Читать книгу Mothers In A Million - Michelle Douglas - Страница 12

WYATT THREW HIMSELF into the work of looking for the Scottish heirlooms in the mountain of closet boxes.

He endured the scent of sachets, billowing dust and boxes of things like panty hose—who saved old panty hose and why?—and found nothing even remotely resembling jewelry.

To break up his days, he played with Owen every morning and all three kids every afternoon, but he didn’t go anywhere near Missy.

Still, on Saturday afternoon, when she came out of the house dressed in a sunny yellow dress that showed off her shoulders and accented her curves, lugging the bottom of a cake with the babysitter, he knew he couldn’t let her go alone. Particularly since her SUV had already had trouble starting once that week.

While she brought the rest of the cake to her vehicle, he changed out of his dirty clothes into clean jeans and a T-shirt. Looking at himself in the mirror, he frowned. His hair was growing in and looked a little like Owen’s, poking out in all directions. He also needed a shave. But if he took the time to shave, she’d be gone by the time he was done.

No shave. No comb. Since he usually didn’t have hair, he didn’t really own a comb. So today he’d be doing grunge.

Once again, he didn’t say anything. Simply walked over to her SUV and got in on the passenger’s side as she got in on the driver’s side.

“Don’t even bother to tell me one person can handle this big cake. I watched you and the babysitter cart it out here. I know better. If the caterer can’t spare a waiter you’ll be in a world of trouble.”

She sighed. “You don’t have to do this.”

“I know.”

“You haven’t spoken to me since we fought on Sunday.”

He made a disgusted noise. “I know that, too.”

“So why are you going?”

He had no idea. Except that he didn’t want to see her struggle. Remembering her fierce independent streak, he knew that reply wouldn’t be greeted with a thank-you, so he said, “I like cake.”

Apparently expecting to have to fend off an answer that in some way implied she needed help, she opened her mouth, but nothing came out. After a few seconds, she said, “I could make you a cake.”

He peered over at her. In her sunny yellow dress, with her hair all done up, and wearing light pink lipstick, she was so cute his selfish inner demon returned. He’d forgotten how hard it was to want something he couldn’t have.

“Oh, then that would be charity and we can’t have that. If you can’t take my money, I can’t take your cake.”

She sighed. “Look, I know I got a little over-the-top angry on Sunday when you offered me money. But there’s a good reason I refused. I need to be independent.”

“Fantastic.”

She laughed. “It is fantastic. Wyatt, I need to be able to support myself and my kids. And I can. That’s what makes it fantastic. I can do this. You need to trust me.”

“Great. Fine. I trust you.”

“Good, because I feel I owe you for playing with the kids, and a cake would be a simple way for me to pay that back.”

He gaped at her. “Did you hear what you just said? You want to pay me for playing.”

She shoved her key into the ignition and started the SUV. “You’re an idiot.”

“True. But I’m an idiot who is going to get cake at this wedding.”

But in the car on the way to the reception venue, he stared out the window. He couldn’t remember the last time anybody had ordered him around like this. Worse, he couldn’t remember a time a woman had ordered him around like this—and he still liked her.

He sighed internally. And there it was. The truth. He still liked her.

The question was what did he do about it?

Avoiding her didn’t work. She wouldn’t take his money so he could recategorize her. And even after not seeing her all week, the minute he was in the same car with her all his feelings came tumbling back.

He was nuts.

Wrong…

Really? Wrong? They were healthy, single, attracted people. Why was liking her wrong?

Because she didn’t want to like him.

They arrived at the wedding reception more quickly than the week before because this venue was closer. As they unloaded the square layers with black lace trim, Missy gazed at each one lovingly. In high school, she’d hated having to bake fancy cakes for the diner, but now she was so glad she had. At age thirty-three she had twenty years of cake-baking experience behind her. And she was very, very good.

“The kids told me this one is yellow.”

