Love Handles (Oakland Hills #1)(71)

He froze and stared at her. “Annabelle Tucker? You were her babysitter?”

“I was desperate for the money. I did a lot of babysitting in those days.”

Just yesterday he'd noticed the star's young beautiful face on four out of the five magazines in the checkout line at Safeway. Not only did she sing and dance—she climbed, kicked, flipped, swam, and skated her way through her hit musical-adventure show on the Disney Channel. Recently famous for getting into Princeton at fifteen, but deciding to wait a couple years to grow up first, Annabelle Tucker was the it-girl of the year.

“She was one of the first kids I really came to love.” Her face clouded with pain, then anger. “Which I still don't think is a bad thing.”

His mind raced with possibilities. “You know Annabelle Tucker.”

“Don't look like that.” She pointed a finger at him. “Just don't.”

Feeling giddy, he braced his hands on the desk to look at her. “You know Annabelle Tucker.”

The chair squeaked as Bev got to her feet to glare back. “Whatever's got you so excited, get it out of your mind.”

“You know—”

“Yes, yes! Stop saying that!”

“Do you have any idea what kind of coup we would pull off to bring pictures of Annabelle Tucker wearing Fite to the Target buyers?” Laughing, he pounded on the desk, danced around it, grabbed her shoulders. “To hell with Target. If you can get Annabelle Tucker to wear Fite—just once where cameras catch her—we are totally made. With every retailer in the country. They'll be taking the first flight here to beg us to deliver.”

Her face went wide with panic. “Stop it! I couldn't do that!” She jerked away and sat in her chair, pressing her hand to her forehead. “I don't use people.”

“Oh, right,” he said. He leaned down and whispered in her ear, “Ri-ight.”

She shivered. “I shouldn't have mentioned her name. I should never have mentioned her—”

“This is it, Bev. The moment to face reality and be honest with yourself. Are you a woman or a mouse? Are you the timid, downtrodden preschool teacher, or the ruthless, triumphant leader of men and women desperate not to lose their jobs?”

She covered her ears. “Shut up!”

She was cute when she was in denial. He grabbed the arms of her chair and trapped her. “You know you want it.” His breath came fast as he loomed over her. So close to her again, watching the impulses do combat across her adorable, creamy-cheeked face. His gaze dropped to her incredible mouth. For a moment he was paralyzed by the hint of gloss on her full bottom lip. “Admit it.” He leaned down until their lips were so close he could taste the coffee on her breath.

“I don't do things like that,” she whispered.

“Sure you do. That's why I like you so much.” And he raised his fingers to her chin, tilted her face up, and before he could think about how shocked and angry and hurt he was at her for walking out on him when he’d begged her to stay, kissed her.

He didn't hurry this time, or push too hard, or lose himself in the heat that sparked when he touched her; he went slow, and gentle, savoring the moisture of her lips, the curiosity of her tongue, and the little noises she made in the back of her throat.

Slowly, gently, he kissed her, leading her where he wanted her to go only after he was invited, running his tongue along her teeth. When she tunneled her fingers through his hair and kissed him back, he almost lost the reins, but then he amused himself with the feel of her breast under his hand and the way she gasped at his teasing.

He drew back. Her eyes were closed, her mouth red and swollen, and she swayed closer for more.

That’s more like it. He traced her bottom lip with is index finger, studied her face, the curve of her cheek, a freckle on her forehead, then released her. “See you tonight,” he said. Breathing shallow, he strode towards the door while he still had the willpower.

He heard her sigh behind him. He grinned all the way back to his office, anticipating.





Chapter 17

“Can you help me move this over by the window?” Bev bent over to pick up one end of the sofa.

“Put that down,” Kate said. “I know you're stressed, but that's no way to work it out. It's Friday night. Sit down and make some of this tea for yourself. It's loaded with calming herbs. Then we'll go for a run.”

“Forget it. I barely recovered from the last time.”

“Which was all that tool's fault for trying to break into my car,” she said. “I can't believe you haven't fired him yet.”

Luckily for Bev's peace of mind, Kate was too self-absorbed to guess what Bev had done with the tool a few days earlier. She bent over to drag the sofa herself, but it slipped and thudded onto the floor at an asymmetrical angle. “Come on, just help me get it over there.”

“You had it over there ten minutes ago. I'm not letting myself get pulled into some psychotic break.” Kate sat on the sofa in question. “What happened to you, anyway? All week you've been hiding in your room, and now you're rearranging furniture. I'd say it was some guy, but it could hardly be that, this soon and with you working all the time. And what's the point with that? It's not like you can get fired.”