Читать книгу On Temporary Terms - Джанис Мейнард, Janice Maynard - Страница 11

Two

Abby chose to wait a week before contacting Duncan Stewart. That would give her time to decide if she really wanted to go out with him. If she realized in the interim that he had only been playing with her, then she wouldn’t have embarrassed herself for nothing.

She planned to call him the following Saturday morning. The Friday night before, Lara was at her house for a battle-of-the-Chrises movie night. It was an old game they played. Tonight would be Chris Pine versus Chris Hemsworth.

While they popped popcorn in the kitchen, Lara rummaged in the fridge. “Has your dad harassed you lately?” she asked, popping the tab on a soda and taking a sip before hopping up on the butcher block countertop and dangling her legs.

Abby grimaced. “No, thank God. He’s been suspiciously quiet. Almost too quiet. Makes me nervous.”

“Mom wanted me to make sure you know you’re invited to our place for Thanksgiving.”

“That’s a long time from now,” Abby said, her throat tight.

“Not all that long. My mom loves you. Our whole family loves you. It’s not your fault that your father has gone off the deep end.”

Abby dumped the popcorn into two bowls and sighed. “It feels like my fault. Maybe I should have tried harder to get him medical help. I don’t know if he has diagnosable medical issues or if he’s just a deeply disturbed jerk.”

“I shouldn’t have brought it up,” Lara said, her expression rueful. “But I can’t bear to see you go through the holidays again like you did last year. That was hell. You’re like my sister, Abbs. And you deserve better.” She hopped down and grabbed a bowl. “Enough gloomy talk. Let’s eat. Don’t forget the cheesecake I brought.”

“Do cheesecake and popcorn really go together?”

“Cheesecake goes with everything,” Lara said.

An hour and a half later, when the first movie credits rolled, Abby was already yawning. “Sorry,” she muttered. “I didn’t sleep much last night.”

Lara kicked her foot. “Dreaming about the luscious Scotsman?”

“Not exactly. He hasn’t contacted me, you know.”

“If I’m not mistaken, you told him to give you time to think about it.”

“I did.”

“So what’s the problem?”

“I don’t know if I want to go out with him.”

“Liar.”

“Excuse me!” Abby said, affronted.

“Of course you want to go out with him. But you’re scared.”

“Oh.” That much was true. “I’m fifteen pounds overweight, Lara.”

“Not every guy wants a stick figure. He liked what he saw. And besides, you’re a beautiful woman, whether you believe it or not.”

Easy for Lara to say. She was the epitome of the perfect female. If she weren’t so wonderful, Abby would be compelled to hate her on sight. “Well, it’s a moot point, because he hasn’t gotten back to me, and I honestly don’t think I have the guts to call him.”

“Let’s look at this objectively, honey. How often do new men wander into town?”

“Almost never.”

“And when they do, how often are they young, hot and available?”

“Almost never.”

“And when one of them is young, hot and available, how often is he the decent type who loves his grandma and is willing to sacrifice his own happiness for hers?”

“You’re making him sound like a cross between Robin Hood and James Bond. I’m pretty sure Duncan Stewart just wants to get laid.”

“That’s what all men want. It wouldn’t hurt you either.”

“Lara!”

“You’re staring down the barrel at thirty. Then it’ll be thirty-five and forty. All the good men will be gone. You’ve got a live one on the hook, Abby. Don’t toss him back.”

“That’s the most sexually regressive, ridiculous speech I’ve ever heard.”

“You know I’m right.”

“I don’t see you fishing.”

“Maybe if I had a charming Scotsman asking me out, I would be.”

“I don’t know. He’s arrogant and rich and snarky. Probably hasn’t had to work for anything in his life.”

“Text him. Right now. Tell him yes.”

“You’re bullying me.”

“Correction. I’m encouraging you. There’s a difference.”

Abby picked up her cell phone, her stomach churning. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Do it, Abby.”

Without warning, her cell phone dinged. She was so startled, she almost dropped it. The words on the screen left no doubt about the sender.

