The Angel Tasted Temptation (30 page)

Meredith, though, as much as she protested otherwise, was different. And Travis, as much as he protested otherwise, realized he liked that about her. A lot.

As soon as he parked the car in front of Gift Baskets to Die For, Meredith hopped out, offered him a quick good-bye and headed into the shop. Travis ignored the insistent ringing of his phone and headed in after her.

"I want to see you again, Meredith."

She pivoted towards him and shook her head. "No. I'm sorry, Travis. I made the wrong choice."

He grabbed the frame of the door and ducked into the shop, not allowing her to escape so easily. Not yet. "What do you mean, the wrong choice?"

"
You're not the right man for the job. And I'm not the right woman for what you think you want." Her smile had turned bittersweet and something within Travis's chest constricted like a rubber band had been wrapped around his lungs. "I'm sorry."

She crossed the room, past a curious Maria and Candace, and headed straight for the kitchen.

He followed behind her, so she kept going until she'd reached the little office in the back. There was nowhere farther to go. They were alone in the quiet, small room that held little more than a desk, a few filing cabinets and a couple of shelves.

Travis shut the door. "Don't run away, Meredith."

"I'm not running away."

"Bullshit. You are, too. You're scared out of your mind that you might just fall in love with me."

She lifted her chin, defiant. "I am not."

"Oh yeah? Prove it."

"How do you prove something like that? What do you want me to do? Take a love lie-detector test?"

"Yeah. And I have just the equipment for it right here." He leaned forward and pressed his lips to hers, putting all his doubts and fears on the same distant shelf where he kept his out-of-season clothes and the yellow boots that his mother had sent him for his birthday but he'd never worn.

At first, Meredith didn't respond and a flicker of fear rushed through Travis. Maybe he'd read her wrong. Then her eyes drifted shut and she shifted forward, letting her head fall back and tip to the side, curling into the perfect position to open her mouth against his and dart her pert little tongue in to dance.

His arms went around her waist, hands pressing against her back, urging her closer. She dropped her purse, then her jacket to the floor, each landing with a soft clunk on the vinyl flooring. Her hands skated up his back, lifting and tugging at his shirt, clutching at the cotton as if it was all a bothersome hindrance to the thing she wanted most.

Him.

Travis went hard against Meredith, the fire he'd felt since the first minute he'd met her roaring to life within him. She dropped one hand into the space between them, stroking him through the fabric of his pants, her mouth still on his, her tongue previewing what could happen if they were recumbent instead of upright.

He grasped her thighs and wrapped her legs, still clad in the silly bottom half of the costume, around his waist. Then he strode to the nearest available flat surface—the desk—pressing her against it, fitting his pelvis against the space of hers, never losing the connection with those sweet, delicate lips that tasted like cherry soda.

Meredith's arms went around his neck, her fingers toying with the hair at his nape. Her legs straddled his waist, pelvis tilted up and pressing against his erection. Her hands traveled down, to fling his tie to one side and start in on the buttons of his shirt.

Travis pulled back and looked up at Meredith's flushed face, so serious with concentration and yet so vulnerable with want... and realized he was past being scared.

He'd already fallen in love with her.

Somewhere between the steamers and the shrimp, Travis Campbell, avowed bachelor, had found a woman who made him want to be more of a man.

He reached up and cupped her face with his hands. "Meredith," he said, his voice half caress, half growl.

"Hmm?" She had two of the buttons undone and had already started on the third.

"Meredith," he repeated, louder, more insistent. The urge to tell her, to share the feelings that seemed to be bursting inside his chest, was as strong as the urge coming from the rest of his male anatomy.

She paused in her unfastening work, confusion in her eyes. "What?"

Travis felt a smile steal across his face. "I'm falling in love with you."

He'd expected her to smile, to maybe say the same thing back. At the very least, he'd expected her to look happy.

But instead Meredith jerked off him and scrambled away. "Why did you have to say that?"

"Because it's true."

"But... I don't want you to fall in love with me."

He grinned. "Too late."

