Even before she looked up, Lara was somehow aware of his presence. Perhaps because he was on her mind so much of late. For at least a day after the fiasco at Dellasandro’s, she was too furious with him to think about anything else. Then, when logic trumped anger, her thoughts circled and centered on those few moments under the table when she and Bryce and Cal had shared something intangible, but disconcertingly real. Even now, just thinking about it a whole weekend and an entire Monday morning later, her cheeks flushed hot with an awareness she still couldn’t quite define. Which only meant her decision to keep a considerable distance—at least the length of Nell’s office—between her life and his was a sound one.
But Bryce, of course, didn’t know she’d made that decision because here he stood, lounging in her doorway as if he had nowhere else to be and nothing better to do. “May I help you?” she asked, barely letting her gaze flick to him before she returned it to the notes in front of her.
“I didn’t know you wore glasses.”
Drat! She’d forgotten she was wearing the half-moon reading glasses and had to fight the sudden vain impulse to jerk them off her nose. “The things you don’t know about me, Bryce, are legion and likely to remain so.” She narrowed her eyes on the calculator, then penciled a sum into the wrong column. Why couldn’t he go stand in someone else’s doorway? “Was there something you wanted?”
“Your attention would be a nice start,” he suggested.
She laid down the pencil, removed the glasses and folded her hands on top of the desk, granting his request, but only just.
“I’d like to talk to you.”
She arched her brows, indicating that she resented the interruption of her work, but giving him tacit approval to proceed. His jaw tightened, but then he smiled, and she had to remind herself to breathe. Really, the man was too handsome to live. For her money, he’d be worth more as a statue.
“About tonight.”
Tonight? Then with an inconvenient rush of memory and its accompanying blush, she knew. “I’ve already asked Bridget to watch Cal,” she hurried to say. “So there will be no need to take him along with me to tonight’s committee meeting. And I won’t need to ride with you, either. I’ll drive myself.”
His tawny eyebrows rose. “You don’t have to go to the meeting at all, Lara. In fact, it will be best if you’re not there.”
Unaccountably, she was angry at being cut out. “So,” she said. “Did you un-volunteer me from the committee altogether because of one unfortunate incident? Which, I might add, was mostly your fault?”
He leaned a brawny shoulder against the door-frame, looking puzzled by her reaction, but unperturbed. “Not at all. You just don’t have to go to the meeting tonight.”
“And why not?”
“Because I’ve found someone to go in our place.”
“That was high-handed of you, Bryce.” Then she paused. “Our place? You’re not going either?”
“Dad’s going to fill in for us tonight.”
“Your dad?”
“It’s an experiment,” Bryce explained. “I’m trying my hand at a little matchmaking.”
“What about Monica?”
His unrepentant shrug indicated mischief was afoot. “She’s in Newport and unfortunately, Benson’s having a little trouble with the Rolls. Could be seven-thirty or later before they make it back to the Hall. Too late, I’m afraid, for her to accompany Dad to the committee meeting.”
It was a rather sweet gesture, she thought, trying to break up his father’s engagement. Misguided and stupid, but still rather sweet. “You probably shouldn’t interfere in your father’s affairs.”
“This isn’t interference. It’s an opportunity for me to avoid another boring meeting, and for Dad to spend a little time out from under his fiancée’s thumb. Not to mention, I’ve single-handedly freed up an entire evening for you.” He held up his hand as if he expected a round of applause. “And yes, you can show your appreciation by letting me take you and Cal out for pizza.”
Her mood, currently on the upswing, took a soaring leap of pleasure and crashed right into reality. “Cal and I will be eating in tonight,” she said firmly. And every other night. No way was she was going anywhere tonight but to bed. And absolutely no way was she allowing Bryce Braddock into her private life. “Thanks, anyway.”
“Tomorrow night, then.”
“No.”
“Wednesday.”
“No.”
“Thursday.”
“No, and not Friday, Saturday, Sunday or any other day.”