She peeked over at Wyatt, relieved he was finally talking. “It is. It’s a yellow cake…with butter cream fondant and rolled fondant to make the black lace.”

“How do you make lace?”

His question surprised her. Most people saw the finished product and didn’t care how it got that way.

“There are patterns and forms you can buy, but I made my own.”

He studied the intricate design. “That couldn’t have been easy.”

“I do things like this when you’re playing with the kids.”

He shot her a funny look and she turned away. The little spark of attraction she’d felt when she’d seen his scruffy day-old beard and butt-hugging jeans that morning flared again. With his sexy, fingers-run-through-it-in-frustration hair and his long, lean body, he was enough to drive her to distraction.

But she wouldn’t be distracted.

Well, maybe a little. She was a normal woman and he was extremely sexy. Was it so wrong to be attracted? No. The trick would be not letting him see.

They arranged the black-and-white cake from the big square layer to the smallest layer, which had a top hat and sparkly wedding veil at the peak.

“Cute.”

She stood back. “Different. I’ll say that.”

“You act as if you didn’t know how it would turn out.”

“I didn’t. The bride is a Goth who wanted something black with hints of Victorian. She told me what she wanted and I made it.”

“Can you eat the top hat?”

“Yep. And the veil, too.”

“Amazing.”

Their gazes caught. The flare of attraction became a flicker of need. She tried to squelch it, but in four years she hadn’t felt anything like this. Oh, who was she kidding? She’d never felt anything like this. Wyatt was bold, sexy, commanding. And he liked her. The real her. Not the pretend version most men saw when they looked at her. He’d seen her stubborn streak, and still helped her—was still attracted to her.

What if there really was something going on between them? Something real. He could walk away. Hell, after she’d yelled at him on Sunday he should have walked away. But he hadn’t. Even though they’d had a fairly nasty difference of opinion—which they’d yet to get beyond—here they were. He was still attracted to her. She was still attracted to him.

The bride arrived in her black-and-white wedding gown with her tuxedo-clad groom in tow. At least fourteen tattoos were visible above the bodice of her strapless gown.

Wyatt’s eyebrows rose. “Different.”

“Very her,” Missy replied, standing beside him, off to the left of the cake, out of the way so they didn’t detract from it.

He looked at the bride, looked at the cake. “You’re really very good at this.”

Missy’s smile came slowly. Anybody could throw batter into a pan and get a cake. But not everybody could match baking ability with artistry. It was a gift. She never took it for granted.

“I know.”

“I can see why you’re so confident.”

“Thanks.”

“Someday you are going to be the best.”

She laughed. There was an unimaginable joy in having something she was good at. But an even greater joy at having people appreciate it. “Thanks.”

He growled and she frowned at him. “What?”

“I can never seem to say the right thing to you.”

Music from the string quartet blended with the noise of wedding guests taking seats. The best man took the microphone, hit it to make sure it was live. The tap, tap, tap rolled into the room like thunder.

Wyatt caught Missy’s hand. “Let’s go outside.”

Confused, she let him lead her through the French doors to a wide wooden deck, which was filled with milling wedding guests. Avoiding them, he guided her to the steps, and they clambered down until they stood in a quiet garden.

She looked around. She hadn’t done a lot of exploring of the country clubs and other wedding venues where she took her cakes, but seeing how beautiful, and inspiring, this garden was, maybe she should.

“This is nice.”

He sighed heavily. “Let’s not change the subject until I get out what I want to say.”

She peeked over at him, suddenly realizing how alone they were. All her nerve endings sprang to life. She’d never been attracted to a man like this. And he wasn’t just nice, he was thoughtful. Or trying. When he made a mistake he wanted to fix it. He didn’t just walk away.

Her thoughts from before popped into her brain again.

What if something really was happening between them? Something real? Something important? Something permanent?

“I understand why my offering you money doesn’t fit your plan. But I still feel like we’re not beyond the insult.”

