The Doctor's Runaway Fiancée
Cindy Kirk
A bolting bride!Sylvie Thorne doesn't believe in happily-ever-after. Tormented by a tumultuous childhood, the struggling baker's certain she did the right thing running from her perfect-as-a-prince Boston blueblood fiance, leaving not a glass slipper but a brief text behind. She just never expected him to follow her.Dr. Andrew O'Shea wants closure. To get it, he'll implement a plan. Three weeks with Sylvie in his Jackson Hole rental. Lots of togetherness, a little dialogue–and no sex. Twenty-one days to prove they're from two different worlds. Instead, one kiss shows him what they have in common–blazing chemistry that never died. Now Andrew's in trouble. Instead of laying the past to rest, he's thinking of the future–with his former fiancee.
All she had to do was give him back the ring.
Then he’d say goodbye and leave. Everyone had known they were wrong for each other. Everyone but Andrew. Now it seemed he finally figured it out. “It appears we’re ready to close the door on the past.”
“It might feel that way to you, Sylvie. The problem is, I still want you. I believe more drastic measures are needed.” He stepped closer.
Her heart thudded. “What kind of measures do you have in mind?”
“Immersion therapy,” he said. “I will immerse myself in your life. I obviously didn’t know you before. What better way to get you out of my system than to become acquainted with the real you?”
“How long will that take? A couple of days—”
“I’m here for three weeks.”
Given their history, that seemed little enough to ask. So why did her pulse quicken at the thought? “I think it’s best if we keep physical intimacy to a minimum.” She crossed the room to put space between them, but he followed her.
“Come on,” he said, taking her hand. “I’ll help you pack.”
“Where am I going?”
He gave her a sexy smile. “You’re moving in with me.”
* * *
Rx for Love: Just following doctor’s orders …
The Doctor’s Runaway Fiancée
Cindy Kirk
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
From the time she was a little girl, CINDY KIRK thought everyone made up different endings to books, movies and television shows. Instead of counting sheep at night, she made up stories. She’s now had over forty novels published. She enjoys writing emotionally satisfying stories with a little faith and humour tossed in. She encourages readers to connect with her on Facebook and Twitter, @cindykirkauthor, and via her website, www.cindykirk.com (http://www.cindykirk.com).
To Patience Bloom, my wonderful editor, whose presence in my life has made it so much richer.
Contents
Cover (#ud75815d8-18cf-52fb-8755-8d1049bcda7c)
Introduction (#uf95f46ff-0e2d-5876-9c6c-fee376e4441c)
Title Page (#u3b7c0858-0b47-5662-b5ea-98a583766c65)
About the Author (#u8df5bede-839b-5294-98fb-31aec8a6d58e)
Dedication (#uf8e805ac-da05-571b-bd52-70526948b4c3)
Chapter One (#u29cd3255-4048-5d9f-b042-464faab7777f)
Chapter Two (#u627c39ee-5668-5977-9736-d7c3c3211a36)
Chapter Three (#u17e377d7-4104-5da3-8bda-a9fc58effa9d)
Chapter Four (#uad7afa9d-e5c8-56eb-b113-b066e581d642)
Chapter Five (#u3e360d76-f0e0-57b6-9214-e2936d384337)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter One (#ulink_249ac8da-f083-5904-a9da-11b24b40fa4d)
Sylvie Thorne gazed into the beauty-shop mirror and forced herself to breathe. Seven seconds in, then out for eleven. Almost immediately, the panic ebbed.
Two hours earlier she’d given Cassidy Duggan, owner of the Clippety Do Dah Salon, free rein to cut and color her hair. While Cassidy was as nontraditional with hair as Sylvie was in cake designs, there was no better stylist in Jackson Hole.
“What do you think?” Cassidy fussed with a stray strand of hair and smiled expectantly.
“I look...different.” An understatement to be sure, but the best Sylvie could muster.
As she continued to study the unfamiliar reflection, Sylvie reminded herself she was the one who’d asked for a change. She’d grown bored with the hairstyle she’d had since high school. The upcoming wedding of a friend had been the gentle shove she’d needed to try something different.
Two hours ago she’d walked in with wavy copper-colored hair hanging in loose curls halfway down her back and put herself in Cassidy’s experienced hands.
“Sleek and sophisticated.” Daffodil Prentiss, the hairstylist from the next booth, punctuated her proclamation with an approving nod.
Sleek and sophisticated.
While those two words were rarely tossed in her direction, Sylvie cocked her head and opened her mind. “I like it.”
The waves had been straightened and the blunt cut hair now barely reached her shoulders. The muted copper strands, while still the predominant color, had been replaced at the ends by several inches of soft honey blond.
“Are you sure?” Cassidy asked, apparently troubled by her less-than-enthusiastic response. “If you don’t like it, I can—”
“Exactly what I wanted.” Sylvie spoke more decisively this time. “And the change I was looking for.”
“I didn’t want to go too crazy.” Cassidy tapped a finger against her bright red lips. “If you get home and decide this isn’t enough of a change, we could try some cerulean blue. I think the color would make those violet eyes of yours really pop.”
“No blue needed.” Sylvie spoke quickly. “This is perfect.”
Because of the nontraditional bakery products produced in her Mad Batter kitchen and the boho-chic styles she preferred to wear, Sylvie was aware many saw her as “quirky.”
Now, at least according to Daffodil, she looked sleek and sophisticated. Who’d have thought that was even possible?
“Stellar job,” Sylvie assured Cassidy. She rose from the salon chair and gave the stylist a hug.
While Cassidy ran her credit card, Sylvie chatted with Daffodil. After adding a generous tip, she stepped out into the bright summer day and let the sunshine warm her face.
She ran her fingers through her hair, gave her head a toss, feeling suddenly light and carefree. It was as if she’d shed the weight of the past along with her hair.
As early September was still too early for skiers to begin their descent on Jackson Hole, the downtown foot traffic was relatively light. Sylvie found herself glancing down the walkway, looking for someone she knew, eager to show off her new do.
Hair and friends were quickly forgotten when her gaze settled on a dark-haired man at the end of the block. She studied his profile as he read the menu posted in the window of the Coffee Pot Café.
Sylvie’s breath froze. She brought a hand to her throat. Andrew.
Her heart slammed against her rib cage, then began to thud heavily. A roaring filled her ears. She told herself it couldn’t be him. Andrew O’Shea lived in Boston, two thousand miles away. Yet something about this man was all too familiar.
In their months together she’d often told Andrew that he wore wealth and privilege like most men wore a favorite coat. He’d laugh as if she’d made a joke.
While it was true he came from money and never had to do without, as a physician he’d been passionate about improving the lives of others. Working as a concierge doctor allowed him to practice medicine while still having time to dabble in the family business.
As she stared unblinking at the man, a wave of yearning washed over her. The sensation was so strong it brought tears to her eyes.
“Sylvie?”
Stifling a groan, she blinked back the tears before turning.
Josie Campbell, her closest friend and bride-to-be, touched Sylvie’s arm. “Is something wrong? You had the strangest expression on your face.”
Sylvie glanced down the street and discovered Andrew’s doppelgänger had vanished. She offered an easy smile. “For a second I thought I saw someone I knew.”
Josie followed the direction of her gaze. She was a pretty woman with honey-blond hair, clear green eyes and a diamond the size of Grand Teton on her left hand. “What does she look like?”
“He.” Sylvie waved a dismissive hand. “Tall with dark hair. I’m sure it wasn’t him.”
“Tall and dark, huh?” Josie brought a finger to her lips. “Would it be accurate to add handsome to that description?”
Andrew was indeed handsome. But he was in Massachusetts, not strolling the streets of Jackson.
“Handsome would be accurate. If we’re talking about your fiancé.” As a tall, broad-shouldered man headed straight for them, Sylvie’s words slid into a smile.
With Josie’s back to her fiancé, she didn’t see his approach.
“Noah is very handsome.” Josie’s lips curved. “I’m supposed to meet him at the church. We’re—”
Dr. Noah Anson stopped his future wife’s words by spinning her around. When her mouth opened in a surprised shriek, he kissed her soundly.
