When She's Bad (12 page)
“It wasn’t exactly hidden.”
She lifted a bite of pasta and sucked in an errant piece. She licked her lips. “I don’t want to discuss it.”
“What about my offer?” he asked.
“Why are you making it?” she asked, meeting his gaze.
“Because I can.”
She rested her cheek in her hand. “I think this isn’t just a business decision for you.”
“You’re afraid I’m trying to get in your pants,” he said. “You already knew that.”
“Yes, but—”
“Or maybe you’re afraid that I’m trying to thank you for saving my life in the garage.”
She cocked her head to one side in a considering way. “That’s possible.”
“Or that there’s some sort of fate involved between you and me. Something weird that I can’t explain.”
She stopped and stared at him, her gaze alternating between fear and acknowledgment.
“But if anyone said that to me, I would say that sounds like a lot of bullshit,” he said. “I guess it depends on if you believe in fate or not.”
“I’ve always thought you make your own fate,” she said. “I don’t buy a lot of lottery tickets.”
“Neither do I.”
She gave a slow smile. “You don’t need a lottery ticket. You’re independently wealthy.”
Irritation nicked through him. “Could we just leave my financial status out of it? I’m tired of it.”
She lifted her eyebrows. “Okay.”
Benjamin looked at the lasagna and suddenly lost his appetite. He was sick of dealing with the status and image of the Huntington name. “Sometimes I wish my name was Smith,” he muttered, pushing his plate away. “Let me know if you want to sell your condo to me.”
“I do,” she said, surprising the hell out of him.
“That was fast.”
“You made me an offer I couldn’t refuse,” she said, wiggling a breadstick like it was a cigar. “Okay, it was the only offer I got, but … it’s timely and what I need right now. Finish your lasagna,” she said with a slow, sassy smile, “Mr. Smith.”
He chuckled and pulled his plate back. He took a bite. “How’s life in the spa business?”
“Everything’s coming up Botox and books.”
“Botox and books?”
“Yeah, you know Botox is that poison that freezes your facial muscles and decreases some wrinkles. The books are just an extra we’ve added to help our clients deal with the wait time. So far, they like it.”
“Whose idea was it to bring in the books?”
“Mine, but enough about my brilliance. How’s the law professor business going?”
“I’m getting bored. I want to start practicing again.”
“But you don’t want to be disinherited.”
“This is a sticky time for my family. My father’s tense about the election.”
“What about Robert?”
“My father’s more tense than Robert is. I wish my father would have run for political office and gotten it out of his system. It’s always been his dream for us to go into politics. Parents and their dreams for their kids.”
“I wouldn’t know. I think my father’s dream for me was to become a nun.”
Benjamin chuckled. “That would have been a waste of talent. Was he that bad?”
“The message on his answering machine says, ‘Turn or burn. Trust or bust. That’s the message of the gospel. Leave a message and I’ll return your call.’”
He swore under his breath and shook his head. “And I thought I had it bad.” His cell phone rang and he glanced at it, reading the caller ID with a wince. “Do I really want to answer this?” He sighed and flipped the phone open. “Hi Dad.”
“The jeweler’s here. I want you to come help pick out the diamond ring for his fiancée,” his father said.
Benjamin groaned. “I didn’t know he had decided to propose.”
“He’s very close.”
Benjamin had an itchy feeling of suspicion. “Just for the record, whose idea was it to bring in a jeweler?”
“Mine,” his father admitted reluctantly. “But I can sense a change in Robert. He’s looking at Lilly differently.”
“How do you know it’s not sheer terror? And why do you need me to help pick out a diamond ring?”
He saw Delilah’s eyes grow wide.
“Because we just do,” his father said. “Come on over and congratulate your brother. It’s the least you can do. We can celebrate with a cigar.”
“I’ll be over in a while.” Benjamin flicked the phone closed. “Looks like my brother’s getting engaged. I need to congratulate him.”
Delilah lifted her glass of water to her lips.
“Really? Who’s the lucky girl?”
“Lilly Bradford.”
She made a slight choking noise then swallowed.
“You know her?”
She shrugged. “She visits the spa sometimes.”
“Dad likes her because she’s loaded. Her father was Howard Bradford. He was a rascal and a ladies’ man.”
