Читать книгу The Third Kiss - Leanna Wilson, Leanna Wilson - Страница 11

I’ll be in touch. That’s all Brooke seemed capable of contemplating the rest of the day. Specifically, Matt’s touch. And he hadn’t even touched her!

Oh, yes, he had. When they’d first met. She could still feel the way her stomach had curled into a ball of longing when he’d caressed her foot. He hadn’t caressed it, she argued to herself. He’d simply measured it.

Yeah, right!

“Did you decide?” Felicia Watson Holbrook Roberts Evans, minus or plus a few other surnames, sipped her white wine.

Jarred out of her musings, Brooke stared at her mother. Decide what? To marry Matt Cutter? It was absurd! Ludicrous! She couldn’t even believe she was dwelling on his proposal. Obviously he had some warped agenda. Or had lost his mind. Maybe he needed therapy instead of a bride. She’d never met a man who didn’t need psychotherapy. Either way, she was staying clear of him.

“Brooke?”

“Hmm?”

“Dinner.” Felicia tapped her pale-pink, manicured nails on the leather bound menu. “Did you decide what you’re having?”

How about Matt Cutter? Good grief! Her mother’s and Peggy’s attitudes had finally worn off on her.

“You’ve been reading that menu for what seems like hours.”

She hadn’t read one appetizer or even peered at the desserts. “What are you having, Mother?”

“The halibut.”

“Sounds fine to me.” Especially since she wasn’t hungry.

After they’d ordered, Felicia clasped her hands and gave her daughter one of those looks. “What are you doing this Friday?”

She asked the question in a casual manner that Brooke knew was never offhanded. There was always purpose behind every word or deed.

Felicia had obviously decided to get down to business. Her business. Her agenda. Just as Brooke had known she would. It was always just a matter of time before her mother launched into her latest matchmaking scheme.

“Working probably.” She let her gaze drift around the posh restaurant, noticing the glittering diamonds and understated but elegant clothes of the patrons. It made her think of the children at the orphanage, and she wondered what they were having for dinner tonight. Monday night—frankfurters and beans, cherry Jell-O and chips. “I’ve got a stack of files that need updating.”

A small frown creased the bridge between her mother’s carefully plucked, brushed and styled eyebrows. It had taken thousands of dollars from ex-husband number four to remove any and all wrinkles daring to appear on her mother’s face. But Felicia had never been one to worry about money. With each husband, she’d moved up the social ladder. Her latest acquisition was worth millions, which translated into a huge mansion, a Mercedes and all the diamonds and jewels her mother could want. Face-lifts, too.

“You’ll simply have to put it off.”

Here we go! “Who is it this time, Mother?”

“A charming man I met at a little lingerie boutique.”

“Which one?” Brooke asked.

“What difference does it make?”

“If he was shopping for lingerie, then it probably means he’s got a main squeeze.”

“Brooke!”

She sipped her water and wished she’d ordered something stronger. This could be a long evening. “Mother, I’ve told you, I’m not in the market. I’m not interested in finding a man.”

“Nonsense. You really should meet this one. He’s just darling. Such a gentleman. Walked me to my car, carried my packages for me. What a dear!”

Brooke refrained from making a diagnosis and focused on buttering her roll. She’d made the mistake once, and only once, of actually meeting one of her mother’s prime candidates. For years after that Felicia had thrown that disastrous date into her face, saying, “If only you’d given Sterling a chance…”

“Well, of course, I understand why you’re not interested.” Her mother touched her left earlobe as if to check and make sure her three-carat diamond earring hadn’t been lost or stolen. “Not after the weekend you had!”

Alarm bells sounded in Brooke’s head. Damn. She knew.

“I can’t believe you didn’t call me the second you got home to tell me all about it. I had to hear it from Lisbeth Mabry. She saw it on the ten-o’clock news. Of course, I said it couldn’t be my daughter. What would you be doing shopping at a retail shop? But she was adamant.

“Then I understood perfectly what you were doing there. You weren’t shopping for boots or jeans. You were shopping for a man!” Her mother gave a victorious grin. “Finally!”

Her mother took a celebratory sip of wine. “Matt Cutter. Now, he’s a catch. Wait till the women at the country club hear that my daughter has caught the richest man in Texas. They’ll be perfectly ill with jealousy.”

Brooke’s temples began pounding.

“Now,” her mother continued, “it makes sense why you wouldn’t want to go out with some man your mother has found for you when you’ve got one of your own.” She leaned forward, breaking one of her cardinal rules by resting her forearm on the edge of the table. Her azure-blue contacts glittered with excitement. “So tell me all about this Matt Cutter.”

“What makes you think I have him? Er, could have?” Or want him? She didn’t, of course.

“You could have any man you wanted. If you put your mind to it.”

“You mean, if I set a trap for him.”

“A trap.” She tsked. “Having your hair and nails done is not a trap. It’s garnish. Simply shows a man you’re willing to go the extra mile to please him. Clothes are simply an accessory to lure them in, make them appreciate what’s—” she lowered her voice to a whisper “—underneath.”

“You know, Mother, some women don’t live their lives in order to please a man.”

Felicia dismissed that statement with a wave of her hand. It was an inconceivable thought, especially when she considered Brooke’s career-minded focus vulgar. “Tell me about Matt Cutter. Or does he prefer to be called Matthew?”

“There’s nothing to tell.” Except that he wants to marry me. For some bizarre reason that she couldn’t fathom. And she didn’t plan to find out more. She certainly wasn’t about to tell her mother that juicy tidbit.