“He’s just a little boy, Lara. He overate. That doesn’t mean he’ll throw up every time he eats at a restaurant.”
“I’m not interested in putting it to a test, and that’s not the reason.”
He crossed his arms and his lips formed an attentive smile, offering her the same tacit invitation to explain that she’d earlier offered him.
But she was smarter than he was, and she had no intention of explaining. She imitated the Mona Lisa, then picked up the reading glasses as if she were about to put them back on and dropped her gaze back to the column of figures in front of her. She needed to erase that last wrong entry, but was darned if she’d do it with him watching.
“Lara?”
She tried to look surprised that he was still there in her doorway. “Was there something else you wanted?”
“The list is growing by the second,” he said, and the look in his eyes made her foolish heart jump. “For starters, you can tell me why you’re so angry with me over something that was not mostly my fault. Or yours, for that matter.”
“Angry?” She laughed. “I’m not—”
“Let’s cut straight to the chase here, Lara. You’ve been raining on my parade regularly since the first moment we met, but until last Wednesday night, you didn’t turn into an ice cube every time I looked in your general direction. So I’ll ask again, why are you angry with me?”
She thought about denying it. She thought about saying she didn’t know what he was talking about. She even thought about accusing him of imagining a cold front where there was nothing but lukewarm indifference. But in the end, she laid down the glasses and her pencil, looked him square in the eye, and told him the truth, mostly. “I’m not interested in a personal relationship with you, Bryce. Outside of this office, my life is my own. I’m not looking for anyone to share it. And right now, it’s particularly important that Cal doesn’t form attachments to someone who isn’t going to be there for him later. Do you understand?”
He straightened slowly, and she was afraid that if he challenged her on any point, she’d lose her justification for all. But he merely walked to her desk and, putting his palms flat on the scattered papers, he leaned in, uncomfortably, disconcertingly close. “I understand, Lara, that you and I will have to agree to disagree about this. Because I am interested in you, both in this office and out of it, and I’m giving you fair warning that I mean to do everything within my power to change your mind.”
Her heart thudded in her chest like a sledgehammer, her throat went suddenly, painfully dry, but she didn’t blink. She swallowed hard, but she didn’t blink. “You always have overestimated your charm,” she said in a tone as light as air, but not nearly as substantial. “But it is a free country and you’re allowed to make a fool of yourself in, pretty much, any way you choose.”
His smile was easy, as if he read her fear like a songbook. “See there? We’re in agreement on something right from the start.”
She picked up the glasses and slid them on the tip of her nose, hoping to dismiss him with the gesture. “You may have time to waste on trivialities, but I have work to do.”
“Ah, yes. Work, the panacea of a lonely heart.”
“Platitudes,” she retorted smoothly. “The refuge of a banal mind.”
He laughed, straightening and giving her room to breathe again. “You know, Lara, when I walked in here I didn’t know what this was about, but now I believe I do. Who would have thought an ice queen like you would fall in love with a guy like me?”
She fumbled with the pencil, making a long, leaded streak across the page. “Wh-what?”
“And to think that all this time I believed Adam was your man.”
Now she was angry. “I used to believe you were borderline crazy, too,” she said, cooling his amusement with a chilly gaze. “But now I know you’re certifiably insane. There was nothing between your brother and me, but a professional and personal friendship. There is nothing between you and me except the barest thread of tolerance, and that’s about to snap.” She sucked in a deep and outraged breath. “And just so you’re clear on this, love is the last emotion I’m ever likely to feel in connection with you.”
Darn the man. His smile only deepened, made him look annoyingly appealing, frustratingly handsome, infuriatingly confident. “Well said, Ms. Richmond, and duly noted. But since you’re obviously not indifferent to me—which by the way is the true opposite of love—I’ll just take my suspicions back to my own office and figure out my next move.”
“Just so long as your next move takes you out of my office.”
