Kiss Me If You Can (2 page)

“The cursor—” Lexie corrected her paternal grandmother. Placing her hand over the warm, weathered one, she moved the mouse, guiding the cursor over the screen.

The older woman sighed, sounding put upon. “I place the
cursor
over here, click, and then I can Giggle anything I want to know about. Is that right?”

“Google not Giggle!” Lexie shook her head and tried not to laugh at her grandmother's innocent mistake.

These computer lessons were going to be even more challenging than she'd thought. Well worth her time and effort, since it meant Lexie could remain in constant contact with the grandmother she loved, but taxing nevertheless. Lexie figured her grandmother had a thirty-minute attention span, max. They'd only gone through half that time so far.

Her grandmother's old PC had died a natural death and Lexie, a Web designer and Mac addict had surprised her with a new computer. When the next wave of wanderlust hit and Lexie felt compelled to pick up and travel, she wouldn't have to worry about
her grandmother's computer being on the fritz, leaving Lexie to wonder if she couldn't reach the aging woman because the computer had died—or because her grandmother had.

A glance at Charlotte reassured Lexie. Even with her upcoming birthday, her grandmother had aged well. She was still mentally fit and physically able. A healthy specimen, if Lexie discounted the older woman's self-dyed red hair and decades-old housecoat adorned by the antique jewelry Charlotte always wore around her neck and on her ears. Hopefully, Charlotte wasn't leaving this world anytime soon.

“Oh look, it's five o'clock. Time for
Eyewitness News!
” Charlotte reached for the television remote control and turned on the TV.

“Can't you wait another fifteen minutes? We're almost finished with the basics of surfing the Net.”

“The news can run in the background. You know I like to keep up on local events.”

Lexie nodded. She knew. If Charlotte Davis's stories were to be believed, Lexie's eccentric grandmother had lived a colorful life and had known many famous people. At the ripe age of seventy-nine and 330 days—Grandma Charlotte counted off the boxes on her Derek Jeter wall calendar—Charlotte watched television and read the paper to see who she'd outlived this week. Lexie had long since stopped reminding her that the TV news only broad
cast the more sensational deaths. Her grandmother's true interest in the Channel 7 news was—

“Bill Evans!” Charlotte exclaimed, pointing toward the handsome weatherman.

Lexie bit the inside of her cheek as she saw her hopes for more lesson time slipping away. “Grandma, pay attention.”

“After this segment. Check out the dimples on this dude.”

A glance at the screen told Lexie her grandmother was no longer referring to the weatherman.

“Of course he doesn't hold a candle to Bill Evans, but he's still hot.” Charlotte pointed a wrinkled hand toward the large television screen in the corner of the room.

The words
Crime Beat Reporter Foils Robbery
caught Lexie's mental attention, but the man captured her female imagination. Dark hair, longer at his neck, he was tanned, dimpled and sexy. She couldn't tear her gaze away. His blue eyes showed his obvious discomfort as the store owner, whose jewels he'd saved, tried to reward him for his trouble.

“Would you look at that? He's too noble to take the reward!” Grandma Charlotte said.

“A true gentleman,” Lexie said, impressed by the man's actions as well as his handsome face and toned physique.

An exasperated sound escaped her grandmother's
throat. “A fool is more like it. Take the goods!” the older woman yelled at the screen.

Lexie laughed.

The man, whose name flashed on the TV as Sam Cooper, turned down a watch and a necklace before the grateful store owner shoved a tray of rings in front of him.

“Not married,” he said in a deep voice that suited his rugged good looks. “I'll take this,” he said at last, reluctantly choosing a ring from the assortment on the tray.

The camera panned in for a close-up of the ring. A large, gaudy, flowery ring.

“Grandma, look! That looks just like one of your necklaces!”

Charlotte rose from her chair and peered at the screen. “You're right! Holy shit-ake mushrooms!” her grandmother exclaimed.

Lexie rolled her eyes. “You've got to stop watching Austin Powers movies.”

