To Love a Wilde (18 page)

Whenever doubts surfaced she brushed them away for the time being, and forced herself to enjoy the moment, and the time they had left together.

Not that it all had been idyllic. It was getting harder and harder for Yasmine to keep her love for him quiet, especially during lovemaking. She wondered what his feelings were for her.

Behind the jokes and sometimes irreverent sense of humor he showed, at times Yasmine saw the cracks behind the mask he presented to the world.

When he took her out to the cottage where he and his brothers, along with their foster father, had once lived, she’d gotten a view, although only briefly, of the part of himself, his personality, he kept firmly locked away.

When he thought she wasn’t looking, she’d catch a strange expression crossing his handsome face. She felt at those times like a specimen under his own private microscope.

Maybe he was trying to figure her out, just as she was him. She didn’t know. There was still so much about him she hadn’t figured out, she thought as she absently stirred the pot.

Enjoy the moment. Which she was doing with fervor. Although both of them were busy, too busy during the day to spend any real time together, Holt more than made up for their time spent apart at night, she thought, a feminine smile tugging at her mouth as she remembered last night.

He’d come home earlier than usual, and after a hasty dinner where he’d barely allowed her to say good-night to her aunt, he’d hustled her to his room, where he promptly showed her just how much he missed her.

And throwing herself completely into their lovemaking, she returned the favor.

Yasmine paused in her thinking, her hand coming to a stop.

She was in love with Holt.

Not a young girl’s crush, but the love only a woman could have for her man.

“You look so at home in the kitchen, Yasmine.”

Yasmine whirled around, completely surprised to see Clayton Moore standing in the kitchen hallway. She dropped the spoon she’d been stirring inside the large pot.

“Clayton, what … what are you doing here?”

“Well, if Mohammed won’t come to the mountain, I guess the mountain has to come to Mohammed.” He quipped the clichéd saying, walking toward her.

He smiled widely, his bleached teeth standing out sharply against his sienna-colored skin.

“You’re keeping busy, I see,” he said, stopping when he came within arm’s distance.

“Oh, uh, yes, I have!” she said, mentally scrambling, trying to figure out why he’d come.

She frowned. “Did I miss something? Did you tell me you were coming?”

“Well, I thought I would surprise you.”

“Yes, you have. But why?”

Her oven timer went off before he could answer and she turned away, lifting the heavy, large dish from the oven and placing it on the stove.

She turned back around to face him, the slightest bit irritated that he hadn’t bothered trying to help her. At least an offer.

“You look quite at home here,” he said, not bothering to answer her question.

Yasmine drew the oven mitts from her hands, slowly placing them on the counter.

“I came because I want you.”

“What?” So stunned, Yasmine was nearly speechless with the bald statement.

He laughed, coming closer. “Don’t act surprised, Yasmine. I haven’t exactly tried to hide that fact.”

She backed away from him. “But I thought you wanted me as your executive chef. Not as—”

“My lover?” he asked, raising an arched brow.

As Yasmine listened to him speak, she ran her gaze over him, wondering what she’d ever found attractive about him.

His eyebrows, nails and hair were more manicured than her own, and he exuded an oily charm that suddenly sent shivers over her body.

“Of course I want you for the executive chef … the notoriety you’ll bring will make my new restaurant even more successful. But can’t I have both?” he asked, his blazing-white teeth flashing as he smiled. Before she could discern his next move, he had her, his arms wrapping around her body and pulling her close.

Surprised, Yasmine didn’t move as his warm, moist lips moved over hers.

When his clammy fingers dug into her arms, Yasmine snapped out of her daze and renewed her struggle. Finally she pried his arms away from hers, and shoved at his chest until he stumbled away.

Wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, she kept her gaze on Clayton, eyeing him warily.

From the look on his face, Yasmine knew that he was aware that he’d overstepped his boundaries.

“Yasmine, I’m sorry. I—”

“I think you need to go. Now,” she said, anger making her voice tremble.

