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“I didn’t say it was implausible,” he argued. He wouldn’t have said that, because it wasn’t. Plenty of guys dated much younger girls. He just wasn’t one of them.
“And the only reason we find ourselves in an idiotic situation is that you didn’t give me a heads-up. You’re lucky I didn’t blow it,” Cam told her. In fact, he’d come close to it. But he’d recovered in time. Stunned as he was, he’d also found himself more intrigued than he’d been in a long time.
Much as he hated to admit it, he’d jumped at the excuse to go challenge her for an explanation.
Deborah’s head was bent as she examined her nails, which were perfectly groomed. Unvarnished and natural, like the girl herself. Then she looked up again. “You’re right. Thanks for not giving me away.”
“You’re welcome.” Cam eyed her mouth. She had a full lower lip that contributed a hint of sensuality to her fresh, girl-next-door good looks. He dragged his gaze away. She didn’t seem exactly crushed about her broken engagement. Was that another example of her refusal to take anything in life seriously? Or was it only pretense, an attempt at salvaging her pride? Either explanation seemed plausible, but only one explained the story she’d told Marilyn.
“For what it’s worth, I understand why you lied about having a boyfriend,” Cam told her.
She grimaced. “I prefer the word fibbed.”
“Fine. I know why you fibbed.”
She sent him a wary look that didn’t quite come off on a face as open and friendly as hers. “You do?”
“Sure.” He shrugged. “Her son ditched you and you looked for a face-saver. It’s a natural enough response. Egos are fragile things.”
That earned him a scowl that looked even stranger on her face. “First off, Mark did not ‘ditch’ me, at least not the way you make it sound. He’s too civilized for that. Second, my ego is sturdy enough, thank you very much. As I said, I was trying to put Marilyn’s mind to rest.”
Irritated that she wouldn’t come clean with him, Cam shot her a skeptical look. “Your ex-fiancе’s mother? Uh-huh. I’m sure the fact that what’s-hisname, your ex, would hear about your new boyfriend had nothing to do with it.” Why had he said that? He felt ridiculous, as if they were college kids arguing over Sunday night pizza.
He, at least, had left his college days far behind.
“That’s right, it had absolutely nothing to do with it.” She looked like she actually believed what she was saying. Her deep blue eyes were wide and indignant. Truthful.
“It doesn’t matter,” Cam said finally. “You’re better off without him, anyway. Don’t the surveys say single women are happier than married women?” Barb kept up on all the surveys, and she didn’t believe in sparing him any of the good news. The rest of the survey had claimed that married men were happier than single men.
He could still hear the triumph in Barb’s voice, but Cam knew the survey was wrong on that point. It was wrong for the simple reason that men were biologically predisposed to prefer variety. They had a natural instinct to run from entanglement. Marriage was only for those who’d lost the energy to run.
He planned to stay energetic for life.
Besides, he’d seen no evidence of marriage producing long-term happiness for either men or women. At best they tolerated each other and at worst, they ended up in bitter custody battles over children who could only sit there in misery, wanting to be anywhere but there, in the middle of all the shouting.
The phone rang. When Deborah excused herself to go get it, Cam found himself disappointed. Based on her track record, her facial expression and her long silence, he figured she’d probably had something memorable to say. And now he’d miss it. His encounters with Deborah always left him strangely invigorated, as if he were a newly revved-up engine.
Cam took advantage of her absence to glance around her living room. Except for the couch he was sitting on, the furniture was wicker, which wasn’t a favorite of his. It looked okay in this room, though, especially combined with lots of plants and a collection of brightly colored pillows. Two end tables painted with funky designs flanked the couch. The scarcity of furniture made him suspect that Deborah’s apartment had been furnished on a tight budget. But she’d done a creative job of it. The best features of the room were the large stone fireplace and the hardwood floors.
He could hear Deborah’s voice, a distant murmur as she talked on the phone in the kitchen. She had a clear, pleasant voice that suited her. Books and other collectibles told a lot about a person, so he got up and went over to look at her bookshelves.
She had political thrillers, which was a surprise. He recognized a couple of his own favorite authors. A few mystery novels, some romantic comedies and a variety of nonfiction titles rounded out her reading collection. There were several photographs of a teenage Deborah with another girl. Her sister? Probably, judging by the family resemblance. Nearby was another photo of a woman who had to be her mother. There was no evidence of her father.