The words were out. A lightness filled his chest. He, of all people,
he
had fallen in love, with the one woman who had connected with him outside of a bedroom. He was glad he hadn't slept with her, as crazy as that sounded, because it meant he loved her. Not her body, not the thought of her in his bed, but
her
.

Yet, as he looked into Meredith's eyes, he saw doubt and fear reflected in the deep blue depths.

"You took a huge risk coming out here," Travis said, clasping her hands, trying to bridge the gulf between them. "Take another one now. Fall in love with me."

She pulled away from him, crossed the room and toyed nervously with a stack of books on the end of the third shelf. "I... I don't know. To me, that's going backward, not forward."

He chuckled. "For me, this is a giant leap forward for mankind."

Her shoulders shook a little and a light echo of his laughter escaped her. "Why do I do this to myself?" she said softly.

"Do what?"

"Pick the wrong man at the wrong time."

"Who says I'm the wrong one?"

She turned around, her blue eyes connecting with his. "Who says you're the right one?"

He reached up and drifted the back of his hand down her cheek. "You gonna find another man who thinks you're sexy as hell when you're dressed as a cow?"

She grinned. "If I visit enough mental hospitals, yeah, I probably will."

With one finger, he tipped her chin up and brushed a light kiss across her lips. "Jump off the bridge with me, Meredith."

"Oh, Travis," she sighed against his mouth, "why can't you be the cliché? Just love me and leave me?"

He grinned. "Now where's the fun in that?"

Travis
had
left Meredith a few minutes later. Though he'd switched it to vibrate, his cell phone had rung so many times, it was hot to the touch and he was pretty sure the thing would explode from overuse.

As Travis headed north again on 93, he let out a gust of breath and ran a hand through his hair. Why had he gone and told her he was falling in love with her? All it had seemed to do was scare Meredith off more than before.

But it was the truth, and Lord help him, he knew there was no going back.

It was as if he'd turned a new corner in his own evolution. Homo sapien man walks upright and learns to have deeper feelings.

Boy, Brad was really going to enjoy winning this bet. Probably would never let him live it down, either. For the first time in his life, Travis figured he was the real winner—or he would be if he could convince Meredith that taking a chance on love wasn't the equivalent of walking blindfolded down the center line of the Callahan Tunnel.

He pulled into the Belly-Licious parking lot just as his cell phone went off again. He ignored it and broke into a slight jog, heading into the building and down the hall to the offices.

He could hear the shouting from around the corner.

"Whose idea was this?" Larry screamed. "That's my face up there! I'm going to sue somebody and then I'm going to kill them." He turned his gold-spun-red head just as Travis rounded the corner and entered the room. "
You
," he said, the word coming out like spit. "You did this.''

Travis nodded. "I did. And Kenny and Brad had nothing to do with it. So don't fire them." He'd had a little help from the graphic design guys, too, who had taken great pleasure in creating the image of Larry for the billboard, but Travis left them out of it.

"I'll fire whoever the hell I want." Larry took two steps forward. His face was red and puffy from the exertion of anger. "Starting with you."

Jerome Herman crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against a metal desk. His face was as cold and stony as a block of ice. "Do you care to explain yourself, Travis, before we have security drag you out of here?"

"You know, Jerome, I'd love to do that, but I think I'll let the sales report speak for me." Travis loosened his tie and gestured to Heather, the office assistant. "Can you get me the manila folder on my desk, please?"

Heather, her eyes wide with fear that she was about to get caught in the pink slip crossfire, scurried away to do as he asked. Kenny, who was sitting in one of the empty chairs on the other side of the room, gaped at Travis and mouthed, "Are you insane?" at him. Brad had wandered into the room, along with the rest of the R&D team, and leaned against the doorjamb, a bemused smile on his face.

"Just get the hell out of here," Larry said, pointing the way in case Travis had forgotten it. Travis took a seat in an empty chair, just to tick Larry off. "We don't want to hear your—"

"Sales report?" Jerome cut in. "What sales report?"

