You arent seeing anyone these days, are you?
She started, her eyes wider than normal. Why do you ask?
Seems like its been a while since you were telling me about the guy youre involved with or want to be involved with or are dumping after your brief but torrid involvement.
And youre complaining? I thought you didnt want to talk about stuff like that.
Her casual tone seemed forced, and I wondered in a surprising flash if Id hurt her feelings during some previous conversation. I dont need to hear every guys exact talents and proportions, but Im still interested in whos who in the life of Amanda White.
Oh. Good to know. Her smile was rueful. Ill keep that in mind for the next time there is a man.
Speaking of men.
Wow.
Todd had reappeared, jangling the keys to the main entrance door, and behind himdid I already say wow? The patron whod come inside from the cold was tall with golden-blond hair, striking features, piercing eyes that I was pretty sure were green, a black leather jacket and dark jeans. Literally everything about him made me want to volunteer to warm him up. And I do not mean with my signature cayenne-spiked gourmet hot chocolate.
I cant even explain what made him solets just say he had a quality. Certainly he had a gorgeous face, complete with a strong chin and jaw that proclaimed masculinity and strength and decisive power. From what I could tell, he also had an amazing body beneath the charcoal knit sweater and perfectly sized jeans, neither tight nor baggy. But it wasnt any of those things that turned my knees to custard. It was the overall impression he created, something about the way he carried himself. Trying to define it would be like trying to properly explain the taste of truffles to someone whos never had them.
Standing next to me, Amanda let out an appreciative sigh, and I figured my days of not hearing about her love life were over. Jealousy scalded me, but I smiled in her direction as the source of our mutualcross-eyed, drooly lustadmiration came toward us.
He She shifted her weight from foot to foot, and I doubted her breathy tone was due simply to keeping her voice low.
Has a certain quality, doesnt he? Sensual. Confident. Powerful.
Jumpable. She cut her gaze to me. And, damn, do you need a man.
This was why I was a chef and Amanda microwaved most of her meals; she wasnt big on savoring.
Ladies. His deep voice was rich, as velvety as a perfectly prepared roux. His smile held none of the arrogance Id sometimes glimpsed in Trevor when he realized women were checking him out.
Hello, there. Amanda had the presence of mind to flash an answering smile. My greeting so far consisted of openmouthed ogling. Can I get you something to drink?
No, thank you. He frowned at her. Do you work here? I thoughtAre you Miriam Scott?
Amandas gaze whipped toward me, and I could feel her shock. Or maybe what I felt was my own shock. This man had sought me out? On purpose?
My heart accelerated when I spoke to him, in that nervously infatuated way Id assumed people outgrew after puberty. It was difficult to get my pulse back to normal when I was reeling from the surprise of a gorgeous stranger appearing and asking for me by name. Thats Im. Me. Im her. Miriam.
Was it too late to take Amanda up on her offer of a drink? A gin and hemlock would hit the spot.
The strangers green eyes widened. Youre Miriam? Oh. So sorry about the misunderstanding. For a millisecond, his puzzled frown not only lingered, it deepened. But then he replaced it with a polished smile. His arm snapped up at the elbow, suddenly bent and extended toward me so that we could shake hands. Dylan Kincaid, here to get you ready for public appearances.
He was professional enough not to say what Im sure all three of us were thinking: And, Lord, do we have work to do.
3
Homey comfort foods definitely have their place, but are they enough to satisfy you? Rich, exotic pleasures are more accessible than you think.
LIKE A PANICKED GENERAL trying to rally the troops, I gathered my thoughts. I needed everyone to report for duty now. Mr. Kincaid, its a pleasure to meet you.
I braced myself for the handshake, vowing not to dissolve at his touch. His palm was warm, but not soft, and his fingers wrapped purposefully around my hand. Can I be your love slave? Amanda was right, I did need a man.
I wasnt expecting you until tomorrow, I managed to choke out, awarding myself points for remembering to let go of him.
He smiled apologetically. I hope Im not inconveniencing you by arriving early. My previous job ended sooner than expected, and Joan mentioned you were a bit nervous about the promotional events.
His eyes warmed affectionately when he mentioned my editor, and suddenly I wondered what shed meant when shed said she knew him.
I stopped by your house, he continued, thinking that if you werent home I could check in to the hotel and then try your restaurant, but a neighbor told me youd be here.
