Читать книгу Surprise: Outback Proposal - Sarah Mayberry - Страница 12

“YOU’RE NOT WEARING that,” Rosie said as Lucy loaded paperwork into her tote bag.

After two weeks of negotiations and discussions, she and Dom had signed a partnership contract the previous day. Lucy still couldn’t quite believe that her money problems were over. Well, not over, but at least in a holding pattern for a while. She had a chance now to do what she needed to grow her business. Which was what today’s lunch meeting with Dom was all about—planning for the future.

“Lovely. Thank you for the confidence boost,” Lucy said.

“I didn’t mean you look bad. You just look … ordinary,” Rosie said.

Lucy looked down at the plain black pants, black turleneck and black boots she was wearing. The pants were new, the first of her true pregnancy wardrobe. The turtleneck was old and would probably never look the same again after being stretched over her belly.

“I am ordinary,” she said dismissively.

“Why don’t you wear that red stretchy shirt? That always looks great with black.”

“It makes my boobs look huge.”

“Exactly,” Rosie said with a grin.

Lucy rolled her eyes. “You are seriously turning into a pimp. You need help.” She was only half joking—her sister’s continual comments about Dom were starting to wear her down.

“He asked you to lunch,” Rosie said.

“It’s a work meeting, not a date.”

“He likes you, Lucy. He flirts with you every time we see him. Yesterday, when we signed the contract, he even ordered you food from the bar without asking because he knows you get hungry all the time. How many more signs do you want that this man has the hots for you?”

“None. I just signed a partnership contract with him. I don’t want him to have the hots for me.” Lucy shook her head. “Why are we even having this conversation? He does not have the hots for me. He’s a nice guy. He’s considerate. He’s like that with all his customers. He’s like that with you.”

“He doesn’t look at me the way he looks at you,” Rosie said.

“And how does he look at me?” Lucy asked, hands on hips.

“Like he wants to take a bite out of you,” Rosie said. “Like a starving man looks at a feast.”

Lucy hooted with laughter.

“You are so deluded. Starving man, my ass. He’s newly divorced, he’s just spent six months traveling through Italy. He’s probably got women lined up around the block to throw themselves at him. There’s no way he’s interested in a five months pregnant woman. No. Way.”

“You’re nineteen weeks,” Rosie said a little sulkily. “Not quite five months.”

“Which means I’m only cow-like instead of elephant-like. You need to stop trying to live out your teen obsession through me.”

“It wasn’t an obsession,” Rosie said.

Lucy gave her a look.

“Okay, it was slightly obsessive. But that’s not why I want you to wear the red shirt. He’s a nice guy. I think he’d make a great father.”

Lucy stilled, the smile fading from her lips.

“I’m not looking for a father for my baby,” she said.

“Marcus isn’t going to help you carry the load, Lucy,” Rosie said.

Lucy eyed her sister steadily. She needed Rosie to understand that she couldn’t buy into the romantic fantasy she was spinning. She didn’t have the luxury to indulge those kinds of dreams anymore.

“I know you’re trying to help, but please can we stop it with the whole Dom-likes-me thing? He’s my business partner. All I want from him is hard graft and a cash injection. I don’t want him to like me. And I don’t want to like him. We’re business partners, and I need one of those much more than I need a man in my life. Even if that was an option that was on the table. Which it isn’t.”

For a moment Rosie looked as though she was going to object, then she sighed and shrugged a shoulder.

“Fine. Bury your head in the sand.”

Lucy palmed her car keys. “Thank you. You know how much I like it there.”

Dom had given her directions to his house in Carlton and she found it easily. A double-fronted terrace house, it was a pale cream color, the trim painted heritage green and red. Someone had placed terra-cotta planter boxes along the front edge of the front porch, but they were full of dirt and nothing else. She wondered if Dom’s ex-wife had been the gardener and felt sad for him. No one got married expecting it to end in divorce.

Warm air rushed out at her when he opened the door to her knock.

“Lucy. Come on in. I’m just finishing up the gnocchi dough,” he said.

She managed a greeting of some description, but she had no idea what she’d actually said. She was too busy reeling from the impact of Dominic Bianco in bare feet, well-worn jeans and a tight, dark gray T-shirt. His hair was ruffled and casual, his eyes warm.

He was so earthily, rawly sexy it took her breath away.

She barely noticed the polished hardwood floor beneath her feet or the ornate plasterwork on the cornices and ceiling as she followed him down the hall.

She gave herself a mental slap. She had no business being so aware of Dom as a man. It was ridiculous and counter-productive and she needed to get a serious grip. Right now. Dom was her business partner. End of story.

