The Marriage Recipe (15 page)

She'd never seen his house. She hesitated, deliberating.

“It's not as cold as yesterday, but I'm not wearing a coat—it's inside,” Colin said, prodding her gently to make a decision.

“I'll follow you in my car,” Rachel said. That was safer. By driving to his place in her own vehicle, she could leave whenever she wanted and not rely on Colin to take her home.

“That will be fine,” he said. “Do you want to come in and say hello to Dad?”

She shook her head. “Do you think he'll mind if I skip it? I'll see him Sunday.”

“He'll be okay with it. He's watching one of those made-for-TV movies. Let me get my coat and be right out,” Colin said, disappearing.

By the time he returned, Rachel had backed her car up, giving Colin enough room to easily do the same. He led the way to a newer part of town, a subdivision of middle-class homes built about ten years earlier. She knew which house because a garage door was going up, and within seconds he'd parked his car inside and was waiting for her to pull into his driveway.

“Home sweet home. Come on in,” he said as she stepped out.

She followed him through the garage and into a small laundry room. Then they entered his kitchen. The entire house was clean and devoid of decorating essentials.

“It's nice. Tidy,” Rachel hedged. His house was, in a word,
bland.

He laughed at her fake compliment. “Oh, don't hold back. Be honest. My sisters call the place institutional. I'm afraid the next time one of them gets pregnant, she'll come over and paint the entire place.”

“Everything is pretty beige,” Rachel admitted. “The house could be really nice, though, if you fixed it up.”

He shrugged. “It's a starter home. Nothing fancy. Picked it up during the last housing downturn for a steal. Needs a woman's touch, but so far I've fended off my sisters by telling them I'm broke. I'll tell them my excess money goes toward two priorities—my retirement fund and my plane payment. I'm never home much anyway.”

“As long as you're satisfied. That's what counts.” She glanced around his kitchen. Basic oak cabinets. Linoleum in a nondescript design. Those laminate countertops everyone had if they couldn't afford Corian or granite. The kitchen did have one major plus—lots of space to cook.

“The only room I've personalized is this way,” Colin said, leading her into the vaulted great room. Here he'd splurged on an overstuffed sectional sofa, huge plasma-screen television and some aerial airplane photographs that she soon learned he'd taken while flying.

“How long have you lived here?” she asked, settling into a corner of the beige sofa, which was bare of any accent pillows.

“Couple of years. I rented an apartment before that. Your file is in my office. Let me get it. While I'm at it, would you like anything to drink?”

She hadn't realized she was thirsty until he'd mentioned refreshment. “Water, please.”

“I've got other things, too,” he suggested.

“Your sister plied me with two glasses of wine. Water would be perfect.”

“Then that's what I'll serve.” Colin returned a few minutes later balancing two filled glasses and a file folder. Rachel had turned on the TV. Now she clicked the off button, plunging the screen into darkness.

“You can leave that on.”

She shifted, reaching for the glass he held out. “I'd rather not. Then I won't be able to concentrate on the matter at hand.”

He laughed. “So you still stare at it the way you did when we were kids?”

One of her worst habits. “Yes. When a good show is on, it commands my attention. It's like I'm hypnotized. In my apartment I only had a nineteen-inch screen. Figured the best way not to watch TV was to buy one of the smaller sizes. Even with hundreds of channels, I'll find myself fixated on any type of cooking show.”

He sat near her, but not touching. “I don't watch many shows. I like the noise factor. I'll have the TV on even when I'm not in the room. I've discovered I don't like silence.”

“I'm the opposite. My job is so chaotic and noisy that I want my apartment to be still and serene. Although, New York is never quiet. You hear car horns and other noises 24/7. I've actually had some trouble falling asleep since I've come home. It's almost too quiet.”

She sat there a moment, pondering their differences. “So what do you have for me?”

He removed an envelope from the file folder and handed it to her. “Here's the latest letter. In essence, they're still maintaining your recipes were works for hire and belong to them. They are willing to drop their claim, however, for a fee.”

Her hand shook as she read the contents. “They want me to pay them for my grandmother's recipes? They can go to…” Bile rose in her throat, and she quickly sipped some water to keep herself from blurting out the expletive. Since she'd been back in Morrisville, her language had gotten much better.

Colin held up a palm. “Not to worry. It's just legal pandering. They've already backed down a little by saying they'll allow you to purchase the recipes. That means they really don't want them as much as they're maintaining.”

“Yeah, but they haven't conceded anything yet,” she snapped. The whole thing made her angry. How could she have been so stupid to fall for a jerk like Marco? Why couldn't she have seen the truth? Why was it always too little, too late?

“Calm down. They haven't yet, but they will.” Colin exuded confidence, and she tried to focus on what he was saying. “The next demand letter I'll send will cite United States Appellate Court case law. I also put a staggering price on Marco's own breach of contract with you, including sending all copies of your bills for the canceled wedding and citing all the emotional distress. Did you know some states still consider infidelity subject to personal-injury litigation?”

“So a judge would uphold what you're asking?” That a judge would seemed a tad outrageous and unreal.

He took the letter from her and returned it to the folder. “We're nowhere close to filing in court any actual demands. We're still dancing around each other, negotiating. I'd say that after our next correspondence, Marco will receive a letter from his lawyers letting him know he's exhausting his retainer and asking for additional fees. At that point, he'll have to do some thinking about how much this will cost him, both monetarily and socially. I have some friends who work for the New York tabloids who owe me a favor. Cheating Italian business owners who are minor celebrities are juicy topics, especially when the fiancée found the philanderer in bed.”

