Читать книгу The Bachelor Bid - Kate Denton, Kate Denton - Страница 7

CHAPTER TWO

“HI, SIS,” two voices sang in unison as Cara dragged through her front door that evening. She dropped onto the couch, slipping out of her high heels and propping her aching feet on the coffee table. “Hi,” she said unenthusiastically. “Hello, Flake,” she said in the same voice to the white cat who’d sprung into her lap.

“What’s wrong?” Mark asked. He undraped himself from his chair and deposited an apple core into the wastebasket.

“Yes, you look like you’ve lost your best friend,” Meg added. “What’s the problem?”

Cara gave her brother and sister a wan smile. Ever since Brooke had gotten on the Wyatt kick. Cara had been complaining to her siblings about her doomed crusade. “What else? Wyatt McCauley, the bane of my existence. I’ve tried every maneuver I can think of to get him to agree to that dratted auction. I’m flat out of ideas. You two got any brilliant suggestions?”

“Maybe you should just ask him to do it as a personal favor to you...” Meg said, batting her eyes exaggeratingly.

“Maybe I should make you ask him.” Cara shook her head at Meg’s antics.

“No way. But what’s wrong with your using a more personal touch?”

“Meg, the man only knows me well enough not to like me very much. He thinks I’m...well, I’m not sure what he thinks, only it’s not good. But Flake likes me, don’t you, sweetums?” The cat butted its head against Cara’s hand to demand she scratch his ears.

“If the guy knew as much about babes as he does computers, he’d think you were a complete wow,” Mark defended.

“Thanks, honey, but I’m not the wow type, especially to men like McCauley—who, by the way, is no slouch in the looks department. Gorgeous women by the score are just begging to have their numbers entered in his personal Rolodex. There’s no space for someone who’s merely average, like me.”

“Quit underrating yourself, Cara. You’ve got a lot going for you. Smart...pretty.”

“And a brother who’s prejudiced.”

“No, for once in his life, Marko’s on target,” Meg joined in. “You are date bait. You just need to get out more, to mingle. All you do is work and take care of us. It’s not fair to you.”

“I like taking care of you.” Cara had been doing so for the past seven years, ever since their parents were killed in an automobile accident. At the time Cara was barely twenty-one, Meg and Mark twelve and thirteen, respectively. The bond between the three was irrevocable. “Have you got complaints?”

“Not a one.” Meg stood behind Cara’s chair and massaged her sister’s knotted shoulder muscles. “But what happens when we leave the nest? When you’re on your own—all alone—wondering where your life went, where all the good men went.”

“Oh, I oughta have a couple of years left to find someone after I get rid of you two, thank you very much. That is, if there actually are any ‘good men’ out there.”

“That experience with Don has given you an attitude,” Meg scolded, abandoning the massage and circling the sofa to sit by Cara. “Just because he let you down doesn’t mean—”

“Learning Don’s true nature was traumatic,” Cara said, “and an experience I don’t care to repeat.”

From the day she’d met Don Axton, Cara had deferred to him totally. Don loved running the show and she’d followed his every dictate, catered to his every whim. Then when she’d desperately needed him to lean on, he’d suffered a meltdown like a hailstone after a summer storm. But he’d left behind a new doctrine for Cara. Never again would she abdicate control of her life. And if she ever allowed a guy to get close, it would be one she could depend on to stick around.

“But if you don’t open yourself up, take some risks...” Meg was obviously intent on continuing her gloomy forecast for Cara’s fate—the fate Cara could expect unless she took action now.

Meg was a smart girl, an honors student majoring in Textiles and Apparel, her eventual goal to design under her own label of high-fashion clothing. But despite the brains and ambition, Meg was also given to flights of fancy. Time for Cara to rein her in. “Enough discussion of my love life—”

“What love life?” her sister persisted. “If you don’t watch out, that ship will have sailed without you.”

“Great. According to you, now I’ve got two things to fret about—the auction and my dull, dreary future. Thanks a lot. I think I’ll go console myself with food. Have you all eaten?” Cara rose and started toward the kitchen, her brother and sister tagging along.

They were almost through their tuna casserole when Meg leaned forward on her elbows, her eyebrows—blond and arched like Cara’s—now pinched together. “We’ve got to figure out a new strategy.”

“Strategy for what?” Cara asked warily.

“For snagging the Great McCauley, of course.”

Cara sighed. If there was any subject less appealing at suppertime than a lost love, it was Wyatt McCauley.