Josie’s arms wrapped around his neck and he gently stroked her back as the kiss ended. The look of love in Noah’s eyes took Sylvie’s breath away.
The yearning she’d experienced moments earlier returned with the force of a tsunami.
Expelling a happy sigh, Josie slanted a teasing glance at her future husband. “Before we were so rudely interrupted, I was saying Noah and I have an appointment with Pastor Johnson at the church. With the wedding less than a month away, there’s still a few loose ends we need to tie up.”
Noah kept an arm around Josie’s waist, gave Sylvie a nod. Then he inclined his head, two lines forming between his dark brows. His gaze narrowed. “There’s something different about you today.”
“It’s the hair.” Josie smiled her approval. “With all our talk about hot guys, I forgot to say how much I love, love, love the cut. And the color is simply fabulous. Cassidy, I presume?”
Sylvie fingered one of the short silky strands. “Who else?”
The Clippety Do Dah Salon might have a cutesy name, but Cassidy Duggan produced sophisticated results.
“Looks good on you.” Noah paused, the words Josie had uttered moments earlier appearing to finally register. “What hot guys?”
“Why, you, of course, darling.” Josie rose on tiptoes to brush a light kiss across his lips. “And some guy Sylvie spotted that she knew.”
“On first glance he looked familiar,” Sylvie clarified. She waved a dismissive hand. “It wasn’t him.”
It couldn’t be Andrew. There was no reason for him to be here.
Still, an uneasy feeling settled over her shoulders and Sylvie found herself scanning for the once-familiar face all the way to her shop.
* * *
Later that day, Dr. Andrew O’Shea wandered into Hill of Beans in downtown Jackson and ordered a coffee. He took the cup of the Ethiopian blend to a table by the window.
It felt strange to be dressed in blue jeans and a polo on a weekday. Back in Boston, Andrew rarely wore jeans. But as he packed for his trip to the land of cowboys and rodeos, he’d tossed in a pair.
The last thing he wanted was to stand out. His plan was to remain inconspicuous until he figured out how best to approach Sylvie.
Andrew had thought about simply popping into her shop. He’d already scouted out her location, so that remained an option. But interrupting her during a business day didn’t feel right, and he was a big believer in going with his gut.
Still, he wouldn’t wait much longer. He’d flown in yesterday. This morning he’d eaten at a local café, the Coffee Pot, and planned his strategy. He was past ready to put to bed the tangled emotions he’d carried with him the last few months. Once he got the answers he sought, he’d return to Boston and move on with his life.
When Sylvie had run off shortly before their wedding, he was stunned. He’d called around, but no one seemed to know where she was, but neither were they surprised. Apparently Sylvie had a reputation for being capricious.
Andrew had decided to give her a few days to come back on her own. Before twenty-four hours had passed, his legs were knocked out from under him a second time. He learned a close childhood friend was dying. All the pain of Sylvie’s leaving had been pushed aside while he dealt with a more immediate crisis.
Shortly after his friend passed away, he’d read an article about the Jackson Hole Wine Auction and Food Festival. A local cake artist, Sylvie Thorne, had been featured.
Andrew had discovered she’d relocated to Jackson Hole. He just hadn’t realized how much seeing her smiling face in that magazine would affect him. His world, which had been off its axis since Sylvie’s leaving, had tipped even further. It still hadn’t fully righted itself.
Even if Sylvie’s name hadn’t been mentioned, Andrew liked to think he’d have recognized her work in the full color photograph of the multilayered wedding cake with the fondant skull. Even when they’d been together and she was still developing as a cake artist, she’d had a recognizable style.
He recalled the cake she’d made for his birthday shortly before she left. It had been a three-layer castle—a Spamalot version—with crooked turrets and gargoyles with big toothy grins.
Cradling the mug in his hands, Andrew stared out the window. He now sat only blocks from the place where she created her masterpieces.
He had to admit he wasn’t sure how it was going to feel to finally be face-to-face with his runaway fiancée.
Andrew lifted the strong brew to his lips and took a long sip. One thing was certain—he’d come for answers.
He wasn’t leaving Wyoming without them.
* * *
Sylvie eased the ancient minivan to the curb a block down from Benedict and Poppy Campbell’s home in Spring Gulch. Instead of hopping out, she remained in the vehicle and tried to recall just why she’d accepted an invitation to the backyard barbecue.
She rarely attended dinner parties or barbecues as a guest. But then, she didn’t meet friends at the Coffee Pot Café after church on Sundays, either. Heck, she didn’t even go to book club, though reading was a favorite pastime.
Part of the reason for her reticence had to do with not growing up in a world where people had dinner parties or barbecues. She hadn’t known book clubs even existed. As a child, she hadn’t known anyone who read for pleasure.
Sylvie and her mom had been too busy trying to survive to think about books. Subsisting on groceries bought with food stamps, their “home” had been a run-down apartment courtesy of public housing.
When her mother took off and left her when she was thirteen, Sylvie had discovered that life was even worse in foster care.
She pushed the painful memories aside and reminded herself those times were over and done. When she’d moved to Wyoming, she promised herself no looking back. She’d stuck to her vow.
With the exception of earlier in the week, when she thought she’d seen Andrew on the streets of Jackson. That night, she’d pulled out her engagement ring and done some reminiscing.
Though her heart still ached whenever she thought of him, Sylvie still believed that leaving Andrew had been the right decision.
Keeping his ring, however, had been wrong.
It didn’t matter that the three-carat diamond had been her last connection to him.
It didn’t matter that the ring wasn’t a family heirloom.
It didn’t matter that she had a good reason at the time for taking the piece of jewelry with her. She’d feared Andrew might be so distraught over her leaving him that he might fling the ring, one that had been specially designed for her, off the Longfellow Bridge and into the Charles.
Sylvie closed her eyes briefly. The trip down memory lane had dumped her spirits into the basement. Would it really be so horrible to drive off? No one had seen her. There was still time for a quick getaway.
The only reason she hesitated was that this party was for Josie. Her friend had made it clear she wanted her maid of honor to attend.
Giving in to the inevitable, Sylvie opened the van door. She stepped out, careful not to brush up against the dusty side of “Ethel,” the 1996 Dodge Caravan she’d purchased shortly after arriving in Jackson Hole.
Though some of the light blue paint had peeled and there was a dent in the back from a shopping cart gone wild, the van started like a dream. Once she’d had the seating in the back removed, it had a good-sized cargo area for hauling cakes.
As Sylvie gazed over all the shiny vehicles lining the street in this affluent Jackson Hole subdivision, it struck her that Ethel didn’t fit in here any more than she did.
Sylvie glanced down at her skirt with its orange, red and black diagonal stripes and hesitated. For tonight’s festivities she’d coupled the skirt with gladiator sandals and a black tank. Skin showed from a few inches above her belly-button ring to just below her navel.
This barbecue would bring together the movers and shakers of Jackson Hole. She’d be as out of place here as she’d have been in Andrew’s world.
Coming tonight had been a mistake.
Sylvie was reaching for the door handle when Tim and Cassidy Duggan pulled behind her van in a shiny red SUV, boxing her in. She heaved a resigned sigh, then walked over to greet Cassidy and her husband.
Marriage and motherhood hadn’t changed Cassidy. The hairstylist wore a bright blue skirt with an animal-print tank. The bold pairing eased Sylvie’s trepidation about her own outfit.
Though Cassidy was married to a prominent pediatrician, from what Sylvie knew of the woman’s background, it mirrored her own humble beginnings.
After an exuberant greeting, Cassidy looped her arm through Sylvie’s on the walk to the house, asking if she’d brought a cake to the barbecue.
“No cake, but I whipped up a batch of cupcake burgers.” Even though Poppy, the hostess, had insisted she didn’t need to bring anything, Sylvie had dropped off the novelty treats earlier in the afternoon.
She’d told Poppy it was so she didn’t have to bring them with her tonight. The truth was, delivering the promised treats early had left the door open to skipping the party.