She pressed her lips together. She was right. He didn’t walk away. He fixed what he broke. So different from her dad and her ex.

“What you said in the car today about being able to support yourself…I thought it was pride, but I finally get it. I see the bride-cake connection. You don’t want money or help because you know this is going to work because you have that instinct. The thing that’s going to push you above the rest. You are going to be one of the best in your business. You don’t need help.”

Her insides melted. She loved it when a bride gushed over a cake, or wedding guests sought her out to compliment her, but this wasn’t just a compliment. This was Wyatt. A successful entrepreneur. Somebody who knew good work when he saw it. Somebody who saw that she had what it took to be successful.

Her blood warmed with pleasure that quickly turned to yearning. He was gorgeous and attracted to her. Plus, he understood her. Would it be so wrong to start something with him?

It had been so long since she’d wanted something for herself, purely for herself, that she instinctively tried to talk herself out of it. She told herself it felt wrong, because she knew she had to be self-sufficient before she started anything serious with a man.

But this was Wyatt. This was a guy who understood. A guy who didn’t run. A guy who fixed things. A guy who liked her and believed in her. The little voice in her heart told her to relax and let it happen.

She smiled sheepishly, not quite sure what a woman did nowadays to let a man know she’d changed her mind and was willing to go after what they both seemed to want. “Thanks for the compliment.”

He sighed again, this time as if relieved. “You’re welcome.”

Silence settled over them. It should have been the nice, comfortable silence of two friends. But her stomach quivered and her nerve endings lit up, as if begging to be touched. She’d never before felt this raw, wonderful need, and she wished with all her might that he’d kiss her.

As if reading her mind, he stepped close again. He laid a hand on her cheek. “Missy.”

His head began to descend.

She swallowed hard. Even as the sensations rushing through her begged to be explored, new fear leaped inside her. It had been four long years since she’d kissed someone.

Four years.

And she wasn’t just considering kissing. What burned between them was so hot she knew they’d end up in bed sooner rather than later. With their faces mere inches apart, her heart hit against her ribs. Was she ready for this?

His mouth met hers and liquid heat filled her. Like lava, it erupted from her middle and poured through her veins. She put her hands on his cheeks, just wanting to touch him, but when his tongue slipped inside her mouth, she used them to bring him closer.

She’d never felt anything like this. The pleasure. The passion. The pure, unadulterated sensuality that left her breathless and achy.

His hands roamed from her shoulders to her waist and back up again. Hers fell from his cheeks to his shoulder, down his long, lean back, and slowly—enjoying every smooth demarcation of muscle and sinew beneath his T-shirt—drifted up again. He was so strong. So solid. Everything inside her wept with yearning. For four years she’d been nothing but a mom. A busy mom. Right now she felt like a woman. Flesh and blood. Heat and need.

As his mouth continued to plunder hers, she pictured them tangled in the covers of her big four-poster bed. Desire whooshed through her. Everything was happening so fast that her head spun.

She thought she knew him…but did she?

He thought he knew her…but he didn’t. Nobody did.

She stopped kissing him, squeezed her eyes shut. That was the real reason she shied away from men. Nobody knew her. Sure, Wyatt had seen her stubborn streak. He’d seen her with the kids, in full mom mode, but nobody knew about her dad. Nobody knew about the beatings, the alcoholism, the gambling that had colored her childhood and had formed who she was. And at this stage in her life, she wasn’t sure she could tell anybody. Just as she was equally sure Wyatt, this Wyatt who fixed things, who probed into things, who wanted to make everything right, would never let her get away with the usual slick answers she gave when anyone asked her if she’d seen her dad lately.

Wyatt would realize there’d been trouble in her past and he’d demand she talk about it.

She stepped away. “I’m sorry. I can’t do this.”

He caught her hand and tugged her back. “Seems to me you were ‘doing’ it just fine.”

