Match Me if You Can (34 page)

Portia walked toward the kitchen and poked her head in and out. “Claiming my last introduction. You chose Delaney Lightfield. I choose you. Welcome to Power Matches. Let’s see if we can find you some makeup? And a decent outfit wouldn’t hurt, either.”

“You’re nuts.”

She gave Annabelle a surprisingly cheerful smile. “Yes, but not as nutty as I used to be. It’s interesting. Once you’ve terrified a restaurant full of people—a Burger King near Benton Harbor—you’re basically liberated from ever again worrying about keeping up appearances.”

“You went into a Burger King looking like this?”

“Potty stop. Plus Bodie dared me.”

“Bodie?”

She smiled, her blue lips making her very nice teeth look a little yellow. “We’re lovers. More than lovers. In love. Bizarre, I know, but I’ve never been happier. We’re getting married. Well, he hasn’t agreed yet, but he will.” She studied Annabelle more closely and frowned. “From those red eyes, I can see you talked with Heath and that it didn’t go well.”

“It went very well. I told him no and walked away.”

Portia threw up her hands. “Why am I not surprised? Well, as of now, playtime is over. You amateurs have had your fun, but it’s time to step aside and let a professional handle this.”

“You have clearly lost your mind, not to mention your looks.”

Surprisingly, Portia didn’t take offense. “My looks will be back in spades. Wait till you see what’s underneath all this.”

“I’ll have to take your word for it.”

“I told Heath not to talk to you without me, but he’s pigheaded. And you…Ofall people, you should have known to be more sensitive. Haven’t you learned anything about this business? Two different men have ordered me not to call you a twit, but, honestly, Annabelle, if the shoe fits…”

She marched to the door. “Thanks for stopping by. Sorry you have to leave so soon.”

Portia sat on the arm of the couch. “Do you have any idea how much courage it took for him to accept the fact that he’s fallen in love with you, let alone to come here and lay his heart on the line? And what did you do? Tossed his feelings right back in his face, didn’t you? Extremely unwise, Annabelle, especially with Heath. He’s very emotionally insecure. From what Bodie’s told me, I suspect that’s exactly what his subconscious expected you to do, and I don’t think he’ll have the guts to ask you again.”

“Insecure? He’s the cockiest man in the universe.” But Portia had shaken her confidence, and the floor no longer felt quite so steady. “He doesn’t love me,” Annabelle said more forcefully. “He just can’t stand hearing anybody say no to him.”

“You’re so wrong.” A voice spoke from behind her. She whipped around to see Bodie framed in the door. Unlike Portia, he was pulled together from head to toe in a gray sweater, great fitting jeans, and motorcycle boots.

Annabelle went on the attack. “Did Heath send you to talk to me? It would be just like him to delegate another one of those messy personal tasks he dislikes so much.”

“She’s a bit of a bitch,” Portia said to Bodie, as if Annabelle weren’t in the room.

He lifted an eyebrow. “Babe.”

Portia held out her hand. “I know, I know …If she were a man, she’d be labeled aggressive. But honestly, Bodie, sometimes a bitch is just a bitch.”

“Exactly.”

Portia seemed amused. “Point taken.”

He chuckled, and Annabelle began to feel like a tagalong at her own crisis. Bodie finally managed to drag his eyes away from Blue Girl. “Heath doesn’t know either one of us is here. I only found out where he’d gone through an accidental telephone conversation I had with Kevin’s kid.” He slipped his arm around Portia’s shoulders. “The thing is, Annabelle…What if Portia’s right? And, let’s face it, she has more experience with this kind of crap than you do. Just because she has a history of screwing up her own life—which I’m happy to say she’s working through—doesn’t mean she hasn’t made a success out of other peoples’ lives. Bottom line—there’s a fairly simple way to settle this.”

Fighting both of them had exhausted her already diminished resources, and Annabelle slumped into the sofa. “Nothing’s simple when it comes to that man.”

“This time it is,” he said. “I caught a glimpse of him heading for that path that goes around the lake.”

The same path she’d planned to walk this afternoon.

“Go after him,” Bodie said, “and when you find him, ask him two questions. When you hear his answers, you’ll know exactly what to do.”

“Two questions?”