I nodded. That would be Mrs. Asher, widowed busy-body who would no doubt quiz me about the handsome stranger later. Spicy Seas is closed on Tuesdays, so I was keeping my friend company. That sounded better than admitting Id shown up here needing reassurance that my book wasnt porn. This is Amanda White.
Very nice to meet you, she said in a voice that stopped just shy of a purr. At my sidelong glance, she cleared her throat. But I guess I should be getting back to work.
Id been so intent on Dylan, I honestly couldnt have said whether or not the first customer or two had trickled in now that the door was open. I waggled my fingers in a half wave at Amanda as she left us alone. Something about Dylan
Im sorry, but have we met? I asked.
My question may have sounded like an excuse for further staring on the pretext of trying to place him, but there really was something hauntingly familiar about him. The further staring was just a bonus.
He shook his head, the godlike aura of confidence dimming for a moment, as if my question had made him uneasy. No, I havent had the pleasure.
Even though I was sure he was right, the undeniable sense of déjà vu remained. Oh, well. Maybe any sane woman would have experienced this I-know-you-from-my-dreams spark.
Why dont we sit at one of the tables? I invited. We can talk about the tour schedule and what I need to do to prepare.
A sound plan.
I told him I was just going to grab myself a soft drink before joining him. Declining a drink of his own, he stepped up into the railed-off side section that ran alongside a small dance floor. Watching Dylan drop his leather jacket over the back of a curved café-style wooden chair, instead of looking where I was going, I nearly collided with Todd as he circled the room to distribute the napkin holders and stacks of cardboard coasters.
When I reached the bar, I discovered I wasnt the only one who had trouble tearing her gaze from the newcomer.
I cant believe your luck! Amanda said. Putting yourself in his hands for a few weeks? Mmm. When you said your image consultant was a man, I was expecting
What? I hadnt given him much thought, too worried about what hed think of me. Although, the word consultant had conjured vague images of a suitmaybe someone with wire-rim glasses who didnt smile much. Instead, I got a honey of a man with deep green eyes that crinkled at the corners in tiny, sexy laugh lines when he smiled.
What? I hadnt given him much thought, too worried about what hed think of me. Although, the word consultant had conjured vague images of a suitmaybe someone with wire-rim glasses who didnt smile much. Instead, I got a honey of a man with deep green eyes that crinkled at the corners in tiny, sexy laugh lines when he smiled.
Amanda shrugged. Well, how many men are renowned for doing makeovers on women? I think I pictured someone a little more Queer Eye for the Publicity Shy.
Amanda! What a stereotype. Although, except for relying on further stereotypes, we had no way of knowing what his preference was. I pushed the thought aside, currently unable to bear the notion of Dylan Kincaid off-limits to women. Guys can be fashion conscious and trendy. Trevor, for instance
Then again, I sincerely hoped Dylan Kincaid was nothing like the ex who had punted me from his heart and, given time and opportunity, possibly his restaurant. Never mind. Just give me a diet soda before he wonders what Im doing over here.
I carried my drink to the table, at half my usual pace because all I needed to truly impress the guy was to trip and spill soda all over myself. Was Amanda right about this being a makeover? I hoped Dylans advisory capacity would be more akin to a Toastmasters tutoring, getting me ready for public speaking. The prospect of his prescribing heavy cosmetics and high heels made my stomach drop.
My expression must have conveyed my uneasiness, because he smiled as I sat across from him. Dont worry.
Is this where you assure me you dont bite? I asked, lifting my glass to my mouth.
Actually, I do, he drawled in a wicked tone. It just doesnt hurt.
I choked on the soft drink, coughing as the unique sensation of carbonated bubbles stung the inside of my nose.
My apologies, Dylan said, his gaze sheepish. I didnt mean to alarm you, it was just a demonstration.
Of the inherent dangers in carbonated beverages?
He laughed. Of the kind of attitude youll want. I havent read your book yetJoans expressing a copy to mebut Ive discussed with her the content and tone. What youll need to project is a flippant, sassy magnetism.
Uh-huh. No wonder hed thought Amanda was the author.
Um, Dylanmaybe youve noticed how I dont exactly radiate a come-hither persona?
Thats what Hargrave is paying me for.