She couldn’t help it; she laughed. He was such a fun guy, but her past was just too much to handle. Even for him.

She slipped away from him. “I’m serious. I don’t want a relationship—”

He caught her hand and yanked her back. “That’s perfect, because I don’t want a relationship, either.”

That confused her so much she frowned. “You don’t want a relationship?”

He chuckled. “No.”

She pointed at him, then herself, then back at him. “Then what’s this?”

“A fling?”

She blinked. A fling? While she was worried about telling him her deepest, darkest secret, he was thinking fling?

“Look, I’ve only been divorced for two weeks—”

She stepped back, her mind reeling. Before thoughts of her secret had ruined the moment, she’d felt things she’d never felt before. And he wanted a fling? “But—”

“But what? We’re single, adults and attracted to each other. There’s no reason we can’t enjoy each other while I’m here.”

She blinked again. the emotions careening through her didn’t match up with the word fling. “Let me get this straight. You want to sleep with me, no strings attached, no thought of a relationship. No possibility of falling in love?”

His face scrunched. “You’re making it sound tawdry.”

She’d never once considered sex just for the sake of sex. Even though it solved the problem of telling him about her dad, her stomach took a little leap. He didn’t want to love her. He wasn’t even considering it.

He caught her shoulders and forced her to look at him. “You said that your ex leaving you with three kids and no money made you independent?”

She nodded.

“Well, think about this. Think about working for something from the time you’re sixteen, and one mistake—picking the wrong person to trust—causes you to lose one-third of it. But it’s about more than the money. My ex cheated on me. Lied to me. Tried to undermine me with people in the industry, saying that when she got half the company she could take over with a little bit of help, positioning herself to take everything I’d worked for. She didn’t just want money. She wanted to boot me from my own company. She wanted to ruin me.”

“Oh.” Hearing the hurt in his voice, understanding rose in Missy, but it didn’t salve the emptiness, the letdown she felt from realizing he didn’t even want to consider loving her. It seemed in her life there’d been nobody who’d ever really loved her. At home, her dad wasn’t ever sober enough to have a real emotion. Her mom stayed too busy keeping up appearances that if she kissed her or hugged her, Missy always knew it was for show, not for real. Her sister locked herself away. Like Wyatt, she’d studied. The first chance she’d gotten, she’d left.

In going along, living the lie, Missy had been alone.

Alone.

Confused.

Not wanted.

He sighed. “I just don’t believe relationships last, and I don’t want either one of us to get hurt.”

“Sure.” She understood. She really did. No one wanted to be taken for granted, and hurt as he’d been by his ex. It could be years before he would trust again.

Which was why she stepped back. “I get it.”

He sighed with relief. “Good.”

But when he reached for her, she moved farther away. Put a distance between them that was as much emotional as physical.

“I can’t have a fling.” At his puzzled look, she added, “The things you didn’t factor into your fling are my kids.”

He frowned. “Your kids?”

“I can’t leave them to be with you and you can’t…well, sleep over.”

His frown deepened. “I can’t?”

“No. They’re kids. Sweet. Impressionable. I don’t want to confuse them.”

“So you won’t have a fling because of your kids?”

“I don’t want them confused.” Tears welled behind her eyes and she struggled to contain them. She hadn’t ever quite realized how alone she was until a real relationship, a real connection, seemed to be at her fingertips, only to disappear in a puff. “I don’t want them involved. And until they’re old enough, I’m…well, I’m just not going to…” She reddened to the roots of her hair. “You know.”

“Sleep with anybody.” He shook his head. “You’re not going to sleep with anybody until your kids are teenagers.”

“I hadn’t really thought it through, but I guess that’s what I’m saying.” Determined to be mature about this, she held out her hand to shake his. “No hard feelings?”

He took it. Squeezed once. “Lots of regret, but no hard feelings.”

She nodded, but when he released her hand, disappointment rattled through her.

She liked him. But he didn’t want to like her.