“On my way.” But he paused in the doorway. “And I do understand about Cal. But as I was a little boy once myself and facing similar circumstances, I can tell you the issue in his mind isn’t who’s going to be there tomorrow, but who’s there for him today.”
He walked out then, leaving her shaking, furious and, as reluctant as she was to admit it, scared. Because somehow—she wasn’t sure how he’d done it—he’d just breached her defenses and opened up a possibility she couldn’t, wouldn’t allow to be true.
BRYCE KICKED BACK in the chair, propped his feet on the windowsill, put his hands behind his head and gave some serious thought to the past few minutes in Lara’s office. Not what he’d anticipated, not even close. He’d gone there to try and clear the air, to apologize, if pressed, for whatever she imagined he’d done. The last thing he’d expected was the blush, that bare tinge of pink, that utterly beguiling touch of color in her cheeks, when he mentioned the glasses. Who would have thought Lara would care that he’d noticed?
And then she’d jumped right from rejecting his offer to buy pizza to rejecting him as a suitor. Amazing.
Until that moment, he hadn’t even known he wanted to suit her.
It was probably still a bad idea. Lara was trouble, the kind of woman whose beauty and brains packed a double wallop for a guy like him, a guy who liked to keep things simple, have a good time and move on before anybody started thinking serious thoughts. But Lara…well, hell, she had serious thoughts before the good times even got started. She wanted to nip any hint of fun at the outset, be sure there was no possibility of a misunderstanding right from the start, put herself in the role of Captain before the Love Boat pulled away from the dock.
And he’d just told her he intended to have a relationship with her.
The very idea made him laugh aloud, and filled him with a crazy anticipation.
The intercom buzzed, and he lazily reached over and tapped it on. “Go,” he said, smiling widely for no good reason.
There was a pause, then Nell’s crisply professional tones. “Okay, if you insist, I’ll go, but I expect to get paid for the entire day.”
“Nell.” She knew Lara. He’d seen them talking together, laughing. “You’re just the woman I need to see. Come in here, will you, please?”
Another pause. Wary. “You’re not going to try and dictate a letter or anything, are you?”
He laughed as he dropped his feet from the windowsill and swung the chair around full front. “I promised you that first day I’d keep letter writing to a minimum. Just come in here for a minute. There’s something I want to ask you.”
“Hmmph.” She broke the connection and a minute later was standing in front of his desk, looking tall, stern and very like his eighth grade science teacher. “If this is about overtime to help you catch up on this paperwork, I’ll remind you that I’m salaried, not paid by the hour. Therefore, there’s very little incentive you can offer me to work late.”
“I’d pay you under the table and hourly if some of these voluminous reports were to vanish off this desk.”
“Tempting, but time-consuming,” she said drily. “Which brings us back to the question of overtime.”
Bryce had always liked Nell, had always enjoyed her crisp, no-nonsense efficiency, and had been charmed these past few weeks to discover she actually had a sense of humor. “Contrary to your often-stated opinion, this desk has not become a black hole under my command and when I need to be rescued from this paperwork I’ll let you know. But I am, however, in need of some information I believe you may know.”
Her shoulders went back, her chin came up…she was a soldier ready and eager for the mission. “If I don’t know it, I can get it for you.”
“I’m counting on that, Nell, as well as on your…discretion.”
She sniffed. “No one has ever accused me of spilling my guts to the six o’clock news.”
“Good,” he said. “Because I need to know everything you can find out about…pizza.”
JAMES FOLLOWED the butler through a large entryway and down a wide hall to a loggia where a half dozen people were already sitting at two white, wrought-iron tables—a group of four at one table, a group of two at the other. The committee members were conversing easily across the two tables, friends and fellow philanthropists; male and female; they were all obviously of long acquaintance and shared commitments. Pausing in the doorway, as the butler announced him— “Mr. James Braddock“—James gathered a sense of the group dynamics and decided, in an instant of almost unconscious perception, how he would fit in.