Cam had just put the silver-framed photo down when Deborah strode back into the room, a tablet of paper in hand.
He liked the way she moved. It was one of the first things he’d noticed about her. She had a carefree, swingy kind of walk and the height to carry it off gracefully. She had to be five feet ten or so, with a slender, athletic build. Curves in all the right places. Dressed more classically, she would look elegant, but even in artsy clothes she was striking. Her bright blue tunic sweater and leggings accentuated her mile-long legs.
Even though Deborah Clark was way too young for him, he enjoyed looking at her. As he’d assured himself several times, there was nothing wrong with that. But it bothered him a little to realize that he especially enjoyed looking at her now that he didn’t have to remind himself she was engaged, and he didn’t have to feel the familiar and illogical surge of irritation that the reminder always carried with it.
The fact was that right from the beginning, he’d found it all too easy to watch Deborah. Her shapely body and streaky blond hair were eye-catching enough, but the lively intelligence in her eyes and the humor in her expression riveted his attention. Looking at her almost made him forget her flippant attitude, extreme chattiness and appalling taste in music. One thing was for sure: He would not be putting her in charge of the string quartet.
In fact, he’d have to keep her on a tight leash with every aspect of the party planning, because although she wasn’t the doily type, tie-dye might not be far off the mark, and he wasn’t a fan of the neo-sixties look. He’d agreed to offer the planning job to Deborah based only on Barb’s assurances that the younger woman could produce elegant parties. His motherly administrative assistant had apparently added Deborah Clark to her collection of strays.
Cam watched as Deborah finished jotting something down on her small pad of paper. A favor to Barb was one thing, but he was no martyr. Fortunately, and thanks to Deborah herself, he would reap the added benefit of a hostess for his party. An attractive one, too. Deborah might not fit his image of the ideal girlfriend, but she was easy on the eyes. Most importantly, she wasn’t going to make any demands on him during the evening. No expectations, no fits of fury, no sulking episodes. He’d be faced only with a cheerful, chatty female who would help him persuade little Heather Manders to exercise her teenage feminine wiles on someone else.
“Sorry about the interruption,” Deborah said, looking up from her pad of paper. “But I always answer the phone during business hours since my company is home-based.”
He nodded and focused his attention on the small, gray-striped cat that trotted behind her into the living room. “There’s a familiar face,” he commented, aware of mixed feelings. Although highly appealing, the animal reminded him of behavior he’d rather forget.
A month ago, the cat had followed Cam from the hallway into his office, where the feline had promptly curled up on his desk and fallen asleep on a stack of legal documents, wrinkling the top one beyond redemption. When Barb had identified the cat, Cam had stalked upstairs to deliver the interloper, along with a few curt words he shouldn’t have come out with.
It was true that the wrinkled original contract had to be completely redone. It was also true that a robe-clad Deborah had arrived at the door looking damp and tousled, with an innocent gaze that didn’t match her clothing. Still, Cam should have been polite.
Furthermore, he didn’t want to analyze why so much of his annoyance with this girl seemed to have disappeared along with her engagement ring. Nothing about his reaction to her made any sense.
Was she even twenty-one?
“That’s Libby. I think she remembers you, too,” Deborah said now, as the cat twined herself around his ankles before jumping up into the wicker chair opposite the couch. The feline immediately settled into the cushions and went to sleep.
“Interesting name for a cat,” Cam observed.
“I named her after my roommate,” Deborah explained. “When Beth moved out, I replaced her with a cat. Sort of. Libby talks less and has a lot less energy than Beth, but she’s good company.” She turned back to look at Cam, and the dangly silver earrings she wore swung gently. “Let’s see, where were we?”
“We were discussing the fact that you owe it to me to hostess my party.”
She grimaced. “Okay. I agree I owe you one, but there must be some other way I can pay my debt.” She gave him a hopeful look. “I could walk your dog for a week.”
“I don’t have a dog,” Cam told her.
“Figures,” she muttered.
“Look, why don’t you clue me in?” He steered her over to the couch, and she sat down without protesting. “What’s so terrible about hostessing my party?”
Aside from the fact that being romantically linked with him horrified her so much she’d rather take her chances with a dog. Cam grimaced.
