Thwarting Cupid (9 page)

“It looks like you're going to make your deadline after all, Quincy. Great work.” Miss C squeezed his shoulder and gave him a look like she knew what he was contemplating, then disappeared from the room. That look contained just enough warning to make him reconsider his plan. He looked back at the bed. He should be happy. Another match had been made. He could move on. He should move on.

Or maybe he'd just hang around for a bit to make sure Hutch was the right match. Quincy tossed the folder up in the air and it disappeared. Files had been wrong in the past. So what if he couldn't think of exactly when. He just knew they had. It would be irresponsible of him to not stick around. He went to sit in the big chair by the window. Just as he made himself comfortable, he got an urgent call from Spain. With a groan and eye roll, Quincy popped off to Barcelona.

Chapter 8

Carissa craned her neck to see the television from where she was once again lying on the floor with her feet propped up on the couch to relieve the pain in her back muscles. She had to admit she'd been pretty skeptical when Hutch had first told her to do this, but now that the pain was down to a dull roar, she was very glad she'd listened to him. Up to a point anyway.

He'd told her no television while in this position because she'd have to contort her spine too much to see it. Still, she couldn't resist seeking out a news report about what had happened at her office building.

On the one hand, it was good she hadn't had to search very far. All the news outlets were leading with the story. She'd even seen a couple of her coworkers giving interviews. Carissa rolled her eyes when the woman who was known for her negativity was almost in tears while talking to the reporter. Such a drama queen.

Still, Carissa could not look away. That's what made things bad on the other hand. She could feel her neck starting to lock up from staying in the same unnatural position too long. If she was still like this when Hutch returned, he was going to let her have it. Assuming her neck didn't already punish her enough.

Which led to another bizarre aspect of her life this morning. Hutch. What in the heck had happened there? One moment, she'd been happily single–well, maybe not so happily–the next, she felt like she was in a relationship. And it wasn't just a boyfriend/girlfriend kind of thing, either. Carissa felt married to Hutch. What in the world was going on? To make things even more bizarre, he was acting like he felt the same way. This couldn't be real. Could it?

Now that she had something more interesting to ponder, Carissa was able to turn away from the television. As expected, her neck protested. She rubbed at it while thinking over her dilemma. Except, that was part of the problem. It didn't feel like a dilemma. It felt like a fact. She just couldn't get her brain wrapped around it. That was probably a good thing, since in reality, they weren't married. She had the naked left ring finger to prove it, too. Her heart wasn't accepting that offer of proof.

And then there was Hutch himself. He'd volunteered to go out to get breakfast for them. Then he was going to spend his day off looking after her. Seriously? How many men who had no chance of getting any would volunteer for sick duty like this? Unless everything she'd heard and read about men was a total fabrication, she'd say none. Not unless they were married to the woman of their dreams.

Now
there
was a thought that almost induced panic. First, that meant she'd have to be the woman of his dreams. Her. Frumpy little goody two shoes Carissa Langston, who'd never so much as turned a man's head. Carissa didn't own a single item of skimpy clothing. However, the urge to buy some because she thought Hutch might like it if she wore it around the house was creeping up on her. Except, for her to wear something “around the house,” they'd have to share a household. That was out of the question until she got married. Bringing her full circle to the question of why she felt married to him. Surely it hadn't been the dream. No way could it be that powerful. Especially now. Hours after waking up.

She couldn't deny that it was sticking with her. She still recalled every moment in vivid detail. Teaming up with her mind, her body reacted to the memory....wait! Not memory. Dream! Man, if Carissa couldn't even get that straight, she was doomed. But it had been so vivid. If not for the twinge still in her back, she'd have acted on it this morning and turned it into a memory even though that would have been the exact wrong thing to do.

She blew out a breath and flung her arm over her eyes. If she was ever confronted with what to do when Hutch was around, she had to remember one simple word: nothing. That's what she'd do. Easy as pie.

Then she remembered how well hung he'd been in her dream and compared it to what she'd felt this morning when she'd woken up. She groaned. What was the word? She'd just come up with it. Crap! She needed to remember it before he walked back in the door bearing food that she'd enjoy smearing all over his body and using him like a six foot three table. What was she was supposed to do?

“Hey there. Glad to see you're still relaxing.” Carissa whipped her head toward the door where Hutch was just letting himself in. She hadn't even heard him turn the deadbolt. He stepped inside and set some of the bags on the floor while he kicked off his shoes. This time, they were sandals. He'd changed clothing. The khakis and dress shirt had been replaced by basketball shorts and a t-shirt. She noticed that his hair was still a little damp. He must have run home to shower. He hadn't shaved, though. His jaw looked sexy and rugged. Carissa groaned. What was that word again?

He knelt beside her and put a hand under back. What concerned her was that he smelled way too yummy for his own good.

“Hmm. The muscles don't feel quite as tight as they did yesterday. Tell you what. I'll make us something to eat, then give you a massage.”

He stood, grabbed the bags he'd dropped by the door and headed into the kitchen before she could protest. She must still be dreaming. He could cook and offered massages of his own free will? Sooner or later, she'd find the catch. In the meantime, she needed to remember that word. She couldn't make it through a massage without it.

* * * *

Hutch licked a stray glob of cream cheese from his finger, picked up the two plates that held his bagel sandwich creations for him and Carissa, and headed back to the living room to join her. Carissa’s eyes were closed, but she looked more relaxed. He slowed his steps to study her for a moment and marvel at the strange direction his life had taken all of a sudden. If someone had told him a mere two days ago that he'd be here with Carissa in her apartment, he'd have called the men in the little white lab coats to come take the talebearer away. But here he was. Taking care of her and enjoying it.