Cassidy’s husband, Tim, dressed conservatively in khakis and a navy polo, cocked his head. “Cupcake burgers? Sounds like something Esther and Ellyn would enjoy.”
Esther and Ellyn were Tim’s twin girls from his first marriage. A widower, Tim had raised the girls alone until he and Cassidy had married last year.
“I bet they’d love ’em. They sound so unique and fun.” Cassidy tapped a finger against her lips. “Are cupcake burgers difficult to make?”
“Super easy. You start with vanilla cupcakes and a tray of brownies.” As they covered the short distance to the porch, Sylvie explained how she cut circles of brownies for the burger and used colored frosting for the mustard, ketchup and lettuce wedged between the vanilla cupcake “bun.”
“You’re amazingly talented.” The sincerity in Cassidy’s voice had warmth flooding Sylvie’s heart, even before the stylist added, “Not to mention you look absolutely stunning tonight.”
The simple compliment was the confidence booster Sylvie needed as Poppy opened the door. Despite being seven months pregnant with baby number two, the hostess looked elegant in gray linen. She greeted them warmly, giving each of them a quick hug.
Sylvie lost Cassidy and Tim on her way to the back patio. She’d expected to see a grill or two, maybe several picnic tables and a few lawn chairs. Instead an outdoor barbecue “kitchen” embellished with stone accents was the focal point of the large patio. Tea lights hung on brightly colored ribbons from thick branches of leafy trees that provided an umbrella of green.
A pergola extended over an outdoor kitchen bar, where the buffet had been set up. Bouquets of brightly colored flowers sat amid a multitude of decorative bowls filled with a variety of salads. Sylvie spotted her cupcakes with the other desserts. The nearly empty baking-sheet-turned-decorative-fabric-tray told her the cupcakes were a hit.
Benedict and his father, John, manned the grill, which filled the air with the delicious scent of roasting meat. Poppy seemed to be the official greeter while her mother-in-law, Dori, was making sure everyone had a drink and mingled. Unlike parties where hired help did the serving, this barbecue appeared to be a family effort.
Sylvie accepted something called a Crazy Coyote Margarita from Dori, then caught sight of the bride-to-be across the yard chatting animatedly with several women. Josie saw her at the same moment and motioned her over. The excited smile on her friend’s face told Sylvie that coming to the party this evening had been the right decision.
With a spring in her step, Sylvie stepped off the flagstone patio and onto the lush green grass. She had paused to take a sip of her drink when the back of her neck began to prickle.
An instant later, a hand closed around her arm and a familiar masculine scent washed over her.
“Hello, Sylvie.”
She turned and stared into the brilliant gray eyes of Andrew O’Shea.
Chapter Two (#ulink_1e3a0bf8-1c92-58d3-9bb9-bc481e3cfa6c)
From the second Sylvie walked through Ben Campbell’s front door, Andrew didn’t take his eyes off her. Running into Ben, a friend from prep-school days, had been fortuitous. Other than Sylvie, he hadn’t expected to see anyone he knew in Jackson Hole.
The invitation to a barbecue was appreciated, as was Ben’s warm handshake. Yet Andrew had been fully prepared to offer an excuse until Sylvie’s name was mentioned. Ben had been telling some story about his sister, and Andrew had been stunned when his former fiancée’s name popped up.
Congratulating himself on keeping his cool, Andrew had asked if that was the baker who’d recently been featured in an article on Jackson Hole’s Wine Auction.
At Ben’s assurance that they were speaking of the same person, Andrew steered the conversation back to the barbecue and learned Sylvie would be there. He’d accepted the invitation on the spot.
Now she was standing in front of him, looking as beautiful as ever. Her hair was different, not as curly and now with blond tips, but it was her.
While he’d had the advantage of knowing their paths would cross this evening, the look of shock in her eyes mirrored what he was feeling. It made him glad that, at least for the moment, they were alone.
A polite mask settled over her elfin features, and her eyes now gave nothing away. “Andrew. What a surprise. I didn’t expect to see you here.”
“Ben and I went to school together.” Hating that he felt as gauche and unsure as a sixteen-year-old, Andrew shoved his hands into his pockets and willed his heart rate to slow.
It didn’t help that she had on the same perfume she’d worn when they were together: a slightly citrusy scent that made him think of orange groves and lovemaking. His pillow had retained the scent for days after she left him.
The hurt that had taken root in his heart since he got her text—a damn text—telling him the engagement was off and she was leaving was still there. But right now that hurt was mixed with an unholy anger that seared his veins.
“I best go back inside.” She spun around and might have escaped through the door, if his reflexes hadn’t been so good.
His hand shot out, closing around her bare arm like a vise. “Don’t walk away. Not again.”
Displaying surprising strength, Sylvie jerked her arm back.
Andrew had been poised for battle until he saw tears pooling in those large violet eyes. Resisting a nearly overwhelming urge to wrap his arms around her, he stepped back and held up his hands.
If she bolted, he wouldn’t stop her. That didn’t mean he wouldn’t get his answers; it just wouldn’t be this evening. He could wait.
“I agree we need to talk.” She brushed back a strand of hair from her face with a hand that trembled slightly. “But this isn’t the time or place. This is a celebration of Noah and Josie’s engagement. I don’t want anything to spoil the evening for them.”
Andrew couldn’t help thinking of the last party he and Sylvie had attended. It had been held at his parents’ home in Boston. Though not a formal engagement party, it had been a family celebration to introduce her to Andrew’s extended family. It had been elegant and tasteful, and Sylvie had hated every minute of the gathering. Andrew suddenly recalled that she’d offered to make a cake for the event, but his mother had demurred that it would offend the caterer.
Both he and Sylvie had known the real reason. His mother was worried about the kind of cake Sylvie would make. He’d let Sylvie down that night, Andrew realized. At the time, it hadn’t seemed a big thing.
But this wasn’t about recriminations and who had dealt the other the biggest slight; this was about achieving closure. “I’m available later.”
The second the words left his lips, he realized it had been a lame thing to say. And when her lips quirked in a slight smile, Andrew realized something else. Her smile still carried quite a punch.
“Tomorrow?” she asked.
He nodded. “Lunch.”
It struck him just how blasted civilized they were being.
She gave a nod.
He pulled out his phone. “Give me your number.”
Sylvie glanced back toward the house and shifted from one foot to the other. “I’ll call you.” She paused. “Unless you’ve changed your number.”
“No change.” His eyes met hers. “You changed yours.”
Sylvie lifted one thin shoulder but offered no excuse. When he cocked his head expectantly, she recited her new number while he keyed it in and then read it back to her.
While the tightness around her eyes revealed her stress, when she spoke, her voice was casual and offhand. “Appears you and I are reconnected.”
They’d been very connected once until she’d abruptly severed the tie he’d been convinced would last forever. She’d done it with a single text. A handful of typed words that said she didn’t love him, couldn’t marry him and didn’t want to see him again.
Yes, they’d once been connected. Not anymore.
* * *
Sylvie wrapped her mouth around a juicy hamburger with avocado relish and peppered bacon and wondered if she could possibly be dreaming. She’d had vivid dreams in the past, all involving Andrew.
Not a single dream had concerned food or a barbecue. Most slipped in during the night hours and were of a sexual nature.
In those dreams, she felt Andrew’s smooth lips against her mouth, her throat and her breast, and his touch heated her body to a boiling point. When she awakened, usually right before full consummation, she was filled with an ache that brought tears to her eyes.
The ache was never simply physical. That Sylvie could easily have handled. The intense longing for the man she’d loved—that was not so easily put aside. Those vivid dreams would drag her down and wreak havoc on her emotions for several days until she became strong enough to put her focus back on the here and now.
If she’d learned one thing from thirteen years with an addict mother and subsequent years in foster care, it was that sometimes just getting through each day was a victory.
“Your friend is really hot.” Josie sidled up beside Sylvie and slipped her arm through hers. She took a sip of her margarita and slanted a sideways glance. “Why is it you never told me about him?”
Seeing the speculative gleam in her friend’s eyes, Sylvie dropped the burger to her plate and waved away the question with a careless hand. “The only hot man we should be discussing tonight is your fiancé.”
