The Fiancée Fiasco (15 page)

If she weren't completely hallucinating, which was a distinct possibility, she thought she caught a smile tug briefly at the corners of his mouth. Now, that was a nice mouth Win had. Straight and strong. She wondered how it would feel kissing her. She wondered if Win had the same magic touch with a woman's body that he had with machines.

Roseanne's back went straight up and she shook her head to clear it. Win kissing her! A magic touch? Oh, boy. It was definitely too early in the morning. She was so tired, she was practically insane.

"Oh yes," Roseanne said. "Now I remember. Dinner."

"You mean supper."

"Stop trying to confuse me. I haven't had my coffee yet and it's dark outside, for pity's sake. Are you coming home for dinner—I mean, supper? I—" Roseanne hesitated, remembering she had to be careful how she phrased this. "I had an idea in mind of what I'd like to do tonight."

Win didn't look at her, but she thought he stiffened slightly. Did he not want to spend time with her? Was he that angry? But then he shrugged. "I suppose I could try to get home."

"Try?"

"That's the best I can do." His voice was flat. "I've got to go now." He reached to clear his plates from the table.

Roseanne watched as he took them to the sink, washed them out and put them on the rack to dry. In her apartment the dishes accumulated on the kitchen counter until there wasn't room for any more. Then, and only then, did she think about washing them.

"Win," Roseanne spoke as he reached for his briefcase. "It is all right if I use your Cadillac, isn't it?"

"Of course. Haven't you been using it all along?" He seemed to find the question mundane, checking quickly through the contents of his briefcase with a frown. "I'll shoot for getting home at seven," he told her, "but I'm not promising I can leave the office that early."

"You're home by seven-thirty," Roseanne informed him, "or you aren't eating with me."

He looked up at her, a sparkle of amusement flashing through his eyes. It was gone, though, as quickly as it had come. "I suppose that's fair."

There was an awkward moment right before Win stepped out the door. They moved briefly toward each other, as if there were something they both ought to be doing before they parted company.

But, of course, there was no special gesture needed just because Win was leaving the house. He halted in his tracks and Roseanne froze halfway to the entryway.

