Simply Irresistible (22 page)

He looked at her for several prolonged moments. “So ... I’m somewhere between a paper cut and a bad hair day?”

“That’s correct.”

“I can live with that.”

Georgeanne didn’t know what to say to him when he was being so agreeable. She was saved the trouble by the ringing of the telephone. “Excuse me for a moment,” she said, and picked up the receiver. “Heron Catering, this is Georgeanne.” The male voice on the other end didn’t waste any time telling her exactly what he wanted.

“No,” she said in answer to his inquiry. “We don’t do naked-torso cakes.”

John chuckled beneath his breath as he stood. He glanced about the room, then moved toward a bookcase beneath the window. The sun glinted off a gold cuff link at his wrist as he reached behind a thriving fern and picked up one of Georgeanne’s least favorite pictures. Mae had snapped the photo during Georgeanne’s eighth month of pregnancy, which was why it was hidden behind the plant.

“I’m sure,” she said into the receiver, “you have us confused with someone else.” The gentleman adamantly argued that he was positive Heron’s had catered his friend’s bachelor party. He went into detail, and Georgeanne was forced to lower her voice and say, “I know for a fact that we have never provided topless pool waitresses for any occasion. And I don’t even know what a bootie girl is.” She looked at John’s profile, but his expression gave no indication that he’d heard her. His brows were lowered as he stared at the picture of Georgeanne looking as big as a circus tent in a pink and white polka-dot maternity dress.

When she hung up the telephone, she stood and walked around the side of her desk. “That’s an awful picture,” she said as she came to stand beside him.

“You were huge.”

“Thanks.” She made a grab for the photograph, but he held it out of her reach.

“I didn’t mean fat,” he said as he stared at the picture. “I meant very pregnant.”

“I was
very
pregnant.” She reached for it again and missed. “Now give it to me.”

“What did you crave?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Pregnant women are supposed to crave pickles and ice cream.”

“Sushi.”

He grimaced and looked at her out of the corners of his eyes. “You like sushi?”

“Not anymore. I ate so much of it that I couldn’t hardly stand the smell of fish for a long time. And kisses. I craved kisses every night at about nine-thirty.”

His gaze lowered to her mouth. “From who?”

She felt her stomach go a little squishy. A very dangerous feeling. “Chocolate kisses.”

“Raw fish and chocolate, hmm.” He stared at her mouth for a few more seconds, then looked back at the picture. “How much did Lexie weigh when she was born?”

“Nine pounds three ounces.”

His eyes widened, and he smiled as if he were very proud of himself. “Holy shit!”

“That’s what Mae said when they weighed Lexie.” She grabbed for the picture again and this time snatched it from his grasp.

He turned to her and held out his hand. “I wasn’t finished looking at that.”

Georgeanne hid it behind her back. “Yes, you were.”

He dropped his hand to his side. “Don’t make me body-check you.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“Oh, yes I would,” he said, his voice low, silky. “It’s my job and I’m a professional.”

It had been a long time since Georgeanne had flirted and teased. She didn’t do that sort of thing anymore. She retreated a few steps backward. “I don’t know what body-check means. Is it like being frisked?”

“No.” He tilted his head back and looked at her from beneath lowered lids. “But I might be willing to change the rules for you.”

The edge of the desk stopped Georgeanne. The room felt as if it had suddenly gotten a whole lot smaller, and the look in his eyes made her heart flutter like a debutante’s fake lashes.

“Come on now, give it up.”

Before she knew exactly how it happened, seven years of self-improvement flew out the window. She opened her mouth and words poured out like warm butter. “I haven’t heard such sweet talk since high school,” she drawled.

John grinned. “Did it work?”

She smiled and shook her head.

“Are you going to make me get rough with you?”

“That didn’t work, either.”

His deep, rich laugher filled her office and lit his eyes. The man standing before her was intriguing and magnetic. This was the John who’d charmed her out of her clothes seven years, ago then dumped her faster than toxic waste. “Aren’t the people from
GQ
waiting for you?”

Without taking his eyes from her, he raised his arm and pushed back his cuff. He turned his wrist pulse side up and quickly glanced at his gold watch. “Are you kicking me out?”