Then Ilsa was rising from her place at the table for two and coming toward him with a smile of welcome that fairly warmed the air around him.
“James,” she said. “How delightful that you could come.”
He accepted her outstretched hand and enclosed it within both of his, thinking she was still as young and vibrant as when they were at school together, but with a honed grace, which could only come with age. “I’m delighted to have been asked, although I can’t promise I’ll be a great success as my son’s understudy.”
“Archer’s already told me that you’re constantly in demand to organize these same kind of events back in Denver, so there’s no point in pleading inexperience.” She withdrew her hand, having let it linger an extra moment in his hold, a gesture of long friendship, which James both recognized and appreciated. He would have continued to hold her hand as they moved from the shadow of the doorway onto the red-tiled terrace, except, of course, their friendship wasn’t on that level of familiarity, perhaps had never been on that level, even though he’d like to think that one day it might be.
“Come with me,” she said. “I’ll introduce you to the others, although I’m sure you’ll remember George and Bonnie Singer.” Her voice dropped to a sotto voce aside. “Be careful with Lana Benedict, though. She takes herself very seriously.” Ilsa drew him into the committee’s circle, made the introductions and explanations with ease, then seated him next to her at the table, as if he might need her protection.
It had been a long time, he realized, since he’d felt this same glow of welcome, of old memories and simple pleasure in another’s company. It seemed even longer since anyone had made him feel so completely and immediately at home.
James, who so seldom felt he was home anywhere, was glad he’d come.
CALVIN, AN ESCAPEE from the bathtub, naked as a newborn, and dripping great puddles of watery suds all over the carpet, pushed in front of Lara and peered up at the delivery man. “Who are you?” he asked.
“Minute Man Pizza,” the kid—he couldn’t have been much past sixteen—said as he tried again to hand Lara the pizza box. “It’s already paid for, ma’am. You might as well take it.”
“You’re not listening to me,” Lara tried again to explain. “You’re at the wrong house. I didn’t order a pizza.”
“They said you’d say that, but I was to give it to you anyway.”
Lara put a hand on Cal’s wet shoulder and tried to draw him back out of the doorway. “Who said?”
“My manager. He said I was to bring it to this address.” The kid shuffled the pizza box and showed her—again—the slip of paper with the handwritten address. “And I was to give it to you, even if you said it wasn’t yours.” The youngster stuck the box out toward her. “This is the address, so this is your pizza.”
“Pizza.” Cal slipped out from under Lara’s restraint and reached for the box, his goofy grin spreading wide with delight as it was placed in his unsteady little hands. “I lov-uh-ove pizza, Aunt Lara!”
“No, you don’t.” Lara took the box away from her nephew and handed it back to the delivery kid, who stepped back, holding his hands up in refusal. Then, as if suddenly realizing he’d accomplished his goal and was free of responsibility in the matter, he turned, jumped off the steps in a single, long-legged leap and jogged toward his car, a zebra-striped Volkswagen Beetle classic with Minute Man Pizza flags draped from bumper to bumper. “Have a nice evening!” he called over his shoulder.
“Bye, pizza man! Bye!” Cal dashed out on the porch—bare butt, wet head, lingering suds and all—waving vigorously as the gaudy advertisement on wheels backfired and then streaked off down the street, flags flying in raucous retreat. “Bye!”
Lara looked down at the pizza box, felt the warmth of it in her hands, smelled the intoxicating aroma of her secret vice, knew exactly who had sent it and why. She had half a mind to leave it outside all night, then take it in to the office in the morning and leave it, unopened and unappreciated, in the middle of his desk. But even as that sweet gesture of defiance occurred to her, her stomach growled in anticipation as Calvin dashed back inside to dance around her like a scrawny little cupid. “Can we eat it now, Aunt Lara? I lov-uh-ove pizza!”
“You don’t even like pizza, Cal,” she said, closing the door and hoping for agreement, or at least a slight lessening of enthusiasm. “Besides, you already ate supper.”