“I’m pretty sure he jogs at Town Lake every morning. My friend Ginger has seen him there two or three times. She likes to follow him, to watch his moves. Says he has great buns, says—”

“Meg, is there a point to this?”

“Oh, yeah... well, tomorrow’s Saturday, see. You could get there before he arrives and sort of accidentally on purpose run into him, then—”

“I’d like to run into him,” Mark broke in. “Hard. Then when he’s lying on his back, let him know how difficult he’s making it for Cara with her boss.”

Cara smiled. “Thanks, guys, but I don’t think either method of running into him would help my cause.”

“Mine might,” Meg said, refusing to give up on her idea. “He’ll be on an exercise high, in a great mood, you’ll ask him again and—kaboom!—he’ll consent.”

“I can’t imagine anyone getting in a good mood by working up a sweat.” Cara hated exercise. As far as she was concerned, workouts—the fewer the better—were to be endured the same as spinach or broccoli on the dinner plate. Just because something was good for you didn’t make it palatable. “I have no desire to mix with that throng of physical fitness buffs at Town Lake,” she said. “Especially on the first Saturday in weeks when I don’t have to work. I prefer to use my day off for something useful—like sleeping late.”

“Listen to yourself,” Meg scolded. “Preferring sleeping to meeting guys. I’ve met some fine—”

“Meg!” Cara’s hand signaled “stop.” “First, Wyatt McCauley’s a business project, not a potential romance. Second, he’s my problem to solve, not yours. You’ve got your own concerns to deal with...like school. That reminds me—when are midterms scheduled?”

“You sure know how to kill a conversation,” Mark groaned, then he and Meg began filling Cara in on their course activities.

The meal over, Meg and Mark were studying and Cara was washing the dinner dishes when the telephone rang.

“Well?”

The caller was Brooke. The one-word question—and the fact Brooke was phoning from Dallas just hours after Cara had seen her off from the Austin airport—spoke volumes. Cara might be able to quiet Mark and Meg on the subject of Wyatt McCauley, but she wasn’t about to silence her boss. Like it or not, Cara had to try, try again.

Meg’s informant had been correct. Less than a hundred yards away, chugging toward her, was McCauley—head erect, body balanced, intense and wide awake. Cara couldn’t say the same thing for herself. She stifled an emerging yawn and pretended to stretch her muscles as she surreptitiously watched his advance. The closer he got, the better he looked.

He was dressed in a gray T-shirt and skimpy gray running shorts, his legs tanned and well-proportioned. The man’s body was as perfect as his face.

Self-consciously Cara stared down at her own bare legs, which seldom saw the sun, thanks to long work hours. True, there was no cellulite...yet, but the color was a hospital white. Why should I care how I look? This isn’t about me. Yet Cara had begun to feel as though it was.

Resisting an urge to trip the man for yesterday’s upbraiding, Cara trotted up beside him, praying she could maintain the pace long enough to pitch the auction again.

Without breaking stride, he gave her a surprised flick of the eye. “Well, hello, Ms. Breedon. Fancy meeting you here.”

The edge in his tone wasn’t unexpected. “I happened to spy you jogging my way...decided to see if you’ve reconsidered helping us out.”

“I did help—two checks, remember?”

“Your presence would aid even more,” she said in a slightly breathy voice.

“No can do. Sorry.” He sped up.

She sped up, too, determined not to lose him. “Are you sure?” Her voice was now jagged.

“Positive.”

“Can’t I—” pant, pant “—say anything to change your mind?”

“I think you’ve said it all. Might as well give it up.”

“I—” gasp “—can’t take—” another gasp “—no for an answer.”

He glanced over at her, then began slowing before stopping altogether. “Oh, for heaven’s sake, sit down before you collapse.”

Gratefully Cara dropped onto the grass. She took in great gulps of air and mopped her brow with a soggy tissue from her pocket. She guessed her face to be the shade of a boiled lobster from the physical exertion. After only a brief jog, her clothes were plastered to her body, wild strands of hair escaping from her ponytail.

It wasn’t fair that, even sweaty, he still looked wonderful. The damp T-shirt clinging to his chest only emphasized his pectoral muscles and washboard torso.