“Absolutely.”

He tugged his cuff down and reached for his tuxedo jacket. “Think about Oregon.”

“I don’t need to think about it.” She wasn’t going. Period.

The door swung opened and Charles entered, putting an end to any further discussion and bringing with him a change in the air. With his brows raised, Charles looked from Georgeanne to John, then back again. “Hello,” he said.

Georgeanne straightened. “I thought we weren’t meeting until noon.” She set the picture on the desk.

“I finished with my meeting early, and I thought I’d come by and pick you up.” He looked back at John and something passed between the two men. Some primal and intrinsic male
thing. A
nonverbal encoded language that she didn’t understand. Georgeanne broke the silence and introduce the two of them.

“Georgeanne tells me you’re Lexie’s father,” Charles said after several strained moments.

“That’s right.” John was ten years younger than Charles. He was tall and athletic. A beautiful man with a beautiful body. His mind was as twisted as a curly fry.

Charles stood an inch taller than Georgeanne and was thin rather than beefy. His looks were more distinguished, like a senator or congressman. He was sane. “Lexie’s a wonderful little girl.”

“Yes. She is.”

Charles slid a possessive arm around Georgeanne’s waist and pulled her against his side. “Georgeanne is a fantastic mother, and an incredible woman.” He gave her a little squeeze. “She’s a talented cook, too.”

“Yes. I remember.”

Charles’s brows lowered. “She doesn’t need anything.”

“From who?” John asked.

“From you.”

John looked from Charles to Georgeanne. A knowing smile showed his straight white teeth. “You still crave kisses at night, baby doll?”

She felt like socking him a good one. He was purposely trying to provoke Charles. And Charles ... She didn’t know what was the matter with him. “Not anymore,” she said.

“Maybe you’re not kissing the right person.” He shrugged into his jacket and tugged at his cuffs.

“Or maybe I’m satisfied.”

He cast a skeptical glance at Charles before turning his gaze back to Georgeanne. “See ya later,” he said, and left the room.

She watched him leave, then turned to Charles. “What was that all about? What was going on between you two?”

Charles was silent a moment, his brows still lowered over his gray eyes. “An old-fashion pissing contest.”

Georgeanne had never heard Charles use a swear word before. She was shocked and alarmed. She didn’t want him to feel he had to compete with John. The two men were in different leagues. John was crude and lewd and used profanity as if it were a second language. Charles had polish and was a gentleman. John was a down-and-dirty, win-at-all-costs fighter. Charles didn’t stand a chance against a man who used both hands at the urinal.

Charles shook her head. “I’m sorry for using vulgar language.”

“It’s okay. John seems to bring out the worst in people.”

“What did he want?”

“To talk about Lexie.”

“What else?”

“That’s all.”

“Then why did he ask you about craving kisses?”

“He was provoking me. Something he does quite well. Don’t let him bug you.” She wrapped her arms around his neck, reassuring him and herself. “I don’t want to talk about John. I want to talk about us. I thought maybe this Sunday we could load the girls up and spend the day looking for whales near the San Juans. I know it’s a real touristy thing to do, but I’ve never done it, and I’ve always wanted to. What do you think?”

He kissed her lips and smiled. “I think you’re gorgeous, and I’ll do anything you want.”

“Anything?”

“Yes.”

“Then take me to lunch. I’m starving.” She took Charles’s hand, and as they walked from the room, she noticed the picture of her looking like a circus tent was gone.

Chapter Eleven

For the first time in seven years, Mae was almost glad her twin brother was dead. Ray’s friends were moving out of state or checking out altogether, and he’d never been able to handle desertion. No matter that the person deserting hadn’t been given a choice.

Mae shoved her sunglasses on the bridge of her nose and walked across the hospital lobby. If Ray were alive, he wouldn’t have been able to endure watching his good friend and lover, Stan, waste away from AIDS-related cancer. He would have become too emotional, unable to hide his grief. But not Mae. Mae had always been stronger than her twin.

