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“Well, if it’s just brunch, there’s no need for you to get so upset,” Rose said, her voice mild as she carried the flowers over to the table, placing them in the center.
“Classic overcompensation,” Cami agreed.
“What part of not wanting to talk about this did you two miss?” Poppy checked the front window, suddenly desperate for Beck to show up. She’d take his sexual baiting over this any day.
“I think you should.” Rose stepped back from the table, admiring her display. “He’s very attractive.”
Poppy shut her eyes and counted to five. She wished Wynn were here already. He had a knack for charming her mother and sister on to other topics. Of course, knowing Wynn, he’d be as interested as them in her sex life. Maybe if she were lucky a giant hole would swallow her up. But when she reached the end of her countdown, her mother and sister both still watched her.
“You know, dear...” her mother started.
Poppy turned a beseeching look toward her sister. “Please, make her stop. You owe me. I found you soft-soled shoes.”
Cami grinned. “Okay, Mom. Stop torturing your younger daughter.”
“I’m not torturing her. I have plenty of knowledge and experience—”
“Ack!” Cami jerked back, causing the chair to squeak across the kitchen tiles.
Poppy clapped her hands over her ears, causing her earrings to slap against her neck. “Stop, I’m begging you!”
“—seeing as I’ve been happily married for thirty some odd years.”
“No more. I give. Uncle. Whatever you want. I’ll do it.”
“You’re going to make my water break all over your nice clean floor.”
“Girls, I don’t know why you’re making such a fuss. Sex is—”
Poppy was so relieved when she heard a car pulling up outside, she practically ran for the door. Okay, no practically about it. She went into an all-out sprint.
“Where are you—” Rose started to ask as Poppy exited the kitchen.
“He’s here.” The chair squeaked again as Cami pushed herself up. “Go, Mom, go.”
They reached the entryway before Beck had even gotten out of his car. They watched silently as he emerged, all dove gray suit and dark hair. Cami sighed first, followed by Rose. Poppy stared at both of them. “You’re a pair of happily married women.”
“That doesn’t mean we’re dead.”
“We should invite him in for coffee. It would only be polite.”
“No.” Poppy clutched her purse to still the sudden shaking of her hands. He looked good. Too good. She reminded herself it didn’t matter. He was an ex. One she had long since gotten over, and any relationship they had now was a means to an end. As soon as she had her conversation with Jamie and was satisfied he wasn’t making a mistake, this back-and-forth with Beck would end. “His family is probably waiting for us.”
When he knocked, she shooed the other two back before they bowled him over with their enthusiasm, then steeled herself to the inevitable small talk and opened the door.
He grinned down at her. “Good morning, Red.”
“Stop calling me that.” She scowled at him from the doorway and did her best to ignore her mother and sister snickering behind her. When the hyenas showed no sign of letting up, she shot a glare in their direction. “That nickname includes you two, as well, seeing as we all have the same hair.”
They stopped laughing and regarded him with considerably cooler gazes. Poppy scored herself a mental point. See how wonderful they thought he was now.
But of course, he apologized and flattered them, accepted the cup of coffee her mother forced on him, and by the time they left, her mother and sister were practically begging to be his slaves.
“Smooth,” Poppy told him as they pulled away from the house.
He lifted a questioning eyebrow at her.
“Winning over my family. I don’t know why you bothered. This is only for today.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “I’m only going with you so I can talk to Jamie.”
“So it’s like that, Red?”
Obviously he was trying to get a rise out of her. She should smile politely or ignore him entirely, but she couldn’t help her reaction. “For the millionth time, my hair is auburn.”
“Doesn’t have the same ring.” He snaked a glance her way. One that had a shiver trailing its way up her spine. “‘You look gorgeous enough to eat, Auburn.’ Doesn’t work.”
She ignored the banter—she was so above the banter—and curled her fingers around her purse. She didn’t care if he thought she was gorgeous. “Then why don’t you try using my name?” Her smile could have cut glass, which she knew because she caught a glimpse of herself in the side mirror.
“Not as much fun.”
She tossed her hair. “You would say that.”
“But I’m willing to cut a deal.” His fingers played over the steering wheel. Poppy found herself watching them as they stroked the soft leather.
“What?” She yanked her eyes away. “You’ll stop calling me that if I sleep with you?” The minute the words escaped her mouth, she wanted to stuff them back in. She blamed her mother and sister entirely. If they hadn’t been harassing her all morning, she would be on her A-game and not thinking about sex with Beck.
“I’m definitely open to the offer.”
“It’s not an offer.” Where was a corner to curl up into a ball and hide in when you needed it?
“It sounded like one.”
She decided to change the subject. “How are you going to get me some time with Jamie?”
