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Tempted In Texas
HEATHER MACALLISTER
Can a skirt really act as a man-magnet? Gwen Kempner doesn't think so–but she'd sure like to try it out anyway! Especially on her oh-so-sexy (and oh-so-out-of-her-league) neighbor, Alec Fleming.The only problem–the skirt doesn't fit! But when she sees, firsthand, that it actually works, Gwen's determined to get into it–and into Alec's bed. After all, if she plays her cards right, she won't have to wear the too-tight skirt for long….



Gwen bounced into the room. “Alec, look!”
Alec’s mouth went dry. He swallowed, or tried to. “You look tasty….” He trailed off with a gesture. “I mean, tasteful.”
“Well, tasteful wasn’t quite the look I was going for, but with this V-neck, I figured the ‘Wonder Bra’ would be overkill.” Gwen pushed her arms together and manufactured an impressive cleavage. “I don’t know—what do you think? To cleave, or not to cleave?”
Think? She expected him to think? “Uhhh…”
“Yeah, you’re right.” She released her breasts and gestured to her skirt. “So how about the skirt?”
With difficulty, Alec transferred his gaze to the black skirt she was wearing. It was just a skirt, not particularly short or tight…except that it did cling ever so nicely. He peered closer. Was it see-through, or was he just imagining her legs? The more he stared, the better it looked. The better she looked.
He was in such trouble.
Dear Reader,
Secret man-magnets? Why not? You and I both know they’re out there. Some women have them—and some women don’t. That can be the only possible explanation why there are so many fabulous—yet dateless—women out there. Not that the dating women aren’t fabulous, too, but this book wasn’t written for them. No, this book is for the single woman—a woman like Gwen, who comes into possession of a skirt that brings men to their knees…and discovers she can’t fit into it! But her mother can…. So, she pretends it doesn’t matter because she’s given up on men, even though she’s awfully tempted by the perfect man who’d only need the slightest nudge to notice her. And wouldn’t the skirt come in handy? Only, her mother’s already wearing it…and attracting all the men! Don’t you hate when that happens?
Whether you’re dating or not, I hope you enjoy the further adventures of the SINGLE IN THE CITY women you first met in Cara Summer’s Moonstruck in Manhattan. And don’t miss the skirt’s next challenge in Kristin Gabriel’s Seduced in Seattle, available next month.
Enjoy,
Heather MacAllister
P.S. Stop by www.HeatherMacAllister.com for more SINGLE IN THE CITY news!
Tempted in Texas
Heather MacAllister


www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
To Shirley Rose Kraus and Kay LaBauve Parnell with Alpha Gam love

Contents
Prologue (#ubefa850e-2103-560e-800e-ad2d41962f75)
Chapter 1 (#u330980ef-c2d3-571d-b9a4-6c1bf5732c75)
Chapter 2 (#ue5767f72-705b-5093-96fa-519ae8fa00ef)
Chapter 3 (#u960b79d4-3aa6-5459-b3d1-84efa5f01664)
Chapter 4 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 5 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 6 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 7 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 8 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 9 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 10 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 11 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 12 (#litres_trial_promo)
Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)

Prologue
“THAT SAPPY LOOK is back on your face.” Gwen Kempner spoke through her teeth in order to maintain her bridesmaid’s smile—fake, but definitely not sappy. It’s not that she wasn’t happy for the bride; it’s that her happiness was grounded in a thorough knowledge of male-female relationships.
Unsuccessful ones, as it happened. Therefore, she felt no mawkish sentimentality when it came to weddings and happily ever afters. Or even happily ever afters without weddings.
Kate, her best friend and fellow bridesmaid, sighed dreamily. “Just look at her, Gwen.”
Gwen dutifully looked toward Chelsea, her other best friend, who had an equally sappy look on her face as she gazed adoringly at Zach, her new husband. Gwen decided she could spot Chelsea a sappy look or two—after all, she was the bride.
“She looks so beautiful,” Kate cooed.
Oh, no. Kate was going over to the dark side. Gwen shot her a sharp look.
“Now, Kate, we’ve talked about this. Brides look that way because they develop a special immunity to reality. They have to in order to justify the hideous cost of a dress they’ll only wear once. It wears off after they pay the ‘heirlooming’ bill from the dry cleaners.”