She nodded. “Well, you won’t be missing anything here. We’re watching
The Wiggles
. Another recommendation from someone at work. Cookies and TV: the keys to sanity.”
“Sing him a lullaby,” Benjamin said, standing, thinking he must be a sicko to prefer watching
The Wiggles
to visiting his father and brother.
“I don’t know any lullabys,” she said.
“Doesn’t matter. Just sing something slow and repetitive.”
“Uh-huh,” she said as if she had no intention of doing any such thing. “Best advice I can give you for the ring is think big. Men may say size doesn’t matter, but it does.”
Her husky voice made him think of tangled sheets and a long hot night. She might be watching the G-rated
Wiggles
, but the visuals in Benjamin’s brain were definitely X-rated.
A baby’s laughter is addictive.
—D
ELILAH’S
D
ICTUM
S
ara Cox walked into the Literacy Center and immediately felt a whisper of relief. She wouldn’t have to sit at home alone for another interminable evening and she refused to put herself through the torture of another night at a bar. Once was enough.
Her boss, Delilah, would hound the living daylights out of her for her attitude, but she was more comfortable with books and libraries than she was with martinis and cocktail lounges. She’d completed the literacy training at another location and was now ready to start working as a volunteer. She signed in at the desk and introduced herself to the receptionist. The receptionist said she would give her an orientation packet in just a few moments.
Sara poured herself a cup of coffee and wandered around the room filled with books. Rounding a corner, she nearly plowed into a tall masculine figure. “Oh, excuse—” She stopped just in time, but her coffee splattered onto her pink sweater. “Damn, I mean darn,” she quickly corrected herself, embarrassment flooding through her.
She glanced up into the face of Paul Woodward, who looked almost as uncomfortable as she felt. “Omigoodness, Mr. Woodward, I didn’t realize it was you.”
“Sara,” he said with a nod, glancing past her shoulder. “Just call me Paul.”
Stunned, she stared at him. She would have expected to run into anyone but him at the Literacy Center.
Why was he here? Perhaps the same reason she was here. Maybe he was more than eye candy after all. She grabbed some tissues from her purse and blotted her sweater. “I completed my training, but this is my first time at this location. I love reading so much. I can’t imagine how people go through life not being able to read. I always wanted to volunteer, but my husband didn’t want me to.” Mentally cursing herself for babbling, she swallowed. “How long have you been coming here?”
“First time for me, too,” he said, shoving one of his hands into his pockets.
He seemed tense, she noticed, as she observed the way his biceps flexed. He was a gorgeous man and she always felt intimidated when she was with him. She wondered how his student would be able to concentrate on reading when he was so easy on the eyes. “So what inspired you to come? Was it the new book section at the club? I think that’s what prompted me.”
“Yeah, something like that.” He scratched the side of his chin and looked past her again.
She was probably boring him to death. She glanced down at the magazine he had balled up in one hand. “What are you reading?”
He opened the worn magazine.
“Massage Therapy: Advanced Techniques,” she said with a smile. “No wonder you’re the top requested massage therapist at the spa. What do you like to read for pleasure?”
He gave her a blank look. “Tolkien,” he muttered.
“Classic fantasy. It’s interesting how well his work has translated to film. I haven’t had an opportunity to see the latest installment.”
“Me neither.”
“Mr. Woodward,” the receptionist called.
Paul tensed and panic crossed his handsome features. He shook his head. “I gotta go,” he said and strode through the double doors of the Literacy Center.
Sara stared after him, troubled. She hoped she hadn’t offended him. She wrung her hands for a moment, then followed a strange instinct and went after him. Spotting him just as he stepped into the elevator, Sara called after him. “Paul! Paul, wait.”
He glanced over his shoulder and looked as if he wanted to do anything but wait on her. His innate courtesy must have won out. He pushed the door back and waited for her to enter. “What floor?” he asked.
“I, uh—” She shrugged. “Garage.” She looked at his face which was turned away from her. “I’m sorry. Did I say something to offend you?”
“No,” he said, looking at the numbers at the top of the elevator.
“Well, is something wrong? I mean, one minute you were waiting to tutor and the next—”
“I wasn’t waiting to tutor,” he said.