It was going to be big hair and oral sex with strawberries all over again, I just knew it. You know more about PR than I do, but isnt promotion more successful when the subject is herself?
Thats what you always hear: be yourself. Unless yourself was me.
But you will be, he said. You wrote the book, right? So its in there. Ill simply help you bring it to the surface a bit.
A bit? I had the feeling it would be more like raising the Titanic.
I CANNOT DO THIS. Even as I thought it, I called myself a coward. This was my family. Not a den of serial killers.
But standing on my parents creaky wraparound porch Wednesday night, I found myself physically unable to press the doorbell. Partly because balancing the cardboard box of hardcover books was no easy task, but mostly because handing over the first copy would feel a lot like walking naked into a crowded room. I tried to focus on the positive, reminding myself that my familys seeing the book in private surroundings might tone down some of the fuss they were bound to make in stores.
Originally, Id scheduled my leave of absence to begin today because I assumed Id be working with Dylan. But hed called this morning to say Joan had sent him a copy of Six Course Seduction. He wanted to read it before we met again so he knew exactly what we were trying to sell with these publicity visits. At loose ends, Id accepted Moms invitation to dinner, relieved that I had more time before I had to face the hot consultant again. January or not, thinking about him made me want to turn on the air conditioner.
Id been fairly surprised to receive my own box of books from Hargrave this afternoonwhy bother sending me a copy of the cover when Id get to see the real thing twenty-four hours later? But it was no stranger than them overnighting me a set of giveaway pens for a book signing still weeks away, while they sent more important mail, like my contract, by Pony Express, using what I could only assume was a lame pony with no sense of direction. Publishing logic was a mystery to me.
The door of the two-story house swung open suddenly. Carrie stood on the other side, a confused expression on her round, pretty face and a twin balanced on one ample, khaki-clad hip. My sister-in-law is beautiful, but in a different way than Amanda. Carrie has this quintessential-woman glow about her that inspires men to take her home and try to make babies.
What are you doing standing out here, sweetie? If you needed help with the box, you should have come in and asked Eric to get it. She glanced over her shoulder past my parents living room. Eric! For pitys sake, get out here and help your sister.
I started to tell her assistance wasnt necessary when my brother, a middle-school teacher, appeared in the hallway behind her. He claims hes put on a few pounds in the last couple of years, but theyre well disguised on his six-two form. We dont look much alike, my brother and I. Aside from the height difference caused by my very average five foot four, Eric has Moms blue eyes, and his hair is a few shades darker than mine, so that its legitimately brown. Plus, I dont have glasses. Or a goatee.
Eric held a small pink towel and dried his hands as he walked. I was in the bathroom. Give a man a break.
Carrie rolled her eyes, scooting out of the doorway. Youre always in the bathroom. And that better not be one of your mothers guest towels.
Eric shot a guilty look at the scallop-edged terry cloth. Technically, were guests.
I lugged the books as far as the entryway floor, then shut the door behind me. My niece, a dimpled tow-headed cherub who looked like mini-Carrie in overalls, scrabbled down from her mothers grasp and barreled toward me on unsteady legs. Coordination probably improves with age, but right now, my nieces are propelled by more enthusiasm than grace.
She tackled my legs in what was either a hug or a desperate attempt not to hit the floor. Aunt Miam!
I scooped her up, ninety-nine-point-nine percent sure this was Lyssa. Her identical sister, Lana, is just a fraction more reticent and, as such, my secret favorite though I would never vocalize a preference, even upon threat of pain. Or, worse, greasy fast food.
The four of us went toward the back of the house, past the staircase that led up to the bedrooms, following the murmur of the evening news and the sound of Lana giggling at my fathers tickle-monster growls. The large kitchen, which had given me some of my best memories in this house, took up the entire right half of the floor plan. To the left was the living room in which were actually allowed to sit. The fancy sofa in the front room still has plastic on it and, guests aside, Mom hasnt allowed one of us to take a beverage in that room since the grape juice spill of 1986. My gregarious parents are free-spirited in many respects, but my mother was born and raised in the South and takes her visiting parlor seriously.
The crisp cinnamon aroma of warm apple pie greeted me at the same time as my mom, her face flushed. She tells everyone, strangers included, that she spends as much time cooking as possible so people will think shes overheated from baking instead of menopausal hot flashes. There she is! Our daughter, the soon-to-be-famous author.