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Richard felt his stomach ricochet wildly, and not in a good way. “What was Destiny thinking?” he murmured, half to himself. She was behind this. She had to be.
As for Melanie, she was obviously a lot tougher than he’d realized. The blasted woman didn’t seem to be the least bit put off by his lack of welcome. She beamed and brushed right past him into the small foyer, peering around at the living room with undisguised curiosity.
“I’m fairly sure Destiny’s only thought was that you’d probably be starving by now,” she said, giving a totally unnecessary reply to his rhetorical question. “She asked me to tell you she was sorry about the change in plans. Something came up.”
“Yeah, I’ll bet,” he muttered. Then the scent of warm cherry pie wafted toward him. “What’s in the basket?”
“Give me a few minutes to unpack it all and I’ll show you. By the way, there are two more baskets in the car. If you’ll get those, I’ll deal with this one.”
“You could just make your delivery and head back to Alexandria,” Richard said, still holding out hope that he could cut this encounter short.
“On an empty stomach? I don’t think so. I’ve spent the last two hours smelling this cherry pie—I’m not leaving till I’ve had some. There are a couple of steaks in one of the baskets and potatoes for baking, butter and sour cream—which is a little excessive, if you ask me—plus a huge Caesar salad. There are also a couple of excellent bottles of French wine. I’m told it’s your favorite, though personally I think the California cabernets are just as good and far less expensive.”
Destiny at her sneakiest, Richard concluded with a sigh. She’d sent all of his favorite foods, despite her alleged concern about his cholesterol. He picked up the basket and closed the door, then stepped aside to permit Melanie to come all the way into the cottage. “Come on in.”
“Said the spider to the fly,” Melanie said, injecting an ominous note into her voice as she brushed right past him and headed with unerring accuracy right toward the kitchen. Destiny had probably given her a complete floor plan. He couldn’t help wondering if his aunt had also provided a key, in case he tried to lock her protégé out.
He gave Melanie a wry look. “Where we’re concerned, I think you’ve got that backward. I’m the intended victim here.”
“Whatever,” she said, clearly unconcerned. She met his gaze, her eyes a dark, liquid brown. “Those other baskets,” she prodded.
“What?” Richard blinked, then grasped her meaning. “Oh, sure. I’ll get ’em now.” He fled the kitchen and the disconcerting woman who seemed to be taking it over. Maybe a blast of frigid air would clear his head and help him to come up with some way to get her out of there.
Unfortunately, by the time he started back inside, nothing short of hauling Melanie bodily back to her car and turning on the engine had come to him. Since that was pretty much out of the question, he was doomed. A big fat snowflake splatted on his forehead as if to confirm his decision. He looked up, and several more snowflakes hit him in the face.
“Great, just great,” he muttered. The minute—no, the second—he spotted Destiny again, he was going to wring her neck.
Inside he plunked the baskets down on the round oak table where he, Destiny and his brothers had shared many a meal and played many a game of Monopoly or gin rummy. He grabbed the slim local phone book from the counter and began almost desperately leafing through the pages. There was an inn nearby. If Melanie left now, right this instant, she could be snuggled up in front of its fire in minutes.
“Who are you calling?” she asked as she unpacked the food.
“The inn.”
“Why?”
“It’s snowing. You’re going to need a place to stay.”
Her determinedly cheerful expression finally faded. “It’s snowing,” she echoed.
“Hard,” he added grimly.
She sighed and sank down at the table. “Do you think it’s possible that your aunt controls the weather, too?”
She asked it so plaintively that Richard couldn’t help the chuckle that sneaked up the back of his throat. “I’ve wondered that myself at times,” he admitted. “She has a lot of powers, but I’m fairly certain that’s not one of them.”
He gave his guest an encouraging look. “It’ll be okay. The inn is lovely. It’s not a bad place to be stranded.”
As he spoke, he dialed the number. It rang and rang, before an answering machine finally came on and announced that the inn was closed until after the first of the year. He heard the message with a sinking heart. There was a small motel nearby, but it was no place he’d send his worst enemy, much less Melanie Hart, not if he ever expected to look his aunt in the face again. Of course, he planned to strangle her, so her opinion was likely to be short-lived.