Heather hustled through the center of the room as fast as her three-inch pumps could carry her and dumped the folder into Travis's lap before backing away again just as fast. Travis leaned back in the chair, flipped open the cover of the manila folder and scanned a finger down the first page. "Let's see ..."

He already knew what was inside the folder. He'd written the report himself late yesterday. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Larry's face turn a light shade of purple. Kenny looked ready to have a heart attack; Jerome's features had only gone colder. Brad, however, was grinning.

Brad was the only one who had been in on it from the beginning. Travis never would have done something so risky without his brother's blessing. The two of them had concocted the plan two days ago and while Travis put the sales calls into motion, Brad oversaw the surreptitious graphic design. It had been fun, Travis realized, working with his brother, and he made a vow to get his act—and his bank account— together to someday soon make that dream of owning their own company a reality.

"Uh, yeah. Right here," Travis said, after he'd delayed enough to send Larry into an apoplectic fit. "A three-hundred-thousand-dollar order from Soy-Ya Wanna Drink beverage stands. Another two-hundred-thousand-dollar order from the Living Without Lactose clinic. Oh, and a few other little ones, adding up to a couple hundred grand more." Travis shrugged, like it was nothing. "Just a few sales."

The glacier melted on Jerome's face and his jaw dropped to his chest. "That's... more than half a million dollars in sales."

"Yep." Travis rose and tossed the folder onto the desk in front of Kenny, who just stared at in amazement

"How did you do that?"

"By developing a whole new ad campaign around our new spokesman for lactose intolerance." Travis draped an arm around Larry's shoulders and gave him a grin.

"Me? Are you insane? Who gave you permission—"

"Shut up, Larry," Jerome said. He chewed on his lip, assessing Travis. "Was this the idea you came to me about the other day?"

"You went behind my back?" Larry sputtered. "You bastard. I'll have you fired."

"I said shut up, Larry." Jerome swiveled toward his cousin. "Or
I’ll
fire
you
."

Larry opened his mouth, closed it. Opened it again, and left it like that for a long, shocked second.

"Yes, sir, it is," Travis answered.

Jerome nodded. "And you went ahead with it on your own, without permission?"

"I did."

Jerome's eyes narrowed. "Why?"

"Because I knew it would work. And it wasn't going to get us sued."

"Like another certain ad campaign might?"

"Maybe."

Jerome circled the room, thinking. Larry, Travis could see, wanted so badly to say something that he had his hands clenched at his sides, but he did as his cousin said and kept his mouth shut. Kenny was flipping through the folder, nodding his head in admiration.

"It was a clever idea," Jerome said. "Using Larry. I especially liked the moving parts."

"You mean the way he made a fool out of me?" Larry squeaked.

"The moving arm, the opening and closing mouth. Incredible idea," Jerome said. "Looks like he's really drinking No-Moo Milk."

"That's the effect I wanted. And the buyers really liked the image push we were giving it. That's where the big orders came from."

Jerome paused, his hands on the back of Kenny's chair. "So you solicited orders from customers using an unapproved ad campaign?"

Travis shrugged. "I knew I'd never be able to sell you on it, if I couldn't prove it would work."

"Well, I can't say I like your methods," Jerome said. "But the results, I can't argue with those. I like the idea, I like the billboard and I like the sales." He gave a short, quick nod. "We're going with it."

"Are you
nuts?!
" Larry shouted. "Did you see what he did to me?" He grabbed a Polaroid photo of the billboard off one of the desks and waved it around. "Did you see this? I'm bald!"

That
had been the graphic designers and Brad's idea. They'd had a lot of fun doctoring the photo of Larry from the annual report.
Quid pro quo
, Travis thought.

Jerome rolled his eyes. "Yeah. And you look a hell of a lot better that way, too, instead of with the hair dye of the month."

"It's not a hair dye. I'll have you know these are quality follicle enhancers," Larry said, patting his head.

Jerome snorted. "Larry, get used to being bald. Because you're going to be that way in all our ads from here on out." He picked up the sales report from Kenny's hands and scanned the paper. "If these early sales figures are any indication of No-Moo's potential with the lactose-intolerant market, then you're going to be busy for a long time."