Читать книгу High-Society Bachelor - Krista Thoren - Страница 12

“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 café 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 naïve 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 blasé 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.”

In spite of her friend’s light tones, her concern was obvious, and Deborah was touched. “I’m fine, Ann. Couldn’t be better.” Well, she could if she didn’t have this hostessing nonsense hanging over her head, but that was a different issue, and she would deal with it.

“Really?” Ann looked dubious.

“Yes. As a matter of fact, when Mark broke off our engagement, I learned a couple of important things. One was that I’d gotten engaged to him mostly to please my mom. I was depressed for a day or so, but I didn’t feel like I’d lost the love of my life. That wasn’t the problem at all.” She drew a breath. “What really got to me was that yet another man in my life had left me.”

“Oh.” Ann’s voice was soft. “That makes sense. Your dad—”

“Yeah.” Deborah swallowed. “There’s no good age to have your father walk out on you, but it sure as heck was no fun at thirteen. And then there was Rick.”

“Rick?” Her friend frowned. “You’ve never mentioned him.”

“True. That’s because I hadn’t thought about him in years, until Mark broke our engagement. Anyway, Rick was my first serious boyfriend. He joined up to fight in the Gulf War and then stayed in the army. He found someone else and sent me a Dear Jane letter.” She could smile about it now, but the teenage Deborah had been devastated.

Ann’s lips tightened. “Jerk. What bad luck.”

“That’s one way of looking at it,” Deborah agreed. “But I always knew Rick was sold on the armed forces, so if I’d thought about it, I could have predicted he’d leave. As for Mark…” She shook her head. “I realized it wasn’t me, personally, he’d rejected. He just wasn’t ready to get married. And neither was I, at least not to him.”

Ann nodded. “There are much more exciting guys out there. You just have to look a little.” She paused. “And when opportunity knocks, you have to take advantage of it.”

Deborah eyed Ann’s bright smile and knew exactly where her thoughts were heading. “Maybe. If it’s the right opportunity.”

“Exactly.” Ann arranged the dough in several pie dishes. Then she looked up. “You have to admit Cameron Lyle is gorgeous. Plus, according to Stella, he’s very generous with clothes for his lady friends. You could enjoy his company without taking him seriously. He’s probably a lot of fun.”

Fun. It wasn’t the word Deborah would have used to describe him, even if she’d wanted to dwell on that particular word. Which she didn’t. Fun reminded her of the gleam in Cameron’s eyes as he asked her what kind they were having.

But she shouldn’t be thinking about that, or about any of the various disturbing images that came to mind. She should be thinking only about getting through this party. Afterward, her contact level with him would be back to the usual hello. It would involve no fun at all.

And definitely no R-rated fun.

THE NEXT MORNING, Deborah took her paperwork down to Cameron. When Barb Metzen, his plump, middle-aged assistant, showed her into his office, he was sitting at his massive cherry desk. Today he wore a charcoal suit. Reading glasses perched on his nose. For some reason, they made him look even more attractive. Distinguished, in fact. His dark hair gleamed in the sunlight that slanted through the window.

He smiled at her, and Deborah felt an unwelcome little jolt hit her spine.

“I’ve got your proposal ready. And I need you to sign the contract.” How annoying to find herself rushing into speech. She accepted a chair. “After you look it over, of course.”

He ignored the papers. He was looking her over instead, his gaze traveling slowly from her ponytail to her bright floral sweatshirt to her red leggings and back up again. As usual, the intensity of his green eyes started a slow heat in her middle.

Deborah decided to go on the offensive. “So how come you don’t have a hostess for this party?”

He raised a brow. “I do. You’re not backing out, are you?”

“I meant from before,” she told him. “I don’t understand why you’re having to come up with someone right now, at the eleventh hour.” She should have thought of that right away. She probably would have, too, if she hadn’t been so dismayed and generally shaken by his request.

“I did have a hostess,” Cameron admitted. “She canceled.” He took a few sips from the huge coffee mug on his desk. Then he twirled a pencil, watching it closely. He looked more uncomfortable than she’d ever seen him.

Sudden suspicion hit her. “You mean she ditched you?”

