner or later.

Harold feared
his
was sitting right across the table.

“Gram, it's me,” Kate said on Monday morning.

She was standing at the upstairs loft window, watching Tony work as he put finishing touches on the dock. She winced at the
sound of the long sigh on the other end of the line.

“Do you have your battery problem under control?” Grace asked. “Or is this going to be another dropped conversation?”

“I know you're upset with me, Gram,” Kate said. She walked away from the window and sat down on the edge of the bed. “I'm
just calling to let you know I'm okay. The last thing I would ever do is worry you on purpose.”

Another long sigh.

“I take it this means you aren't coming home yet?”

Kate paused. “Is that a problem for you?”

“It could be a problem for
you
, Kate,” Grace said, “and you know exactly what I mean.”

Harold.

“I'll call Harold, Gram,” Kate said, “as soon as I hang up with you, I'll call him. Okay?”

“Please do call him, Kate,” she said, sounding rather desperate. “I feel bad enough that I've upset you by telling you about
the surprise. I know that's what has you so upset right now. I almost confessed I'd told you when Harold called me yesterday.”

“No, Gram,” Kate said, “please don't tell Harold I know what he's planning. I promise, everything will work itself out when
I get home.”

“And when will that be?”

“Soon,” was all Kate would volunteer.

“I just want you to know one thing,” Grace said.

Kate steeled herself, waiting to hear the one thing her grandmother wanted her to know.

“Marriage is the biggest decision you'll ever make in this life, Kate. I might not agree with the decision you end up making,
but I don't want to lose you the way I did your father. Whatever you decide, I'll accept it.”

“I love you, Gram.”

“Likewise,” Grace said, and hung up.

Kate smiled, tapping the phone against her chin for a moment. She knew how hard it had been for her grandmother to tell her
that. Grace and Harold were a lot alike in some ways—reserved, polite, never overly demonstrative. She suspected her grandmother's
standoffishness stemmed from her losing her husband so young to a heart attack—then losing her son to a heart attack of a
different nature.

She didn't have a clue what was truly behind Harold's fear of intimacy. Other than the fact that he liked to be in control.
But the similarities in Grace's and Harold's personalities did contribute to the reason Harold had won her grandmother over
so easily. They both preferred their lives neat and orderly and always on schedule.

She tried to imagine Grace sitting at the big family table at Mama Gina's amidst all the chaos and confusion, instead of being
in her usual subdued and more formal surroundings. She couldn't. But she could imagine herself sitting at that big, boisterous
Italian family table— loving every minute of it.

Kate walked back to the window.

Tony was in the water now, adding what looked like rubber stripping to the edge of the dock. As if he sensed she was there,
he suddenly looked up at the window.

He waved.

Kate blew him a kiss and waved back.

Madly.

Truly.

Deeply.

When she stepped back from the window, Kate scrolled down her phone list, no longer dreading the call.

“This is Harold Wellington,” the curt message on his cell phone said, “If you want a call back, leave your information in
the following order: Your name. Your number. The time of your call.”

Kate rolled her eyes.

Her first instinct was to tell Harold he could call her back at 1-800-SCREW-YOU! But that could possibly keep him harassing
her grandmother. Better to keep her message civil, understated, and provide him with the least amount of information possible.

When the beep sounded, Kate said, “This is Kate, Harold. Gram said she told you I was taking a few days off. I have some things
to figure out, so please give me the privacy to do that. I'll see you when you get back from Chicago.”

Kate tossed the cell phone on the bed.

Skipped happily down the spiral staircase.