She wrinkled her brows in confusion. “Then what— why—”
He gave a heavy sigh and finally met her gaze. “I wasn’t waiting to tutor. I was waiting to be tutored.”
It took a full moment for the meaning of his words to sink in. “Oh, I didn’t know.”
“I’d appreciate it if you didn’t tell anyone else.”
“Of course not.” The elevator dinged and the doors whooshed open. He stepped outside and she followed.
“But why did you leave?”
He shrugged his wide shoulders and looked away. “I don’t know. It just didn’t feel right.”
“Is it because you ran into me?”
“I don’t know.”
Sara sensed his embarrassment and searched for a way to soothe it. “It’s very impressive that you would try to improve your reading skills. You’re so successful in most areas of your life. Most people wouldn’t bother.”
He nodded, still not meeting her gaze. “It’s held me back,” he admitted.
“A lot of us have something that keeps us from being what we want to be,” she murmured.
“You don’t, do you?” he asked.
“Oh yes,” she said with a sad smile. “I stayed married way too long. There were a lot of things I wanted to do and now it’s too late.”
“Why? You’re young.”
“I don’t feel it.”
“You look it.”
“Thank you,” she said. “Your charm is showing.”
“No really. You dress a little older, but you’re pretty. Very pretty,” he said, looking into her eyes.
Her heart fluttered and she felt heat rising to her cheeks. Self-conscious of her response, she bit her lip. “Well, uh, I’m new at this tutoring thing. Would you like to see if I can help you?”
He looked at her for a long moment. She could see a battle with trust and indecision. “I’m game if you are.”
Delilah was so angry she wanted to chew glass. With
The Wiggles
wiggling and singing on the television and Willy safely in his playpen, she grabbed two cartons of eggs from her refrigerator and stalked into her bathroom.
“Spoiled little bi—” Standing just outside the stall, she tossed the first egg against the wall of the enclosed shower. Lilly had pranced into the spa today and called another impromptu meeting trying to prove Delilah’s inability to manage the spa, especially now that she was bringing a
baby
to work with her.
“Ungrateful, ignorant piece of—” She threw two more eggs and watched the slimy yolks slide down the wall of the tub enclosure.
“Treats me like dirt. Looks at me like I’m worthless—” She tossed three more eggs.
“What are you doing?” a male voice asked from the doorway.
Delilah whipped around with an egg in each hand. “Benjamin,” she said and bared her teeth.
Benjamin resisted the urge to find a shield to protect himself. He hadn’t seen Delilah this furious since she’d rescued him and found out he was her so-called power tool neighbor. Her eyes were wild with fury, her hair mussed, her cheeks high with color. She wore a slim-fitting cream top and a slimmer fitting leather skirt and heels that emphasized her curvy legs. She looked like a sexpot bent on destruction. He glanced at the shower enclosure. Destruction of her shower.
“Why are you egging your shower?”
“Because murder is illegal,” she said. “Because I’m sure I would be slapped with a lawsuit and thrown in jail if I pulled every hair from her dense head, or every fingernail from her finger.”
“Who is she?”
Delilah turned away from him and tossed an egg at the shower, then another. “My not-so-silent partner. I own the majority of the spa, but she owns the bulk of the rest of it. Since she inherited her part, she wants me out of there.”
“If you own the majority, she’s out of luck.”
“I know that and you know that, but she’s got a ton of money, so the accountants don’t want to upset her. She waltzes in, calls an instant meeting where she details my
inferior
performance as director, makes digs about the fact that I’ve brought Willy to the spa with me. Never mind the fact that the nanny starts tomorrow. Nope, this little she-devil thinks I’m trash and she’s doing her best to remove me.” Delilah tossed four eggs in quick succession.
“So call your own meetings,” he said.
She turned and looked at him as if he were dense. “Why would I want to torture myself and waste time like that?”
“So you can have control.”
Delilah opened a second carton of eggs and tossed two at the shower. She had a good arm. He noticed she wasn’t fussing and fuming anymore.
“You call the meeting. You set the agenda. You say when the meeting is over. You can even tell her to present her questions to you in writing in advance of the meeting.”
She met his gaze. “I can do that?”