He stopped dancing and looked at her solemnly. “I’m still hungry, Aunt Lara. I am, I really am.” The tip of his tongue laved his lips, offering proof in little boy lingo that he was, indeed, hungry. “An’ I really, really, really lov-uh-ove pizza!”
So, okay, she was a bonafide sucker when he gave her that big, brown-eyed plea and his sweet little face radiated with hope. It would probably mean another night of tummy aches, another night when he’d sleep fitfully and be a grouchy bear the next morning. But in another few weeks he’d be going back out to California to live with Shelly, and if eating pizza before bedtime this one night made him feel indulged and spoiled…Well, what was wrong with that? It was just a good thing he wouldn’t be staying with her past the middle of August. Any longer, and he’d be running her household like a midget king. “Oh, all right,” she said, giving in gracefully and against her better judgment. “Go put some clothes on and meet me at the kitchen table in two minutes. We’re going to see how much you really lov-uh-ove pizza.”
His grin flashed, filling her with a sense of pride that she could give such pleasure with such a small surrender. “I do, Aunt Lara. I really, really really do!” And off he scooted, skinny legs darting past furniture and toys, racing off to fulfill his part of the bargain with a whole and happy heart.
Lara sighed, certain he wouldn’t like pizza any better than spaghetti once he realized it tasted nothing like peanut butter and banana.
But it smelled divine. She was hungry, and pizza was a guilty pleasure she seldom allowed herself to enjoy. Eating it was no more of a statement than not eating it. Bryce had ferreted out her secret craving somehow—he’d probably tortured Nell until she broke—and had sent the pizza to make some nefarious point of his own. So what? Enjoying this particular gift didn’t mean she’d lost the war. Or even this battle. It didn’t even mean she’d agreed to disagree. It only meant she was hungry.
Besides, she could handle Bryce.
His declaration of intent in her office today had been pure melodrama, meant to aggravate her more than anything else. For a day or two, he’d probably tease her with good deeds and slow smiles, woo her with a double dose of charm and attention. She’d observed his methods of romancing, knew the moves as well as the countermoves. Smarter men than he had tried their hand at winning hers.
Although not one had ever thought to send her a pizza.
She opened the cardboard lid and inhaled. Heavenly.
Calvin raced past her, a streak of nearly bare boy and Scooby Doo underwear. “Let’s eat, Aunt Lara. Let’s eat pizza.”
It was an invitation she didn’t see any reason to refuse.
JAMES LAUGHED, a deep, expressive sound of easy delight, and Ilsa knew she had made a grave error in judgment. The others had left some long time ago, but it had seemed natural that James would linger, would accept her offer of a glass of wine, her invitation to stay, reminisce over childhood misdeeds and adventures, would want to catch up on the lives of mutual friends and classmates. The trouble was it seemed altogether too natural, too completely right to have him here in her home, drinking from her Waterford crystal, laughing with her across the distance of her antique coffee table.
She’d once had a huge crush on James Braddock, and was rather dismayed to realize that some remnants of it still lingered all these many years later.
“So where is your brother these days?” James asked, unaware of her unsettling thoughts. “I haven’t seen Hugh in years.”
“He’s still living in Rome, still working for the same textiles company, and coming home to visit all too seldom to suit me.”
“Did he ever marry? Have children?”
“Hugh’s an old confirmed bachelor now. I can’t imagine he’ll ever change his ways. I do, however, deeply regret that there have been no nieces or nephews for me to love and spoil rotten. I think my brother was most inconsiderate in that regard.”
James sipped his wine, his eyes regarding her with interest over the bowl of the crystal. “I’m surprised you never remarried. You were still only in your twenties when you were widowed.”
“We’re not all presented the same opportunities in life.”
