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“I always envied other children who had siblings,” she confessed. “Being an only child is a drag.”
He made a face. “Being one of four brothers can be a real pain in the ass, too.”
“Maybe. But most of the time it’s fun. No, I want a big family. And I am thirty-one years old. The sooner I get started trying, the better. So…do we have a deal?”
God, he would miss her.
“Deal. I hope your fiancé knows how lucky he is. When do I get to meet him?”
Her gaze veered off to land somewhere over his shoulder. “Um…soon, I hope. You know, if I’m going to cram four weeks of work into two, I’d better get cracking.”
The red flag in his brain slowly rose. “A few more minutes won’t make a difference. What’s his name?”
“Whose name?”
The flag fluttered. “The man who’ll father all those babies you want. The one who offered you ‘the most exciting and challenging career any woman with no previous experience can have.’ That man’s name.”
“Oh, you mean Larry.” She grabbed the ceramic mug sitting next to a folded newspaper, then drew it to her breast like a waif begging for coins. “I need more coffee.”
“Larry,” he repeated.
“That’s right. Larry. Have you tried to OD on caffeine, yet? Beats aspirin, hands down. Want me to bring you a cup?”
“Does he have a last name? Or is he just Larry? Like Fabio, or Sting?”
She stood. “I’m headed that way. It’s really no trouble—”
“Goddamn it, Lizzy! Do I have to buy a vowel to fill in the blanks about this guy?” Her cheeks matched the red flag flapping like hell in Cameron’s brain.
“His name is Larry Sanderson. He’s brilliant. He’s kind. And he never yells.” After a pointed look, she marched toward the door in a huff.
Larry Sanderson, Larry Sanderson…Cameron stiffened.
His gaze zeroed in on the folded newspaper, then flew to the furious woman nearing the door.
“Lizzy, wait!”
She grasped the doorknob and sighed. “What now?”
“You can’t marry the dimwit.”
Two heartbeats passed.
The stare she directed over her shoulder could’ve shriveled a grape into a raisin. “Don’t worry. There’s only one dimwit I can claim to know personally. And I wouldn’t marry you, Cameron Malloy, if you were the last man in Texas!” With a toss of her dark curls, she flung open the door.
Mitch, Pete and Rachel staggered forward into the room, their heads twisted in identical awkward positions.
Lizzy growled in disgust, shoved her way through the flame-faced group and disappeared from sight.
Cameron leaned back and tapped his chin thoughtfully. He’d been called a lot of things he deserved in his life, but dimwit wasn’t one of them.
Something funny was going on. Something besides the Three Stooges currently backing out the door. If his suspicions were true, then his deal with Lizzy was off.
Which meant he still had a chance not to fail.
CHAPTER FOUR
AT SEVEN-THIRTY the next night, Elizabeth drove into the parking garage of Capitol Tower, the high-rise condominiums where Cameron lived, and willed her jittery stomach to calm.
This was insane. She’d known the man since high school, for heaven’s sake. There was absolutely no reason for her to be this nervous.
Relaxing her white-knuckle grip, she swung into a visitor’s space and cut the engine of her Taurus.
Her heartbeat tripled.
Who was she kidding? She’d known Cameron half her life, true, but she’d never actually socialized with him, never sought to be more than his friend and colleague. In high school, the All-State quarterback and senior class president had been hounded by more popular and beautiful girls. When he’d noticed Elizabeth at all, he’d been nice…but he’d been nice to everyone—that was part of his genuine charm. To him, she’d been a studious girl in his English class, as easily forgotten as her stammering oral reports.
In college, she’d gained Cameron’s first focused attention as a fellow team member in an Advertising Campaigns course. They’d carried the other four students on their backs to an A for the term. The beginning of a beautiful relationship, but one that had never ventured outside of classroom or office walls.
Which was why she’d accepted his invitation to grill her a steak dinner tonight.
She had no illusions about his motive. It wasn’t, as he wanted her to believe, to kick off their truce and cheer them both up after their unprecedented “fight.” And it sure wasn’t to get her alone in his bachelor pad and have his way with her—though, with luck, one day soon that’s exactly what he’d want.
