CALL IT LOVE
by Alyssa Kress
Published by 4 Dolphins Press at Smashwords
Copyright 2015 Alyssa Kress
Originally copyright 1996 as Love Potion
Cover Design Copyright 2015
Discover these and other titles by Alyssa Kress at her webpage, http://www.alyssakress.com
The Indiscreet Ladies of Green Ivy Way
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, then please visit http://www.alyssakress.com to find licensed retailers from whom you can purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the work of this author.
The characters and events in this book are fictitious, even those referring to actual or well-known entities. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
Acknowledgements
The author would like to thank everyone who has given immense support and help in creating this and other stories: Julie Woolley, Kathy Bennett, Jenna Ives, Leigh Court. An especial thanks to Ruth Barges, of blessed memory, for whom this book was her favorite. Thank you, Ruth.
Author's Note on Chronology
After some thought, I decided to leave details accurate as to the time period in which this book was written, roughly 1996. This means you will see the characters have no access to the Internet or cell phones, but were privileged to enjoy greater freedom at the airport.
Preview of Good Neighbors (Book 1 of the Home Again Series)
The last place Cookie expected to run into Chester Bradshaw was the cemetery. If she'd dreamed for one minute that Chess would remember today was the anniversary of her father's death, she wouldn't have come to the hillside memorial park with the bunch of freesias, her father's favorite. At the very least, she would have made sure to have a chaperone.
But instead Cookie stood beside her father's grave with the delicate flowers in her hand, her high heels sinking into the soft grass—and a lowering feeling in her stomach that could only mean one thing.
Chess.
Drawing in a deep breath, she turned. A stray lock of dark hair whipped across her face in the breeze of a cool Bay Area summer day.
Chess stood several yards distant along the open hill. He'd been leaning against a crooked stone angel but straightened when their eyes met.
Dammit, Cookie thought. Dammit, dammit. Aloud she said, "Why, hello, Chess."
"Hello, Rebecca." Of the extended and thornily blended family, Chess was the only one who never used her familiar nickname, not once in the twenty years since they'd first met as teenagers. Now he pushed off the angel and started toward her.
Cookie suppressed her automatic reflex to straighten the clinging black dress she wore. It was perverse how the one man who showed zero interest in her well-endowed body was the only one who could make her feel self-conscious about it.
Two feet from Cookie, he came to a stop. Chess didn't look self-conscious at all. Elegantly, expensively dressed, he looked the way he always did: like a wolf in sheep's clothing. He might be the lead fragrance designer at Scents Allure, the perfume company he owned with his mother, but neither that profession nor his tailored suit could hide the predator lurking in his rough-cut features.
"It hasn't been easy," he declared. "Tracking you down."
"Oh?" Cookie smiled brightly. "Were you looking for me?"
A quirk on one side of his mouth answered her question. Damn straight he'd been looking for her, just as surely as she'd been avoiding him.
For two weeks, she'd succeeded, but she'd known she was on borrowed time. When this man wanted something, he went after it with cold-blooded determination. Two weeks ago, he'd apparently decided he wanted her father's shares in Scents Allure. She had no idea why. All she knew was that, thanks to a ridiculous codicil in her father's will, she now stood between Chess and what he wanted.
It was inevitable he'd catch up to her.
Very sweetly, she remarked, "I'd hoped to be alone."
He gave her one of his superior looks. "I don't think you should be alone."
Please. What he actually thought was that she should stand here and—and do his bidding. He probably thought this should play out the same way it had every time her father had sent him to check up on her. On each occasion, Chess had found a way to force her to do what he wanted: from quitting her job at that rough bar to moving out of the below-code tenement in the Tenderloin, not to mention quite a few other matters in between.
But this time was different. This time Chess wanted something for his own benefit, not for Cookie's. That gave her the advantage, for once. Didn't it?
On the other hand, Chess usually had ammunition.
Cookie tensed now as he folded his arms over his charcoal-colored suit.
Here it came—
"Where's Alex?" Chess asked.
Cookie frowned. He was referring to the eighteen-year-old half-brother they shared. Twenty years ago, Cookie's father had married Chess's mother. One result of that union had been Alex.
"He should be here," Chess continued.
Still frowning, Cookie lowered her gaze to pluck at one of the tiny petals in her hands. This wasn't ammunition. In fact, Chess couldn't actually want Alex to be here. Catching Cookie alone was far more to his advantage.
"Alex went to Reno for the weekend." She knelt next to the brass vase affixed to one side of the headstone. "With some friends."
Above her, Chess grumbled, "He shouldn't have done that."
Cookie hated to agree. Since Alex shared her grief in losing a father, his company today might have been a comfort. His presence also might have put Chess off from his purpose.
Carefully, she stuck her little bouquet into the ugly brass vase. "I told Alex to go have fun."
"You would." Chess sounded disgusted. "Let him off the hook."
"I don't think of it that way." With a last fluff to her flowers, she rose to her feet. "There's no point coming to the cemetery unless it makes you feel better, not worse."
"This makes you feel better?"
"Sure." Disguising a swallow, she added. "But I'm all done now." Hardly. She hadn't reached any of the resolution over her father's death she had hoped. Thanks to Chess, her time here had been cut short. Meanwhile, she regretted she had no car in which to escape. It would be hard to evade Chess while waiting at a bus stop.
But maybe if she made her exit definite enough, she could bluff her way out of this. "Goodbye, Chess." She turned.
"Wait."
She stopped, having expected this, of course, including the adamant tone. He wasn't about to let her walk away from him.
But she wasn't through with her exit.