“But she looks so happy, Gwen. Maybe—”
“Be strong and repeat after me… I do not need a man to be happy.”
“I don’t know—did you check out the best man?”
“Of course I did. Then I imagined making beer runs for the best man and all his ex-jock friends who spend every weekend during football season reliving past glories in front of a big-screen TV he’s squeezed into my living room—and I get over it.”
“You miss the big-screen TV. Admit it.”
Kate was referring to Gwen’s last serious relationship in which she’d had to move out of her apartment in order to break up because her ex refused to move his TV, exercise equipment and stereo. She’d even abandoned her couch, which had sustained severe nacho cheese damage. Since she’d moved out on a Super Bowl Sunday he hadn’t noticed until the next day.
Kate clutched her arm. “Look! She’s going to throw the bouquet!”
“Thanks for the warning.” Gwen edged backward into the crowd of poor, deluded females who surrounded them.
“Oh, no, you don’t!” Kate pulled her back to the front.
Gwen stumbled forward at the precise moment Chelsea threw the bouquet. Kate, the traitor, dropped her arm to grab for it, and Gwen fell to her knees.
The bouquet sailed over her head. There was a squeal followed by a very unladylike scuffle.
Gwen picked herself up in time to meet Chelsea’s eyes.
And froze. In her hands, Chelsea held something far more deadly than a mere bridal bouquet.
“Not the skirt!”
Chelsea hefted the black fabric and before Gwen realized she was about to throw, flung it, Frisbee-style, right toward her.
Gwen automatically held up her arms to fend off the skirt and it caught on her hand, then draped itself over her head, clinging as though glued.
“No!”
“Gwen, you’ve caught the skirt, you lucky thing.” Kate’s voice sounded behind her as Gwen snatched the skirt off her head. “And here I was going for the bouquet.”
“Wanna trade?”
“Sure, but we can’t. You know the rules.”
“Rules? There are no rules.”
“Yes, there are. You caught it, you wear it. If you don’t, it’s like breaking a chain letter or something.”
“Kate, we’re talking about a skirt.”
“And not just any skirt.”
“Yes! That’s exactly what it is—just a skirt.”
“If you can refer to a skirt that has been responsible for two women finding the men of their dreams as ‘just a skirt,’ then okay. Me, I’m a believer.”
Gwen groaned. “Not the magical power thing. Torrie just made that up. Come on, Kate.”
An unnatural quiet had descended on the group of single women who’d gathered to try to catch the bouquet. They were avidly soaking up every word.
“Is that it? The skirt Torrie said came from the island? Can I touch it?” one asked.
Someone else must have asked Kate to explain, because she immediately launched into the tale Torrie, their friend from school, had told everyone about how the women of an island spun a fabric made from a special thread. The fabric when given to a young woman of marriageable age, was guaranteed to attract her one true love. The crowd breathed a collective “oooh.”
“Yeah—I read about it in a magazine,” someone said.
What was the matter with them?
“Ladies!” Gwen snapped her fingers. “We’re in the twenty-first century here!”
They ignored her in favor of Kate, who was actually encouraging them. “…and it’s being passed from bride to bride.”
Calculating eyes turned to Gwen. “So go put it on,” someone suggested.
“Yeah. Quit wasting time,” someone else said to agreeing murmurs.
“Use the bride’s dressing room.” Kate had a look in her eyes that Gwen had never seen before. “Don’t make me wait too long for my turn.”
“Stop.”
Everyone looked toward a thirtyish woman. “If that thing’s a man magnet, then you will all understand if I remove my fiancé from the scene?”
“I don’t believe this,” Gwen murmured, but nobody heard her. They were too busy gathering their own significant others and spiriting them away from Gwen’s new irresistibility.
“Come on, Gwen.” Kate was urging her toward the changing room. “I hear the band’s booked for another hour and Chelsea’s cute cousin isn’t married.”
“Kate!” Gwen stared. “Look, I don’t want this thing. You take it.” She wadded up the fabric and tried to fling it toward her friend.
“Ow!” Her hands and arm stung. Startled, she looked down, expecting to see a red rash or something. Nothing showed, but the painful tingle continued.
“What’s the matter?” Kate asked.
“I don’t know. Maybe I’m allergic to slinky fabric. Either that or a spider or some equally disgusting creature has stung me.”
“Oh, ick!” Kate backed away.