Unfortunately, what he sought now was uninterrupted privacy to question her about Larry. The steak was a decoy. Cameron was a master at hunting for the Achilles’ heel of his opponents, and the instant she’d resigned from Malloy Marketing, she’d joined their ranks.
Elizabeth unbuckled her seat belt shakily. It was his fierce competitiveness, his inability to resist a challenge that had sown the seed of a Valkyrie idea in her mind. For years she’d watched other women try to “snare” the hunter. Of course they’d failed. If she could take a lesson from the master and decide that the means justified their happily-ever-after end, her impulsive marriage announcement might be the smartest dumb mistake she’d ever made.
She grabbed her purse and briefcase, slid out of the car, then locked and slammed the door. Hard.
No guts, no glory. Given the slightest indication tonight that her strategy might work, she would step to the front of the class and, for the first time since joining Malloy Marketing, present her own plan…hopefully without stammering. Head held high, Elizabeth marched across the parking garage toward Capitol Tower and her uncertain fate.
Minutes later, after receiving clearance for takeoff from the security desk, she rocketed twenty-four stories in a mahogany-paneled elevator so smooth and quiet, she was startled by the soft ding! of arrival.
The hushed atmosphere of luxury continued in the small waiting area outside the elevator. Cameron had moved into his condominium about six months ago, but this was her first visit. She consulted a wall plaque and entered one of four hallways.
Underlying the stately quiet, the driving pulse of a bass guitar sounded out of place. The closer she drew to 24C, the louder it got, along with drums, lead guitar and frenzied vocals. Vibrations from the blast of a song she didn’t recognize seeped under the door and literally buzzed her feet.
She set her briefcase on the floor, fished a compact from her purse, checked her face in the mirror—and snapped the sight closed. Egad, what a shock! She’d changed outfits a half-dozen times before deciding on rust-brown jeans and a matching lamb’s-wool sweater. The rich autumn color had seemed to require more makeup than she normally wore. But cinnamon-red lipstick made her mouth look so…red.
No guts, no glory.
She picked up her briefcase, squared her shoulders, raised her fist and knocked.
Instantly her heartbeat hammered her ribs.
She shouldn’t have come here! This was a big mistake. She should’ve stayed gutless on safe, familiar ground.
Maybe he hadn’t heard her knock.
The stereo cut off abruptly. “Hang on,” Cameron called, his bass voice vibrating a part of her the music hadn’t touched.
This was devious. She wasn’t a devious person. She should’ve stayed guileless and alone.
A dead bolt clicked.
She should’ve stayed passive.
The door swung open.
She should’ve stayed pitiful.
Cameron’s welcoming smile faltered.
Oh, God, she should’ve stayed in the lavender outfit!
His gaze swept down her body, came up more slowly and glowed. “Good evening, Lizzy. You look extra nice tonight.”
He’d said much the same thing the day before, but oh, what an exhilarating difference it made to believe him!
“Thank you, Cameron. You look quite…fetching, yourself.”
Glancing down, he loosed a bark of laughter, then yanked off the white dish towel tied apron style around his waist. His jeans and black polo shirt appeared fresh from the dry cleaner’s bag. Even so, they were a drastic change from business suits.
She tried not to ogle.
“Come on in,” he said, stuffing a corner of the towel into his back pocket as he pulled the door open wide.
Elizabeth entered a small enclosed foyer with a hardwood floor, her nose rising with each step, and sniffed appreciatively. “Mmm.”
“I hope you’re hungry.”
“Starving,” she admitted, only just then realizing it was true. “What smells so delicious?”
“Could be the mushrooms in wine sauce simmering on the stove. Or the squash casserole in the microwave. Or the chocolate brownies cooling on the counter.” He snapped his fingers. “Oh! Did I mention the French bread warming in the oven?”
Elizabeth gaped. “You cooked all that since you got home?”
He rocked smugly back on his heels. “Yep.”
“For me?”
“Well, I was kind of hoping I could have some, too, if that’s all right.”
Her face heated. “I meant, I hadn’t expected you to go to so much trouble—I mean, I didn’t want you to put yourself out.”