Narrowing his eyes at her astonished expression, Win turned and let himself out the door.

~~~

As far as dinner went, Roseanne had a plan. She figured she'd put the whole meal together twice. That way she'd make all her mistakes the first time, and thus learn how to avoid them the second time. Surely by using this method she could manage to produce a meal.

To her relief, the scheme paid off. By seven o'clock she had a potato leek soup simmering aromatically on the cooktop. In the oven sat a fully stuffed chicken. A pot of rice stood at the ready, covered and waiting for the time to serve. She also had a cold salad and garlic cooked green beans.

The first time around the rice had gone sticky and the chicken burned. The soup had tasted more like dishwater than food. But Roseanne had carefully analyzed her mistakes and the results proved she'd learned from them.

The only thing lacking was Win. Wondering if he were going to show up made something flutter in Roseanne's stomach. She was so nervous by now that she almost wished he wouldn't.

Her own nervousness made her nervous. She was never nervous, and particularly not about men.

She set the dining room table with china plates and silverware. A pair of candlesticks turned up in one of the kitchen cabinets but Roseanne quickly closed the door on them, appalled by the image they flashed into her mind. This dinner wasn't supposed to be romantic.

What it
was
supposed to be was not so clear in her mind. She knew she wanted Win to stop ignoring her. Beyond that was some shadowy idea of returning to the friendship she'd enjoyed with him over the weekend.

She considered him a friend. The idea had only solidified in her mind since the night at the ice cream parlor. Okay, yes, that meant putting out of her mind the fact he'd left his wife. To Roseanne, this had always been a cardinal sin in a man. But lately she'd started to wonder if Win had been the only one at fault in the breakup of his marriage. The whole situation was murkier than she'd first imagined.

So she supposed the effort she was making over dinner was an attempt to set matters back to normal between them.

By quarter past the hour Roseanne decided Win was not going to make it home in time for supper. A slow relief wound through her, hand in hand with an intense disappointment. It was crazy. She wanted him to stay away at the same time she wanted him to come? It didn't make sense.

She had forcibly turned her attention to the practicalities, such as what she should do with all the food, when at precisely seven twenty-five she heard a key in the front door lock.

Win let himself in. He stopped dead on the threshold. "That smells...good." His expression was stunned. "Roseanne, did you make dinner?"

"Supper, you mean?" She was safely shielded by a simmering pot of soup. The heat from it must have been what flushed her face. "Go wash up." She gave the command briskly, as though the fact she'd made a meal was really quite ordinary. "This is ready any time you are."

He hesitated a moment longer, with something peculiar in his gaze. "I won't be long."

When Win returned, it was without his jacket or his tie. His shirtsleeves were rolled up, exposing blond hair curling over nicely-muscled forearms.

Roseanne frowned, wondering why the sight of Win's forearms gave her an inner thrill. The sensation reminded her of the way the rough stubble of his beard had felt two days before in the ice cream parlor. Kind of...sexual. But, still. This dinner wasn't about romance. Truly. Friendship, friendship, friendship.

She cleared her throat. "Go ahead and sit down."

Win's gaze was considering on her as she brought the soup bowls to the table. "I thought you only knew how to scramble eggs."

"True. Call it my inspiration from living the life of a housewife the past day or two. One starts to feel useless."

Win picked up a spoon. "Do I detect a note of discontent?"

"Who, me? Nah, I know how to take care of myself."

"So you keep telling me." Win looked down and dunked his spoon into the soup.

Roseanne watched anxiously. Meanwhile, Win lapped up his spoonful, then dipped his utensil down for another. But he didn't say anything.

Frustrated, she tried the soup herself. She couldn't taste a herring from a bagel, though, having burnt her tongue while sampling the first batch.

"The soup is quite good," Win suddenly surprised her by admitting.

Looking up, Roseanne felt a ridiculous burst of gratification. She was careful to keep any of this from showing in her face, however. "Why, thank you, Win." Her voice held just the right tinge of irony.

He smiled faintly. "What's the idea with this dinner? Trying to prove something?"

"What would I be trying to prove?"

"That you can do anything I can."

Roseanne could only stare at him, quickly losing her gratification. "That is completely ridiculous. Of course I can't do everything you can. For one thing, I haven't the foggiest idea about mathematics or computers or any of that stuff."

"No, but you have your own profession, which George tells me you're very good at, so you might feel even there." Win turned his attention back to the soup. "But I cooked for you a couple of times this weekend. And, you being you, that made you uncomfortable."

Roseanne splashed her spoon haphazardly in her soup. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"You considered that I was taking care of you, right? Upsetting your precious independence."

"Right now I consider you insulting." Though now that she thought about it, maybe he had a point. She had kind of wanted to take care of him this evening, to show him she could. Or maybe to show him she wanted to. Oh—it was all so confusing.

Win's gaze hit her with cool speculation. "Don't mean to be insulting, but I'd like to know what's the deal here. Why have you gone to all this trouble?"