Looking on the bright side, this situation was a nice change from being chased for his money. It was pretty damned ridiculous to be annoyed, especially since she wasn’t an appropriate romantic interest for him, anyway.
For a long moment, it looked like Deborah was going to refuse to tell him anything. She sat there watching him with her big blue eyes. Finally, she gave a small shrug. “I don’t like parties.”
Cam stared at her. “But you plan parties. That’s what you do for a living.”
“Of course it is. That doesn’t mean I have to like going to them,” she explained, as if her line of reasoning made complete sense. His disbelief must have shown, because she sighed and continued. “I like the idea of parties, and I have fun planning them. I even enjoy the atmosphere if I’m working at an event. But going to a party, not having anything to do there, not knowing what to say—” She shook her head. “It’s the pits.” Her expression was eloquent.
“But you’re so talkative,” Cam protested. “You’re a natural party girl.”
She glared at him.
“I didn’t mean it like that,” he said.
“Don’t call me a girl, either,” she ordered. “I’m a woman.”
He laughed.
Her glare intensified.
“Fine, you’re a woman,” Cam agreed. “A woman who, every time I see her, is chatting away to someone.” Not to him, of course. She didn’t chat with him. Probably because she didn’t like him. Perfectly logical, of course, since he hadn’t been very nice to her. In any case, she didn’t have to like him. She only had to agree to his plan.
“I like talking one-on-one,” she said. “But I don’t like crowds of people, all of whom I’m expected to exchange meaningless chitchat with.” She gave him a determined look. “So let’s just agree that I’d be a disaster as your hostess.”
He shook his head. “I don’t agree. You’ll do fine.” She would, too. It was only a party. They didn’t need to have anything in common in order to spend one evening together. He just hoped she would manage to look older than sixteen. Maybe he could add it into their contract.
Deborah was staring at him. “Doesn’t it bother you at all that I don’t want to do this?”
“I can live with it,” he assured her.
She muttered something he didn’t catch.
“You’re the one who started all this,” he reminded her again.
“Yes, and I’m also the one who’s volunteered to make it up to you in other ways!” she snapped. Then her eyes flickered and her cheeks reddened, and Cameron realized her thoughts were moving along the same lines his were. That surprised him, coming from someone so innocent. She emitted purity like some women did perfume.
“I could wash your car every week for a month,” she offered hastily. “You know, that fancy foreign silver thing you love so much.”
Wash his car? Cam flinched. He couldn’t help it.
“Ooo-kay,” she said. “You’d rather die than let me touch your car. Fine.” Her tone was light, but a hint of hurt filled her beautiful blue eyes.
Cam sighed. Damn. He was going to have to tell her. He’d hoped to avoid it, although that was probably an unrealistic hope, anyway, since he would need her cooperation.
“Look, I need you to help me with a little problem I have.” He wasn’t used to fumbling for words like this, but the whole situation was damned awkward. “I’ve got a business associate whose eighteen-year-old daughter has decided I’m…” He searched for an appropriate expression, didn’t find one, and started over. “I mean, for some reason, she finds me—” He stopped. This was hopeless.
Deborah smiled faintly. “She has a crush on you?”
“Yes, that’s it.” He hoped he didn’t look as embarrassed as he felt. “Anyway, since her father’s divorced and she usually goes to functions with him, it’s a safe bet she’ll be at the party.” He grimaced. “Heather’s very young, and she’s had a rough time with her parents’ divorce. The last thing I want to do is hurt her feelings. It’ll be much easier all around if I’m otherwise attached.” Attached to a woman, he wanted to emphasize. But this wasn’t the time to point out that Deborah would have to mature herself for his party. He’d cover that later.
“I see,” Deborah said slowly. She was looking at him strangely, as if something about him puzzled her. For a long moment she said nothing at all. Finally she asked, “How attached are we talking here? Moderately or intensely?”
Cam stifled a smile at her pink cheeks and the hint of wariness on her face. How would she react if he insisted they needed to appear intensely involved? The impulse to find out was almost overwhelming, but he ignored it the way he ignored all impulses. “Moderately would do, I’m sure.” Cam examined the resigned expression that now appeared on her face. “You’ll do it?”
Her sigh told him everything he needed to know.
Chapter Three
“So I agreed to do it,” Deborah said later that afternoon as she sat on a stool in the large kitchen of Sweetness and Light. From behind her came the constant hum of conversation in the gourmet shop’s small cafе area. Scents of coffee and cinnamon rolls filled the air.
