Читать книгу Unguarded - Tracy Wolff, Tracy Wolff - Страница 11

FOR WHAT HAD TO BE the fifth time in as many minutes, Shawn stirred the pasta sauce he’d spent the better half of his afternoon making. Rhiannon was late. Not stand-him-up-late, or even kind-of-rude late—at least, not yet. But still, the seconds were crawling by, probably because he’d spent all day counting down to seven-thirty, only to have it come and go with no fanfare whatsoever.

Lifting the wooden spoon to his lips, Shawn tasted his maternal grandmother’s pasta sauce with a grin. Like always, it was delicious. He’d have to tell her so the next time they spoke.

He glanced at the clock. Seven forty-five. She’d probably just gotten hung up at the party—it was her job to take care of things, after all. Besides, normally he wouldn’t even notice if his date was late—he’d be too engrossed in working on the latest adventures of Shadeslayer. But he hadn’t been able to write a word or draw a picture all day—he’d been too busy thinking about Rhiannon.

It was ridiculous, really, how excited he was about this date. He’d dated a lot of women through the years—since Cynthia had died, he’d made it a point not to get serious about any of them—so he couldn’t figure out why he was getting so worked up this time. Over this woman.

Sure, she was beautiful, but he’d learned long ago that beauty was often only skin deep. Cynthia had been absolutely gorgeous, yet when they’d been engaged, she’d made his life a living hell for longer than he cared to remember.

No, it wasn’t Rhiannon’s looks he was responding to so strongly. Maybe it was her cautious sense of humor, the one she kept hidden but that came out at the best moments? Or the fact that she was extremely cautious, yet had chosen to come here anyway. She might look fragile, she might even be fragile, but she was braver than he’d first given her credit for. And that he admired the hell out of her for.

The ringing of his doorbell had him all but leaping over the counter. Telling himself to chill—or he really would scare her away—Shawn headed through the entryway to the front door. He pulled it open, and couldn’t stop the smile that stretched across his face.

She looked good—really good—all dressed up from the afternoon garden party in a long-sleeved wrap-dress of navy silk. Her briefcase was slung over her shoulder and though he caught tantalizing glimpses of cleavage as she stepped inside, it was her smile that really caught his attention. Wide and happy, it transformed her whole face from sedately beautiful to breathtaking. If he looked closely, he could even see that small, peekaboo dimple in her left cheek. It made her look like a teenager.

“I’m sorry I’m late. The party ran long, and then the caterers took forever to clean up. Which ended up being nice, actually, because it gave the client plenty of time to gush about how great the party was. Seven of the guests walked away with my business card, promising to call early next week.” She laughed, a sweet, tinkling sound he’d never heard from her before. Which was a shame—she had a great laugh, though it sounded a little rusty, and it bugged him that she usually held herself back so much.

“Believe me, I understand how work can wreak havoc on the best-laid plans.” He rested a light hand on her lower back as he ushered her through to the kitchen. “I have a tendency to get lost in my own world when I’m working.”

“You don’t have to tell me that. I know all about you artistic types.”

Something dangerous flashed inside him, something he couldn’t name. Jealousy, maybe, that she’d been with some artistic type before him? But that was stupid—it wasn’t like there was anything between them. Yet. Still, he couldn’t resist asking, “Really? And how is it you’re so intimately acquainted with us artistic types?”

She paused at his tone, and he watched as her normal reserve came back. He could have kicked himself. “My whole family has an artistic bent of one type or another,” she said, all traces of levity gone. “My oldest brother’s an architect now, but when he was younger he had visions of being a great artiste. My mother was amazed he made it through adolescence without chopping off an ear.”

“His own or someone else’s?”

She inclined her head. “Either or. Matt was a handful when he was young.”

“Do you have any other siblings?” he asked, watching her look around his kitchen in admiration. It was stupid, but he felt his chest swell at the thought that she so obviously liked something that was such an intrinsic part of him.

“Twin sisters, who are also younger than I. One designs jewelry and the other designs clothes.”

“And you plan parties.”

Something flickered in her eyes. “Yes, not very artistic of me I must admit, but it pays the bills nicely. I figure that’s something.”

“It is,” he agreed, as he gestured for her to sit at the bar that ran along the center island of the kitchen.

“You’re cooking!” She stared at the stove as if she’d never seen one before. “You really didn’t have to do that.”

“I figured you’d be hungry after going from one party to another today.” He poured some pasta into the pot of water boiling on the stove. “Have you already eaten?”

“Yes, I—” She shook her head at the skeptical look he shot her. “No, I haven’t. Not since my cup of yogurt this morning, anyway. I’d planned to grab something on the way here, but I was running late and didn’t want to be any later.”