A softness filled Josie’s eyes as her gaze strayed to linger on the lean dark-haired man currently speaking with Josie’s father. She gave a little laugh. “Did you ever imagine me with a neurosurgeon?”
“I recall you saying once that I should slap you silly if you ever so much as gave any doctor a second glance.” That conversation had taken place shortly after she and Josie became friends. “Then all of a sudden you’re dating Noah. Now you’re going to marry the guy.”
“What can I say? The heart wants what it wants.” Josie’s tone waxed philosophical. “I can’t imagine my life without him, Syl. I just overlook that he’s a doctor.”
Sylvie chuckled, even as an ache filled her heart. When she was with Andrew, she’d done her best to ignore that her boyfriend was not only a doctor but a zillionaire heir to O’Shea Sports.
She’d been fooling herself, thinking a mutt from the wrong side of the tracks could be a good match with a Boston purebred.
“What’s the matter?” Josie’s hand settled on Sylvie’s shoulder, the touch as gentle as her voice. “Tell me.”
Almost immediately, Sylvie lifted her lips in a well-practiced smile. “I’m thinking of everything I need to get done this week. I have a last-minute party for the Sweet Adelines I snagged when their previous caterer poofed. An upsurge in business is a good thing, but when you’re a one-woman show, it can feel a bit overwhelming.”
“If there is anything I can do to help...” Josie’s eyes were dark with concern.
“It’ll be fine.” Or it would, Sylvie thought, once Andrew O’Shea went back to Boston. Back to his world, back where he belonged.
* * *
After a restless night, Sylvie rose early and immediately pulled out her phone. She stared down at it. She didn’t want to call Andrew. She’d moved on. Why dredge up the past? If she opened that door, she feared all the feelings she’d worked so hard to submerge these past months would rush to the surface.
Still, she couldn’t dis him. She couldn’t be that cold. Not to someone she loved—er, had once loved.
Even if fairness and compassion weren’t issues, there was the matter of the ring. It didn’t belong to her. When Andrew had proposed, she accepted the diamond as a symbol of the pledge they’d made.
Today, they would make their peace. She would return the diamond and close the door on that piece of her past.
The truth was, she’d felt like a coward running off in the middle of the night. Fleeing under cover of darkness was too reminiscent of what her father had done when she was four, and what her mother had done nine years later. Except with them there had been no note or texts.
They’d simply disappeared from her life and she’d never heard from either of them again. When she’d left Boston, she told herself what she was doing was different, that it was for Andrew’s own good. She still believed her leaving was best for him.
But thinking it over now made her wonder if that was what her father, and her mother, had believed.
After placing the call, Sylvie spent the remainder of the morning deciding what to wear. Five clothing changes later, she pushed open the door of the Coffee Pot Café. Her fingers clenched and unclenched as she glanced around the crowded restaurant. She spotted Andrew at a small table by the window.
The moment he saw her, he pushed back his chair and stood.
Always the gentleman, she thought with a bitterness that made no sense.
After lifting a hand in acknowledgment, she zigzagged between the tables to him. Though Sylvie had met many people in the months she’d been in Jackson Hole, she was grateful none of them were in the main dining room. The last thing she felt like doing was making small talk.
As she drew close Sylvie realized that, as always, Andrew looked perfectly put together. While he might have left his suit and tie back in the hotel room, he still managed to look elegant in dark pants and a gray button-down cotton shirt, open at the collar.
Suddenly conscious of the casualness of her simple peasant skirt and ribboned lace top, Sylvie lifted her chin and reminded herself this was Jackson Hole, not Boston. They were having lunch at the Coffee Pot, not one of his private clubs.
He pulled out her chair as she drew close. “You look lovely.”
Sylvie took a seat and glanced around. A baby wearing a pink crocheted hat several tables over met her gaze and began to cry.
Andrew didn’t appear to notice the wails. His entire focus remained on her.
“I may have miscalculated.”
He resumed his seat, his brow furrowed slightly. “How so?”
“I didn’t realize the place would be so busy.” Or that the seating was so tight. The table next to them was scarcely two feet away. Though Sylvie didn’t recognize the couple sitting there, that didn’t mean they didn’t know her. “Hardly conducive...”
She let her voice trail off, not surprised when he nodded. With Andrew she’d never had to complete thoughts. From the moment he walked into the Back Bay Bakery, where she’d been working after graduating from a New York City culinary school, they’d been on the same wavelength.
They kept the conversation centered on the weather until the waitress had taken their order. Sylvie ordered a salad, though she wasn’t sure she’d be able to eat. Not with the way her stomach pitched.
Once the waitress left, Andrew’s gaze returned to her and she felt the impact of those gray eyes all the way to her toes. “That was an impressive article on you related to Jackson Hole’s Wine Auction.”
Sylvie traced her finger around the water glass, absently wiping away the condensation. “Is that how you located me?”
“I knew where you were within a week of you leaving Boston.”
Startled, she dropped her hand and looked up. “You knew where I was, yet you didn’t come after me?”
Andrew lifted his own glass of water and took a long drink. “You made it very clear in your text—”
The jaw muscle jumped again as Andrew paused. He appeared to carefully consider his next words.
“You said you didn’t want to see me again.” He spoke slowly and distinctly in a low tone, the words for her ears only. “You made it clear what we had was over.”
“I’m sorry about the text.” The fact that she’d texted him her goodbye seemed to be a particular bone of contention. She had to admit if he’d done that to her, she’d have been furious. More than that, she’d have been crushed. “I really am sorry. I thought if you wanted more of an explanation, you’d follow me. But you didn’t.”
Sylvie wasn’t sure what had gotten into her. She’d been happy, relieved, he hadn’t come after her.
“Audrey collapsed the morning after the party. I was at the hospital when I received your text.” Andrew paused as the waitress dropped off their drinks.
Two tables down, the baby began to wail in earnest.
* * *
Andrew glanced down at the coffee he didn’t want and felt the rage he’d kept contained for the past three months threaten his tightly held control. That day had been the worst of his life. It was as if the world around him had imploded.
He couldn’t believe the woman he loved, the woman he’d planned to marry, had, for no discernible reason, decided she didn’t love him anymore and walked out. Still reeling from that shock, he’d learned a close friend from childhood was terminally ill with cancer. He hadn’t even known Audrey was sick.
The baby’s piercing cry broke through his thoughts. He rubbed the bridge of his nose where a headache was trying to form. Coming here had been a bad idea. A busy café on a Sunday morning was no place for a serious discussion.
He shouldn’t have come to Jackson. Hadn’t Sylvie made it clear by her words and actions that she didn’t want him? Andrew O’Shea didn’t run after any woman, even one he loved. Had loved, he corrected.
He would leave. Thank her politely for her time and walk out the door. Why did the reason she’d left him even matter? The fact was, she’d walked out on him. That couldn’t be undone.
Andrew took a deep breath. “Tha—”
Her hand closed over his. They weren’t soft, do-no-work hands, but ones with strong fingers and clean, blunt-cut nails. A hand with just a hint of calluses on the palm. A hand that smelled faintly of citrus.
“I’m sorry about Audrey.” Sylvie’s voice grew thick with emotion. “She was a wonderful woman.”
The words took him by surprise. “You knew Audrey had cancer? That she passed away?”
Sorrow filled those violet eyes. “Just recently I read the piece on her in the Globe. It was quite a tribute.”
Audrey had been a talented musician, Juilliard-trained, and came from a prominent Boston family. The piece, tastefully done after her passing, had been not only a testament to all the lives she and her family had touched in their philanthropic endeavors, but also a tribute to a beautiful young woman who died way too young.
“She and I were friends for as long as I can remember.” Andrew found himself thinking back. Quite unexpectedly, his lips quirked up. “When we were thirteen, or perhaps it was fourteen, we made a pact that if we weren’t married by the time we were thirty, we’d take that trip down the aisle together.”
Andrew had turned thirty at the beginning of the year, right around the time he’d met Sylvie.
“You didn’t marry her.”
It was such an odd thing for her to say that for a second Andrew wondered if he’d imagined the words. “Audrey was like a sister to me. There was never anything more between us than friendship.”