“That’s right. And I’m going to tell you exactly what they are…”

W
ater from the soggy leaves seeped into Annabelle’s sneakers, and her teeth had begun to chatter, more from nerves, she suspected, than the chill. She might be making the worst mistake of her life. She couldn’t see anything special about the questions Bodie had posed, but he’d been adamant. As for Portia…The woman was scary. Annabelle wouldn’t have been surprised to see her pull a handgun from her purse. Portia and Bodie were the weirdest couple she’d ever seen, and yet they seemed to understand each other perfectly. Apparently, Annabelle had a lot more to learn about being a matchmaker. She had to admit Portia was growing on her. How could you hate a woman who was so willing to put herself on the line?

The path grew steeper as it climbed toward the rocky bluff that jutted over the water. Molly said she and Kevin came here sometimes to dive. Annabelle paused as she rounded the bend to catch her breath. That was when she saw Heath. He stood on the rocky ledge gazing out at the lake, his jacket pushed back, his fingertips stuffed in his back pockets. Even unkempt and disheveled, he was magnificent, an alpha male at the top of every game he played, except the most important one.

He heard her footsteps and turned his head. Slowly, his hands dropped to his sides. In the distance, she saw a tiny speck in the sky. The balloons drifting away. It didn’t seem like a comforting omen. “I need to ask you two questions,” she said.

His stance, his shuttered expression, everything about him reminded her of the way the cottages had been closed up for the winter—no hot water, curtains drawn, doors locked. “All right,” he said tonelessly.

Her heart hammered as she stepped around the
NO DIVING
sign. “First question. Where’s your cell?”

“My cell? Why do you care?”

She wasn’t sure. What difference could it make which pocket he’d stashed it in? Still, Bodie had insisted she ask.

“Last time I saw it,” Heath said, “Pip had it.”

“You let her steal another phone?”

“No, I gave it to her.”

She swallowed and stared at him. This was getting serious. “You gave her your cell? Why?”

“Is this the second question?”

“No. Scratch that. The second question is…Why haven’t you returned Dean’s calls?”

“I returned one of them, but he didn’t know where you were.”

“So why did he call you in the first place?”

“What is this, Annabelle? Frankly, I’m getting tired of everybody acting like the world revolves around Dean Robillard. Just because he’s developed this sudden need for an agent doesn’t mean I have to jump to attention. I’ll get to him when I get to him, and if that’s not good enough, he has IMG’s phone number.”

Her legs gave out from under her, and she sank down on the nearest rock. “Oh, my God. You really do love me.”

“I already told you that,” he retorted.

“You did, didn’t you?” She couldn’t get her breath back.

Finally, he grew aware that something had changed. “Annabelle?”

She tried to answer, really she did, but he’d once again turned her world upside down, and her tongue wouldn’t cooperate.

Hope battled against the wariness in his eyes. His lips barely moved. “You believe me?”

“Uh-huh.” Her hammering heart created a ripple effect, and she had to clasp her hands to keep them from shaking.

“You do?”

She nodded.

“You’re going to marry me?”

She nodded again, and that was all he needed. With a low moan, he pulled her to her feet and kissed her. Seconds…hours…she had no idea how long the kiss lasted, but he covered a lot of territory: lips, tongue, and teeth; her cheeks and eyelids; her neck. His hands reached under her sweater for her breasts; she fumbled beneath his jacket to touch his bare chest.

She barely remembered how they made it back to the empty cottage, only that her heart was singing and she couldn’t move fast enough to keep up with him. Finally, he swept her into his arms and carried her. She threw back her head and laughed at the sky.

They undressed, their urgency making them awkward as they kicked away muddy shoes and wet jeans, hopped awkwardly to shake off clammy socks, bumped into furniture, into each other. She was shivering with cold by the time he pulled back the covers and drew her with him into the chilly bed. He offered the heat of his body to make the goose bumps disappear, rubbed her arms and the small of her back, suckled the warmth back into her puckered nipples. Eventually, his fevered fingers found the tight folds between her legs and opened them into summer-warmed petals plump with welcoming dew. He claimed every inch of her body with his touch. She gasped as he entered her.

“I love you so much, my sweet, sweet Annabelle,” he whispered, everything he felt in his heart spilling into his words.

She laughed with the joy of his invasion and gazed into his eyes. “And I love you.”