Cameron looked up but said nothing. His gaze wasn’t encouraging.

Deborah fought a smile. “She did, didn’t she?” It wasn’t nice to bait him, but this was too good not to follow up. Besides, what about all the grief Mr. High-and-Mighty had given her? Was still giving her, for that matter?

“Touché.” He sent her a wry nod. “Yes, you could say she ditched me.”

“Why?”

He looked surprised by her question, and at first she thought he was going to ignore it. Then he shrugged. “I guess she figured out I meant what I said, and she wasn’t going to get what she wanted.”

“Which was…?” None of this was any of her business, of course, but his opinion of her was already somewhere between iffy and unfavorable, so she might as well satisfy her curiosity.

“Marriage,” Cameron said. Then he cleared his throat and glanced down at the papers she’d brought, as if he’d only just seen them. In cats, that kind of look indicated embarrassment. With this man, who knew?

“So in fact you’re the one who broke up with her.”

He frowned but didn’t answer.

“She’s the redhead?” Deborah asked before she could stop herself.

He stared at her.

Her cheeks felt suddenly warm. “I think I saw you with a redhead one time,” she mumbled. Why couldn’t she learn to keep a lid on it?

“I see. No, that was somebody before her.” A hint of red crept into his tanned cheeks.

Deborah nodded. Even if she hadn’t been fully aware of his reputation, she wouldn’t have needed to ask if he’d been the one to break off that relationship and if so, why. His expression told the whole story. It told her one other thing, loud and clear: This man was a menace to women.

Deborah gave him a long, measuring look. “I get it. You’re one of those.”

“One of those what?” He frowned again, more vigorously this time. His dark brows almost met over the bridge of his nose. He looked more like the man she’d watched from a safe distance, the man who frowned at the least little thing she said or did.

Too bad, because yesterday he’d been an actual human being, and aside from dumping women right and left, he’d seemed almost likeable.

“You know, if you’re not careful, all that frowning is going to give you deep wrinkles,” Deborah warned. She had no idea if he was the type to worry about wrinkles, but in any case, the look on his face was priceless.

“You should smile more,” she told him. “Frowning isn’t good for you, but smiling is. Did you know that? Smiling makes you feel happier, which lowers your stress level and keeps your heart healthier. In fact—”

“What am I one of?” he demanded again, his face a strange mixture of affront, curiosity and reluctance, as if he was asking the question against his better judgment.

Deborah shrugged. “Well, I don’t know this for sure, of course. It’s just a guess. But it seems to me like you’re one of those afraid-to-make-a-commitment guys.” Thanks to Mark, she could now see one coming a mile away.

His frown darkened. “I am not. What a load of nonsense.”

She eyed him. “You know, you sound really stressed. I bet that’s not the first mug of coffee you’ve had today, is it?”

His expression answered her.

“That mug must hold three cups, at least. Caffeine is another stress inducer.”

He folded his arms over his chest. “Is that right?”

“Absolutely. You really should consider cutting back.”

“Or maybe throwing you out of my office, which would also relieve my stress level,” he pointed out.

She laughed. “Really? Okay, fair enough. It was rude of me to come in here and point out your commitment problems.”

He shrugged. “Actually, it doesn’t matter. Your analysis is incorrect, anyway.”

“Fine,” she said, and waved a hand with airy unconcern. “I’m sure you’re right. You’re not commitment phobic. Any year now you’ll take the plunge and after all, you’re only, what, thirty-five?”

He ignored the question. “And what makes you an expert on all this female psychobabble stuff?”

Deborah shrugged. She could tell him she’d majored in psychology, which might make him sit up and pay attention. But since no amount of creative math could turn foreign languages plus education into psychology, she contented herself with giving him a Mona Lisa smile. “I wasn’t born yesterday.”

“Maybe not yesterday, but pretty damned close,” he muttered.

Her eyes narrowed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means you’re too young to know much about men or relationships.”

Deborah raised her brows at him in imitation of his own habit. “I’m twenty-seven, and that’s a very pompous thing to say.” Why was she surprised?

“Twenty-seven?” Shock showed in the bottle-green eyes.