Have I given ye enough time, lass? Dinner Tuesday? Pick you up at 6?

“It’s him, Lara.” She held out the phone. “He must have been serious.”

Lara read the text and beamed. “Of course he was serious. The man has good taste. Text him back. Hurry.”

Hands shaking, Abby pecked out a reply...

Two conditions. We don’t call it a date. And you let me tell you about the offer on your grandmother’s business...

She hit Send and sighed. “I’m not finishing the rest of that dessert. Do you think I can lose ten pounds by Tuesday?”

Lara handed her a fork. “Eat the damn cheesecake. You’re perfect just the way you are. If Duncan Stewart doesn’t agree, he’s an idiot.”

* * *

Duncan had fallen into a routine of sorts. It wasn’t familiar, and it wasn’t home, but for the moment, it was workable. His grandmother liked to sleep later in her old age. Since Duncan was up early every day, he headed into town and opened up the office before anyone else arrived. He liked having a chance to look over things unobserved.

He was definitely the new kid on the block. All the staff had been cordial and helpful, but he guessed they were wondering if anyone would be getting the ax. That wasn’t his plan at all. Stewart Properties appeared to be thriving. It was up to him to make sure that success continued.

The company comprised two equally profitable arms—mountain cabin construction and mountain cabin rentals. Isobel and Geoffrey had capitalized on a tourist market in its infancy decades ago, and had built their reputation bit by bit. The main office had been located in Candlewick since the beginning, but satellite offices operated in Asheville and several other spots within a hundred-mile radius.

In a little over a week’s time, Duncan had learned the basics of daily operations. He had already spotted the invaluable employees and the ones who might be potential problems. Because his training and degrees were in finance, he wasn’t concerned about the accounting practices. Where he would have to pay attention was in the actual design and building modules.

Because his grandmother was determined to maintain her involvement in the day-to-day operations, he went back up the mountain each morning around eleven and picked her up at the palatial wood-and-stone home she and her husband had built for themselves. It was far too big for an elderly widow. It was even too big with Duncan in the house. But Isobel wanted to stay, so the status quo remained.

After a shared lunch in town, Duncan deferred to Isobel’s decisions and insights about the various company decisions. Her mind was as sharp as it ever had been. Her stamina, however, was less reliable. Some days, she made it until closing time at five. Other times, someone was drafted to take her home at three.

This particular Tuesday was a good day. Duncan and Isobel had spent several hours going over potential new architectural plans for a series of cabins to be built on land they had recently acquired. Other, somewhat dated, house plans were being culled.

At last, Isobel closed the final folder and tapped it with a gnarled finger. “These new ones are going to be very popular. You mark my words.”

Duncan scrubbed his hands across his scalp and yawned, standing up when she did. “I believe you, Granny. You’re the boss.”

Isobel reached for his hand and pressed it to her cheek. “Thank you, my boy. Thank you for everything you’ve done for an old woman. It means more to me than you’ll ever know.”

He hugged her, glad she couldn’t see how much he had struggled with the decision to uproot his life. “I love you, Granny. You looked after Brody and me when we were lost boys after Mom and Dad divorced. I owe you for that, even if for nothing else. Besides, I’m enjoying myself.”

And it was true. He was. He hadn’t expected to, not at all, so the rush of adrenaline in the midst of new challenges was a bonus.

When they released each other and stepped back, he grinned. “I suppose I should tell you. I have a date tonight. Don’t wait up for me.”

The old woman’s eyes sparkled, and she chortled with glee. “Do tell, boy. Anybody I know?”

“Abby Hartmann? She’s at the law firm where you sent me to sign the new will.”

“Ah, yes. Abby.” Isobel’s brows narrowed. “Abby is a nice young woman.”

“Why do I get the impression you don’t approve?”

“Abby hasn’t had an easy life. She deserves to be treated well.”

“I wasna’ planning on beating her, Granny.”