“I’m making my mama’s secret gnocchi,” Dom said over his shoulder. “If you notice any of the ingredients, you have to take the information to your grave with you.”

They entered a wide, spacious living area with a vaulted ceiling. Immediately in front of them was a sleek, dark stained table. To the left was a modern white kitchen with dark marble countertops. Beyond she could see comfortable-looking brown leather couches and French windows that opened onto a deck.

“I promise not to look,” Lucy said.

She noted the two place settings at the table. Everything looked perfect, from the red roses in a sleek vase to the snowy white linen napkins folded neatly across each side plate. She frowned.

Dom moved behind the island counter and reached for a handful of flour. She watched as he dusted the counter prior to rolling out the dough.

She smiled uncertainly when he glanced up at her.

“You want to take your coat off? I should have asked before I got flour on my hands again. Just throw it on the couch.”

She took advantage of his suggestion to try to pull herself together, but nothing could stop the way her brain was suddenly whirring away.

He’d gone to a lot of trouble for a simple business meeting. The flowers, the beautifully set table. Unless she was hugely mistaken, he’d even ironed the napkins. And he was making pasta by hand for her.

Was it just her, or was Dom pulling out all the stops for what was supposed to be a simple working lunch, their first as business partners?

She studied him carefully as she crossed to the kitchen. His hair was slightly damp, as though he’d just had a shower. But that could mean anything. Maybe he’d slept in, maybe he’d been to the gym. Maybe he’d even had someone stay the night and they’d whiled away a weekend morning in bed together before he’d had to get ready for this meeting.

She frowned as she registered her distinct unease at the thought of Dom with another woman.

“You want to open the wine?” he asked as he began to roll out thin ropes of dough with his fingertips. He indicated a bottle of red wine.

“um, sure. Where can I find the bottle opener?”

“Top drawer, on the left,” he said.

She found the opener easily and began twisting it into the cork.

“Haven’t seen one of these for a while,” she said.

Dom frowned. “I thought pregnant women were allowed to have the occasional glass of wine these days. My sisters drank through their pregnancies.”

Lucy laughed. “I meant the cork. It’s the real deal, not plastic. And definitely not a screw cap.”

“Oh, right. I brought some bottles of Chianti back from Italy. They won’t have anything to do with screw caps over there.”

She collected the glasses from the table and poured the wine, then placed his within reach on the counter.

“Thanks.” The smile he gave her was warm. Then his gaze dropped below her face.

He did not just do an eye-drop on me, she told herself sternly, even though it had looked distinctly like he was checking out her breasts. He’s probably worried that my turtleneck won’t withstand the pressure of being stretched over my bump and that the whole thing will suddenly rip in two like the Hindenburg.

Even though she was limiting herself to just one small glass of wine, she took a healthy sip and welcomed the distracting warmth as it slid down her throat. When she dared look at Dom again he was cutting the dough into one-inch sections.

See? He’s not interested in your boobs. You’ve been spending too much time with your delusional sister.

“Do you cook often?” she asked.

She did a mental eye roll at the question. She might as well have asked about the weather. She’d had several meetings with him since he’d proposed their partnership and yet each time she seemed to feel less comfortable, not more so. Now she was trotting out the kind of polite, stiff chitchat she usually saved for new acquaintances.

“When I can. I try to make some meals on the weekend for during the week. It’s easy to get lazy when I’m home late from the market,” he said.

He began marking the gnocchi with a fork, expertly rolling each piece off the tines and onto a floured plate.

“You’ve done this before,” Lucy noted. “Don’t tell anyone, but I buy mine from the supermarket.”

He tsk-tsked and shook his head.

“Lucia, Lucia. Don’t you know that food is the way to a man’s heart?” he said in a flawless impersonation of any number of elderly Italian women she knew.

“Damn. That was where I went wrong,” she said, snapping her fingers in mock chagrin.

Dom winced.

“Sorry,” he said. His gaze dropped to her belly. “I didn’t think.”

She shrugged. “It’s okay. It wasn’t my store-bought gnocchi that scared Marcus away. He fell for his yoga instructor.”

“Yoga instructor. That’s a new one. I thought it was usually the secretary.”

“Marcus is a photographer, so he had to improvise. But he’s making out just fine. Apparently what she lacks in the dictation department she makes up for in flexibility,” Lucy said. Then she flushed as she realized how jealous and bitchy she sounded.

The corners of Dom’s eyes crinkled as he grinned at her.

“Saucer of milk, table two,” he said.

She pulled a face. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to say that.”