In fact, maybe she’d dreamed the whole thing. Which actually seemed even more ludicrous to her. Or maybe he’d been trifling with her. A bored rich boy’s game.

“He seems absolutely dreamy. Charming and debonaire.”

“You mean rich.” Actually, Matt’s money made her want to run the other way. Money had never made her mother content or deliriously happy. In fact, it seemed to only make her hungrier for more and set her sights on a better “catch.”

“I meant he’s definitely husband material.” Always mindful of calories and her waistline, Felicia delicately picked at her salad, careful not to dab too much dressing on the spinach. “He seems perfect for you.”

“Why would you say that?” To Brooke, Matt was her total opposite. They were from different worlds, had different goals in life and had by some weird strike of providence been thrown together in a bizarre circumstance. It meant nothing.

Then why does your heart pound every time you think about him?

It doesn’t!

But she knew it did.

Felicia set her fork on the side of the china plate and gave her daughter that direct gaze that meant Now listen to me, young lady! “For one thing, you could quit that job of yours.”

She stared in horror at her mother. Where did she get these ideas? “Why would I want to do that? I love my job. Besides, it’s not a job, it’s my career. My passion. My mission.”

Her mother looked as if she’d eaten something distasteful. “Passion is for candlelight and romance. Not trying to fix snotty-nosed kids’ problems. I hate the fact that you have to visit those depressing places.”

“Like hospitals and orphanages?”

“Precisely. They make you morose. No one wants a melancholy wife.”

Brooke refrained from rolling her eyes. She wondered if Matt felt the same way about Jeffrey and the orphanage. But he hadn’t appeared to look upon the small child with pity or anything else. In fact, he’d seemed perfectly at home. He’d actually asked about her patient later.

More important, would he really donate a million dollars if she agreed to marry him…or as he’d phrased it enter into a temporary engagement? Did money mean so little to him that he could toss it around like confetti? Or was it a way to ease his conscience for having so much when others had so little?

Not that it really mattered. She doubted she would ever see Matt Cutter again. Even if he had promised to keep in touch. What did a promise mean to him, anyway? Men like him made promises the way most people made coffee, often and without much thought. Matt’s promise was probably as empty as his marriage proposal. A temporary proposal, of all things!

“Well, don’t get your hopes up, Mother. I don’t think I’ll be seeing Mr. Cutter again.” She was absolutely sure of it.

“Why on earth not? You know, Brooke, it’s just as easy to fall in love with a rich man as a poor one.”

“And just as easy to fall out of love, right, Mother?” Her teeth clenched in exasperation. “I don’t want to fall in love at all.”

“Nonsense. You don’t know what you’re missing.” She twirled her new wedding ring around her finger. “Love is Heaven here on Earth.”

“That’s why you’ve been to divorce court so many times, right?”

“Well…” Her mother clamped her lips together.

“I’m sorry, Mother. I shouldn’t have said that. But you don’t seem to understand that I don’t want a husband. I don’t want Matt Cutter.”

Liar!

“Your two-o’clock appointment has arrived, Dr. Watson,” Jennifer’s voice came over the intercom in her usual clipped, impersonal tone.

Brooke scanned her desk. “I don’t have a file on that patient. Could you bring it in first?”

“He’s new,” Jennifer explained.

Releasing the tension in her neck, Brooke rotated her head to the side. She liked to be prepared for each patient. “I still need a file. What’s his name?”

“Matthew Cutter.”

Her heart stopped, then jolted forward like a runaway train. What was he doing here? Delivering her boots? Or was he going to propose again?

No, she’d decided she’d misunderstood him. He didn’t want to marry her, temporarily or permanently, any more than she wanted him.

“He’s not a patient,” she said, deciding right then not to admit him to her office.

He was a nuisance.

A headache.

Definite trouble.

She pushed away from her desk and headed toward the closed door to her office that led to the reception area. She didn’t know what kind of game he was playing, but she wasn’t playing any longer. Before she jerked the door open, she paused to smooth the wrinkles out of her suit skirt.

God, she wished she’d taken her mother’s advice and bought a new pair of shoes. Maybe with a bit more of a heel to accent her legs. And look at her hands! She could use a manicure or at least some lotion. What about her makeup? She should have at least stuck her lipstick in her purse this morning.

Are you nuts? Look at you! Primping as if you’re about to meet Prince Charming!

Prince Charming, my foot. It was Matt Cutter. He was a spoiled man with obviously too much time and money on his hands.

But a good-looking man if she’d ever seen one.

What are you thinking?

Trouble was that she wasn’t thinking. She was reacting, like a hormone-raging teen about to meet Ricky Martin. And she had the simple solution. She wouldn’t see Matt Cutter. She’d let her secretary handle it. He could take his appointment and—

She eased open the door.

“Jennifer,” she whispered, hearing the desperation in her own voice. Self-preservation, she corrected. “Get rid of him—”

Then her gaze met Matt’s grin. Damn!

“Now, why would you want to get rid of me?” First one broad shoulder, then the other squeezed into her office. He stepped inside as if he owned the place. “After all, I did as you asked. I didn’t surprise you this time. I made an appointment. And—” he checked his watch, mimicking the way she had over a week ago in the orphanage parking lot “—you owe me the next hour.”

She gulped. An hour with Matt Cutter! Her heart fluttered, and she clenched her hands. She wouldn’t allow him to affect her that way. Any way. “What do you want?”

He closed the door behind him and gave the bright garish decor geared more toward kids than adults a once-over. “I thought I made that clear last time. I want…need you.”