Charlotte ignored the comment. Instead, her hand flew to her chest. She grasped not the necklace in question, but another one of her so-called treasures that she'd promised to leave to Lexie one day. Some of them were hideous, but in a world without her grandmother, Lexie would want any item that reminded her of Charlotte.

“I wonder if it's an exact match,” Lexie mused.

“I hope Sylvia is watching this!” her grandmother said of her longtime friend and neighbor, Sylvia Krinksy, who lived down the hall.

Lexie's grandfather and Sylvia's husband had long since passed away, but the women's friendship had predated their marriages and had remained strong to this day. Sylvia was Charlotte's
person,
the one who was there for you in good times and bad. “Sylvia would bury the body for me,” Charlotte liked to say, while Sylvia would sit beside her friend and nod.

Suddenly agitated, her grandmother began pacing the small apartment, muttering as she moved.

Lexie walked to Charlotte's side, placing her hand on her frail back. “What's got you so upset?”

“Nothing.” Her grandmother waved her hand, dismissing Lexie's concern. “I'm fine. Seeing that ring was a surprise that brought back memories. I'm okay now.”

Not convinced, Lexie narrowed her gaze and studied her grandmother. Charlotte looked paler than she had earlier, though it was hard to tell beneath the heavy foundation and rouge she wore.

“Grandma? Was the ring part of the original set?” she asked.

Charlotte looked away. “I'm suddenly tired.” Her grandmother let out a heavy, clearly forced sigh.

Lexie wondered what in the world was going on. Something about the ring on television had upset her
grandmother, but she didn't want to discuss it. Not even with Lexie.

Hmm. “Well, we can pick up your lesson tomorrow,” Lexie said. “Why don't you go lie down?”

“I think I'll do that.”

Lexie started to gather her things together. “I have to go out and meet Claudia about our newest client,” Lexie told her grandmother. “I may be late, so don't wait up. I have my key.”

Claudia Milne, a self-taught computer genius, did most of the coding for the sites Lexie designed. She lived, ate and breathed HTML and Lexie thanked her lucky stars they'd met on the plane ride from Israel to New York after Lexie's first Middle East trip five years ago.

A wanderer by nature, Lexie had the enviable ability to do her job from anywhere. She saw no reason to lease an apartment in between travels when she could stay in her grandmother's spare bedroom whenever she was in town. Charlotte loved having Lexie over and Lexie appreciated being able to do things for her grandmother when she was around.

“What site are you working on now?” her grandmother asked. Charlotte was always interested in Lexie's client list, and often offered input on design. Most of which Lexie politely ignored.

“Athlete's Only. The Jordan sisters and Yank Morgan asked for an overhaul,” she said of the sports
and PR powerhouse agency—and Lexie's first client when she'd started her own Web design business.

“Isn't it late for a meeting? Do I need to call Yank and tell him they're overworking you?” Charlotte asked.

Lexie and Yank Morgan were old friends. They'd met during her childhood spent at the skating rink. And thanks to that friendship, Lexie had garnered her first major client in need of a high-tech Web site and entrée into the prestigious and lucrative sports world.

As a result, Lexie's portfolio now included an array of sports-oriented clients, from sport drinks to sports teams—much to the surprise of her parents, who had at one time tried to mold their daughter into a competitive ice skater.

To their never-ending dismay, Lexie had rebelled against the rigid, competitive world of schedules and conformity. The only good that had come from those years was her grandmother's friendship with Yank. Charlotte and Yank shared a love of unconventional eccentricity. They also understood the notion of being true to oneself, and together they'd convinced Lexie's parents to stop pushing their desires onto their daughter.

Lexie would be forever grateful to Yank for that, and for his belief in her Web-design talent. “Grandma, I never mind working late. Don't you dare say a word.” Evening meetings suited Lexie's lifestyle perfectly.

When Charlotte didn't reply, Lexie turned toward her, but the older woman had already disappeared into the bedroom. To lie down? She'd been distracted since seeing the ring on television. Obviously, the piece had hit a sentimental nerve.

As Lexie gathered her laptop and her bag, she caught sight of her grandmother's wall calendar—and the date circled in red. August twenty-eighth, Charlotte's 80th birthday. Lexie had been racking her brain for something different and personal she could get her grandmother as a gift.