“Yes. How old are you?” Would he tell her? Not that she really cared how old he was, of course. Cameron Lyle didn’t interest her. But she deserved to know his age since he knew hers. It was the principle of the thing.

“Thirty-one,” he said. “Are you sure you’re twenty-seven?” He looked her over, his gaze lingering on her face.

No prizes for guessing what he saw. Blue eyes, slightly rounded pink cheeks and wisps of blond hair escaping from her ponytail. Nothing special. Definitely not a sophisticated picture, either. She was getting tired of comments about not looking her age.

“You look barely out of college,” he added, still looking stunned.

Several pithy retorts came to mind, but with great effort Deborah ignored them all. “We were talking about you,” she reminded him.

“Maybe we were, but we’re not anymore. You know absolutely nothing about the situation.” Cameron sent her a steely-eyed glance that said she wasn’t getting any more information out of him. “You’re just feeling hostile toward men right now, and you’re taking it out on me.”

“I’m not feeling hostile.” Relieved was the word. It was scary how close she’d come to marrying Mark.

Cameron raised a brow. “Yes, you are. You’re also highly annoyed that you’re stuck going to my party.”

Deborah pulled a face. That part she couldn’t deny.

He chuckled. “Cheer up. I’ll take you shopping and we’ll find you a dress that will make the whole ordeal bearable for you.”

She frowned. “Shopping?” She shouldn’t be so horrified. No doubt there were many things that would be more awful than a shopping trip with this man.

Major surgery and death were the first two that came to mind.

Any shopping she and Cameron Lyle did together would entail nonstop arguments. If she paid any attention to his opinions, she’d wind up with the world’s most tasteful and most boring dress, one that would put her into a coma as soon as she saw herself in the mirror.

“Yes, shopping,” he said. “I know a good boutique just up the street.”

Rags to Riches. Stella’s shop. Deborah winced. The gossips would have a field day. It didn’t bear thinking about.

“No shopping,” she said. “I don’t need a dress, and even if I did, I certainly wouldn’t need you to help me pick it out.” Did he want to make sure she matched the napkins?

“I’m sure you wouldn’t. And I guess I could reimburse you later, but using my credit card seems easier.”

He planned to pay? Shock kept her silent for several seconds, but then she swallowed the anger that rose in her throat. Why was she surprised he was the type who liked throwing his money around?

“You’re not paying for my dress.” Deborah said it slowly and succinctly, so there would be no ambiguity.

He looked surprised. “Why not? You’re hostessing my party for me. Consider this one of the job’s perks. I assure you, I can easily afford it.”

“That’s not the point,” she said tightly. How many different ways could this man find to insult her? No wonder her sense of humor took a hike every time he opened his mouth.

She met his gaze and Deborah could see that he honestly had no idea he was insulting her. Men! She could see it right now. There she’d be, parading in front of him in evening dresses, each more skimpy than the last. Watching his gaze move slowly over her. Standing next to him while he paid for one of them. Just like one of his interchangeable girlfriends.

Every nerve in her body twitched. “No.”

Cameron’s formidable jaw set. “Anybody ever tell you how stubborn you are?”

“All the time, when I was a teenager.”

You’re so stubborn, Deborah. She could still hear her father’s voice, filled with exasperation.

And hear herself, slamming her bedroom door.

“Most women would jump at the chance to buy a new dress,” Cameron pointed out.

“I’m not most women.” And she was definitely not his woman. Buying her a dress would probably mean nothing to Cameron, but Deborah knew how she would feel.

Bought. Owned.

“Don’t forget, you’ll need to look older than Heather,” he pointed out. “I take it you have a suitable dress?” He looked doubtful, leaving her to wonder how he thought she’d define the word suitable.

Deborah suspected she knew the answer to that question. Cameron imagined her to be an artsy, naïve type who thought dangly earrings were the height of sophistication. The rise of his brows and the slow progress of his gaze over her sweatshirt and leggings confirmed her suspicions. He probably figured she’d show up in tiered ruffles looking like his date for the prom.

Deborah sent him a bland smile. “Don’t worry. I’ll keep my ruffled pink-and-orange floral in the closet.”

The look on his face made her smile all the way back to her apartment.