Roseanne slammed her spoon on the table. "Dammit Win! If you can't figure that out by now—" She had no idea how to finish her completely unfair retort. Truthfully, she still wasn't sure, herself, what she was after. She
liked
him, okay? "Oh, if this isn't just—" She halted again, this time distracted by the distinctive aroma of smoke.

Oh no. Not again! The very same mistake she'd made the first time, leaving the chicken in the oven too long. With a muffled curse, Roseanne leapt from the table and raced to the oven.

It was too late. Far too late. The poor legs of the beast were blackened to char and the body as dried as a gourd.

"Blast!" Roseanne drew the miserable thing out of the oven. She knew Win was right behind her, taking in the full panorama of her humiliation. Smoke poured out of the oven, emphasizing the extent of the damage. Roseanne kept her eyes firmly fixed on the caved-in chest of the bird.

"It was perfect ten minutes ago," she claimed, coughing in the smoke.

"I'd say closer to twenty minutes," Win corrected, eyeing the bird closely as he moved forward. He shut the oven door, thus taking care of the smoke problem. "It's hard to ruin chicken." His tone held a certain degree of admiration.

"Well, I wasn't trying to ruin it, for crissake." Roseanne threw the hot pad she'd just used onto the countertop. "Everything was turning out so well, too. Look!" She raised the cover for the rice. "Perfect, isn't it. And look at this!" She showed him the garlic beans. "Just right, aren't they?"

"Roseanne—"

"It was all going to be great. Perfect." Roseanne lifted a sleeve to wipe at her eye. Some of that smoke must still be in the air. Her eyes were watering. "The chicken would have been great, too, if I hadn't—gotten all distracted and left the oven on."

"It's just a chicken, Roseanne."

"It was the main course." Roseanne put a hand to the bridge of her nose, feeling an odd pressure building there. She shook her head vigorously and asked, "Now what am I supposed to do?"

Win cocked his head to one side. "Serve the rest of the meal? As you pointed out, it's perfect."

Something in his voice made Roseanne look up. She narrowed her eyes at him. "You think this is funny!"

"Well, uh." A smile struggled in vain to stay off his lips.

Roseanne picked up one of the hot pads.

"No, honey, it's not funny at all," Win quickly said, but not soon enough. The hot pad had been launched and connected with his right ear.

"Hey!" He reached for Roseanne but she jumped out of the way in time to avoid him.

Her hands scrambled over the top of the counter for something else to throw at him.

"Oh, no you don't," he growled, catching hold of the omelet pan just as she grabbed it.

Roseanne tried to twist it out of his grasp but he was far too strong for that. With his other hand he caught hold of her free wrist. "Oh, now we're talkin,'" he muttered.

"What are you—? Let me go!" Roseanne struggled vainly to free herself.

"You," Win informed her briefly, "just broke the rules."

Roseanne's mouth opened on a startled squeak and that's when Win's mouth met hers, covering it thoroughly and without reserve. She didn't even have time to think, let alone prepare resistance, before he was storming the fortress.

Oh, my. Oh my, oh my. This was—completely unexpected, and...utterly delicious. Like a gourmet meal. His kiss was masterful.

All of Roseanne's feisty anger departed. Gone. Besides, he was so tall and strong. How was she supposed to resist so much sudden, male energy?

On the other hand, it was unclear how much she wanted to resist it. Maybe, in fact, she'd been angling for exactly this outcome. In his arms, with his tongue boldly invading her mouth, she experienced a wave of pleasure. It felt like the relief from pain, though she hadn't been aware she'd been in pain until that moment.

The omelet pan crashed to the floor.

"Now that," Win finally muttered against her lips, "is much more like it."

He kissed her again. This time he was less of a warrior and more of the returning conqueror, dispensing tenderness along with his firm domination.

Roseanne's arms moved up his hard chest to twine around his neck. She heard a soft moan she was pretty sure came from her own throat.

When at last he pulled gently away, she opened her eyes in a daze. Her head was spinning and her legs felt like jelly. If it was any consolation, she could feel Win's heart racing right along with her own.

"All right," he challenged, "go ahead and say it."

Roseanne cleared her throat and looked up. His face was strained, the skin tight over his cheekbones. He appeared both intense...and vulnerable.

In a husky voice, she asked, "You mean about how you really shouldn't have done that?"

Looking amused, if resigned, Win nodded. "I expect I deserve it."

A strange well of emotion made Roseanne have to clear her throat again. "The thing is, although I'm not above stretching a truth now and then, I have a hard time telling an out-and-out lie."

His brow furrowed.

"Okay, I'm not sure you
should
have done that, but I'm not exactly complaining here." Indeed, she was growing more and more suspicious she might have engineered the whole thing—unconsciously, of course, but still...

Win's expression grew more guarded. "You aren't complaining," he said. "Yet."

Roseanne expelled a breath. She dug her fingers into his shoulders—so broad, so enticing. The contrast between his male strength and the vulnerability in his expression hollowed out a place in her chest.

"Ever," she whispered. With a tug, she brought his mouth down to hers.

He hesitated for a moment, perhaps surprised, and then returned her kiss, wrapping her close against him.

Roseanne felt herself spinning into another world, a world not only of physical sensation, but also of emotion. Her heart felt warm and open, soft. Somehow, that made her limbs feel...hungry.