“I could have waited a few more minutes, Rhiannon. But I’m glad you didn’t eat—it’s always nicer to cook for someone else.”

“It smells delicious.”

“It tastes even better. It’s an old family recipe.” He stirred the pasta sauce, then held the wooden spoon up to her lips. “Here, try.”

At first he thought she was going to refuse, but right before he lowered the spoon, she leaned forward and took a tentative lick, her eyes widening as she tasted the tangy mix of tomatoes, garlic and fresh herbs. “That’s really good.” She took another, bigger bite.

“You don’t have to sound so surprised.”

“I’m sorry. It’s just, I’m not used to men who can cook that well.”

“You must be hanging out with the wrong kind of men.”

“You have no idea.” A shadow passed across her face, turning her already serious expression almost sad. Her brown eyes flickered and grew darker, and he couldn’t help wondering what had happened to her that had put that look on her face.

It set off an alarm deep inside him, had him thinking that maybe he should take a step back. Reserved was one thing, but the last thing he really needed was to get involved with another woman who was damaged. Surviving Cynthia had nearly killed him.

The first awkward silence of the night descended as he popped the garlic bread in the oven. He waited for her to say something, but she didn’t, and the stillness stretched from awkward to downright uncomfortable.

“I’m no whiz, but I can follow my grandmother’s recipe pretty well,” he commented in an effort to get things back on track. “She’s a genius in the kitchen.”

“Evidently.” She grabbed on to the verbal life preserver with both hands. “But you’re obviously no slouch, if that sauce is any indication.”

“Thanks. Dinner will be ready in about fifteen minutes. Can I get you a drink while we wait?” He gestured to the bottle of red wine he had resting on the counter.

“Actually, a glass of water would be great. I’m parched from all the talking I had to do today.”

“Sure.” He filled a glass, handed it to her.

“I’d love to see your backyard—get a chance to look at the space.”

“Absolutely.” He led them through the family room toward the back door that would take them out to the large deck he and Robert had built the summer before last.

“Wow.” She glanced around the huge room, with its cinema-sized television and state-of-the-art sound system. “This is a great room for a party, too.” She wandered over to one of the arcade-sized pinball machines he had lined up against the side wall, ran a hand over it and took in the adventures of various famous superheroes painted on its sides.

“You really take this whole comic-book thing seriously, don’t you?”

“Graphic novels, and yeah, I do. Seeing as how it’s my job, I figure I’d better take it seriously.”

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to offend you.”

“Don’t worry. I’m not that easy to offend.” He smiled at her, then changed the subject back to the party. “Most of the downstairs can be used—it’s a giant circle, so all the rooms pretty much flow into one another.”

He flipped on the outdoor lights as he opened the door, gestured for her to precede him, then waited for her reaction. He didn’t have long to wait.

“Oh, my God, this is unbelievable. When you said you had two acres up here, I figured most of it would be wild and unusable. But this—” She held her arms out wide. “This is perfect. You could have twice as many people as we planned out here and still not be crowded.”

“You want to go explore?” He nodded toward the well-lit path that curved from the deck through the entire yard.

“Try and stop me.”

RHIANNON FELT A LITTLE like Alice in Wonderland as she combed through Shawn’s yard. Everywhere she looked there was something else to see—a tall, intricately carved gazebo that would comfortably seat twelve. An abundant rose garden with benches scattered throughout. Hidden alcove after hidden alcove, each perfect for a food station or intimate seating arrangement. And then there was the gigantic pool, hot tub and basketball court that took up a significant portion of the backyard near the wrought-iron fence, not to mention the view of the lake, which, even at night, was breathtaking.

When Logan had talked about Shawn having money, she’d assumed he meant normal money. Reasonable money. Not holy-cow-he-lives-like-a-pasha-on-his-own-estate money. All this before the movies for his superhero had even come out? Obviously, she’d severely underestimated the graphic-novel market.

It was disconcerting on a personal level, especially considering the fact that he’d called this their second date and had made her dinner. After talking to him at the restaurant and finding out what he did for a living, she’d managed to convince herself that he was just a little boy in a man’s body. She’d actually been happy about that—her unwitting attraction would die quickly under such circumstances.

She looked around the grounds. While all the toys and other things he’d had built made it obvious he liked to play, it was also becoming very clear that there was a lot more to Shawn than she’d originally thought. He had a beautiful, thoughtfully designed house, a career that he was obviously brilliant at and, despite it all, he was completely un-self-absorbed.

Most of the men she knew would have spent the whole time showing off the house, bragging about every little thing. But Shawn seemed more interested in learning about her than he did about impressing her. It was a little frightening, particularly since she found herself intrigued by his restraint.