“I preferred the other line of discussion.”
“I didn’t.” She forced herself to watch him and not notice the curve of his eyelashes. “Or would you prefer to handle your mother and Grace on your own?”
She saw the small shudder. “Definitely not.”
“Right. So we have an agreement. You help me and I’ll help you.”
His eyes slid toward her. “We have something, Red.”
Poppy thought about that as he turned down the road that ran the length of the lake. It was a gorgeous summer morning and people were already splashing around in the water. Brightly colored kayaks and swimmers dotted the flat surface. It had been a long time since she’d gone for a dip.
He was right. There was something left between them. She just wasn’t sure what.
After about ten minutes, they turned up a winding road. The houses here overlooked the lake and had their own beachfront. They were spaced farther apart, too. Poppy hadn’t spent much time up here. The homes were vacation properties for those who could afford them and, except for Beck, she hadn’t known anyone who lived in them.
She recalled some of the rougher kids from high school used to come up here and drink on their lawns, leaving behind empty beer cans and chip bags as proof of their daring. She’d even come up once with them, shortly after the Beck fiasco when she’d been feeling used and sensitive and hoping to forget everything, but she hadn’t liked it. Not the taste of the beer, the slithery sensation of her date’s tongue or littering on a stranger’s property.
“Here we are.” Beck steered into a curving driveway, past trees and shrubbery, which opened onto a masterpiece.
Poppy had seen a lot of gorgeous homes in her years as an event planner. The glorious historic houses in Vancouver’s Point Grey neighborhood, the elegant penthouse suites in downtown high-rises and the luxurious mansions in the British Properties. But this took her breath away.
All wood and glass, the house seemed to emerge from the trees in bits. Decks and windows and railings, with seats placed perfectly throughout for curling up and enjoying a book in.
“It’s gorgeous.” She itched to see the inside, already certain the interior would live up to the outside. The parties she could plan here. She pictured people spilling across the wide front lawn. Everyone in white, like a Gatsby party, with a jazz quartet playing on one of the lower decks, and champagne towers overflowing.
He pulled the car to a stop and loped over to her side to open her door.
“Thank you.” She allowed him to help her out, stared at him when he didn’t move or let go of her hand. “You’re in my space.”
“Yes.” He leaned harder, pressing her into the side of the car. Their eyes locked. His filled with a gleam she couldn’t identify. Teasing? Tingling? Terrifying? “My mother is probably watching. We need to make this look good.”
“Make what look good? This is just brunch.” But she didn’t move. A bird warbled in the trees. Beck’s head tilted, moved closer to hers. Desire and panic swirled through her. She placed a hand on his chest, surprised to feel the rapid beat of his heart.
He placed his hand over top hers. A pose she was sure appeared intimate from a distance. She should pull her fingers free, step to the side and suck in some fresh air to clear the mental haze from her head, but she stayed where she was, caught in the magnetism of Beck’s eyes.
“If you think I’m kissing you—” she whispered.
He smirked. “I wouldn’t ask.”
Of course he wouldn’t. She glared at him and dropped her hand. “I’m only here to act as a buffer.” To make sure that his mother didn’t try to sic Emmy’s sister on him, though quite frankly, he deserved it.
Beck murmured his assent, but didn’t move, his hips pinning her in place. She couldn’t break their connection without making a big production. And she was willing to do it. Completely willing. As soon as her heart slowed down.
She watched Beck’s head turn to the side. She turned, too, trying to spot whatever, or whoever, he was looking at, but the house remained a beautiful blank facade. Apparently that was enough for Beck.
He picked her hand back up and tugged her into motion. She almost stumbled. Would have had her fingers not been so tightly clasped in his. Or was that the reason she had stumbled in the first place?
She blinked to clear her head as they walked up the driveway to the tall, oversize front doors. But he surrounded her on every level. The sound of his shoes slapping against the pavement, the outline of his body pressed into hers, his soft scent of leather and soap and the sight of his smirk when he turned to look at her.
Maybe she should just focus on the house.
CHAPTER FIVE
THE HOUSE WAS as beautiful inside as out.
The entry showed off glorious vaulted ceilings, the wood beams exposed, awash with the morning sun pouring through the windows. The pine floors were buffed to a high gleam and a cozy armchair sat in the corner, offering a spot for visitors to sit and slip off their shoes in comfort. A wide staircase spiraled out of sight to the upper levels, while the rest of the house opened up its arms: a dining area and kitchen at the back, an office to the right and a sitting area on the left. Poppy stood and took the sight in.
The white Gatsby party took on a second life.
“Come on.” Beck tugged her hand when she paused to study the space. “My mother will be waiting to meet you.”