Before she could finish the thought a voice interrupted.

“Seems like I’m interrupting something.”

Holt was standing in the doorway, arms crossed over his big chest. To the casual observer he was relaxed, poised even, as his glance went from Yasmine to Clayton. But, Yasmine saw the muscle twitch in the corner of his mouth, a sure sign that he was barely holding on to his anger.

“Holt, it wasn’t—” A hard look crossed his face, stopped her from speaking. He turned cold eyes her way.

“This is Clayton Moore,” she said, desperately trying to get a good gauge on him, wondering how much he’d heard … how much he’d seen. Dread pooled in her gut at the cold look on his face.

“I told you about him … he’s just here about the offer.”

“I’m sure he is,” he said, his lips curling. “I don’t want to keep you from your … plans. I’ve got plans of my own.”

Yasmine frowned. “What plans? I thought you and I—?”

He cut in on her. “About that. I have to take a rain check. I was coming to find you to tell you that I got a call from my own … business associate and I won’t be able to keep our plans. Maybe next time.”

“What the hell? Maybe next time?” Yasmine frowned. “Who is this business associate?” Although she asked, anger began to boil up inside Yasmine after his insinuation sunk in.

Not only did he think she was kissing another man, he had come to tell her he was breaking their date for what she could only gather was another woman.

Before she could say another word, he turned and strode from the room.

“Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for that to happen. I can go to him, explain.” Clayton stopped when she held out a hand to him. She’d almost forgotten he was there. Turning to him she shook her head.

“Just go. Please.” She couldn’t look at Clayton, couldn’t deal with him, not right now.

“I’m sorry, Yasmine. I really am,” he said to her back. She heard his footsteps as he walked down the hall and left the house.

Y
asmine killed the engine to her Camry, grabbed her oversize satchel from the passenger seat and placed it in her lap. Before she withdrew the keys from the ignition, she listened to the melodic lyrics to one of her favorite ballads, as the singer crooned about being half-crazy in love.

She could definitely relate. She had to be half-crazy. What other reason would she be out this late at night buying chocolate-chip-cookie ingredients?

She glanced toward her backseat, seeing the two overflowing bags filled with not only ingredients for cookies, but a carton of milk … couldn’t eat cookies without milk, she thought. Along with a gallon of cookie-dough ice cream … well, just because … along with an assortment of other “needed” items.

Yep. Half-crazy. That was her.

She’d gone to the grocery store over an hour ago. Although it was late, she’d decided a batch of chocolate-chip cookies were just what the doctor ordered.

A survey of her pantry and she realized she was missing several key ingredients. Rather than giving up on the notion, unable to sleep, she’d mentally shrugged and made a quick dash to the store.

All in an attempt to keep her mind busy. As though she didn’t have enough to think about.

She’d chosen not to accept Clayton’s offer, wrestling with her options for weeks before making her final decision.

After everything that had happened, despite Clayton’s assurances that it would be strictly professional, Yasmine had decided against taking the position.

Instead, she’d met with the producers of the food network. When they’d told her they would love to do a show based on the ranch and “country cooking” made elegant, she’d felt close to tears. Although she hadn’t told them of her change in plans and the show hadn’t been finalized yet, she’d accepted the offer.

When she was better able to deal with everything, she’d tell them.

But even the firm offer of her own show hadn’t made her feel any better, despite the magnitude of what it would do for her career.

Heartbroken, she’d simply accepted the position, knowing that it would take her career to the next
level.

After thanking the neighbor who’d been watering her plants and collecting her mail in her absence, and chatting briefly with the elderly woman, Yasmine had gone to her apartment, eager to check her messages. She hadn’t received any calls on her cell from anyone except her aunt, but in the back of her mind, she’d hoped there would be one from Holt on her home phone. Although there were a slew of messages, none had been from Holt.

Although, considering the last time they’d spoken and what had happened, she didn’t know why she felt anything for him at all. He had made his thoughts and feelings about her abundantly clear.