Briefly closing her eyes, she called on every ounce of the acting skill she'd worked so hard to develop since her first time on stage. When she opened her eyes again, she wore the mantle of an imperious queen. Slowly, she turned back to face him. Utterly superior, she inquired, "Yes?"
For a moment, the mighty Chess actually looked taken aback. He lifted his chin as if she'd struck him. "I— Uh, I just wanted to tell you..."
Feeling flush, she half-lowered her eyelids. What dared the lowly peon say?
He straightened and cleared his throat. "Thank you."
Cookie stilled.
Chess shook his head. "I'm sorry that a year ago I didn't get the chance to say so." Turning slightly, he gestured toward their surroundings with one arm. "This place? It's beautiful, peaceful. Perfect, in fact."
Cookie remained flummoxed. She'd thought he was going to pressure her into doing his will, but instead— All trace of the queen ebbed away. Perhaps a corner of her mind speculated he was manipulating her, but hunger for approval overwhelmed all skepticism. "You know that I picked it?"
He lifted a shoulder. "Of course. A year ago I was busy keeping the business running. My dear mother, Kate, was a mess, and Alex was only a kid. You got stuck with all the details."
Indeed she had. Deep in shock, riddled with guilt and grief, Cookie had been the only relative available to slog through the thousand tasks necessary to put her father in the ground. She'd never imagined anyone else had noticed.
Someone had. Of all people, Chess.
He squinted into the overcast distance. "You did good."
Cookie's eyes widened. Surely she had not heard Chester Bradshaw say that. "You—you really like it?"
In the sliver of Chess's face she could see, a smile marked the square angle of his jaw. "More important, David would have."
A peculiar sensation shuddered through Cookie. Chess thought her father would have liked the place. Being her father's best friend as well as his stepson, Chess might actually be able to guess David's opinion. Perhaps—finally—her dad would have thought Cookie had done something right.
But as Cookie stared at the shallow dimple in Chess's cheek, the peculiar and pleasant sensation ebbed, leaving her cold and clammy.
Chess turned around. His satisfied expression changed as he took in Cookie's face.
Good God. What did it matter what her father would have thought of his final resting spot! What mattered was how Cookie had treated him while he'd still been alive. Difficult as her father had been, Cookie had been worse, miserably worse. A horrible pressure took root behind her nose.
Chess frowned. "Rebecca?"
With a small thud, her black beaded purse fell to the ground.
"No." Chess stepped toward her.
Or Cookie thought that's what she saw through the sudden moisture in her eyes. Dimly, she remembered she'd been on her way out of the cemetery. Mostly, she felt ready to die. All of it, everything she'd been saving up for this visit, came splashing over her. "Oh, God," she whispered and turned.
Chess tried to move out of her way. At least, she was pretty sure that was his intent. Instead, they collided.
Chess grunted softly, and Cookie released a distressed moan. In the awkwardness of the moment, no doubt, his arms went around her.
"Okay," he muttered. "Okay."
It was not okay. In fact, there couldn't be a worse place for Cookie to have ended up. Chess was not her friend. But for one strange instant, it felt...right. Chess smelled— She pressed her nose against his chest. Oh, the damp wool of his suit smelled exactly the way her father would smell coming home on a San Francisco evening when she was a little girl. In those days, they'd been the best of friends. Cookie squeezed her eyes tight.
Stupid, stupid. So many stupid arguments since then, the last one the most stupid of all. She hadn't been speaking to her father, an occasional habit of hers. In the midst of the silly estrangement, he had gone and dropped dead.
A lead fist seemed to push on her breastbone. She could hardly breathe.
"Rebecca," Chess said.
Cookie didn't know if it was the command or the hint of distress in his voice that brought her back from the brink. In either case, she drew in a deep breath and struggled to get hold of herself.
Chess was right. He was absolutely right. She had to regain her self-possession. And get away from him. Dear Lord. She'd wanted to escape the man, and instead she was in his arms!
Sniffling, she carefully pushed away from him.
With odd precision, he unwound his arms.
"My purse," Cookie murmured.
"Here."
She felt the item thrust into her hands. "Thanks," she told the purse, unwilling to raise her eyes.
"You're welcome." Chess sounded strangely chagrined.
He was knocked off balance, Cookie realized, and wondered if this gave her an opening for escape, after all. She glanced to the west, toward the cemetery gate. "I'll, uh, just—"
"No, Rebecca." He placed a restraining hand on her shoulder. "If you're done here with—whatever you came for—then we have to talk."
"No, Chess." She shrugged her shoulder from his hand.
"You know why I'm here."
"No."
"You've been running away from me for two weeks, but running is not going to make this go away."
Cookie tilted her head. "It's been working so far."
Surprised amusement crossed his face but was quickly superseded by exasperation. "Eventually, I was going to catch up to you."
He was probably right.
"You have to listen to me," Chess said.
"No." As a last resort, Cookie hoisted her purse strap over her shoulder and gave a pointed glance down toward David's grave. "This isn't the place."
"You're wrong." Chess, too, glanced down at the grave. There was the same light of resentment in his gaze that she'd felt in her own. "In fact, I can't think of a more appropriate place." Then he lifted his eyes.
Sea-green eyes. Sometimes they could catch her, Chess's eyes. Every once in a while, they seemed to show a world beneath the predator, one full of unplumbed depths and mysteries. When that happened, Cookie could feel...arrested.
His eyes did not look that way now. Now they belonged to the ruthless shark she knew so well, one who owned no unplumbed depths or mysteries. All he possessed was single-minded ambition. His next words proved as much.
"Rebecca," he demanded. "Will you marry me?"