The matching ring provided the perfect answer, and her thoughts immediately turned to the reluctant if sexy man who currently held it in his possession. He'd clearly been hesitant to accept anything from the store owner. Maybe he'd be willing to sell the ring.

Lexie was excited by the prospect of being able to give such a personal gift to her grandmother for her birthday. Now all she had to do was meet the current owner and convince him to part with his new possession.

I
T WAS DAYS
before Lexie could even think of contacting Sam Cooper. The day after she'd seen the ring on the news, one of her clients had a huge update that they wanted to go live with, so she'd been holed up indoors. The next day, her grandmother had a dental appointment and she'd asked Lexie to go along.

Finally, this morning she'd made the newspaper offices her first stop, only to discover that a guard at the security desk refused to let her up without an appointment. The man said that that reporter had been inundated by women seeking to talk to him and that he had strict orders not to let any man-hungry, money-seeking women near him.

Sam Cooper was better protected than the president. Didn't make sense to Lexie, but not even her most charming smile did the trick.

She'd tried reaching Sam Cooper by phone at the paper, but her call went straight to a recording and instead of being able to leave a message, a digital voice told her the answering machine was full. Still,
Lexie was on a mission and determined to meet the man. She just hadn't figured out how.

“What's got you so preoccupied?” Claudia, Lexie's right hand, asked as she joined her at her table in Starbucks for their weekly meeting.

Lexie glanced up from the laptop she hadn't been focusing on anyway. “Good morning to you, too.”

Claudia, always the epitome of happy, sat across the table, smiling. Her light-brown hair had been pulled into a loose ponytail and soft curls escaped on either side. Although Claudia was five years younger than Lexie's twenty-nine, she was mature and the two had struck up a strong friendship.

Lexie folded her arms and leaned forward in her seat. Drawing a deep breath, she told Claudia the story of her grandmother's jewelry and Sam Cooper, hero, and his relationship to the ring. “So I want to buy it back, but I can't get near the guy to introduce myself, let alone broach the subject. Why would a reporter need such heavy security?” Besides the fact that he was masculine and hot enough to still be singed into her memory banks.

Claudia laughed. “A hero wouldn't need security but a
bachelor
would. I take it you haven't read this morning's paper? Online or otherwise?”

Lexie shook her head. “Haven't had time. What's up?”

“The
Daily Post
has a new feature called the
Bachelor Blog. It's a column that highlights one of the city's bachelors and follows his exploits, hoping that by singling him out, the women will come out of the woodwork and he'll meet Ms. Right. Hang on. Let me find the blog to show you.”

Lexie wrinkled her nose. “Sounds like
The Bachelor
from TV.” Lexie had no patience for television shows where women lined up to compete to find a man.

Reality itself was no picnic, as she already knew firsthand. In her one and only serious relationship, she had let herself believe that a man could accept and even share her wanderlust—despite all the clues telling her otherwise.

Since Drew was a freelance journalist, it seemed a no-brainer that he'd want to see the world and use his experience as fodder for his work. But she'd had to twist his arm to get him to join her on her trips abroad.

She'd stupidly ignored the complaints about her vagabond lifestyle and convinced herself they were the perfect duo, until he'd reconnected with a woman he'd lost track of over the years. Just a friend, he'd said. Except he'd promptly dumped Lexie for that “friend,” leaving her wiser when it came to men. In hindsight, Drew had been overly critical of more than just her travels, but she'd chosen to overlook that fact since almost everyone in her life criticized her for the same thing.

According to Lexie's disappointed parents, Drew was now living the suburban dream life they wanted for her. A dream she'd never shared. But Caroline and Grant Davis didn't understand—never would—and continued to remind her of that fact each time she saw them. Just one of the many reasons Lexie kept visits with her folks to a bare minimum when she was in town. Even though they lived a short half hour outside the city.

As for Drew, Lexie considered him a lesson well learned. Since then, she'd subscribed to a new philosophy: Love 'em and enjoy 'em until it was time to move on.