The memory alone made her cringe, of the neutral look on his face after she’d caught up with him … the way he looked at her as though she meant nothing to him, not to mention the words he threw out that cut her as deeply as any of her sharp-edged knives ever could.

The rest of the week, she hadn’t seen him, and later found out from her aunt that he’d gone to Cheyenne on business regarding the ranch. She doubted he had any business but that he simply didn’t want to be around her.

She’d also realized that he didn’t think she’d been kissing another man, and neither had he been about to cancel their date. He’d used the situation to get out of their relationship When he returned, and for the remainder of the two weeks that Yasmine was there, he managed to
completely avoid her.

At that point she wanted to be as far away from him as he obviously wanted to be from her, but she couldn’t leave. As soon as Lilly was walking around without assistance, Yasmine had decided it was time for her to go. Their farewell had been emotional at best.

She hadn’t had to tell her aunt what happened, her reasons for leaving. Lilly, as well as everyone else on the ranch, knew. It was impossible not to.

Before she left, she promised a tearful Althea that she could as easily work on the menu for her wedding from New York as she could from the ranch, and promised to return for the ceremony.

She listened to the last crooning notes play out and the DJ’s husky voice break in before she slipped the key from the ignition and opened her door.

After retrieving the bags from the back, she balanced them against one hip and with the other bumped the car door closed, before hurrying up the walk leading to her garden-level apartment.

When she saw someone leaving, opening the door, she hurried her steps, her arms so full with groceries peeking over the tops of the bags, she couldn’t see who it was, but hoped they’d see her and keep the door open.

She mumbled a thank-you once she’d walked into the lobby, unable to see whom it was she thanked with her vision obscured with the bags.

“My pleasure,” a deep voice answered, and Yasmine nearly dropped the bags.

“Let me help you with that,” Holt said, taking the
bags from her and rescuing the carton of milk before it made a nosedive onto the floor.

“What … when … what are you doing here?” she asked, so surprised to see him standing there in the lobby of her apartment building that she could only stare up at him.

He took the rest of her bags from her, his expression solemn. “Can we go inside and talk about that?”

Yasmine briefly hesitated before nodding her head, her heart thumping wildly inside her chest.

She lived on the ground floor, so the walk to her apartment was less than a few feet. She used the time to run a glance over him.

Missing were the usual jeans and chambray work shirt, as well as the Stetson he always wore on the ranch. Instead he wore a pair of dress slacks and a silk shirt, easily slipping into the casual sophistication like the chameleon he was.

She glanced away from him.

The memory of the way he’d casually dismissed her, refused to speak to her, helped her to harden her heart.

Her hands fumbled as she dug inside her bag for her key. With shaky fingers she managed to insert it into the lock and open the door.

Standing back, she allowed him to enter.

“You can put them on the counter,” she said, motioning toward the bar-style kitchen counter.

Once he had placed the bags down, he turned, glancing over her small apartment.

“It’s small, but it’s home,” she said, looking at her place through his eyes.

It was the first place she’d called home since leaving the ranch. Until that point, Yasmine had lived in dormitories while in school, or rented small apartments during her apprenticeship.

She’d ripped down the previous renter’s dusty pastel wallpaper, and had painted the rooms in muted yet light colors, using the sunshine that streamed in through the windows to enhance the airy feel.

Rent was expensive in New York, and unable to find a one-bedroom within her budget, and not wanting a roommate, she’d rented the studio, using the large open room off the kitchen as both living and bedroom space.

Although it was small, she loved her apartment.

“It’s pretty, Yas,” he said, and she heard the sincerity in his voice.

She turned back to face him. “Why did you come, Holt? You made your feelings clear the last time we spoke. Did you forget something?”

At that he closed his eyes, briefly, blowing out a long sigh. “Baby, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”

“Baby?” She shook her head. “You gave up the right to call me that when you thought I was kissing another man and when you calmly waltzed in to tell me you had a date with another woman.” She spat the words.