It had been a long time since she’d been this interested in a man, and she didn’t know what to make of it, didn’t know how to act. Didn’t know, even, if she wanted to be interested. It was an odd conundrum to be in.

He wasn’t the first man to show interest in her since the attack, and he probably wouldn’t be the last. Normally she was overwhelmed by panic at the thought of a man’s attention and did her best to ignore them until they went away. She didn’t like the way they made her feel—afraid, helpless, hopeless and overwhelmed by doubts that she would ever be normal again.

She didn’t want to ignore Shawn. She didn’t have a clue what she did want to do with him, but she knew that she didn’t want to do that. Which was a problem in and of itself. Her old therapist would probably tell her that she’d chosen to be interested in him because he was safe. Unattainable.

Besides being way too young for her, he was also a client—at least, for the next six weeks. And the last thing she wanted was to get involved with a client. If she froze up, turned down his advances because she couldn’t handle them, it would be awful to still have to show up and do his party. Of course, it would be even more awful if he took his business somewhere else.

No, it was better if she kept these odd little twinges of interest to herself. The thought of disappointing Logan by screwing this up was bad enough, but she really couldn’t stand the idea of disappointing herself yet again.

Shoving her weird response to Shawn down deep inside of herself where she could forget it ever existed, Rhiannon did her best to focus on doing her job. Looking around the backyard, her ideas for the party exploded as she doubled—okay, tripled—the budget she’d had in mind. With a space like this, she practically had carte blanche as to what she could do. The challenge now would be to convince Shawn to let her run with her ideas—and his wallet.

The way the backyard was set up precluded one of her original ideas for a huge outdoor buffet—the seating was so sprawling it would be a huge trek to get back to the buffet table. But she could set up a bunch of small food stations, one in each of the alcoves… She began jotting a long list of notes as she wandered the grounds.

She stayed outside as long as she could, imagining one scenario after another. At one point Shawn murmured something about checking the pasta, but she didn’t notice him leave. She was too engrossed in planning the event of the year.

Standing where she was, with the lawn spread out in front of her and the lake in the distance, she could almost see the party. The lawn crowded with people in jeans and sundresses as they threw beanbags into a big clown’s mouth. Or—excitement thrummed through her as ideas flashed through her brain almost too quick for her to process—they could base the games on famous films that everyone knew and loved. Instead of pelting a clown with beanbags, it could be a giant shark’s mouth instead.

She had begun to scribble a note about Hollywoodizing the games when a hand fell on her shoulder. Her heart went into instant overdrive as her stomach tightened, painfully. Whirling around, hands clenched into fists, it took her a second to realize Shawn was standing there, staring at her like she’d lost her mind.

“Hey, I’m sorry.” To his credit, he backed up instantly, both hands in the air. “I didn’t mean to startle you, Rhiannon. You were off in your own little world.”

The fear that had slammed through her at his unexpected touch slowly dissipated, but she was left feeling awkward and embarrassed. What kind of event coordinator whipped around, looking for blood, the second her client tried to get her attention?

“Hey. You’re going back into your head again—stop it.”

Shawn’s voice was kind but firm, and this time when he placed a hand on her she didn’t flinch away. She just stood there, looking at him, and wondering what she could possibly say to make up for her idiotic behavior. Besides the truth—and the truth was the last thing she wanted to get into right now.

But Shawn was more of a gentleman than he looked. Instead of pushing her for some explanation, he just waited for her to figure out what she wanted to say.

Determined to get her head back in the game, she said, “Sorry. I was deep in thought about your party. I’ve come up with a bunch of different ideas.”

“Oh, yeah? Did you come up with any keepers?” He moved a little closer, surveyed the yard much as she had been doing before he’d interrupted her.

“Actually, I think I might have.” Though the fear was gone, her heart was still beating a little too fast and his proximity wasn’t making things any better. She took a few casual steps away from him.

“As I mentioned before, I’m not sure a huge, formal party is going to make the impression on these people that you’re hoping for. If they’re from Hollywood, they’ve probably been to a million of those. So what about if we do what we talked about the other day? We don’t try to compete with what they’re used to, but instead give them something else entirely? Maybe something more along the lines of a carnival?”

She spread her arms wide, gestured to all the different attractions he already had in place. “Your backyard is perfect for it. We can set up some big, brightly colored tents on the lawn, have people compete at games of chance for movie-themed prizes. You know, like carnival games—try to get three rings around a bottle, beanbag tosses, that kind of thing.

“And for food, we can set up different stations. Each station can be a takeoff of a famous Endeavor film. You know, like for Desert Bandits we can serve kabobs and other Middle Eastern finger foods. For Broken Vines, we can do a wine-tasting from some Central Texas vineyards with a bunch of gourmet breads and cheeses. Kiss and Tell can be the dessert tent, with a big chocolate fountain and sweets tables spread out all around it.”