“Aha! Found it.” Claudia rotated her laptop screen to face Lexie, who was happy to focus on something other than her pathetic past.

“This is today's Bachelor Blog. Your ring keeper is the new bachelor. And
that
explains why it's so difficult to get in touch with him,” she said.

Lexie stared at a close-up photo of Sam Cooper, newspaper reporter and guardian of the ring. He was even more striking in the picture than he'd been on TV. His eyes were bluer and his hair was thick and straight, long enough for a woman's fingers to run through, but short enough to maintain his masculinity.

Claudia let out a slow whistle. “He is hot. But I see you've already noticed that,” she said, grinning.

Lexie willed herself not to blush at being caught
and scanned the article instead. “So women are just throwing themselves at him?” She tried to sound shocked, as if she couldn't imagine such a thing.

But she could. She just wouldn't admit as much out loud, nor would she be one of those desperate females. She was interested in a business transaction with the man, nothing more.

Claudia folded her arms across her chest. “If you want to corner this Sam Cooper, I suggest the back-door method. You may have to wait a while, but my bet is he'll exit eventually.”

Lexie narrowed her gaze. “Are you sure?” Because she couldn't imagine hanging out in an alley for hours based on hope alone.

“Do you doubt me?”

Claudia had street smarts and a knack for accomplishing any job she set her mind to, from complicated coding to even more complicated men.

Lexie nodded, conceding the point. “You're the master. Back door it is.”

 

C
OOP LUGGED
an enormous box down the elevator to the basement and out the back door of the newspaper offices to a huge blue Dumpster. He'd worked past dinnertime and the alley was shrouded in shadows as he dropped the box to the ground. The garbage bin was so high he couldn't lift the box and toss it in, so he had to empty the contents by the
handful. Reaching down, he grabbed a double handful of perfume-scented letters from women extolling their virtues to the most recently crowned Bachelor in the ridiculously titled Bachelor Blog and dumped them into the trash.

To add insult to injury, the blog was published by his own damn newspaper! Upon discovering that
he
was the anonymous writer's newest victim, Coop had pleaded with the publisher of the paper to hold the presses. But nobody, not even their top crime beat reporter, could prevent the moneymaking machine that was the Bachelor Blog.

This was either retribution for something he'd done in a former life or proof of the old adage that no good deed goes unpunished. Either way, it was humiliating.

He'd had to instruct Chris Markov, the security guard in his building, to turn away any female without an appointment; he could no longer walk to work, as a few intrepid women had figured out where he lived and camped out on the doorstep like paparazzi hounding Britney Spears; and in this beautiful midsummer weather, he'd been forced to hire a cabbie to pick him up out back and drive him home. Which reminded him: he hoped Charlie was waiting at the corner when he finished here.

Coop tossed the last of the letters away. Bunches of flowers and boxes of candy came next. The
wrapped stuff he'd sent over to local hospitals. If women were crazy enough to send him gifts, thinking he'd be interested in a desperate stranger, he wasn't about to taste-test anything they'd sent over unwrapped. His mother, may she rest in peace, had taught him well.

As he reached into the box for the last of the contents, his hand came into contact with soft cotton. He pulled the item out and, as he'd done when he'd opened the original packaging, Coop stared in disbelief at the ladies' thong underwear. At least a tag dangled off the back. This particular gift, he'd been too freaked out to worry about donating and had added to the trash immediately.

“Those are kind of cute. Maybe I could check the size before you throw them away?”

Coop froze at the sound of an unfamiliar female voice.

“I'm kidding. Can you get rid of those things before I introduce myself? The whole notion of Bachelor Blog and desperate, scheming women is giving me hives.”

Coop caught the hint of amusement in the voice.

He tossed the panties back in the box and heaved his lightened load into the trash before turning to the woman who had intruded on his mission. She didn't look like any of the blond or brunette bomb-shells who'd included photos in their letters—the
few he'd peeked at before a naked one taught him his lesson.