“Yeah, you did. It’s okay. You’re supposed to be pissed off. The only people who are cool with being betrayed are people I don’t want to know.”

He took the gnocchi over to the stove and slid them into a pan of boiling water. His arms flexed as he brushed the last pieces from the plate. He hadn’t shaved today, she noted, and his jaw was dark with stubble, enhancing his rumpled, casual appeal.

Bare feet and stubble ought to be banned, she thought. I’d have to turn the hose on Rosie if she was here.

Dom turned his head and caught her staring. A slow smile spread across his mouth. She tore her gaze away and frowned down into her drink. Her heart was suddenly pounding, and she didn’t know what to do with her hands.

“So, um, what did your father say about us becoming partners?” she asked abruptly, desperate for distraction.

“I haven’t told him. It’s none of his business what I do with my investments,” Dom said.

“Wow. You guys must have had one hell of an argument.”

His mouth quirked wryly. “You could say that.”

He didn’t offer any more information, and she wasn’t about to push. They were business colleagues, not friends. On the personal front, they owed each other nothing.

“So, Lucy, the big question—do you like it hot?” he asked.

She blinked. “um, sorry?”

He laughed. “Maybe I should rephrase that. Can you eat chilies without getting heartburn?”

“Oh. So far, so good. But I’m definitely more on the coward’s side of the chili divide than the courageous.”

“Okay, why don’t you come over here and try the sauce, let me know if I’ve gone too crazy with anything.” He gestured for her to join him at the stove.

She came to a halt a few feet away, and he dipped a wooden spoon into a saucepan.

“Come a little closer so I don’t spill.”

She stepped forward, feeling acutely self-conscious. She was standing so close now that if she inhaled deeply her baby bump would jostle him. He lifted the spoon to her mouth.

“Blow on it a little, it’s hot,” he said.

She pursed her lips and blew gently. She could feel him watching her and heat stole into her cheeks. She told herself it was because she was standing near the stove and she was wearing a turtleneck, but she knew it had more to do with how broad his shoulders were up close and how good he smelled and how acutely aware she was of all of the above.

Desperate to get the moment over and done with, she leaned forward to taste the sauce. Tough luck if she burned her mouth. It would be worth it to gain some distance and some perspective.

The flavors of rich tomato, fresh basil, subtle garlic and the perfect amount of chili chased each other across her palate.

“Oh, that’s good!” she said, closing her eyes to savour the flavors.

When she opened her eyes again Dom was staring at her, his eyes very dark and very intent. Her breath got caught somewhere between her lungs and her throat and her gaze dropped to his mouth. He had great lips, the bottom one much fuller and softer-looking than the top. She wondered what it would feel like to kiss him.

Dear God.

She took a step backward.

“You know, I might go powder my nose before we eat,” she said in a high voice she barely recognized as her own.

“Second door on your right,” he said easily.

She nodded her thanks and scooped up her handbag on the way. She heaved a sigh of relief when she was safely behind the closed bathroom door. Then she dived into her bag and found her cell phone. Rosie answered on the second ring.

“Aren’t you supposed to be in a meeting with The Bianco?” her sister asked, not bothering with a greeting.

“I need advice. He’s cooking for me,” Lucy whispered into the phone.

“What? Why are you whispering? Of course he’s cooking for you—he invited you to lunch,” Rosie said.

“I’m whispering because I’m in the bathroom, and I’m in here because he’s set the table with flowers and linen napkins and he’s made gnocchi from scratch and there’s wine and he just fed me sauce and looked at me as though maybe he really does want to take a bite out of me,” Lucy explained in a rush.

“Oh boy. I need to sit down.”

“Me, too,” Lucy said. She put down the lid on the toilet and sat.

“I’m freaking out here, Rosie. I have no idea if I’m reading things into the situation that aren’t there or I don’t know what,” she whispered, glancing toward the door.

“Calm down. Let’s assess the situation logically. You said there were flowers. What kind?”

“Roses.”

“And linen napkins. And he’s making pasta for you?”

“Yep. And there’s wine. And I think I saw some kind of cake sitting on the counter for later.”

“He baked for you? Maybe I need to lie down,” Rosie said. “I can’t believe The Bianco is making a move on you.”

Lucy sucked in an outraged breath. “What do you mean you can’t believe it? You’re the one who told me he wanted me. You’re the one who told me to wear the red shirt and that this was a date, not a business lunch.”

“Yeah, but this is really happening!” Rosie said excitedly.