“I don't want to be in the papers,” Rachel protested. The situation was awful enough as is. “I don't like notoriety. Neither does Marco. That was one of his biggest reasons for our staying together. He kept stating he has an image to maintain.”

Colin shrugged. “Which is why we exploit that weakness. As long as he believes we will carry through on our end, we're already ahead. As it is, his lawyers and I will be having some very interesting conference calls over the next several weeks. Remember, my goal is to get your recipes declared yours, your noncompete contract invalidated and a few dollars into your hands for your hardship.”

“I don't want any money,” Rachel declared. “Getting the first two is more than enough. Two out of three isn't bad.”

“No, but we're going for the hat trick,” Colin replied, using the term for when a player scored three goals in one hockey game.

Rachel winced. “This is giving me a headache, or perhaps it's the wine I had earlier. Remind me to take your sister wine shopping before I go back to New York. I think I drank stuff out of a box. I was trying not to be snobby, but
eeuw.
There are plenty of reasonably cheap vintages that still have great taste.”

He rose to his feet. “Your poor taste buds. I understand, it's like having house Scotch. Let me get you some acetaminophen for your headache. I've got some in the kitchen.” He brought her two extra-strength tablets. “Take these.”

“Yes, dear.” She sighed, letting him know she thought the whole caretaking thing overkill.

“Have I been wrong yet?” he asked, sitting beside her and relocating the file folder to the coffee table.

She closed her eyes for a moment. “I'm sure you have. I just can't think of a time right now with my head pounding. Give me a second, though, and I'm sure one will come to mind.”

“You need to let go and destress.”

“Heather said that,” Rachel admitted, reopening her eyes. When had he moved closer?

“That proves my point. She and I both can't be wrong.” He shifted so he could put both hands on her shoulders. “You're far too tense. I can hear the knots in your back crying for relief.” He then began to knead slowly, massaging her shoulders and moving his fingers to her neck. “See, you like that.”

“Uh-huh,” Rachel mumbled, her concentration more on his movements than on his words. His fingers were nothing short of magical. On occasion she'd gone to a masseuse at a spa in Manhattan, but her budget didn't permit the luxury often.

“Relax,” he told her. “Stop thinking.”

“I'm not,” she lied, allowing her head to fall forward so that her chin touched her chest. She could feel the tension ebbing from her. “Where did you learn this?”

“So much for not thinking. I have no idea. Just have good fingers, I guess,” Colin said, continuing to work his magic.

“I like your fingers,” she replied as he rubbed out a sore spot.

“And I like you,” he told her, dropping a light kiss on her nape.

The feel of his lips had her leaping forward, so that she banged her knee on the table in front of her. The water glasses wobbled. Colin grabbed for them, set them straight and moved the file folder out of harm's way, while Rachel massaged her knee.

“I'm starting to believe you've become a klutz. First my plane, now my table,” he attempted to joke.

“You startled me,” she defended herself. When she'd jerked away, she'd overstretched a back muscle. She rubbed it.

“Let me do that,” he told her.

She scooted away. “No. You touching me will lead to nothing but trouble.”

“
You
are trouble. With a capital
T.
I didn't bring you here to seduce you. Your virtue is safe,” he told her.

She blinked. “I…”

“Shush. Let me finish. Please. I want to spend time with you. I like you, Rachel. You have me in knots and there's no one to massage them away but you. Hang out with me. We'll go slow.”

The man could make a convincing argument. “Why do I feel as if I have no choice in the matter?” she asked resignedly.

He frowned. “You always have a choice. I'm not Marco. I won't try to make you something you're not. I believe I know you better than anyone. Deep down, you haven't changed. You're still that fearless girl who has a hidden insecure side.”

“I only let
you
see that. No one else,” she confessed.

He moved over, the arm of the sofa blocking her escape. “And you only let me until high school. But I know that part of you is still in there. I can sense it. You haven't hidden it as well as you think.”

She sighed. “You have an annoying way of exposing my secrets.”

His gaze intensified. “I'm not exposing them for all to view. And to be fair, I'll gladly share every single one of mine. The biggest is that for the first time in my life, I may not get what I want and I'm finding myself unsettled by the prospect of losing out.”

She knew what—rather, who—he meant. “Me.”

“You,” he confirmed.

“Because I'm leaving.” That fact was becoming more and more disturbing.

He slid his hand under her hair and began to massage her nape. “I care a great deal about you, and to hell with worrying about crossing a line with our lawyer-client relationship. This is way beyond that. But I can't fight you or your dream. I'm walking into any liaison with my eyes open. I know you're not planning on staying, no matter how much I wish otherwise.”

She had to make him understand. “You said this situation with me was like being on a sinking ship. Well, in that case, I'm just as doomed as you. I can't fight this feeling, either, whatever this thing between us is. It almost has a life of its own. I'm scared that when I go to New York, a part of me will be left behind.”

“I'll take care of whatever it is,” he reassured her.

“I believe you will.” A small tear escaped an eye and he used his free hand to wipe it away.

“Don't cry. This—us—will be nothing but good. I promise.”

“It will be—that is, until the ride ends,” she said, bringing back his words from…Had it been days ago? Weeks? She couldn't remember anymore, but at this juncture words didn't matter. Only the heart did, and she could no longer deny what hers desired.