“Don’t be sassy, boy. You know what I mean. I’d not want you to trifle with her affections.”

“She strikes me as an extremely savvy young woman. I think she can handle herself.”

“Maybe so. Will you bring her by the house so I can say hello?”

“Next time perhaps. Let’s see how tonight goes.”

Isobel’s eyes gleamed. “So you’re not entirely sure of yourself. That’s a good thing.”

“Whose side are you on?” he complained.

“I’ll always be in your corner, Duncan, but we women have to stick together.”

Several hours later, Duncan parked in front of Abby’s neat, bungalow-style white frame house and studied the property. She lived on a quiet side street only two blocks off the town square. Her handkerchief-sized yard was neatly manicured, and her windows gleamed in the early evening sun.

Since the moment Abby accepted his invitation Friday night, they had texted back and forth a time or two. He found himself eager to see her again, surprisingly so. Perhaps he needed a break from work or a distraction from his complicated new life. Or maybe he simply wanted to determine if the gut-level attraction he experienced in her office was still there.

Her conditions for accepting his invitation had angered him at first. But after some consideration, he decided, what the hell? Abby could talk about this mystery buyer all she wanted. It wasn’t going to change the bottom line.

When she opened the door at his knock, he caught his breath. Her smile was tentative, but everything else about her was no-holds-barred. The glorious hair. Her long-sleeved hunter green silk dress that hugged her hourglass figure from shoulders to knees. Black stiletto heels that gave her an additional few inches of height.

“You look beautiful,” he said gruffly. “I’m very glad you decided to say yes.”

“Me, too. Let me grab my purse.”

They chatted about inconsequential topics on the drive to Claremont, both of them on their best behavior. The drive was just long enough to break the ice. Duncan had chosen an upscale special-occasion restaurant that specialized in French cuisine.

When he helped Abby out of the car, his hand beneath her elbow, the punch of desire left him breathless. He’d been celibate out of necessity during this transition from Scotland to North Carolina, but whatever he felt for the petite lawyer was more than a sexual dry spell. She fascinated him.

Over dinner, he quizzed her about her life. “So tell me about your childhood. Did you always want to be a lawyer? I thought most girls went the princess route at first.”

Abby laughed as he had wanted her to. Her long-lashed eyes reminded him of a kitten he’d had as a boy. He’d named her Smoke, and she had followed him everywhere.

The waiter interrupted momentarily. Afterward, Abby answered his question. “To be honest, I was obsessed with the idea of international studies. I wanted to go to college abroad, anything to get away from my hometown. But I was pragmatic, even as a kid. I knew we didn’t have the finances to swing that. My mom died when I was three, so my dad raised me on his own. Money was always tight.”

“Law school isn’t cheap.”

“No. I was very lucky. Mr. Chester Sr., who was your grandparents’ original lawyer, had a long-standing tradition of mentoring students at the local high school. When he died, his son continued the program. I was fortunate enough to get an internship at the law firm during my senior year in high school. I realized that I liked the work. After four years at a state university, Mr. Chester helped me with law school applications, and I was accepted at Wake Forest. When I finished, they offered me a job here in Candlewick.”

“Didn’t you have aspirations to head for the big city and make your mark?”

Abby’s smile slipped. He couldn’t quite read her expression. “I think we all imagine what it would be like to start over someplace new. For me, the pluses of staying put outweighed any negatives. I haven’t regretted my decisions. How about you, Duncan? What was your life like back in Scotland?”

He shrugged, even now feeling the bittersweet pull of all he had left behind. “Ye’ve heard of the Isle of Skye, I suppose. It’s truly as beautiful as they say. Water and sky and everything in between.”

“You miss it. I hear it in your voice.”

“Aye. But I’m a grown man. I can handle a bit of disappointment.”

“How did you wind up working with your brother?”

“Brody started the boating business, both commercial fishing and tourist craft, when he was in his twenties. When I finished university, he begged me to join him and handle the financial stuff. We’ve had a good partnership over the years.”