She ducked her head and pushed open one of the heavy glass doors. She was a control nut. So what. If she weren’t, she might not have been able to come to the hospital to say her final good-bye to Stan. If it weren’t for her self-control, she just might lose it before she got home. She might break down right there and weep for the man who’d helped her through the death of her brother. The man who loved a good joke, an early tee-off, and Liberace memorabilia. Stan was so much more than a skeleton waiting for his family to take him home to die. He was so much more than the latest AIDS casualty. He was her friend and she loved him.

Mae took a deep breath of the cool morning breeze and cleared her lungs of antiseptic hospital air. She started up

Fifteenth Avenue

toward the house she shared with her cat, Bootsie.

“Hey there, Mae.”

She paused midstride, and glancing over her shoulder, she looked right into the grinning face of Hugh Miner. A blue baseball cap shaded his eyes, and his light brown hair curled up like little fishhooks along the edges. He grasped three big hockey sticks in one hand, hooking the blades over a broad shoulder. Seeing him in her neighborhood was a surprise. Mae lived on Capital Hill, an area just east of downtown Seattle well known for its substantial gay and lesbian population. Mae had been around gay men all of her life and could tell sexual preference within minutes of meeting a person. The first and only time she’d met Hugh, she’d known within
seconds
that he was one hundred percent heterosexual. “What are you doing here?” she asked.

“I’m dropping these sticks off at the hospital.”

“Why?”

“For an auction.”

She turned to face him. “People actually pay for your old hockey sticks?”

“You bet.” His smile grew and he rocked back on his heels. “I’m a great goalie.”

She shook her head. “You’re an egomaniac.”

“You say that as if it’s a bad thing. Some women actually like that about me.”

Mae didn’t care for his type of man, handsome and cocky. “Some women are desperate.”

He chuckled. “What are you doing today, beside spreading sunshine?”

“Walking home.”

His smile fell. “Do you live around here?”

“Yep.”

“Are you a lesbian, sweetheart?”

She thought of how Georgeanne would have howled with laughter over that question. “Does it matter?”

He shrugged. “It’d be a damn shame, but it would explain why you’re so ornery.”

Mae wasn’t usually ornery to men. She loved men. Just not the athletic type. “Just because I’m rude to you doesn’t mean I’m a lesbian.”

“Well, are you?”

She hesitated. “No.”

“That’s good.” He smiled again and shifted his weight to one foot. “Do you want to go get a cup of coffee or a beer somewhere?”

Mae laughed without humor. “Get real,” she scoffed, and moved to the curb. She glanced up and down Fifteenth and waited for the traffic to slow.

“Sorry about that, sunshine,” Hugh called after her as if she’d asked him a question. “But I don’t go in for that kinky stuff.”

Mae looked at him as she stepped between two parked cars. He was walking backward toward the hospital entrance and pointing the hockey sticks at her. “But if you’re real good and wear something slutty, maybe I’ll take you to that triple-X theater down on First. The
French Orgy
is playin‘, and I know how you love those foreign films.”

“You’re sick,” she muttered, and crossed Fifteenth. She easily dismissed Hugh from her mind. She had more important things to think about than a jock with a thick neck. Her circle of friends was getting smaller all the time. Just last week she’d had to say good-bye to her longtime pal and neighbor, Armando “Mandy” Ruiz. She hadn’t even known he was thinking of leaving until the day she’d watched him pack up his Chevy. He’d left Seattle for L.A. Left to answer the call of bright lights and to chase his dream of becoming the next RuPaul. Mae would miss Stan, and she’d miss Mandy, too.

But she still had her family. She still had Georgeanne and Lexie. They were enough for now. For now she was satisfied with her life.

John opened his front door and sized up Georgeanne in one quick glance. At ten in the morning, she looked fresh and perfectly flawless. She’d brushed her dark hair into a twisted bun on the back of her head, and diamond studs adorned each earlobe. She wore one of those awful female power suits that hid her deep cleavage and covered her to her knees. “Did you bring them?” he asked, and stepped aside to let her into his houseboat. When she walked past, he raised his arm a little and took a quick sniff. He didn’t smell too bad, but maybe he should have taken a shower after his run. Maybe he should have changed out of his jogging shorts and ratty gray T-shirt.

“Yes, I brought several.” Georgeanne walked into the living room, and he shut the door behind her. “Just make sure you keep your part of the bargain.”