“Lizzy, relax. I know what you meant. Cooking is a form of stress relief for me. I do it to unwind, even when I don’t have company.” He glanced at her briefcase and frowned. “Speaking of relaxing…you can leave that thing on the bench. This isn’t a working dinner.”
Unnerved, Elizabeth deposited the offending article along with her purse on a parson-style bench upholstered in raw black silk. Above it, a huge beveled mirror in a striking mosaic tile frame reflected her flustered expression.
Calm down. He didn’t mean this is a date.
The hopeful hum in her body refused to quiet. Whatever else her resignation from Malloy Marketing had failed to accomplish, it had succeeded in shocking Cameron out of complacency. She sensed his sharpened alertness, as if he didn’t quite know what to expect from her.
It was a heady feeling for someone used to indifference.
She turned and smiled. “I know this isn’t a ‘working’ dinner, but surely there’s something I can do to help?”
“No, I think I’ve got everything under control. But you can keep me company on the terrace while I grill the steaks. Follow me. I’ll give you the ten-cent tour first. It won’t take long.”
He led her into a living area that seemed the size of a basketball court to Elizabeth, an illusion reinforced by the varnished oak floor and soaring vaulted ceiling. Only three pieces of furniture occupied the floor: a black sofa in the same fabric as the entryway bench, a large overstuffed chair in a red-and-black checkerboard print and a big-screen television.
She noted the frenzied images flashing on screen. “So that’s what I heard blaring through the door. The MTV channel.”
He looked sheepish. “Sorry about that. Sound really echoes in here with it being so empty. I’m not letting myself buy anything on credit, so it’ll take a while to furnish the place.” He caught her surprised glance. “You’re not the only one who can be prudent, Lizzy.”
She arched a brow at the mammoth television. “Your self-restraint is admirable.”
“Hey, do you see any JAMO 55 watt rear-channel surround speakers with overload protection?”
Like she’d know what to look for.
“Okay, then,” he said as if vindicated. His expansive gesture encompassed a loft on the far left overlooking where they stood, and a kitchen to the right. “This is basically the beginning and end of the tour. After living in matchbox apartments for so long, I wanted a place that didn’t make me feel claustrophobic.”
Elizabeth swiveled toward the right. Eight bar chairs upholstered in checkerboard fabric surrounded a granite-topped island counter, the only divider between the kitchen and her wide-eyed gaze.
Suspended lamps resembling flying saucers beamed light on red laminate cabinets, sleek black appliances, black granite-topped counters and red porcelain double sinks. Surfaces gleamed or sparkled. Despite the mouthwatering smells proving that he’d cooked, not a single flour fingerprint or mixing bowl defiled the magazine-worthy picture. No surprise there.
Moving her gaze to the place settings laid out on the island counter, she noted cloth napkins, wineglasses and a floating candle centerpiece. Her stomach fluttered with anticipation. Pitiful woman. This isn’t a date.
“You’re awfully quiet,” Cameron said. “What are you thinking?”
Composing her expression, she turned to see him perched casually on one arm of the sofa, watching her reaction.
“I’m thinking I’m a slob and a bad cook and my house is a dump. Thanks for inviting me over and cheering me up.”
A corner of his mouth lifted. “I’ll take that as a compliment. You had me a little worried.”
“Don’t be. I assure you I’m thoroughly depressed.” She focused behind him on the far side of the room and found herself moving in for a closer inspection.
She’d noticed it earlier, of course. Painted bright red, the wrought iron spiral staircase curling up to the loft was hard to ignore.
Approaching the intricate pattern of intertwined ivy, she reached out and trailed fingertips over the beautiful workmanship. “This is beautiful, Cameron. More like a sculpture than a functional staircase. Did you have it custom-built?”
“No, Kara spotted a guy hauling it off from an estate sale just as she pulled in. She chased him down, got me on her cell phone, and we struck a deal for him to bring it here.”
“Kara’s got a good eye for design. This draws attention away from the kitchen and visually balances the room.”
With a final rub of the cool metal, Elizabeth turned around and scanned the entire condominium, an idea formulating. “You should consider hosting the office Christmas party here. Capitol Tower is centrally located, exclusive, and you’ve got enough open floor space to handle whatever Mitch comes up with this year.”