“Don’t give me that, Ilsa.” His slow smile teased her. “I refuse to believe you didn’t have other opportunities. Why, I’ll bet George Singer would have dumped Bonnie in a heartbeat if you’d ever given him the slightest encouragement. And I imagine he’s merely just the worst of the lot.”
“What a terrible thought.” She wrinkled her nose to show her distaste for the idea. “Although I’ll admit he and Bonnie don’t seem a particularly happy match.”
“He’s a fool and she’d have done better with a small army to command. They deserve each other.”
Ilsa laughed, despite wishing to be more diplomatic. “No one deserves to be unhappily married. At our stage of life, marriage should be, at the very least, a safe refuge from the uncertainties of growing old, even if it can’t provide a lovely harbor of companionship and caring.” Realizing that her guest was about to embark on another marriage, his sixth to her one, and to a woman young enough to be his daughter, she bit her lip, wishing she’d chosen diplomacy instead of philosophy. “I don’t suppose everyone feels the same, however.”
He drained the last of his wine and she knew, regrettably, he was about to take his leave. “I guess I’m still hopeful of finding that safe refuge, Ilsa, even though it’s eluded me up until now. But you did manage, quite gracefully, to evade my question to you.” Leaning in, he set the empty glass on the table. “Don’t think, however, that I won’t ask again.” He clasped his hands, still leaning forward, still looking at her, his lips curved in a mysterious half smile. “Or that I won’t continue to ask until I discover why New England’s fabled matchmaker never made a match for herself.”
Surprise rippled through her, but she didn’t let it show. “And which interests you more, James? My career as a matchmaker, or my not having taken myself on as a client?”
“You’re not surprised that I’ve discovered the nature of your business?”
“It’s hardly a secret. I’d have no clients at all, if that were true.”
“No, I don’t suppose you would.” He continued to hold her gaze, and she had the distinct impression he was debating whether to return to his original question. “I’ve thought about you often over the years, Ilsa. I’ve even wondered, at times, if—”
“Excuse me, Madam.” Robert paused in the doorway. “There’s a phone call for Mr. Braddock. A young woman who wished me to stress that it is quite important.”
Monica, of course. As if miles away at Braddock Hall, she had heard that fugitive if, that wistful hesitation, and wanted to close down the possibilities before they had the opportunity to open up.
“That will be Monica,” James said with apology. “I’d better take the call.”
“Certainly.” Ilsa rose, bringing James to his feet in an old-world custom so few men practiced in this modern day. “There’s a phone there, by the writing desk. I’ll step outside the room so you can have some privacy.”
“Thank you.” He acknowledged her kindness with a smile that was no longer mysterious, but merely regretful. “Perhaps, one day, we’ll talk again, you and I.”
She smiled, too, taking the high road and ignoring the feeling that her old friend was in need of simple friendship. “I imagine we’ll talk very soon, James. Like it or not, you’re now an alternate committee member, and the Cinderella Ball is less than one week away.” She walked out of the room then and Robert closed the doors behind her.
But not before she heard James pick up the phone and say softly and, it seemed, quite tenderly, “Hello, Darling.”
LARA EXPECTED Bryce to show up in her office first thing the next morning, fishing for her reaction to his unusual gift. By eleven, when he still hadn’t made an appearance, she couldn’t stand it any longer and thought up an excuse—a perfectly legitimate one—to go to him. He was standing at the window in his office, staring studiously at something beyond her view, smiling with obvious delight. “Lara,” he said, not even glancing over his shoulder. “Come over here and look at this.”
Really, she thought. Did the man ever do any work? “What is it?” she asked in a tone of complete disinterest. “Someone doing a striptease in the office across the way? I can’t imagine anything less would take you away from your work.” She wanted to bite her tongue for saying something so personal, so completely unprofessional, but he didn’t seem to notice anything untoward, didn’t even appear to have heard her catty remark.