“What?” Melanie asked as he slowly hung up.
“The inn’s closed till after January first.”
She stood up at once and reached for her coat. “Then I’ll leave now. I’m sure I can get back up to town before the roads get too bad.”
“And have me worrying for hours about whether you’ve skidded into a ditch? I don’t think so,” he said, reaching the only decision he could live with. “You’ll stay here. There are lots of rooms.”
“I don’t want to be an inconvenience,” she told him. “There are bound to be some other places I can get a room, if the roads get too bad once I start back.”
“No,” he said flatly, carefully avoiding her gaze so she wouldn’t see just how disturbed he was by the prospect of being stranded here with her for an hour, much less a day or two.
“I feel awful about this,” she said with what sounded like genuine regret. “I knew it was a bad idea, but you know how your aunt is. She gets something into her head, and everyone else just gets swept along.”
“Tell me about it.”
“As soon as we eat, I’ll go to my room and you won’t have to spend another second worrying about me,” she assured him. “I’ll be quiet as a mouse. You won’t even know I’m here.”
“Wouldn’t that pretty much defeat the purpose of this visit?” he asked.
“Purpose?”
“To talk me into reconsidering hiring you,” he said. “We both know Destiny didn’t send you down here just to deliver dinner. Her driver could have done that.”
“Caught,” Melanie conceded, looking only marginally chagrined.
“Well, then, now’s your chance. Start talking,” he told her as he opened a bottle of wine to let it breathe.
“Not till we’ve eaten,” she insisted. “I want every advantage I can get.” She looked over the ingredients for their dinner, now spread out on the table. “Of course, if you want dinner to be edible, you might want to pitch in.”
“You can’t cook?”
“Let’s just say that a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and microwaved oatmeal are my specialties.”
Richard shook his head. “Move over,” he said, nudging her aside with his hip, then almost immediately regretting the slight contact with her soft curves.
“And stay out of my way,” he added for good measure.
She didn’t seem to take offense. In fact, she looked downright relieved. “Can I set the table? Pour the wine?”
“Sure,” he agreed. “The dishes and wineglasses are in the cabinet right up there.”
He glanced over as she reached for them and found himself staring at an inch of pale skin as her sweater rode up from the waistband of her slacks. She had a very trim waist. He wanted very badly to skim a finger across that tiny bit of exposed flesh to see if it was as soft and satiny as it looked. He wasn’t used to being turned on by so little. She had to be some kind of wizard to make him want her without half-trying. Only because he didn’t want to let on how hot and bothered he was did he resist the desire to snag the bottom of her sweater and tug it securely back into place. He could just imagine her reaction to that. She’d know right then and there that she had the upper hand. Who knew how she’d use that little piece of information.
“Have you had this place a long time?” she asked when she finally had all the dishes in her arms. As she turned and set the precariously balanced load on the table, her sweater slid back into place, thank God.
“Since we were kids,” he told her as he scrubbed the potatoes. “Destiny missed the water and the country when she came back from living in France, so we piled into the car one weekend and went exploring. She spotted this house and fell in love with it.”
“I can understand why. The view of the Potomac is incredible. It must be wonderful to sit on the front porch in the summer and watch the boats on the water and listen to the waves.”
“I suppose it is,” he said, distracted by the dreamy note in her voice.
Melanie gave him a knowing look. “How long has it been since you’ve done that?”
“Years,” he admitted. “Usually when I come down here, I bring a pile of paperwork and never set foot outside. I come because it’s peaceful and quiet and I know no one will interrupt me.” He regarded her with a wry expression. “Not usually, anyway.”
Melanie nodded as if she’d expected the response. “I’d read that you were a workaholic.”
“Just proves the media gets it right once in a while.”
“Haven’t you ever heard that all work and no play makes one dull?”
He shrugged. “I never really cared.”
She studied him curiously. “What kind of image do you see yourself projecting as a candidate?”
Richard paused as he was about to put the potatoes into the oven. He hadn’t yet given the matter much thought. He should have. Instead, he’d based his decision to run for office on the expected progression of his life carefully planned out by his father, probably while Richard was still in diapers.
