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“But I have a plan,” she said, reaching for her proposal. It was a darned good one, too. She’d slaved over it for days.
His gaze never left her face. “So do I.”
Her pulse kicked up a notch. “We’re not on the same track, are we?”
“Not so far,” he agreed, his expression sober, his eyes filled with unexpected heat.
To Melanie’s sincere regret, somewhere deep inside, she wasn’t nearly as upset by that as she should have been. Even so, she was holding out for what she wanted…the very lucrative contract. Sleeping with Richard to get it simply wasn’t in the cards.
“Then I suppose I should help you clean up,” she said as if the rest of it didn’t matter. “Then I’ll get out of your hair so you can go back to work. Good thing I’m never without a good book to read.”
“No room for negotiation?” he inquired.
“None,” she said flatly.
“Fine,” he said, giving up what had been little more than a fainthearted battle to begin with. “Never mind cleaning up. I’ll take care of it. You can take the guest room at the top of the stairs on the left. The bathroom’s next door.”
It rankled that he thought he could dismiss her so easily. “You cooked,” she said with determination. “I’ll clean up.”
She met his gaze, challenging him to argue. He didn’t. He merely shrugged. “Suit yourself.” He turned his back and headed to his computer. Within seconds, he appeared to be thoroughly engrossed in a screen of what appeared to her to be incomprehensible columns of figures.
Obviously the man didn’t like to lose, didn’t like the fact that she’d thwarted his plan to turn this weekend into a romantic encounter. Never mind that the encounter was one he hadn’t really wanted. He was obviously more than willing to take advantage of the circumstances since the opportunity had presented itself. Of course, he was just as willing to forget about it, which meant he’d only been toying with her, playing a game he’d been prepared to lose.
Ignoring Richard, Melanie managed to get the dishes, pots and pans into the dishwasher with a minimum of banging, despite her desire to make as much racket as possible. She still held out a slim hope that in the clear light of day, Richard would recognize that he had behaved badly and would at least consider her proposal on its merits. Destiny believed her nephew was a man of integrity, and Melanie very much wanted to believe her friend was right.
“Good night,” she muttered as she stalked past him on her way upstairs.
He mumbled a response, as if he were totally distracted, but she knew better. She could feel his gaze following her as she left the room and climbed the stairs.
Inside the guest room, which had charming chintz wallpaper above old-fashioned white beadboard especially suited to a beach cottage, Melanie sank onto the queen-size bed with its antique iron headboard and tried to figure out how the evening had gone so dreadfully awry. It wasn’t as if she’d never been propositioned before. It happened all the time. It wasn’t as if Richard had pushed after she’d said no. In fact, he’d taken her at her word and remained reasonably good-humored about the firm rejection.
And wasn’t that the real problem? Had she wanted him to ride roughshod over her objections? Had she wanted him to sweep her into his arms, kiss her until she melted and then carry her up to this very romantic bed? She’d never been one to lie to herself, and the truth was that a part of her had wanted exactly that. Thankfully, sanity had prevailed—his apparently more so than hers. Her principles remained intact, as much a credit to his restraint as to her stern words. She would be able to face him in the morning with head held high.
She picked up a down pillow and pummeled it. Fat lot of comfort those principles were going to be during the rest of this long, cold night.
Richard was up at dawn after a restless night. He felt oddly disgruntled, as if he’d done something wrong, something he ought to apologize for, but damned if he knew what that was. He’d made his desire for Melanie clear. She’d said no. He’d accepted that. The exchange should have ended the evening with no hard feelings.
Instead, she’d stalked off as if he’d offended her. Damned if he would ever understand women. He thought he’d given her what she wanted, a night alone in her own bed.
Of course, what she really wanted was that consulting job, and he wasn’t prepared to offer her that. She’d drive him crazy in days, maybe even hours.
He was drinking his first cup of his special-blend coffee, when he heard her tentative footsteps coming downstairs. Uncertain what to expect, he tightened his grip on his cup and watched the doorway with a grim expression.