Gwen shook out the skirt. As she did so, the subdued light caught the fabric, giving it a rich luster.
Fingering it, she noted the thick, sumptuous feel. The fabric was quality stuff. She held it up to herself and the length hovered near her knees. Not too short and not dowdily long, either.
She didn’t have so many clothes that she could just fling away a classy, basic, black skirt.
“Maybe I’ll keep it after all,” she said to Kate.
But Kate and the other guests were flowing toward the door of the penthouse, passing by two little girls who held baskets of pastel froth.
Treating the skirt with more respect, Gwen folded it and draped it over her arm. The burning and tingling had completely stopped and the skirt swayed against her arm in a sensuous ripple—almost a caress.
How weird was that?
Weird enough to give her the creeps.
Hurrying to catch up with Kate, Gwen stopped and took a net bag of birdseed to throw at Chelsea and Zach, thinking that people sure threw a lot of stuff at weddings.
Once everyone made it down to the building lobby, Kate gestured for Gwen to come stand right beside the getaway car. Bad move, because they got hit with as much birdseed as Chelsea did.
Chelsea got into the car, dragging her dress in after her. Laughing, she waved goodbye. “Just think—the next time we get together, it’ll be for Gwen’s wedding!”
Gwen tacked on her bridesmaid smile and waved. If that’s what they thought, then the three of them wouldn’t be together again for a long, long time.

1
“LET ME GET THIS STRAIGHT—the bride threw you a skirt that has special man-attracting powers?”
Gwen hefted her suitcase into the trunk of her friend’s car. “That she claims has special man-attracting powers. And not just any man, but supposedly your one, true love. There’ve even been articles written about it. Isn’t that a hoot?” she prompted when Laurie didn’t roll her eyes or fall over laughing.
“I think it’s sweet.”
Sweet? Gwen had felt the need to talk to a rational, nonwedding-infected female. Laurie VanCamp, a friend from work who was giving her a ride home from the airport, was just the person. Or so Gwen had thought.
But Laurie wasn’t scoffing the way she was supposed to. “Tell me the whole story again.”
So Gwen did as they left Houston’s Bush Airport, merged onto the freeway and headed for Gwen’s apartment in the Galleria area. By the time Laurie matched speed with the other cars barreling down the freeway, Gwen was sorry she’d told her anything.
“What’s the skirt look like?” Laurie asked.
“Black, slinky but classy, knee-length—nothing special.”
“Has it been road-tested?”
“Sort of.”
“Has it or hasn’t it?”
Sheesh. “Yeah, I suppose.”
“Well, does it work?” Laurie was taking this whole thing way too seriously.
“How should I know?” Gwen snapped.
“How many of the women found their husbands while wearing it?” Laurie asked with exaggerated patience.
Gwen sighed. “Both of them,” she admitted.
Laurie shot her a startled look, then trained her eyes back on the highway. “And your problem with this skirt is…?”
“Aside from not believing a word of the story? I don’t want a man.”
“Right.”
“Really! Men take too much time and energy. And they’re unreliable. I mean, look—you had to come get me at the airport because the guy changing the oil in my car didn’t have it ready when he said he would.”
“The last Sunday in December is prime football playoff season, not to mention all the college bowl games. What do you expect?”
“I expect him to do what he said he would! I should have known better, but the fact that he’s my neighbor made me forget he’s a man.”
“He’s doing you a favor—give him a break.”
“I’m paying him. And why are you making excuses for him? I was stranded at the airport and he’d had three days to change the oil. You shouldn’t have had to mess up your Sunday afternoon just so he could watch football.” She shook her head. “I don’t need the aggravation. Men are like a really time-consuming hobby that’s become more trouble than it’s worth. I’ll be better off concentrating on my career.”
“Like the world needs more caffeine.”
“Hey! You work at Kwik Koffee, too!”
“Yes, but if you’re giving up men, it should be for something noble like finding a cure for cancer or heart disease or becoming an astronaut or something.”
“You see? You see? You just proved my point. More women would have those careers if they didn’t have to spend their time catering to men.”
“So find a man who isn’t a jerk like Eric.”
Like that was so easy. “I didn’t know Eric was a jerk when we started going out.” She gritted her teeth to keep from listing all his jerkish traits for about the eleven millionth time.
“And you’re still letting him yank your chain. Gwen, honey, it’s time to move on.”