Sylvie glanced at her untouched cup of coffee. The baby had grown silent, too.
“Andrew, I—”
“Tell me about your life here,” he said brusquely.
Those thickly lashed violet eyes widened. “Wh-what?”
Impatiently he gestured with his head to the couple beside them. The man and woman, both in their thirties, had quit talking to concentrate on their food. Or to listen?
Understanding filled her gaze. As if she needed to gather her thoughts to answer his simple question, she took a long sip of tea before responding.
“Even back in culinary school, I knew I wanted to open my own business.” Her eyes took on a faraway look. “My craft is important to me. It’s a passion. I’m an artist, not simply a baker.”
Andrew shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He’d known she loved to bake, er, create. Heck, she’d been working in a bakery when he met her. He’d known she enjoyed making cakes. But had he realized it was her passion? Had he cared?
Something in knowing she’d found it so easy to embrace a new life—one without him—to explore that passion stung. “Starting a business takes capital.”
She flinched at his tone and Andrew cursed the defensive response. And the coldness that chilled the words.
But when she responded, it was with a slight smile. “You haven’t seen my shop. If you had, you’d know that a business can be launched on very little capital. My goal was to secure an inexpensive space that could be brought up to meet all necessary codes. I succeeded.”
Should he tell her that he had seen her place, or rather the outside of the business she called “the Mad Batter”? It looked like a hole-in-the-wall, with only a door and a sign. Not even a window.
He decided that might show too much interest. “Is your shop near here?”
“Not far.” Sylvie paused as the waitress brought the food and set the plates on the table.
He watched her lower her gaze to the salad, then slant a glance at his omelet and side of bacon. Despite the stress of the past few minutes, he found himself smiling. “Go ahead.”
She picked up her fork, stabbed a piece of romaine. “I don’t have any idea what you mean.”
He lifted a piece of bacon and waved it in front of her. “You know you want it.”
For a second Sylvie hesitated. In the next, she’d snatched it from his fingers and taken a bite. As she munched on the piece, a rueful smile tipped her lips. “I’d given up bacon. I was trying to be good.”
“I led you into temptation.”
She opened her mouth, then shut it. “Some things are irresistible.”
Was she remembering that time long ago—it felt like a lifetime—when she’d told him he was irresistible?
This time when the baby began to cry again, Andrew barely noticed. He was too focused on the woman sitting across the table from him. He’d forgotten how lovely she was, with that coppery brown hair, those big violet eyes and that heart-shaped face. No wonder he’d fallen in love with her.
Ever since she’d left, Andrew tried to figure out why he was finding it so difficult to move on. He must have asked himself a thousand times what had attracted him to Sylvie. Sitting across from her at this tiny table at a café that boasted plastic flowers in copper coffeepots for centerpieces, he understood.
She was different than any of the women he knew, and that had intrigued him. Not to mention, not a single female of his acquaintance possessed Sylvie’s beauty and unique style.
She walked out on you. There’s nothing special about that.
Andrew lifted an eyebrow. “Do cakes pay the bills?”
After popping the last bite of bacon into her mouth, she took a moment to chew and swallow. “Pretty much. I do them for weddings and other special events. I’ve recently begun providing baked goods to various places in Jackson Hole. The chef at the Spring Gulch Country Club and I are in negotiations for services. I get by.”
“A far cry from the Back Bay.”
“That was your world.”
“It could have been yours.”
“No.” She sat back in her chair and met his gaze. “You’re wrong. It would never have been mine.”
Chapter Three (#ulink_88d82a73-baad-51a5-9614-278335f5e282)
Sylvie shoved a piece of arugula into her mouth and decided meeting Andrew at the Coffee Pot had been a mistake. Not only was it too public for any serious discussion, but she didn’t want to have a serious discussion about anything with Andrew. What would be the point?
It wasn’t his fault that they came from two different worlds. She’d been foolish to fleetingly believe love would be enough. But love hadn’t kept her parents together. Love hadn’t even made her mother stick with her child, even though she’d been the only family Sylvie had left.
Andrew might have thought he loved her, might even have convinced himself he did, but it had been only infatuation. An infatuation that could have cost him everything that mattered in his life.
When she’d overheard him and his father heatedly arguing—about her—she knew she would not be the cause of a rift between Andrew and his parents.
The only purpose of meeting with him again was to give back a ring she was no longer entitled to keep. A clear break with the past would allow her to move on in a way she hadn’t been able to do in June. Dropping her fork to the table, she slid her hand inside her fringed bag.
Before she had a chance to pull out the diamond, Andrew leaned forward. His fingers closed around her arm.
“No need to pay yet. We haven’t finished eating. Besides, this is my treat.”
The baby’s sudden cry was like an ice pick in her eye.
Sylvie clutched the ring tightly in her palm. She’d loved the filigreed set and emerald-cut diamond from the second he’d placed it on her finger. Though it made no sense, Sylvie wanted to keep the ring.
She couldn’t force a smile and this time she didn’t even bother to try. “It was a mistake.”
She wasn’t sure what “it” she meant. Not exactly.
“You’re getting real good at running. Better be careful or it might become a habit.”
She met Andrew’s gray eyes and released the ring back into the inside pocket of her bag. “I simply don’t see the purpose to this.”
“You owe me an explanation.” Before Andrew could say more, someone called out her name. Then his.
Sylvie turned to see Ben and Poppy Campbell making their way to the table.
“What are you two doing?” Poppy asked.
“Uh, eating,” Sylvie said, though she couldn’t have downed another bite of salad if her life depended on it.
Poppy’s laugh was low and husky, as perfect as her simple red sheath and boxy jacket. Here was a woman who would have fit perfectly into Andrew’s world. Classy with a capital C.
When Josie had told her Poppy was a social worker, Sylvie was disbelieving. Fashion model? Absolutely. Social worker? No way.
Sylvie could easily believe that Benedict, in his dark brown pants, ivory shirt and Italian loafers, had been Andrew’s schoolmate. Right now Ben’s shrewd gray eyes were as curious as his wife’s.
Apparently deciding the best response was a strong offense, Andrew smiled. “Sylvie and I were acquainted when she lived in Boston. We thought it’d be nice to renew our...friendship.”
Blast him for that tiny hesitation that gave an extra punch to the last word. The implication that there had once been more between them was there. That was obvious when her two friends exchanged knowing glances.
Ben looked amused but not particularly surprised. “How fortunate, then, that I ran into you and invited you to the barbecue.”
“I’d planned on looking up Sylvie anyway.” Andrew spoke smoothly. “But it was a surprise to learn we had a common friend.”
Sylvie wasn’t sure Dr. Benedict Campbell, one of Jackson Hole’s leading orthopedic surgeons, considered her a friend, but she wasn’t about to protest.
“A bunch of us meet here each week when the kids are in Sunday school. We have a large table toward the back.” Poppy stepped back to let the waitress slip around her to top off Andrew’s coffee cup.
Sylvie saw Andrew’s gaze follow the gesture to an alcove at the very back of the dining area where a large rectangular table sat, three-quarters full.
“We’ve asked Sylvie to join us many times,” Poppy said pointedly. “She always turns us down. At least now we’re in the building at the same time, so I’d say we’re making progress.”
Sylvie smiled. She liked this social worker. The ones she’d dealt with growing up had always seemed more concerned with their rules and regulations. Poppy seemed to genuinely care about everyone.
“Join us?” Poppy pressed.
“We appreciate the offer,” Andrew said, before Sylvie could politely refuse again, “but we’ve got a lot of catching up to do.”
We? Sylvie’s head began to spin. Had he really said we? As if they were together beyond this lunch. And why was his hand closing over hers, giving it a proprietary squeeze?
No. No. No.
When she attempted to pull her hand back, those strong fingers merely tightened around hers. His hand remained in place until Ben and Poppy said their goodbyes and wandered off to join their friends.
Once their backs were turned, Sylvie jerked hard and finally freed her hand. “What was that about?”