“Of course.” Poppy pulled her hand free and brushed her skirt. That’s why she was here. To assist Beck not to think about what kind of party she’d throw if she had access to this house.
“By the way—” his voice was casual, which should have been her first clue “—she thinks this is a date.”
Poppy stopped cold in the middle of the entryway. “Pardon?” She kept her voice pitched low, as every sound would carry to all rooms. She heard voices talking and laughing, the clink of glassware coming from the back of the house. “You told her this was a date.”
A wicked grin crept across his face. “Does it matter?”
“Yes, it matters.” She spun on him. “You didn’t say anything about a date. This was supposed to be a business proposition.” Wasn’t it bad enough she’d brought up sex in the car? Now she had to act as if she was on a date?
“It is.” He brushed her hair off her shoulders, exposing her neck. She had a sudden memory of him kissing it. “And this was the easiest way to explain your presence.”
She swallowed. It did make sense. In a twisted I-don’t-really-like-you-but-I’m-going-to-pretend-I-do sort of way. “Fine. Just don’t try anything.”
“Like what?” His fingertips stroked down her neck and back up.
“Like that.” She jerked her head away and turned toward the sounds of the gathering. “Well? Are we going in?”
He studied her. She refused to drop his gaze. She might not know Beck, but she knew his type. He wouldn’t intimidate her. Not with his hungry stares, his delicious touches or his fabulous party property.
“Right this way, Red.”
The dining area and kitchen were as exquisite as everything else Poppy had seen. But it was the soaring views that left her breathless. Another deck spilled off the back, floor-to-ceiling glass welcoming the outside in. There was a large pool, surrounded by comfortable loungers in blue. A cabana and scattered umbrellas offered protection from the sun on those few months of the year the pool would be in use.
“Poppy, hello.”
She turned and spotted an attractive woman hurrying over to her. Her smile was a replica of Beck’s, though hers didn’t make Poppy squirm.
“Poppy, this is my mother, Victoria.” Beck’s voice was formal and more than a little stiff. She glanced at him before turning her attention to his mother.
“Victoria. Thank you for having me to your home.”
“It’s my pleasure.” Victoria took Poppy’s outstretched hand and pulled her into a hug. “Beck doesn’t usually bring people home for us to meet.”
“Oh.” Poppy wanted to check how Beck reacted to the information drop, but couldn’t without yanking away from Victoria’s warm greeting.
“And this is my father, Harrison.” Beck turned her toward a tall, dark, mustachioed man who welcomed her in an equally friendly manner. Then there were all the other guests to say hello to as well. Jamie and Emmy, Jamie’s mom, Georgia, who Poppy hugged a long time before releasing—she’d always loved Mrs. Cartwright, the scent of cinnamon clung to her even when she wasn’t baking—and Emmy’s parents, Clive and Susan, and her younger sister, Grace.
Poppy studied Grace closely. She was as pretty as her sister. The light caught the highlights in their golden hair giving the impression of halos surrounding them. Beside the sisters, Poppy thought she probably looked as if she’d come from the fires of hell.
Grace was polite but uninterested, which was fine with Poppy. She wasn’t looking to make a lifelong friend.
“Nice to meet you,” Grace said before turning to ask her mother about a shopping trip they had planned for later in the week. She certainly didn’t act like a woman plotting to trap Beck into marriage, but then, he hadn’t said that. He’d told her his mother was the one doing the plotting.
Poppy glanced at Victoria and discovered she was the subject of an intensive stare. She forced herself not to fidget and begrudgingly hoped she met approval. And even when she reminded herself that it didn’t matter if Beck’s mother found her worthy or not, she couldn’t shake the desire to be found suitable. When Victoria smiled, wide and clear of any concern, Poppy felt as though she’d passed a test.
There was a large living room off the dining area filled with soft couches and leather club chairs. A massive river-rock fireplace dominated one wall. They commenced to spend the next few minutes getting comfortable, drinking coffee and chatting while Victoria bustled about in the kitchen.
Poppy had hoped to get a seat beside Jamie—if she was lucky, they might be able to steal a few minutes before the meal was even served—but Emmy wasn’t giving up her spot on the love seat and Poppy had to settle for taking the chair beside it.
Emmy smiled at her. “I’m sorry I missed you at the barbecue the other night, Poppy, but it’s nice to finally meet you,” she said. “I feel like I already know you from everything Jamie’s told me.”
Poppy wished she could say the same. “Yes, it’s nice to finally get a chance to talk.” She pasted on what she hoped was an open and interested smile. Although she couldn’t ask Jamie what the rush was here and now, that didn’t mean she couldn’t suss out Emmy’s intentions. “I love your ring.”