Wyatt pulled a terry-cloth towel from his waistband to dry his face and neck, leaned against a tree to do a couple of calf stretches, then flopped down beside her, trying to come to terms with the rush of exhilaration he’d felt on seeing Cara. Every time he thought he’d brushed off the woman, she was back, as relentless as gum stuck to the bottom of his shoe. So why in Hades should he be secretly glad to see her? Anyone with the brains of a gnat would be seizing the advantage of superior conditioning and making a getaway. But not you, McCauley—you blew it. Well, he’d simply have to use other means to discourage her from this ceaseless pursuit.

He waited until Cara’s breathing had settled then took her hand. “Listen, sweet cakes...” Cara yanked the hand away, but not before Wyatt’s fingertips had memorized the softness of her skin.

So she objects to being called “sweet cakes.” Wyatt smiled. Or is it the touch she objects to?

He had to admit that she was cute, especially now, all warm and rosy-cheeked. Those tender feelings were resurfacing. Whatever he tried to tell himself, part of him didn’t want to get rid of Cara Breedon. Part of him... He stole a peek at her again and felt the temptation to smooth back one of those wayward wisps of golden hair.

Seeming to read his thoughts, Cara brushed at the unruly hair herself. As she did, Wyatt couldn’t help noticing—no wedding ring. Cara Breedon was not only cute, she was available. Cool it, McCauley. You’re growing soft in the head. The lady’s marital status is irrelevant. Remember her mission. He should be taking steps to stop this paparazzi-like hounding. Since plain talk and directness didn’t seem to work, maybe it was time for a different approach, a little reverse psychology.

Wyatt took Cara’s hand again and held it. When she tried to pull away, he held tighter. “Don’t be standoffish,” he chided. “You’ve caught my attention like you wanted, so tell me about yourself.”

“There’s nothing to tell.”

Still holding on to her, he lay back, pulling her down beside him. “Oh, don’t be so modest. Surely there is. Who’s the real Cara Breedon?”

She quickly sat up and scooted a few feet away. “No one important.”

“Ah, but important enough to have wormed her way into my life.” He sat up and moved nearer, resting his chin on her shoulder.

“Are you going to do the auction or not?” Cara blurted.

“I might be tempted...with the proper incentive.” He grinned knowingly and, cupping her chin, pulled it toward him, his eyes growing smoky as his lips edged closer.

Cara jerked back.

“Don’t act so coy,” he drawled, the eyes now twinkling. “After all, you’ve been after me for weeks.”

Was he serious or simply toying with her? Cara disliking both scenarios, shifted farther away, drawing Wyatt’s laughter.

“I hope you’re having fun,” she huffed.

“That I am.”

“Well, fun or not, I don’t appreciate your conduct one bit.”

“Maybe I merely wanted to see how far you’d go to please your boss...” Wyatt let the taunt hang in the air. He was still smiling.

“Believe me, not that far,” Cara answered, staggering to her feet. Oh, what she’d give to swipe away that cocky grin of his.

“Well, if you have a change of heart—”

“You don’t quit, do you?”

“Something we have in common.”

“It’s the only thing.” Cara staggered off as fast as her wobbly legs could manage, feeling Wyatt’s eyes on her every inch of the trek to the parking lot. She crawled into her car and slammed the door. “That does it! I’m through with that...that exasperating man. Nothing’ll make me have anything more to do with him. Not even Brooke threatening me with insubordination.” Cara continued the ranting all the way home.

True to her word, Cara remained steadfast against Brooke’s nudges all week, each time telling her, “It’s no use.” If it was to be a choice between appeasing Brooke or enduring another minute with McCauley, then Brooke’s happiness would have to be sacrificed.

“You know I’m not free to handle this myself,” Brooke complained. “Am I going to have to assign it to someone else?”

The moment of reckoning was at hand. “I suppose you are,” Cara answered evenly. “He’s resisted every single overture. My bag of tricks is empty.” Cara was not about to reveal Wyatt’s unseemly proposition.

“But everyone’s tied up on the new project,” Brooke argued, unwilling to accept Cara’s throwing in the towel.

Cara shrugged.

“The programs must go to the printer,” Brooke whined.

“Absolutely,” Cara said. “The auction’s only two weeks from tomorrow.”

“We still ought to compile a bio, prepare some publicity on Wyatt, in case he relents.”

“He’s not going to.”

Steadfast or not, Cara’s patience with the subject had run its course. She’d love to have a punching bag with Wyatt McCauley’s image on it. And a dartboard with Brooke’s. The two of them had made her a wreck. One as overbearing as a rottweiler and the other as tenacious as a rat terrier.

Brooke would probably still be hammering away about Wyatt the night of the auction. But at least she’d finally yielded to the reality that the programs couldn’t wait. They would be at the printer’s first thing Friday morning.