“It's nowhere near gourmet, but it'll do.” He put the plates down on the couch before sinking to the floor beside her. She opened her eyes and tried to sit up. He was watching closely enough to catch her wince, and he placed a hand on her shoulder. “Let me help you.”

He helped her sit up and swivel so her legs were no longer on the couch.

“Thanks.” She gave him a smile that went straight to his gut. That same gut chose the moment to growl, reminding him he hadn't eaten yet today, either. It also reminded him that he'd forgotten the chips in the kitchen.

“Be right back.” Hutch stood and went back to the kitchen to retrieve the chips and found a couple bottles of water in the refrigerator while he was at it.

He smiled upon seeing that she was sitting there waiting for him to return even though she had to be hungry as he was. He reclaimed his seat and pushed one of the plates toward her on the couch cushion.

The smile she gave him was amused. “You cut it in fours?” she asked, referring to the bagel he'd cut in quarters in case she couldn't manage to sit up just yet.

“Didn't want you to strain anything else.”

She gave him a phony glare. “Funny.”

“I thought so,” Hutch agreed and opened the bag of barbecue chips for them. They chatted about anything and everything that crossed their minds while eating lunch, making for a very pleasant and cozy afternoon.

The afternoon turned into the evening, then the next day. Before they knew it, the weekend was over, but their re-acquaintance was just beginning.

Chapter 9

Quincy was beyond tired. With so many of his charges on the verge of falling out of love during the past few days, he had to check his calendar to confirm that August hadn't snuck up on him. Late summer was usually his busiest time of year, since by then the natural romance of Valentine's Day and traditional June weddings had worn off. However, August was still some time before the leaves turned along with the weather to usher in the cuddle season and the wintery white Christmas nuptials. Quincy unfurled his magnificent wings and stretched. The last few days made his recent stint to Guatemala look like a day at the park.

He'd stopped counting the countries he needed to flit between after number twenty-seven. He'd had no fewer than fifteen relationships on the rocks in each of those countries and he'd had to do some serious maneuvering to save them. But now, they were all stable and he could relax a bit. Quincy could think of no better way to relax than to drop in on his favorite charge. Just seeing Carissa would make everything better.

He popped into her apartment and smiled when he heard pans bang in the kitchen. It sounded like she was cooking breakfast for a change. Breakfast was an important meal for humans. Carissa was given to grabbing whatever leftovers she could find in her refrigerator before running off to work in the mornings. So this was a good change.

Or he thought it was until he strode in the kitchen, eager for his first glimpse of her, but got an eyeful of the same bare-chest Neanderthal he'd found in her bed last week. James Hutchington, Carissa's so-called soul mate. Quincy watched the man reach into the cabinet next to the stove and grab the black pepper to sprinkle in the skillet. He was looking way too at home for Quincy's tastes.

“That smells good. What are you fixing?” Quincy flinched when Carissa walked right through him to join James at the stove. He hadn't even been aware of her approach. She frowned and looked toward the door where he was, but he knew she couldn't see anything. Her expression told him she'd felt something, though.

“Nothing major. Scrambled eggs, sausage and biscuits.” And just like that, Quincy was forgotten. Carissa smiled at the man when he lifted the lid on another skillet to reveal some perfectly cooking sausage links. She took a big whiff and sighed.

“You keep this up and I'm going to hide your house keys so you have to stay here.”

Quincy hated the grin that spread over the man's face. He loathed the way James’s eyes flicked to her cleavage before he answered. “Some hiding places might be more fun to explore than others.”

Carissa blushed, but didn't slug the guy like Quincy wanted her to. Instead, she rolled her eyes then went to the cabinet where she kept her plates and pulled down a couple dishes. After grabbing some silverware, she headed to the table. Quincy frowned. Wait. Did Carissa plan to set it? He could count on one hand how many times she'd eaten at that table, much less bothered to set it. He glared at James. The man was clearly a bad influence.

“Hiding places like the garage? I'm sure you'd have tons of fun cleaning it out while you searched.”

James smirked at her. “The garage? Is that what you crazy kids are calling it these days?” He bent over to pull a pan of biscuits from the oven. Carissa paused in the middle of placing a fork on a napkin and stared at his hindquarters. Even when he stood up again, it took her a minute to recover and finish the task. It made no difference to Quincy that the man hadn't noticed her blatant appreciation. James had to go.

Quincy wracked his brain for ideas while Carissa and the thorn in his side sat down to eat. Adding insult to injury, James bowed his head to offer a quick prayer of thanks to his boss's boss before they ate. His day was just getting better and better. Quincy rubbed his temples.

“This is wonderful, Hutch. Thank you,” Carissa gushed after she'd swallowed a forkful of eggs.

“I don't want to burst your bubble, but you've reached the end of my culinary skills.” James picked up his glass of orange juice. “Still want to hide my house keys?”

“Are you kidding? You've cooked every meal since what, Thursday? You have a pretty impressive arsenal.”

The man's face did what could only be described as beam under her praise. Quincy felt sick to his stomach.

“Who am I to argue with the world's best patient?” James shrugged in faux modesty and lifted his glass to his lips. Quincy glared at the man and flicked his finger up. The glass tipped too far and orange juice splattered on his face before streaming down his neck and chest. Embarrassment was quick to replace the satisfaction that had been in James's expression moments earlier. Quincy smirked. Score!

“Oh no!” Carissa jumped up to grab some towels while James tried to mop up the spill with the napkins already on the table. Quincy twirled his finger so the juice kept multiplying even though the glass was on the table. He grinned. It was going to take more than those few towels in Carissa's hand to clean this mess up. He brought his hands together to focus the flow toward James’s groin. How attractive would Carissa find a man who appeared to wet his pants?