Ann Medford dropped a spoonful of salmon mousse into a pastry casing. “And you want me to do the catering.”
“Exactly.”
“All right, I’ll work you in. But only because it’s you.” Her friend grinned. “And because I’m curious as all get-out about this guy’s house. From what I hear, it’s got a kitchen to die for.”
“How did you hear that?” Deborah sampled a spoonful of the salmon mousse. She was just making conversation, of course. She couldn’t care less about Cameron Lyle’s house.
“I heard it from Stella. You know, up at Rags to Riches. One of her customers designed his kitchen, and she said the whole house was beautiful.” Ann whirled away to check on the pans of cinnamon rolls in the huge steel oven. She was only a few inches over five feet, but energy pulsed from her almost visibly. She was back within seconds. “Stella also said that another of her customers dated him for months, but she was never invited to his house.”
“Hmm.” Deborah dipped another spoon into the mousse.
Ann nodded. “That’s exactly what I said. He must be the private type. Hey, Deb, cool it with the mousse, would you? I’m going to have too many shells left over.”
“No problem. I can fix that.” Deborah reached for a puff pastry shell.
Ann swatted her hand away. “Didn’t you eat lunch?” She pushed a strand of her short black hair back into her hair net.
“Sure.” Deborah watched her deposit the tray of filled pastry shells on a rack. “If you call a peanut butter sandwich lunch.”
“I don’t, but you’ve probably been known to call it dinner, too.”
“Only when I serve it with macaroni and cheese.” Deborah chuckled. “You look like you’re going to faint.”
“Philistine,” Ann muttered. She plunked a ball of dough down on her pastry board.
“Not at all. I know great food when I eat it. Like these hors d’oeuvre. We’ll have to have some of these at the party.” She could easily eat a dozen or so right now, but Ann was armed and the rolling pin was marble, so that was a bad idea.
“I wonder why the hunky Mr. Lyle asked you to be his hostess?” Ann mused.
“I already told you why,” Deborah said. “I owe him.”
“I know what you told me, but that seems like a weird reason to me.” Her eyes narrowed. “I bet he has the hots for you.”
Deborah laughed. Several customers at the counter looked over in their direction, so she lowered her voice. “Trust me, Cameron Lyle doesn’t see me that way at all. He just needs a hostess and I’m handy.” A pushover, too, apparently. One little tale of woe and he had her agreeing in no time flat. Her only excuse was that his apparent compassion for a teenager had caught her by surprise. Who’d have thought the guy was capable of that kind of empathy?
Of course, she hadn’t ever pictured him apologizing to her for past rudeness, either. Another stunner.
“Oh, please.” Ann sounded exasperated. “As if he couldn’t come up with a party hostess on his own. From what we’ve both heard and seen, Indy’s ‘Most Eligible Bachelor’ has women lining up.”
Deborah grimaced. Money and good looks were apparently some women’s major criteria. She herself, on the other hand, cared about things like personality. And even though his seemed to have improved today, it still left a lot to be desired. Which was why, even if he did make her heart beat a little faster and her palms tingle, she had nothing to worry about.
He was completely resistible.
“Maybe he’s tired of female attention,” Deborah suggested. “Maybe the fact that I’m not interested is a plus.” After all, he certainly wasn’t interested in her. Even though Cameron Lyle apparently didn’t actually disapprove of her, it was clear he thought her an irritating and na?ve creature. Those qualities made her a perfectly safe candidate to hostess his party. They also should have taken her out of the running for planning his party, but it was obvious he wasn’t going to give her free rein, anyway, so he probably figured he was safe enough.
“Not interested, huh?” Ann gave her a searching look. “You know, Deb, I’m a little worried about you.”
Deborah grinned. “Come off it, Ann.”
“No, really, I’m serious. You’re way too blasе about hostessing this guy’s party. He’s got every woman between sixteen and sixty panting after him, and you’re not interested.”
Ann pulled up a stool for herself and leaned in closer to Deborah. “I could understand it if Mark had broken your heart, but that’s obviously not true. I mean, you moped around for all of two days, and then there you were, Ms. Sunshine again. Which I don’t understand, either.” Her deep gray eyes stared into Deborah’s. “Are you okay? Come on, tell Auntie Ann.”