Instead of answering, Andrew calmly lifted the napkin from his lap and placed it on the table. She noticed he’d barely touched his food. “I’m finished eating. How about you?”
“I’m done.” She stared down at the salad, and a rush of emotion swamped her. While she’d cried buckets of tears after leaving Boston, seeing Andrew reminded her how dear he’d once been to her...and how easily she could once again become attached to him.
She would return the ring. There would be no reason then for her to see him again.
“Andrew.” She swallowed hard. “I kept your ring. That was wrong. I apologize.”
For a second he looked confused, as though he’d forgotten about the three-carat flawless diamond. When he finally did react, he waved the words away as if the ring was of no consequence. “I gave it to you. It’s yours.”
“You gave it to me when we made a promise to each other,” Sylvie insisted. “But—”
“I don’t care about the damn ring.” Abruptly, Andrew pushed back his chair with a clatter and stood, tossing several bills on the table. “I do care why you ran out on me. We’ll discuss that at your place.”
People seated around them stared with a curiosity that had Sylvie scrambling to her feet. While she would never live her life according to others’ expectations, she was a business owner—a new business owner—in Jackson Hole and preferred not to encourage idle gossip.
Sylvie forced a smile and an easy tone. “Sounds like a plan.”
On their way out of the café, she tolerated the palm he placed against the small of her back. But once they were outside and standing in front of a closed insurance agent’s office, she whirled.
“What kind of game are you playing? What do you want from me?”
He raked a hand through his hair, blew out a breath, but didn’t immediately answer.
“I’ll give you back the ring. Then this will be done.” She flipped open the flap of her purse, but once again he stopped her.
“Not here.” He took her arm and began striding down the sidewalk, his jaw set in a hard line. “At your shop.”
Had he always been this dictatorial? She pulled her eyebrows together and struggled to match his long strides. Andrew had always been decisive, no doubt about that. But she saw an arrogance here that she didn’t much care for.
Of course, what did it matter? In short order he’d be out of her life, this time for good.
He stopped abruptly, steadying her when she stumbled. “On second thought, this might be better done at your home. Where do you live?”
Sylvie blinked, her head spinning as if she was seated on an out-of-control Tilt-A-Whirl.
“Your home address.” Impatience sounded in his suddenly gruff voice. “What is it?”
Her heart began to beat wildly. Something in his tone, in the set of his jaw, brought memories from her childhood flooding back. She wanted to run, but her feet wouldn’t cooperate.
As if he sensed her distress, his eyes softened. “This is more difficult than I want it to be.”
His deep voice was suddenly as smooth and placid as Lake Jenny on a summer day.
“I live in the back of my shop.” Sylvie began to stride with purposeful steps in the direction of her business. The sooner she gave him the ring and answered his questions, the sooner he would go.
Andrew caught up with her but made no move to touch her. Instead he simply fell into step beside her. “Do you like living and working in the same location?”
“It has its advantages.”
They walked in silence for another minute.
“The cost of housing in Jackson Hole is sky-high,” she said when the silence continued. “I didn’t realize that when I moved here.”
“How’d you pick here?” His tone was conversational, as if he, too, was determined to avoid the uncomfortable silence.
“I’d been here before.” She lifted a shoulder in a slight shrug. “I remembered it as a magical, beautiful place.”
There was the barest flicker in his eyes. Sylvie might have missed it if she hadn’t been looking right at him. He’d made the connection. Remembered that she’d come here with him. They’d taken the trip on a whim, shortly after they started dating. He taught her to ski and how to throw a proper snowball.
It was during that trip to Wyoming that she’d fallen in love with Jackson Hole and with him.
Silence descended again. This time neither of them made the effort to break it.
He stepped to the side when she reached the cobalt blue door of the Mad Batter and pulled out her key. Sylvie still wasn’t certain why she’d brought him here, why she hadn’t simply insisted they conclude their business on the street.
You owe him.
“Spartan digs.”
She turned at the sound of the voice and realized that Andrew had stepped inside what she referred to as “the order room.” Not much larger than a deck of cards, it contained a small round table and two chairs.
“What happens if you have more than one visitor?” Even as he spoke she saw his gaze checking out the gleaming vinyl floor in a black-and-white checkerboard pattern and the cherry-red cushions on the chairs. Bright spots of color in an otherwise unimpressive area.
“Someone has to stand.” Sylvie flashed a quick smile. “Plus, it seems to motivate the customer to decide quickly on what they want.”
“Where are the ovens?”
It appeared Andrew expected a tour. Well, that wouldn’t take long. Not when the entire space she rented was smaller than his walk-in closet.
She stepped inside the kitchen, unable to stop the flush of pride at the sight of the commercial ovens and stainless countertops. Even the air smelled clean. And it was all hers. Hers and the First National Bank of Jackson’s.
“Impressive.” He sounded as if he really meant it. “You mentioned you live here, too. Where’s your apartment?”
“Apartment is much too glamorous a term for where I live.” Sylvie gave a little laugh as he followed her through yet another door.
Inside the postage-stamp-sized room sat a twin bed—sans headboard—pushed against a wall. The only other furniture was a microwave on a stand and a straight-backed chair that had clearly seen better days.
She swept a hand to encompass the small area. “Home, sweet home.”
Though he was obviously trying to hide his shock, he wasn’t pulling it off.
Andrew cleared his throat. “This is...all of it?”
“No, there’s more.”
The tight stiffness in his shoulders eased. He smiled. “I knew this couldn’t be all.”
“There’s a three-quarter bath through there.” She gestured with her head through yet another door. “So you see, it isn’t quite as small as it appears.”
Confusion blanketed his face. He cocked his head and stared. “Why do you live like this?”
“The rent in Jackson Hole is crazy.” He wanted honesty? She’d give him honesty. “Besides, small has its advantages. This spot is warm and dry and...cozy.”
And beats sleeping in the van, she added silently.
His lips quirked up in a reluctant smile. “You always did have an optimistic nature.”
Sylvie blinked. She couldn’t recall anyone ever telling her that before. Was it true? Or was it just one more thing Andrew had seen in her that simply wasn’t there?
She suddenly was conscious of just how tiny a space surrounded them and that she and Andrew were alone in this cozy space.
So close that she inhaled the scent of him. The cologne he wore was subtle and expensive. From day one, the enticing fragrance had the power to make her insides quiver. But how he smelled was only a very small part of what had drawn her to him.
The way he looked would have captured any single woman’s interest. She loved the way his hair glimmered, looking as soft as mink’s fur in the fluorescent lighting. She remembered how it had felt to slide her fingers through the thick strands. Maybe because he always looked so impeccable, she’d made it a point to mess up the stylish cut when they made love.
Naked, in bed, with his hair all tousled and a hint of a five o’clock shadow, he hadn’t looked like a doctor or the heir to the third-largest sporting-goods company in the United States.
During those glorious times, it had felt as if they were on equal footing. It had been easy to forget all the ways they were different.
Too easy.
“Sylvie.”
His voice was low and husky, filled with an emotion that brought a warmth to the single word.
She looked up and realized Andrew was right. There. Less than a foot separated them. He stood so close she could see the dark perimeter that surrounded the smooth gray of those gorgeous eyes framed with long, thick lashes. So close the scent of his cologne teased her nostrils, transporting her back to a time when they were happy and everything seemed possible.
“I told myself I wouldn’t do this,” he muttered.
Her heart was pounding so hard Sylvie felt light-headed. She inclined her head in the merest of movements. “Do what?”
The words sounded breathy, which was exactly how she felt at that moment...breathless.
“This.” He jerked her to him and covered her mouth with his.
* * *
When Andrew thought of his best attributes, well disciplined came immediately to mind. He’d been a sensible child and had grown up to be a sensible adult. In the important matters of his life, he prided himself on carefully weighing the pros and cons of various options before making a decision.
Then he’d met Sylvie Thorne, and sensible no longer seemed to be a word in his vocabulary.
He pulled her up against the length of his body as he ravished her mouth. It was as if he’d been in a desert the past three months and had finally found water.
Warning flags popped up one after the other in his head, but Andrew paid no heed. The need rushing through his body was too strong to deny.