Instead of the dour, accusing woman he was expecting, in walked Little Mary Sunshine, all smiles and bright eyes.
“Good morning,” she said cheerfully. “Isn’t the snow gorgeous? I’ve never been at the beach after a snowstorm before. It really is like a winter wonderland out there, don’t you think?”
“I suppose,” he said cautiously.
“Haven’t you even looked outside?”
“Of course I have.” The truth was, he’d been too dismayed by the sight of the impassable roads to take much joy in the picturesque landscape.
As if she’d read his mind, she laughed. “You’re panicked because there’s no chance of me getting out of here this morning, aren’t you?”
“I’m sure you have things you’d rather be doing,” he said defensively. “Places you’d rather be.”
“Not really,” she said cheerfully.
Richard stared at her. Only after he’d studied her closely did he detect the faint wariness in her eyes. She was putting on a show for him, and it was a pretty decent one. It had almost had him fooled.
“Want some breakfast?” he asked.
“Cereal will do.”
“I was thinking of making French toast with maple syrup. That’s what Destiny always makes when we’re here. She considered it a vacation treat.”
Her eyes lit up, and this time her enthusiasm seemed genuine. “And you can make French toast?”
He laughed at the hint of amazement in her voice. “It’s not that hard.”
He moved past her, gathered a few eggs, butter and milk from the refrigerator.
“I’ll set the table,” she said, heading toward the dishwasher.
“I’ve already put the dishes away,” he told her.
“How long have you been up?”
“Hours.”
She gave him a knowing look. “Couldn’t sleep?”
“I’m always an early riser.”
“Not me. I like sleeping in. Being up at dawn is unnatural.”
“Not once you’ve seen a sunrise over the river,” he said. “Grab a couple of plates and a bowl, then come over here.”
She set the dishes on the table, then regarded him warily. “Why over there?”
“I’m going to teach you how to make this. You might as well go away from this weekend with one new skill.”
She backed off as if he’d suggested teaching her alligator-wrestling. “I don’t think so. You probably only have a dozen eggs here. I can ruin more than that without half-trying.”
Richard refused to back down. “Over here, or I’ll think you’re scared of being close to me.” He met her gaze. “Maybe even tempted to take me up on that proposition I made last night.”
“That was a bad idea,” she reminded him.
“Yeah, I got that.”
“But I’m not scared of you.”
He bit back a grin. “If you say so.” He held out an egg. “Break this into the bowl. Try not to get any shell in there.”
She smashed it with so much enthusiasm, he suspected she was pretending it was his skull. Egg and shell dribbled into the bowl. He dumped the mess into the sink and handed her another egg. “Try again.”
“Wouldn’t it be easier if you just went ahead and did it?”
“Easier, but you wouldn’t learn anything.”
“It’s not your job to be my cooking instructor.”
“It is if I ever expect you to prepare a meal for me.”
Her hand stilled over the bowl. “I thought we’d settled that. There’s not going to be anything personal between us.”
“That would be the smart plan,” he agreed, not entirely sure why he was so determined to pursue this. He was always, always smart. He skirted around mistakes at all costs, especially when they were staring him right in the face in a way that made them totally avoidable.
“It’s the only plan,” she insisted.
“Not really.” He placed a hand over hers and guided it gently to the side of the bowl, then cracked the egg. It fell neatly into the bowl without so much as a sliver of shell. Melanie stared at it in obvious surprise.
“Now do that without my help,” he instructed.
She broke another egg and then a third one, looking more incredulous each time she succeeded. “Well, I’ll be darned.” She gazed up at him. “Now what?”
“Now we add a little milk, a touch of vanilla, and whip it till it’s frothy.”
Clearly more confident, she reached for the milk and added a too-generous splash. She was a little too stingy with the vanilla, but he refrained from comment and handed her the whisk. She stared at it as if it were a foreign object. Richard bit back another smile. “You use it to whip the eggs.”