Instead, he found himself facing a striking brunette with straight hair parted to one side and bluntly cut to her shoulders. Long, wispy strands framed a pretty face, partially hidden by funky black-framed glasses. Still, he detected high cheekbones and his gaze was drawn to her full, sexy lips. Besides her lush mouth, her eyes were her most outstanding feature, even behind the clear lenses. Her irises were wide and dark, color to be determined, thanks to the fading light.

The glasses lent an aura of intelligence to her otherwise seductive features. She presented a puzzle he wanted to take apart and put back together with a deeper understanding.

But just because he was attracted to her didn't mean she wasn't one of his stalkers. “Okay, I've lightened my load. So who are you and what are you doing back here?” he asked warily.

She flashed him a bright smile and he added nice teeth to her attributes. “I'm waiting for you,” she said.

An unreasonable sense of disappointment filled him at her reply. “Well, I'm not interested.” Shoving his hands into his pockets, he turned for the alley exit.

“How do you know when you haven't even heard what I have to say?” she called to him.

Despite himself, he paused midstride and turned.
“Because you're female, you waited for me out back and you admitted that you're interested!”

“Not in you!” she corrected, sounding appalled at the notion, bruising Coop's ego in the process.

What was wrong with
him,
he wondered.

“I'm interested in your ring!” She lifted her hand to illustrate her point, showing him a flash of multiple rings on her fingers.

“You and every other husband-seeking female in the city,” he muttered, even as he pondered where she'd put an engagement ring among the vast assortment of other jewelry she wore.

She pursed those seductive lips together and frowned. “Not in that way!” She dug into an oversize bag that hung from her shoulder and pulled out a photo. “Look. This is my grandmother and she's wearing a necklace that looks like a match to the ring I saw you accept on TV.”

Surprised by her explanation, Coop took the photo, but the waning daylight didn't provide enough light for him to get a good look. “It's too dark to see,” he said, handing the picture back to her.

“Well, trust me. It looks like a match.”

He already knew the ring had once been part of a set. Was her grandmother really in possession of the matching necklace or was the story just a ruse to get closer to him?

Coop's reporter's instincts told him she was
sincere in her quest. And he had to admit that she wasn't acting like a woman who was interested in the city's newest bachelor.

Her admitted lack of interest bugged him. Especially since he was curious about her—and not just because of her supposed connection to his ring, which he had tucked deep into his front pants' pocket.

But he wasn't about to show her the ring until he knew more of her story. “Where did your grandmother get the necklace?” he asked, wondering if she'd come into possession of the item second- or thirdhand after it had been stolen.

“Look, do you think we could have this conversation somewhere else? Anywhere else would work for me. The stench of garbage is killing me.” She waved her hand in front of her face, crinkling her nose.

Coop shook his head and grinned. “Smart as well as beautiful.”

Behind her lenses, her eyes opened wide.

“Tell you what. I need to go home and shower. I can't tell you how many of the letters I just junked were covered in perfume. Would you want to meet up with me for a drink?” He invited her on a whim, but as he waited for an answer, his heart began pounding harder inside his chest.

She tipped her head to one side. “You'll bring the ring?”

He nodded. “You'll bring the photo?”

“Of course.”

“Got a pen?” he asked, attempting nonchalance when in reality he was pumped at the notion of seeing her again.

She dug into her oversize purse and handed him something to write with. “Here. Use this.” She turned over the back of the photo.

“How's eight o'clock?” he asked.

“Works for me.”

He jotted down the name of his father's bar and grill, a place his old man had opened after retirement. Cops hung out there on their time off. The beer was good and the food better. It was casual enough for a business meeting and located on a well-traveled street where she'd feel safe with a virtual stranger.

Which reminded him. “I don't believe we've been properly introduced,” he said.

“I'm Lexie Davis.” She extended her hand and he took it.

“Short for Alexandra?”

“Alexis. My parents are pretty uptight. I changed it as soon as I was old enough to speak.”

He laughed, enjoying the feel of her palm against his. Soft and feminine, her hand was small, yet he had no doubt this woman could stand up for herself. He liked her spunk and determination.

“And you're the infamous Sam Cooper,” she said as she released her grasp.