“You told me that day in my office that he’s holding the job for you.”

“He wants to. I don’t think it makes sense. Granny is healthy as a horse. She could live for another decade. And I hope she does.”

He was shocked when Abby smiled at him and reached across the table to take one of his hands in hers. Her fingers were soft and warm. “I think you’re a very sweet man, Duncan Stewart.”

“I’m not sweet.” He bristled.

She stroked her thumb across his knuckles. “It’s a compliment.”

“Didn’t sound like one.” He lifted his free hand, the one Abby wasn’t holding, and summoned the waitress. “May we see a dessert menu, please?”

“Oh, not for me,” Abby said, her smile dimming.

“They’re famous for their bread pudding. I read about it on Yelp.”

“You’ll have to eat it. I’m too full.”

“Nonsense. You only had a salad and a tiny chicken breast. I can’t eat dessert alone.”

Now Abby looked genuinely upset. She let go of his hand, leaving him bereft. “No dessert,” she said firmly. “I’m dieting.”

He ordered one for himself anyway and frowned. “Why in God’s name are you dieting, lass? You’re perfect.”

* * *

Abby stared at him, waiting for the punch line...searching for the calculation in his eyes, the attempt to butter her up with compliments to lure her into bed. She saw none of that. Instead, Duncan seemed genuinely baffled and irritated by her insistence on refusing dessert.

She tried again. “You’re tall and lean, Duncan. For women like me who are short and chu—”

He reached across the table and put his hand over her mouth. “Don’t you dare say it. My God, girl. Are the men in this country blind and stupid? I’ve spent every minute of this evening wondering how long it will be until I get to see your naked curvy body pressed up against mine. And you’re worried about dessert?”

The waitress arrived with a decadent bread pudding topped off with real whipped cream. She set the plate on the table with fresh napkins and two spoons and walked away. In the ensuing silence, Abby felt her face turn red. Embarrassment mixed with sexual tension.

Duncan, his expression inscrutable, picked up a spoon and scooped out a bite of caramel-laced, whipped-cream-topped perfection. “Open your mouth, lass. I’ve an urge to feed you, since I can’t do anything else at the moment.”

Abby’s lips parted even as her knees pressed together. The way Duncan Stewart was looking at her ought to be illegal.

He lifted the spoon to her mouth. “Wider,” he said hoarsely.

She obeyed and moaned when he spooned the dessert between her lips. The flavors exploded onto her tongue. She chewed and swallowed, light-headed. Duncan watched her like a hungry hawk studying a mouse. “Do you like it?” he asked. His voice was sandpaper, the accent almost buried beneath rough desire.

“Yes.” The word stuck in her throat. “Do you want some?”

“Only if you feed it to me.”

Abby recognized the sexual challenge for what it was. Never in her life had she found herself in such a position. Duncan Stewart had turned a simple meal into sexual foreplay, and now he demanded an equal partner.

“I don’t sleep with a man on the first date,” she said desperately, reminding herself of all the reasons she made that rule.

“Understood. Besides, this isn’t a date—remember?” He growled his response, restless, agitated. “I’ll settle for dessert. Now, lass. Before it gets cold.”

The way Abby felt, she was never going to be cold again. With trembling fingers, she retrieved the spoon and scooped a bite for Duncan. He watched her intently.

“Stop that,” she complained.

“Stop what?” His complacent smile was suspect.

“Stop imagining me naked.”

“Is that what I was doing? I didn’t know you were a mind reader.”

“Open your mouth, Duncan.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Why had she never realized how erotic it could be to feed a man dessert? When Duncan’s sharp white teeth barely missed her finger as he snagged the pudding, she shuddered. “Is that enough?” She sat back in her chair and took a hasty drink of water, almost choking.

The man laughed at her, damn him.

“I’m still hungry,” he said.

“Feed yourself.”

“If you’re not going to sleep with me tonight, I thought we could at least sublimate.”

“Do they teach you that line in wicked, sexy Scotsman school?”