On the way home that afternoon, Cara picked up her brother and sister from the university library, then stopped at Central Market for groceries. As she pulled into the parking space, Mark and Meg spotted a group of friends on the patio of the market restaurant and scurried to join them, leaving Cara to shop alone. She was weighing tomatoes when she felt a tap on her shoulder. She turned around.

“We meet again.” It was Wyatt McCauley. “I’ve missed you,” he said. “Almost a week and no contact.”

“I’m sure you’ve been waiting with bated breath.” She set the tomatoes in her shopping cart and began examining the bell peppers, doing her darnedest to ignore the man hovering over her.

He picked up a large pepper and held it out to her. “This looks like a good one.”

“I like these better.” Rejecting the proffered pepper, she bagged two others and moved to weigh them. Wyatt was right beside her.

“Trying to snare another bachelor for the auction with a home-cooked meal?”

Cara rolled her eyes and pushed her shopping cart away. Wyatt trailed behind her. “Are you a good cook?” he asked.

Stopping the cart, Cara glared at him. “Now what are you up to?”

“Nothing sinister. Just trying to learn more about you.” Wyatt’s expression was the picture of innocence. “As I said before, you’ve captured my attention. Surely you don’t mind my tagging along while you shop.”

“But I do mind, so stop it,” she hissed.

“No fun when you’re the one pursued instead of the pursuer, hmm?”

“Is that what this is all about? Revenge for my bothering you? Then I apologize. I most humbly apologize. Now leave me alone.”

“Have dinner with me.”

“As you can see, I already have dinner plans.” Cara gestured at her half-filled shopping cart.

“Change them.”

“I can’t.”

“Some starved guy waiting for you to fix his favorite meal?”

“Matter of fact, there is.” My brother. Mark was a bottomless pit, always hungry. Thank goodness he and Meg were occupied right now. She wanted no spectators at this ridiculous scene.

“Is he someone special?” There was pure seduction in Wyatt’s voice.

“What’s it to you?”

“Just sizing up the competition.”

“Competition? Believe me, there’s no competition.”

“That’s nice to know.”

“Hold it. Let me make myself crystal clear. There is no competition because you are not in the running for anything involving me. Besides, you’ll never convince me you’re really on the level.” Cara selected three chicken breasts and waited for the butcher to wrap them.

“It might be fun trying.” Wyatt draped an arm around her shoulder.

“What’s with you?” Cara asked, shrugging free. “Friday you were brusque, Saturday offensive, and now, now... Your behavior is definitely worsening.” She pointed toward a nearby store employee. “Do I need to ask for protection against more harassment?”

“Oh, I see,” he said with a knowing nod. “Okay for me to be harassed—at work no less, but when the tables are turned, the lady’s ready to scream ‘stalker.’ Is that how it goes?”

“I’ve already apologized for bothering you. What else can I do?”

“Have dinner with me. If not tonight, then tomorrow.”

She held her palms up. “Look. I explained that—”

“Tsk, tsk. What would your employer think? Passing up a golden opportunity to boost the auction again? A chance to lobby for your cause all evening.”

“And what good would it do? You’d still say ‘no.’ Or attach strings. As far as I’m concerned, your refusal to participate is final and I have no intention of asking you again. Goodbye, Mr. McCauley.”

“Surely not goodbye.” He gazed deeply into her eyes.

It was all Cara could do not to melt into a puddle at his feet. Wyatt McCauley seemed to inspire sappy behavior. “I’ve got to be going.”

“When will I see you again?”

“How about never?” She rolled her cart toward the front of the store.

Wyatt watched Cara push up to a checkout lane, braking the urge to follow. Wandering over to the coffee bins, he tried to figure out why the woman intrigued him so. She’d been nothing but a grade-A irritation, so why had he even approached her tonight, much less invited her to dinner? He’d only stopped at Central Market for coffee beans, milk and fresh fruit. But then he’d glimpsed Cara and his senses had gone haywire.

Foolish of him abetting her shenanigans on behalf of the bachelor auction. He was asking for trouble by stirring her up. She might start a new recruiting drive... Wyatt shook his head. He didn’t really believe that. Everything about Cara said she had washed her hands of him.

He’d like to change her attitude. His earlier words weren’t simply a line. He had missed her. There was something about Cara that commanded his thoughts, excited him. And Wyatt hadn’t been excited by a woman in a long, long time.