He nodded. “Yes and if you hold a meeting every month—”
“Every month,” she said darkly and tossed another egg. “I’d be happy to get it down to bi-weekly. She’s in there every day annoying the hell out of everyone. Geez, she needs a distraction.”
“Who is it?”
Delilah’s face closed up. “I’d rather not say.” She tossed another egg. “I’m not sure this will work.”
“You’ll have to hold the line no matter how much she complains.”
“Or how much the accountants complain,” she said, throwing another egg. “Well, it’s worth a try.” She picked up two eggs and turned toward him. “You want to throw these?”
His lips twitched. “What an offer.”
“I could tell you were lusting after my—” She shrugged. “Eggs.”
He chuckled. “I haven’t egged anyone since—”
“I’m shocked.
You
egged somebody. I would have thought you would have been too perfect to do something like that.”
The way she said perfect got under his skin. “It was an honor egging. Rival high school football captain sliced the tires of our best receiver’s car.”
“Yes, but do your parents know?”
He took the eggs. “I wouldn’t want to give my mother a fainting spell.” He tossed one, then the next, surprised at the satisfaction that coursed through him.
“Feels good, doesn’t it?” Delilah said.
He glanced at her and felt the slow drag of arousal. “Yeah. Other things feel a lot better.”
She took a quick breath. He saw a hint of the heat he was feeling mirrored in her gaze. She looked down at the carton. “Half a dozen left. You want an omelet?”
“Yeah,” he said, and watched her squeeze cleaning liquid over the enclosure and turn on the shower head.
“Clean-up’s a snap,” she said. “I can dig the shells out later.”
“And you don’t even have to spend the night in jail.”
“I bet you’ll look at a carton of eggs in a whole new way,” she said, heading for the kitchen.
Benjamin was currently fixated on her rear end. He couldn’t help remembering how it looked naked. He swallowed a groan. He couldn’t help remembering how good it had felt to slide inside her.
“In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if you don’t throw a few eggs at your own shower in the future.”
“Waste of food,” he said. “Immature, unproductive.”
She lifted her eyebrows, her face full of skepticism.
“And brilliant. I wish you had another carton.”
He and Delilah fixed the omelets together, adding odd ingredients she dug from her refrigerator. She buttered the leftover take-out Italian bread. She fed Willy and talked with him. After she changed a diaper, he watched her press her lips against his belly and make a raspberry. Willy giggled with glee.
“Looks like you two are getting along,” Benjamin said.
“Yeah, he grows on you. Sorta like mold,” she said with a sly smile and made another raspberry on Willy’s belly.
Benjamin shook his head. “I never would have predicted it.”
“What?” she asked, picking up Willy and standing.
“I think that baby has won you over.”
“Not everyone knows this,” she confided, “but I have a strong, self-destructive nurturing streak. I’m usually successful at resisting the urge, but Willy’s really sweet when he’s not screaming.”
“You were nurturing with me,” he reminded her.
She met his gaze and something powerful sizzled between them, then she looked away. “Yes, when half your face had been bashed in and I didn’t know who you really were.”
“And now that you know who I am,” he ventured.
“You know how some people are allergic to strawberries?”
“Yeah,” he said, wondering where in hell this would lead.
“Well, I’m not. I’m just allergic to men like you.”
He was getting very tired of the generalization. “I wonder if all women like you are allergic,” he said.
“What do you mean all women like me?” she asked sharply.
“The same way you mean men like me,” he said.
Frowning, she set Willy in the playpen and crossed her arms over her ample chest. “Define women like me.”
“Sure,” he said. “As long as you define men like me.”
She gave him a hard look and he could see curiosity and defiance battling on her face. “Okay, you go first.”
“A woman like you has a PhD in Practicality. She’s often, but not always, a good judge of character. She has a huge heart which she tries hard to keep hidden. A woman like you understands her sex appeal and knows a lot about pleasing a man, but could probably learn something about pleasing herself.”
She lifted her eyebrows as if she didn’t quite agree, but couldn’t quite disagree either. “Go on.”
“A woman like you has hit some rough spots and she feels like it’s her against the world. She has her defenses up so high that sometimes she can’t get past them, which can give her a big blind spot. A woman like you is wary of any man she perceives to be her equal.”