He’d intended for the kiss to be brief. Unfinished business tied up nice and tight. But once his mouth had found hers, Andrew forgot how to think. He reveled in the familiar feel of her slender body with the small breasts pressed against him. When that full, sweet mouth opened to his probing tongue, Andrew breathed a prayer of thanks.
It was as if ninety-five days had melted away and all he knew, all he wanted to know, was in his arms. Everything seemed right in his world now.
When her hands stole around his neck and her fingers slipped into his hair, desire exploded like fireworks over the Charles River.
Her moan, a low sound of want and need, only further fueled the fire burning in his blood. Andrew continued to kiss her, sweet, gentle kisses at first, then long, passionate ones that soon had his heart hammering against his chest wall.
The taste of her was so familiar that he forgot all that separated them and let himself simply go with the moment. He slipped his hand under her shirt and stroked the smooth warm skin of her back. They continued to kiss until he felt drugged with emotion.
Easing his hands up her sides, he stopped just under her breasts. When she wiggled slightly in frustration, he cupped the small mounds and then teased the nipples to hard peaks with his thumbs.
Her head fell back. As she moaned with pleasure, satisfaction rippled through him.
Lifting her loose-fitting shirt, he leaned over and covered the tip of one breast with his mouth.
She inhaled sharply when he began to suckle, her fingers tightening in his hair. “Yes, Andrew. Oh, yes.”
It was all the encouragement he needed. Minutes later they tumbled onto the bed, their clothes scattered across the floor. Though the warning flags continued to pop up, Andrew barely noticed.
Drunk on the taste, the smell, the feel of her, he wasn’t sure he could have stopped even if a stop sign had bopped him in the face. He certainly didn’t want to stop. As he thrust inside her, her body closed around him like a tight glove. It took everything to hold back.
Andrew wanted this to last. For her. For him.
He slowed the pace, scattering kisses down her neck, murmuring sweet words as he did so, licking the sensitive area behind her ear and watching her respond with a mew of delight.
Before long, it felt as if they were racing headlong to the finish line at Suffolk Downs with a clear track ahead. Her hips pistoned, keeping pace with his thrusts.
When she cried out and went over the edge, Andrew dived headfirst after her, not wanting to let go of her, not wanting the connection to end.
Chapter Four (#ulink_a6bd90e1-20a0-5417-9a13-d8c9952425e0)
Sylvie had never had an out-of-body experience. But as she lay on the bed with Andrew’s warm, naked body pressed against hers, she wondered if she was having one. For the first time in months she was at peace. If this was what an out-of-body experience felt like, bring it on. For now she would relish the comfort it brought to her.
Gently she glided her hand down his silky hair, then stroked his neck. Sylvie had always loved his body with the broad shoulders and tight abs, the lean hips and muscular legs. The slight patch of chest hair now tickling her breasts was familiar and comforting.
She’d missed him. She’d missed this closeness. She could admit that now. What was the harm? After all, this wasn’t really happening, so she could indulge without guilt. He was her personal two-pound box of chocolates.
She planted a kiss against his neck and sighed. There had been only one man before Andrew, a boy in high school. That mistake had steered her away from intimate relationships for many years. Until Andrew had strode into the bakery where she’d been working.
Sylvie remembered that day as if it had just happened. The second she saw him, the air that had smelled of cinnamon and yeasty goodness had begun to sizzle. She’d been so taken aback by the unexpected sensations flooding her body that she’d barely spoken. He came back the next day and the next. After a week they’d been conversing easily and indulging in some flirting.
When he asked her out to dinner, she’d said yes. It had been the beginning of a free fall she’d been powerless to stop.
If she’d only known then what she knew now, would she have had sex with him that night?
She started to sigh and then realized she couldn’t quite draw a deep breath.
“I’m crushing you.” The deep voice sounded near her ear, and suddenly the pressure against her body was gone, along with the comforting warmth.
Sylvie’s blood turned ice-cold. She blinked once. Blinked again. Those piercing gray eyes remained focused on her face.
With a hand that trembled slightly, she reached out and touched his bare shoulder. Only then was she forced to accept he wasn’t an apparition but a flesh-and-blood man.
I slept with Andrew.
Desperately needing to put some distance between them, she placed both hands against his chest and gave a hard push. To her amazement he tumbled off the bed and landed on the floor with a loud thud.
She’d forgotten the size of the bed and hadn’t considered that the only place for him to go was off the side. Lifting herself up on one elbow, Sylvie leaned over.
A wry smile lifted Andrew’s lips as he pushed himself up to a sitting position. “If you’d wanted me off the bed, you could have just asked.”
“You are really here.”
He smiled. “As opposed to...?”
Warmth flooded her face. “This.” She gestured with one hand between her and him. “It felt like a dream.”
A look she couldn’t quite decipher—and wasn’t convinced she wanted to figure out—crossed his face. Before saying another word, he rose to his feet and began pulling on his clothes.
She took the opportunity to do the same.
“The sex was always good between us.” He tossed out the comment and finished buttoning his shirt.
She tugged on her shoes. No point denying the obvious. “It was.”
As if wanting to relax the suddenly tense atmosphere, Andrew took a seat on the rickety chair and gazed unsmiling at her. “Tell me why you left.”
Though he hadn’t come right out and said “tell me why you left me,” the accusation hung in the air between them.
Feeling already a little weak in the knees, Sylvie plopped down on the edge of the bed and turned to face him. “I sent you a text—”
“We were engaged to be married and you sent me a text.” Despite his calm demeanor, ice-cold fury underscored the words.
Sylvie resisted the almost overpowering urge to wring her hands. And her second impulse, which was to flee.
You’re getting real good at running, he’d told her. The words—and her fear they might prove true—had her staying put.
“Leaving that way was my only choice.” She lifted her chin, met his steely-eyed look with an unflinching one of her own. “I was concerned if we spoke face-to-face you might change my mind.”
“Were you?”
Sylvie shivered at the coldness in his tone, at the hot anger in his eyes. She couldn’t recall ever seeing him like this before. The Andrew O’Shea she knew was always so affable. An easygoing guy with a warm smile.
He wasn’t smiling now.
“Don’t you think, after all we shared, you owed me more than a text?” He spit the last word as if the taste was bitter as anise on his tongue.
“I wasn’t the woman you thought I was,” she said. “You fell in love with someone who didn’t—doesn’t—exist.”
The fact that he’d been willing to sever relationships in his family for her sent a chill down Sylvie’s spine.
“You’re right about one thing.” Andrew leaned forward. He rested his forearms on his thighs, his gaze never leaving her face. “I don’t know you. The woman I thought I knew would never have walked away from me without an explanation.”
Anger resonated strongly in his voice, but it was the hint of hurt she heard that had shame coursing through her veins like milk gone sour.
“You owe me an explanation.” Abruptly he sat back. “I’m not leaving without one.”
This was good, Sylvie reassured herself even as panic threatened. It was best they clear the air, so they could both move on. The trouble was, how much to tell?
As if he sensed her hesitation, his gaze sharpened. “The truth, Sylvie.”
Her laugh, intended to sound casual, reverberated with nerves instead. “Do you want me to put my hand on a Bible and raise my right hand?”
“Don’t be flippant.”
Sylvie didn’t feel flippant, just incredibly weary. And sad. Sad that their once bright and shiny relationship had become tarnished with guilt and recriminations.
She straightened her shoulders and drew in a steadying breath. Hadn’t she always told herself she couldn’t go wrong telling the truth? But if she told him about the conversation she’d overheard, he might be angry with his father.
No, she didn’t have to tell Andrew the whole truth, just enough so her leaving would make sense.
“You were like no man I’d ever known.”
“You haven’t known all that many.”
Sylvie flushed, realizing they were talking apples and oranges. “I wasn’t referring to intimately.”
Andrew already knew she’d been a neophyte in the sexual arena when she met him. One time with a seventeen-year-old boy didn’t make a girl an accomplished lover. In fact, when Andrew and she made love, it had felt like her first time.
“I was referring to the kind of men I’d grown up around.” Her lips curved in a slight smile as she remembered the first time she’d seen him. “You dazzled me.”