He groaned, kissed her again, and tilted her hips to take all of him. They abandoned themselves, not in beautifully choreographed lovemaking, but in a messy mating of spunk and juice, of sweet filth, luscious obscenities, of deep and total trust, as pure and sacred as altar vows.

Long afterward, with only cold water to wash themselves, they cursed and laughed and splashed each other, which led them back to bed. They made love for the rest of the afternoon.

As evening fell, a loud knock at the door intruded, followed by Portia’s voice. “Room service!”

Heath took his time but eventually wrapped a towel around his hips and went to investigate. He returned with a brown paper grocery bag filled with food. Ravenous, they fed themselves and each other, gorging on roast beef sandwiches, juicy Michigan apples, and a gluey pumpkin pie that tasted like heaven. They washed it all down with lukewarm beer and then, groggy and sated, dozed in each other’s arms.

It was dark when Annabelle awakened. Wrapping herself in a quilt, she went into the living room and retrieved her phone. Within seconds, she’d reached Dean’s voice mail.

“I know Heath went a little nuts on you, pal, and I apologize for him. The man’s in love, so he can’t help himself.” She smiled. “I promise he’ll call first thing tomorrow and set everything straight, so don’t you dare talk to IMG before then. I mean it, Dean, if you sign with anybody but Heath, I will never speak to you again. Plus, I’ll tell everybody in Chicago that you sleep with a giant poster of yourself right next to your bed. Which you probably do.”

She grinned, hung up, and retrieved a tattered pad of yellow lined paper from the drawer, along with a gnawed pencil stub. When she got back to the bedroom, she turned on a lamp and propped herself against the footboard with the quilt wrapped tightly around her. Her feet were freezing, so she slid them under the covers and up against Heath’s warm thigh.

He yelped and heaved himself into the pillows. “You will definitely pay for that.”

“Here’s hoping.” She propped the notepad on her quilt-draped knee and drank in the sight of him. He looked like a wicked pirate against the snowy pillowcases. Tan skin, disheveled dark hair, and the marauder’s stubble that had chafed various sensitive parts of her body. “Okay, lover, it’s time to deal.”

He pushed himself higher onto the pillows and gazed at the notepad. “Do we really have to?”

“Are you nuts? You think I’m marrying the Python without an ironclad prenup?”

He fumbled under the covers for her cold foot. “Apparently not.”

“First…” As he chafed the warmth back into her toes, she wrote on the pad. “There will be no cell phones, BlackBerries, minifaxes, or other as-yet-to-be-invented electronic devices at our dinner table ever.”

He rubbed her toes. “What about if we’re eating in a restaurant?”

“Especially if we’re eating in a restaurant.”

“Exempt fast food, and you’ve got a deal.”

She thought it over. “Agreed.”

“Now it’s my turn.” He draped her calf on top of his thigh. “Selected electronic devices, excluding the aforementioned, will not only be allowed in the bedroom, but will be encouraged. And I get to choose what they are.”

“If you don’t forget about that catalog…”

He gestured toward the notepad. “Write it down.”

“Fine.” She wrote it down.

The blanket fell to the middle of his chest, momentarily distracting her as he spoke again. “Disagreements over money are the biggest cause of divorce.”

She waved her hand. “Absolutely no problem. Your money is our money. My money is my money.” She wrote away.

“I should make you negotiate with Phoebe.”

She gestured toward his very fine chest with her pencil. “On the off chance I find out after we’re married that your declaration of abiding love and devotion has been an elaborate con job perpetrated by you, Bodie, and Scary Spice…”

He massaged her arch. “I definitely wouldn’t lose too much sleep over that.”

“Just in case. You will give me all your worldly goods, shave your head, and leave the country.”

“Deal.”

“Plus, you have to hand over your Sox tickets so I can burn them in front of your eyes.”

“Only if I get something in exchange.”

“What?”

“Unlimited sex. How I want it, when I want it, where I want it. The backseat of your shiny new car, on top of my desk…”

“Definite deal.”

“And kids.”

Just like that, she choked up. “Yes. Oh, yes.”

Her show of emotion left him unmoved as his eyes narrowed and he dived in for the kill. “We take at least six trips a year to see your family.”

She slammed down the notepad. “That is so not going to happen.”