Kiss Me (17 page)

“Didn’t you like the salad?” Don asked and nodded to their untouched greens.

“We’ve been talking too much,” Jenna said. “Don’t take them away. I’m anxious to eat every bit of what you’ve prepared. Everything looks fabulous, you’ve out done yourself.”

Don beamed, and with a nod to Vicki, left for the kitchen. From where he sat, Luke had a perfect view of the kitchen window and spied Don and Vicki cleaning dishes. He’d already paid Don for his services and given both he and Vicki a healthy tip, along with Andrew, the violinist, even kicking in a few extra for his buddies. With what Luke had planned for after dinner, he wanted to make sure he and Jenna were alone. No interruptions, no excuses to hide the emotions bursting from his pores. Except now he might have to postpone those plans. From her cold demeanor, it seemed Jenna had already made up her mind about them. He couldn’t let that happen and needed to find a way to break through to her.

As they began to eat, the trio of musicians changed songs. Jenna kept darting her eyes to them and her rigid posture made Luke regret the extravagance. Maybe they made her nervous.

Maybe you’re making her nervous.

He bit into his lamb chop. Peppercorn burst on his tongue. But as he watched Jenna eat, the tender lamb chop began to taste more like aged beef jerky.

Each bite she took held a hint of agony and frustration. She chewed and swallowed as if it took everything to force the food down her throat. In between bites, she’d take huge swallows of wine, as if she needed the alcohol to tolerate his presence. At some point, he stopped eating and simply watched her.

Moments later, she dropped her fork on the plate, leaned back and crossed her arms over her chest.

“What’s wrong?” he asked. “If you don’t care for the food, maybe I can have Don—”

“The food’s wonderful, the musicians are wonderful, every damn thing is wonderful.” She slammed her napkin on the table.

The flutist faltered, followed by the cellist. Thank God the violinist kept the momentum going, forcing the others to stay with the tempo.

“I don’t understand.”

“Of course you don’t.” She shoved her plate. “I mean, come on, Luke, what are we doing here? Why are you doing all of this?” She raised her voice loud enough for Vicki and Don to stop clanking pots and pans, yet the musicians, thank God, kept playing.

“We’re having dinner.”

“Dinner? Look, I appreciate your efforts, but let’s face it, hiring all these people…” She swept her hand. “And all the flowers, the messages…this isn’t going to work.” She shoved back her chair, the iron furniture scraped across the cobblestone.

He lunged from his seat and pulled her to his chest. “Do you mean us?” he asked and caressed her cheek with the back of his knuckle. “Why can’t we work? I love you.”

“Please,” she said with a sarcastic edge. “We’ve only been dating a few weeks. How could you say you love me? We hardly know each other.”

Although he suspected that she belittled what they’d shared as a way to protect herself, the words still hurt. “Hardly know each other…” He let her go. “You were ready to move in with me.”

“A huge mistake on my part,” she shouted. “Don’t you get it? I was caught up in the moment, and even more caught up on the sex.”

Oh that was a low blow
.
“So that’s all I was to you? Your little boy toy who was there to make you come the moment you crooked your little finger?” He stomped away, then turned and stomped back, running a hand through his hair. “Bullshit.” He grasped her shoulders. “We’re way more than fuck buddies and you know it.”

She shoved away, crossed her arms and puffed her bangs. “Really? Let me ask you something. You left me at home last Saturday because you were too embarrassed to be seen with me, too disgusted by my past. Now you put on this show. What, did Mitch give you a few more of his J.C. stories? Are you hoping that maybe we could try out that threesome, or those sex toys he’d told you and your office buddies about? Is that why you want me back? So I can fulfill your prepubescent fantasies?”

He wanted to punch Mitch all over again, but knew in his gut her reaction was his fault. He’d deserved
this
low blow, but not to the extreme she was giving him. If only she’d cool her temper and let him talk, let him tell her he’d made a mistake. “Jenna, listen. I —”

“No, you listen. We’re through. No more phone calls, no more flowers…just leave me alone. Got it?”

While his chest constricted at the finality of her words, his tempered flared. “No,” he yelled, and although pissed as hell, his subconscious picked up on the melody still playing. Like the sinking Titanic, the musicians continued as if the ship wasn’t being sucked into a cold watery abyss, or they weren’t having a shouting match loud enough to wake the neighborhood.

“Why does everything have to be so black and white with you? I screwed up, made a huge mistake. Let me at least apologize.” He took a step forward. “I’m sorry about how I acted that night. I was a jerk, an idiot, a complete —”

“Asshole,” she finished.

He sucked in his cheeks and nodded. “Yeah, but I’ve realized my mistakes, and I don’t care about yours,” he said, then realized he’d just made another monstrous mistake.

Jenna pierced him with a look that would scare the shit out of any man, woman or child. He held his breath and literally waited for golden laser beams to shoot from of her eyes.

“
My
mistakes,” she shouted over the flutist’s solo.
“Don’t even compare to the multitude of woman you
claim
to have notched on your bedpost.”

“For the record, no woman has ever slept in my bed,” he countered.

“Well, la-dee-frickin’-da.” She threw her hands in the air just as Vicki burst through the backdoor carrying a tray of desserts.

The tray went flying. Gooey fudge, whipped cream and, only Don knows what else, shot through the air and landed across Jenna’s sundress.

“Oh my gosh,” Vicki gasped. “I’m so sorry.”

Jenna didn’t respond, instead she ran into the house and out of sight.

As the music died, Vicki rushed over to him. “Mr. Sinclair, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean…”

Don shoved his way through the backdoor, darting his eyes over the decimated dessert. “What happened?”

“It’s not Vicki’s fault.” Luke slumped into the rod iron chair. “It’s mine.”

Don walked toward him, sympathy and amusement in his brown eyes. “Luke.” He placed a meaty hand on his shoulder. “We should’ve had another shot, huh?”

Luke snorted and smiled. Earlier, Don had given him a shot of some sort of strange liquor to cool his nerves. All it did was light a fire in his throat. “Try a couple dozen.” He shook his head. “Wrap up the leftovers and throw them in the fridge, then head on out.” He looked to the musicians. “Let’s call it a night.”

While Vicki cleared the table, and the musicians packed their instruments, Luke sipped his wine and tried to figure out where he’d gone wrong.

“Luke,” Don said. “I’ll have us outta here in less than fifteen minutes.”

“Thanks. Take your time, it doesn’t matter now.”

“You sure about that? ‘Cause your woman didn’t leave. She went into
your
house to clean up.”

“Yeah, so?” Luke swirled the wine in his glass, wishing he had something stronger to drink.

“So, why didn’t she run to her car and hightail it outta here? Why give you the opportunity to talk with her some more? And, why the hell are you sitting here drinking wine when you should be runnin’ after her?”

Luke met the chef’s gaze.
Why indeed?