He didn’t return the smile, only continued to stare intently at her face.
She licked her lips. The words that she’d hoped would smoothly flow seemed to have hit a logjam. “I—I’d never known anyone like you.”
“You say that as if it’s a bad thing.”
“I’d worked hard to get through high school and then through the culinary institute. I’d always been proud of my success. But when I was around you... I felt...less.”
Andrew had admired her work, but she knew he’d thought it was just a hobby. That misconception wasn’t his fault. She’d kept just how much it mattered from him. Looking back, she wasn’t sure why she’d never told him that her art—her baking—was what had sustained her during all the lonely years she’d been on her own.
His gaze sharpened. “You think I didn’t appreciate all you’d achieved?”
“Not you.” Dumping this into his lap would serve no purpose. “Forget it.”
“My family?” he pressed.
She thought of his mother and father. Though they’d been less than thrilled about their son becoming engaged to a woman outside their social circle—and putting that ring on her finger within months of meeting her—they’d been cordial. Besides, she firmly believed nobody could make you feel inferior without your permission.
“It wasn’t anything anyone did or said.” She placed her open palm against her heart. “It was me. This is such a cliché, but I felt like a square peg about to be pounded into a round hole.”
She wasn’t sure what she expected him to say. Perhaps nod and say he understood? Or maybe agree that indeed they were so different it amazed him their relationship had lasted as long as it had?
Instead Andrew steepled his fingers beneath his chin and gazed at her like a scientist must study a bug under a microscope. “You never said a word about those feelings, at least not to me.”
The censure in the calmly spoken words stung like a hard slap.
“Being around your family and friends that night made me realize that you belonged with someone more like, well, like Audrey.” Sylvie closed her eyes for a second, struggling against the grief welling up inside her. Though she hadn’t known Audrey Cabot long, she’d liked her and considered her a friend.
“I never thought of Audrey in that way. She was a friend, nothing more.”
It wasn’t only her grief simmering just below the surface. The pain in Andrew’s eyes told her just how much Audrey’s recent death from cancer had impacted him.
“You can’t honestly believe there was anything between us,” he added.
“No, I know there wasn’t.” Sylvie had believed him when he’d denied any romantic interest in Audrey, but that didn’t mean she didn’t think they would have made a great couple. “I just mentioned her because Audrey always seemed more—”
She paused, searching for the right word.
He arched an eyebrow. “My type?”
“Exactly.” She nodded, pleased he was finally getting the gist of what she was saying. “While I admit that you and I have amazing chemistry when it comes to sex, I think some of our decisions to get so close so fast was based on that chemistry. It wasn’t as if you really knew me.”
But really, whose fault was that? She was the one who’d held back, who hadn’t let him get to know her fully.
Andrew’s eyebrows pulled together in a puzzled frown. He rubbed his chin and his expression changed from puzzled to thoughtful.
“I couldn’t imagine the woman I loved leaving me like that...and then sending me a text.” His laugh didn’t contain even an ounce of humor. “I didn’t even rate a Dear John letter.”
The knowledge that she’d hurt him stung. Bringing Andrew pain had never been her intention. She loved him. She wanted only the best for him.
Unfortunately, it had become apparent—to everyone but him—that she wasn’t what was best for him.
“I’m glad I came to Jackson Hole and we had this talk.”
Sylvie nodded.
“I’m also glad that we had sex.”
She cocked her head.
“It reminded me just how powerful the chemistry is between us.” His lips lifted in a slight smile for only a second. Then he was all serious again. “Undoubtedly the stellar sex made us think there was more between us than actually existed.”
Sylvie stopped a frown desperately trying to form and reminded herself this realization was what she had wanted. She wanted him to see their engagement had been a mistake. Then why did she have to fight the sudden urge to argue with him, to insist that it had been about more than sex?
“S-sounds logical,” she stammered.
“This should be simple.” He muttered a curse, pushed to his feet and began to pace.
Sylvie uncurled the leg she’d tucked beneath her and rose so she was standing. Though he was still a good five inches taller than her, being upright made her feel as if they were on equal footing. “It appears we’re ready to close the door.”
Pasting a polite smile on her face, she waited for him to agree. Then she’d give him the ring, he’d say his goodbyes and leave.
Instead he stared, his gaze searching her face.
“It might feel that way to you.” Andrew spoke slowly and deliberately, a frown still furrowing his brow. “The problem is, I find myself still wanting you.”
Her heart, she was ashamed to admit, gave an excited little leap before she slapped it down. Not knowing how to respond, Sylvie remained silent.
“I believe more drastic measures are needed.” He took a step closer, lifted her hand and brought it to his mouth.
Her heart skipped several beats then began to thud. “What k-kind of measures do you have in mind?”
“Immersion therapy.”
Sylvie gave a strangled laugh. “Isn’t that when you go to a foreign country and don’t know the language?”
“In this case, I will immerse myself in your life.” His unsmiling gaze met hers. “I obviously didn’t know you before, Sylvie. What better way to get you out of my system than to become acquainted with the real you?”
Chapter Five (#ulink_f118acdf-1f1b-5221-bce7-369b91de8a73)
Allow Andrew to immerse himself in her life? The thought terrified Sylvie. The months since she’d left Boston had been difficult ones. There had been days when she’d been sorely tempted to pull the covers over her head and simply remain in bed.
Though walking away from him had been the hardest thing she’d ever done, Sylvie believed her decision to leave had been the right one. A life with the wrong person never ended well. She only had to look to her parents’ marriage to validate that point. According to her mother, her relationship with Sylvie’s dad had turned rocky shortly after they’d married. She’d never been able to make her husband happy, because they were just too different.
Given time, Sylvie believed it would have been like that with her and Andrew. Despite the explosive chemistry between them, he’d have come to his senses one day and realized they were simply too different. Unfortunately, by that time his relationship with his own parents might have been damaged beyond repair.
We might have been happy.
It was her heart whispering the words, not her head. Her head recalled the conversation she’d overheard between him and his father. Recalled the harsh words spoken between father and son.
From the shadows Sylvie had found herself silently siding with his father. Agreeing with him that she and Andrew were an unlikely pair. Nodding silently at his pronouncements that it would be a miracle if their marriage lasted more than a year or two. Like Franklin O’Shea, Sylvie believed that if she hadn’t shown up Andrew would have fallen in love with someone of his own...well, kind.
When Andrew had insisted his father accept Sylvie or else, Sylvie realized she couldn’t—she wouldn’t—come between Andrew and his father.
Sylvie sensed Andrew’s gaze on her face, still waiting for her reaction.
He was good at waiting.
She’d discovered that early on when he’d come into the bakery for eight days straight.
He’d been patient then. She sensed he’d be patient now.
“Okay.” She lifted her shoulders in a slight shrug. “A couple of days—”
“As long as it takes.”
As she caught the determined glint in his eyes, she felt the need to clarify. “Not forever.”
He gave a soft chuckle. “I have to be back in Boston by October 1. No, not forever. I blocked out three weeks. I doubt it will take that long.”
Three weeks with Andrew. She considered. “What would I need to do?”
“Be yourself.”
That sounded simple enough. Three weeks. Twenty-one days of her life. Given their history, it seemed little enough to ask.
The fact that they’d hopped into bed almost immediately made her wonder if he was expecting sex to be part of the deal. “I think it is best we keep any physical intimacy to a minimum.”
His gaze never wavered, though for a second she swore his lips twitched. “If that’s the way you want it to be.”
“I think it’d be best, don’t you?”
The second the question left her lips, Sylvie wished she could smother it under a stack of pillows. Why was she asking for buy-in? This was her decision.
“If you’re asking if I think it’d be a good idea for us to spend the next three weeks in bed.” He paused and tapped a finger against his lips. “However much fun that might be, I’d say no. But I am open to considering anything up to that point.”
Sylvie’s voice deserted her. Her quickening pulse was completely illogical. The level of sexual interaction wasn’t a big issue, she told herself, because sex was a nonissue. It took two to tango and she wasn’t doing any more dancing with Andrew.
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