“Why not a beater?”
“This is easier.” He nudged her aside with his hip and took the whisk. “Like this.”
She watched him closely, a little furrow of concentration knitting her brow. He couldn’t help wondering if she was this intense about everything she did. Best not to go there.
“Now you do it,” he said, handing the whisk back.
She tackled the task with more enthusiasm than finesse, but she got the job done with only a minimal amount of splashing. There was enough egg left in the bowl for at least a couple of pieces of French toast.
Hiding his amusement, Richard put some butter in a pan, then handed her the bread. “Dip it in the eggs till both sides are coated, then put it in the pan once the butter’s melted. I’ll get the syrup.”
He turned away for no more than a few seconds, but that was long enough for her to manage to splatter her hand with the now-sizzling butter. He heard her curse and turned back to find her with tears in her eyes.
“Let me see,” he commanded.
“It’s nothing,” she protested. “Just a little burn. I told you I’m hopeless in the kitchen.”
“Not hopeless, just inexperienced. Sit down. I’ll get some ointment for your hand.”
“The French toast will be ruined,” she argued.
“Then we’ll make more.” He took the pan off the burner, grabbed the first-aid kit, then pulled a chair up beside hers. “Let me see.”
She held out her right hand, which already had a blister the size of a dime. He took her hand in his, trying not to notice how soft it was and how it seemed to fit so perfectly in his own. He put a little of the salve on the blister, but couldn’t bring himself to release her hand. Instead, he waited until her head came up and her gaze met his.
“I’m sorry about last night,” he apologized. “I never meant to make you uncomfortable. I don’t even know why I said those things. I just wanted to push your buttons, I guess.”
Temper immediately flashed in her eyes. “It was some kind of game? You didn’t really want to sleep with me? I knew it. What kind of man are you?”
Uh-oh. That had definitely come out all wrong. “No,” he said at once. “That’s not it. Dammit, somehow whenever I’m with you, my words get all tangled up.”
“I seem to have the same difficulty,” she admitted with obvious reluctance.
He wanted to be sure she understood. “I do want you, but I also respect what you were saying about not getting involved with a client or even a prospective client. Besides, it’s not as if we know each other well enough for me to haul you off to bed. That’s not a step two people should take on impulse.”
“No,” she agreed softly.
He risked another look into her eyes. The temper had faded, replaced by heat of another kind entirely. She lifted her uninjured hand and touched his cheek.
“Impulses are a risky thing,” she said.
“Melanie.” His voice sounded choked.
“Yes, Richard.”
“It’s still a bad idea. You were right about that.”
“I know,” she said, but her hand continued to rest against his cheek.
“I still want to kiss you,” he murmured honestly, aware that he was testing the waters, waiting for a response. When she didn’t protest or back away, the last of his resolve vanished. “Ah, hell,” he whispered, reaching for her.
She tasted of mint-flavored toothpaste and coffee. It wasn’t a combination he would normally have found the slightest bit seductive, but right this second it struck him as heavenly. He wanted more.
Her lips were as soft and clever as he’d dreamed about during the long, lonely night. Her tongue was downright wicked.
But even as his senses whirled and his blood heated, his conscience wouldn’t stay silent. A nagging voice kept asking him what the hell he thought he was doing. Seducing the sexiest woman to cross his path in months did not strike him as an adequate answer. It certainly wouldn’t hold up to a grilling by his aunt, who was this woman’s friend. Destiny might have a plan for the two of them, but he was relatively confident this wasn’t it.
Eventually he let the voice in his head win, releasing Melanie reluctantly and sitting back on his chair, his hands clenched together as if he didn’t quite trust them to do what his head told them to do.
“Sorry,” he murmured.
“I kissed you back,” she said honestly.
He grinned at her determined attempt to be fair. It was not an attitude he especially deserved, and they both knew it. “True enough,” he said anyway, because he liked putting some heat into her eyes.
“You don’t have to gloat,” she grumbled.