Lucy closed her eyes. She felt dizzy, scared, even a little sweaty. She couldn’t handle this. She didn’t want Dom to look at her with bedroom eyes. She didn’t want to be aware of him as a woman. She was pregnant. A tiny little person was growing inside her body. Soon, she’d be looking after that little person night and day.

“I think I should leave,” she told her sister. “I’ll tell him I don’t feel well and come home.”

“Are you kidding me? Stay. Stay and see what happens.”

Lucy clutched the phone.

“Rosie. Be serious. This is not a game. This is my life. Isn’t it complicated enough already? I just signed a contract to share my business with Dom. If anything happened between us—” She broke off, shaking her head. She couldn’t even allow herself to go there. It was so absurd, so crazy. She still couldn’t believe that she’d seen what she’d thought she’d seen in his eyes.

“But he likes you,” Rosie said, as though that resolved everything.

“I don’t like him,” Lucy fired back.

“Liar. If you didn’t like him, you wouldn’t be hiding out in the bathroom calling me because he looked at you.”

“Rosie. Be serious. I just gave half my business to this man.”

Rosie sighed. “Fine, be sensible then. Tell him you’re not interested. Get it out of the way now, off the agenda. That way you both know where you stand.”

Lucy realized that every muscle in her body was tense and made a conscious effort to relax.

“Okay, good. That’s what I’ll do, nip it in the bud,” she said, nodding her agreement. “Thanks, Rosie. I needed to hear that.”

“Did you?”

“Stop trying to be Dr. Freud. You don’t have the beard for it.”

She ended the phone call after promising to call Rosie the moment the meeting was over. Then she flushed the toilet and washed her hands and eyed herself sternly in the mirror.

The very next time Dom smiled at her in that special way or looked at her as though she were chocolate-coated, she’d call him on it. They’d lay their cards on the table, establish some ground rules and move on. Problem solved.

Dom was dressing a salad when she returned to the living room.

“We’re about two minutes away. Would you mind taking our wineglasses over to the table?” he asked.

“Sure.”

She placed the wine on the coasters he’d provided and hovered awkwardly beside one of the chairs.

“Does it matter where I sit?” she asked.

“Help yourself.”

He brought the salad to the table, then served the pasta. Aromatic flavors wafted up from her meal as he placed it in front of her.

“This looks wonderful,” she said.

“I take no credit. My ma perfected this recipe over twenty years. All I did was follow instructions,” he said.

He smiled and she searched his face for any of the heated intent she’d registered earlier. But for the life of her she could find nothing apart from friendly warmth and welcome.

“You want Parmesan?” he asked, offering her a small bowl of freshly grated cheese.

She sprinkled Parmesan on her gnocchi and took her first mouthful. It really was fantastic—the tomatoes tangy, the chili providing the exact right amount of background burn. The gnocchi was light and fluffy, with the hint of something elusive in the mix.

“This is great,” she said, gesturing toward her plate with her fork.

“Yeah? Glad you like it. I made so much, you can take some home with you, save you cooking dinner.”

There was a solicitous note in his voice. She darted a look at him, ready to deliver her clear-the-air speech at the first sign of anything remotely unbusinesslike. But again he simply looked friendly and interested. The perfect business partner, in fact: cooperative, personable, intelligent.

She was on tenterhooks throughout the entire meal, waiting for a repeat of the moment by the stove. It never happened. After they cleared the table, he brought out his paperwork and notepad and got down to business in earnest. Not once over the subsequent hours did he so much as hint that he saw her as anything other than his business partner.

No hot looks. No lingering glances. No intimate smiles. Nothing except sensible, incisive business discussion.

After two hours of intense strategizing, Lucy retreated to the bathroom again.

She was confused. She’d been so sure…. The butterflies in her stomach, the pounding of her heart, the steamy intent in his eyes—was it really possible that she was so out of practice with all things male-female that she’d misread his signals? Could she have simply imagined that moment of connection? Was that really possible?

She checked her reflection in the bathroom mirror and groaned as she realized she’d spilled sauce on herself, her baby bump having obligingly caught it. She stared at the red splodge, bright against the dark of her turtleneck, like a beacon drawing attention to her belly.

“You’re an idiot,” she told her reflection.

The tension she’d been carrying with her all afternoon dissipated as she sponged her top clean, shaking her head all the while.

Call it hormones, call it nerves, call it whatever—she’d clearly misinterpreted Dom’s behavior. Of course she had. She was pregnant. Hardly an object of desire. She had to have been temporarily deranged to even entertain the idea in the first place.

Feeling calm and centered for the first time all afternoon, she returned to their meeting.

Thank God she hadn’t delivered her little speech.