She paused, took a breath. Tried to read his face. She was so excited about the idea that she would be totally bummed if he rejected it. It was his party, of course, but everything inside her screamed that this would be perfect.

Plus, it was only the third big party she’d handled on her own since Logan had given her a job two years before—she’d handled a lot of smaller affairs, but until a few months ago the big ones had always gone through him. About six months ago he’d begun giving her bigger jobs—one of which was the party at which she’d met Shawn the previous Saturday—but she still worried about making mistakes.

About placing Logan in an awkward position, where he’d feel like he had to keep her because she was his friend instead of wanting to keep her because she did a kick-ass job.

About thinking too much like a journalist and not enough like an event coordinator. Old habits—and even some of her new ones—were turning out to be very hard to break.

“You know, I really like the idea.”

“You do?” she whispered, thrilled at the confidence boost his answer gave her.

“Yeah. It’s not the fancy thing I had originally planned on, but I can see where it could be a lot of fun. Plus, I know I’d enjoy a party like that a lot more than one where I had to sip champagne in a stuffy tuxedo.”

“Excellent. I’ll put some numbers together and work up a minimum budget for this kind of thing. But before I do that, do you have a basic idea of how much you want to spend? I should have asked you the other day but—”

“But you were so dazzled by my charm and wit that you couldn’t remember all the business details?” He grinned. “That’s okay, I’m used to it.”

She narrowed her eyes. “I was going to say it was because you’d been hassling me incessantly with your God’s-gift-to-women persona and I just couldn’t work it into the conversation.”

“No, I don’t think so.” He tilted his head, as if actually considering the situation, but the expression on his face let her know he was only teasing. “I really do think you were just trying hard not to throw yourself at me. There’s no reason to be embarrassed. Like I said, it happens to me all the time.”

“I just bet it does.” She started to roll her eyes, but thought better of it. Hadn’t she just decided that she was going to keep things as businesslike as possible between them? Yet here she was, falling into a joking rhythm with him that was far easier to take part in than it should have been.

“Besides, I kind of like it.”

“Like what?”

“The fact that you get all frazzled and nervous around me.”

“Lissa didn’t mention that you were delusional when she introduced us. I’ll have to talk to her about that.”

“Yeah, well, best friends and their wives don’t know everything.”

They stood there, grinning at each other, for long seconds. An owl hooted, followed by the long, lonely sound of a coyote howling. When she was at her condo in the city, she couldn’t hear any of this. Couldn’t hear much of anything besides people, despite the abundant greenbelt around her complex. Was it because she hadn’t taken the time to listen in far too long? Because she couldn’t stand the sound of silence—of her own thoughts—anymore and always had the stereo going?

A gust of wind blew past her and she shivered. Shawn stepped close, blocking the cold air from hitting her head-on. “Are you ready to go in?”

Was she? Rhiannon glanced around the yard she had such high hopes for and tried to recapture the excitement—the warmth—she’d been feeling just a few moments before. But the sad, solitary cries of the coyote echoed within her, reminding her of just how long she’d been alone. Just how long it had been since she’d been able to reach out for or accept any kind of closeness—physical or emotional.

Maybe it was time to change that. She was sick of being alone, sick of always being on the outside looking in. Shawn was nice—really nice—not to mention sexy as hell. Maybe if she took things slowly, if she got to know him while planning the party, she could see where things took them. In six weeks’ time, when he was no longer a client, maybe she’d even be ready for a real date. One that ended in a real kiss and not just the glancing of his lips against her own.

It was an interesting idea, one she would have to consider for a while before she decided on it one way or another. But that was okay, because she had some time. Shawn wasn’t going anywhere for a while, and neither was she.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” He started to reach for her hand, then stopped himself. She could see from the look in his eyes that he was remembering her jumpiness when he’d touched her shoulder. Terrific—now he thought he was saddled with a total freak for a party planner. So much for him wanting to kiss her when this whole thing was over.

The thought jerked her out of her funk and Rhiannon forced herself to concentrate on the present. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just cold.” She managed to work up the same carefree grin she’d used to fool her friends and family for months now.

“There’s a cure for that, you know.”

“Oh, yeah? What’s that?” He was so close now that she had to tilt her head back to maintain eye contact. The air between them was suddenly charged, electric, and she wasn’t sure how she felt about that. Part of her wanted to pull away, to shrink back inside the cocoon she’d built around herself and stay there. But another part of her, one that she barely recognized, wanted to stay right where she was. That part wanted to see what happened next.

But nothing happened next. Instead, he backed away with a relaxed expression that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “A race to the house should cure your chills,” he said. “On your mark. Get set. Go.”