“I want people to know I’m honest,” he began, considering his reply thoughtfully. “I want them to believe that I’ll work hard and that I’ll care about their problems, about the issues that matter to them.”
“That’s good,” she said. “But did you go to public school?”
“No.”
“Have you ever had to struggle for money, been out of work?”
“No.”
“Ever been denied a place to live because of the color of your skin?”
He flushed slightly. “No.”
“Do you have good medical insurance?”
“Of course. So do my employees.”
“Ever had to go without a prescription because you couldn’t afford it?”
“No.” He saw where she was going, and it grated on his nerves.
“Then what makes you think they’ll believe you can relate to their problems?” she asked.
“Look, I can’t help that I’ve led a life of privilege, but I can care about people who haven’t. I can be innovative about ways to solve their problems. I know a lot about business. Some of those principles can be applied to government as well,” he said, barely able to disguise his irritation. “Look, I don’t get this. If you think I’m such a lousy candidate, why do you want to work for me?”
She grinned. “So I can show you how to be a good candidate, maybe even a great one.”
He shook his head at her audacity. “Confident, aren’t you?”
“No more so than you are. You believe in yourself. I believe in myself. That could be the beginning of a great team.”
“Or a disaster waiting to happen,” he said, not convinced. “Two egos butting heads at every turn.”
“Maybe, but if we remember that we both have the same goal, I’m pretty sure that will get us through any rough patches.”
Richard considered her theory as he heated the fancy grill that was part of the restaurant-caliber stove he’d had installed once he’d taken up gourmet cooking to relax. He tossed on the steaks. “How do you want it?” he asked.
Melanie stared at him, looking puzzled. “Want what?”
He grinned. “Your steak.”
“Well-done,” she said at once.
“I should have guessed.”
“I suppose you eat yours raw,” she muttered.
“Rare,” he corrected.
“Same thing. It’s all very macho.”
“I suppose you think I should give up beef or something to appease the vegetarian voters.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. There must be a zillion very popular steak houses in the Washington area. There’s your constituency.”
“I like to think I can relate to people who prefer lobster, too.”
She laughed and shook her head. “My work is so cut out for me.”
“You don’t have the job,” he reminded her.
She stepped up beside him and snagged a slice of red pepper from the pan of vegetables he was sautéing. Then she grinned. “I will,” she said with total confidence.
Richard got that same odd sensation in the pit of his stomach, the one he used to get right before a roller coaster crested the top of the tracks and pitched down in a mad burst of speed. He looked at Melanie as she licked a trace of olive oil from the tip of her finger and felt that same mix of excitement and fear. He hadn’t been in waters this deep and dangerous in years. Maybe never.
Damn Destiny. She’d known exactly what she was doing by pushing this woman into his life, and it didn’t have a bloody thing to do with getting him elected to office or polishing the image of Carlton Industries around the globe. Melanie was to be the key player in Destiny’s latest skirmish to marry him off.
Well, he didn’t have to take the bait. He could keep his hormones under control and his hands to himself. No problem. At least, as long as Melanie stopped looking at him with those big, vulnerable brown eyes. Those eyes made him want to give her whatever she wanted, made him want to take whatever he wanted.
Yep, those eyes were trouble. Too bad she wasn’t one of those sophisticated women who wore sunglasses night and day as part of their fashion statement. Then he might have a shot at sticking to his resolve.
As it was, he was probably doomed.
3 (#ulink_f5236e8d-cbea-5ea5-90db-9b6be58cf063)
Though he’d stopped scowling after his second glass of wine, Richard didn’t seem as if he was being won over, Melanie concluded reluctantly. He was being civil, not friendly. And he definitely wasn’t leaving her much of an opening to start pitching her PR plan. Drastic measures were called for. Destiny had seemed certain that food was the answer, so Melanie had added a touch of her own to the meal.
“I stopped and picked up ice cream for the pie,” she told him, hoping she’d guessed right that a man who loved cherry pie would prefer it à la mode.
He actually smiled for the first time—a totally unguarded reaction, for once. Just as Melanie had remembered, the effect was devastating. The smile made his blue eyes sparkle and emphasized that there really were laugh lines at the corners. It also eased the tension in his square jaw.