“Here, look.” He set his hands on her shoulders and drew her directly in front of him. The warmth of his hands came right through her jacket, the warmth of his breath sent a ripple of pleasure down the back of her neck, and she felt a sudden, warm, totally absurd impulse to lean her head against him and draw his arms around her. “There.” He pointed past her and she whipped her indiscriminating impulses into line, although her silly heart continued to beat out a lightning-quick rhythm. “Can you see it?”
She frowned, wished he’d take his hands off her, and conversely, hoped he wouldn’t. Pulling forward, forcing herself to gain perspective, she looked down at the Riverwalk, thinking he probably wanted her to see a sports car parked along the roadway or a scull on the river. But then she saw what had captured and held his attention.
A group of Rhode Island School of Design students was doing chalk paintings all along the river walkways, drawing colorful designs ranging from a seascape to Mickey Mouse. From this angle, it was easy to see the emerging images and that altogether, they were forming an overall, preconceived, abstract design. “Oh,” she said. “Isn’t that amazing?”
“My thoughts, exactly.” Bryce’s voice was very close, his breath soft as a caress against her ear. “I just wish Calvin was here to see it. Maybe you should go get him.”
That was as good as a dousing of cold water. “Uh-huh, and then no one would get any work done. Cal is just fine right where he is.”
“It seems a shame for him to miss it.”
“I’ll let him chalk up my driveway and he’ll be just as happy. Probably more so. Doing is better than watching, in his view, anytime.”
“I think males, in general, feel that way about a lot of things.”
And the heat was back faster than a gas furnace. He hadn’t mentioned sex, but suddenly the idea surrounded her, was in her mind, uppermost in her thoughts, and with it, came its accompanying entourage of breathless awareness, heightened cognizance, and shimmering excitement. She stepped away from the window, away from him, away from the impulsive idea of burning herself by turning around and facing him at such close range. To be completely on the safe side, she took up a position nearer the door. “I came to tell you it would be a good idea for you to sit in on my meeting with Cooper McLennan tomorrow morning.”
“Cooper has a voice like a tree frog.” Bryce turned away from the window, reluctantly and perched on the wide sill, arms crossed, legs extended, lips curved in a dubious smile. “Can’t you just tell me about the meeting once it’s over?”
“Of course I can, but it would be best if you make the effort to sit in. Cooper may sound like a tree frog, but he’s a crackerjack analyst and what he says is worth hearing firsthand.”
“If you want me there, Lara, then I’ll be there.” The smile segued effortlessly into polished charm. “All you have to say is, ‘Bryce, I want you—’” He let the words linger suggestively, then added, “‘—to be there.’”
She swallowed and reminded herself that two could play at this game, especially when one of them—her, in this instance—was smarter than the other. “Bryce,” she said, lowering her voice to a sexy, sensual, breathy rush of air. “I want you…to be there.”
“Great. Count me in,” he said, switching from seduction to teasing. “See how easy that was? Did you and Cal enjoy the pizza?”
“Pizza?” She frowned, as if trying to remember the last time she’d even had a pizza. “I don’t recall a…Oh. Last night. Minute Man Pizza. How did you know we ordered pizza?”
He laughed, softly, good-naturedly. “You didn’t. I did.”
“And I suppose you expect a profuse thank you in return.”
“Not even a stingy thanks is necessary. I’ll never ask anything from you, Lara, that you don’t want to give me willingly.”
The way he said it, the tone of his voice, the look in his eyes, the complete, utter confidence in the set of his chin turned her knees to jelly, and it took considerable stamina on her part not to sag against the furniture. “You’ll tire of this game long before I give you anything other than a piece of my mind.”
“That’s what I love about you, Lara. Everything’s a challenge.”
He’d think challenge before this was over. “The meeting with Cooper is in the executive conference room at ten,” she said, back in professional mode, even if it was mostly a front.
“Will there be donuts?”
She paused in the doorway, steeled herself to look back at him, at his mesmerizing smile, his aggravating good looks. “Only,” she said pleasantly, “if you bring them yourself.”