“I have. By—my—self. Seriously. I’m through with men. Don’t need ’em.”
“Sure you do.” Laurie gave her an infuriating smile.
“Why? I’ve got a job, a nice apartment, a pair of Jimmy Choo shoes and a vibrator—why do I need a man?”
Laurie snickered. “Uh…companionship?”
“I’ll make a note to myself to get a dog—they’re not as much trouble.”
“Okay, then…” Laurie drew herself up, physically preparing to deliver the coup de grâce to the conversation. “Children.” She sat back and waited for Gwen’s reaction.
“They take longer to housebreak than dogs. And men.”
“Such cynicism does not become you.” Laurie signaled and took the Westheimer exit off the 610 loop.
“Sure it does. I’ve practiced a world-weary expression that makes me look attractively sophisticated.” Gwen demonstrated.
Stopping at the traffic light gave Laurie time to study her. “You’ll get wrinkles.”
“That’s what Botox injections are for.”
Laurie looked disgusted—an expression that Gwen couldn’t help noticing would give her frown lines. She decided not to mention it.
“So you’re not going to wear the skirt.”
The skirt again. “Oh, I’ll wear it. I’m just not going to go manhunting in it.”
“I can’t believe you’re being so selfish. You said your friend, Kate, has to catch it after you, if she’s still single. But after her, it’ll be a free-for-all grab and I want an invitation to that wedding.”
“You’re that desperate for a man?”
“As I understand it, the skirt attracts lots of men before true love wins out. What fun.” Laurie sighed.
What had happened to the independent, competent, take-no-prisoners Laurie she worked with? “Our fore-mothers would be appalled to hear this conversation. Your mother would be appalled to hear this conversation. What about all the struggling, protesting and fighting for equal rights, and burning bras—”
“Like that did anything but give them sagging boobs.”
“—so their daughters—we—could have a choice in how we live our lives?”
Laurie shrugged and turned into Gwen’s apartment complex. “So I’m choosing to live it with a man.”
“And I’m choosing not to.”
Laurie slid a look at her. “You’ve done a real good job of getting the word out, because I haven’t noticed that many men around that you could choose not to have a life with.”
Gwen bristled. “Then you haven’t been looking.”
“Really? When was the last time a man asked you for a date?”
“Well, I—”
“Not business-related, just you and an eligible man—meaning he’s single, uninvolved, straight and looking.”
“Looking for what?”
“Involvement at some level.”
“Does superficial involvement count?” Gwen asked cynically.
“In your case, yes. So when?”
Gwen smiled in triumph. “Remember Paddy O’Brien’s cousin?”
“The Paddy O’Brien who owns the Shamrock pub?”
Gwen nodded. “When his cousin was visiting from Ireland over St. Patrick’s Day, Paddy set us up for the green beer party.”
Laurie was silent a moment. “You can’t get much more superficial than that.”
“Hey!”
“Even allowing for blind dates—”
“It wasn’t a blind date. He was working the bar when we stopped in earlier that week. Remember those Irish coffees?”
“Oh, yeah.”
“Is that all you can say? You had three.”
“And haven’t had another since.” Laurie managed to find a parking space across the alley drive from Gwen’s apartment. She parked, then leveled a look at her. “You’re counting hanging around a guy during a green beer party as a date?”
“Sure am.”
“But he didn’t take you anywhere, spend any money on you and you certainly weren’t alone, not to mention the possibility that he might have had an Irish colleen stashed away in the motherland, which I guess really doesn’t matter because you never saw him again.”
Gwen sighed. “No muss, no fuss. Perfect, wasn’t he?”
“But Gwen…how can you not want to date anybody?”
“Because dating leads to relationships.”
“You wish.”
“No, I don’t wish. My life is just fine the way it is, thank you very much. And you should be encouraging me. I’ve recognized the pattern of my mistakes and I’m trying to break the cycle.”
“But breaking the cycle doesn’t mean giving up all men—just the wrong ones.”
Gwen threw up her hands. “But I can’t seem to figure out how to avoid the wrong ones until it’s too late!”
“Isn’t that what the skirt’s for?”
Gwen rolled her eyes. “Forget the skirt.”
“I don’t want to forget the skirt. Things have changed since the last time you swam a few laps in the dating pool.”
“Men have stopped being self-centered?”
“That’s an attractive self-confidence.”
“Do they still act like they’re at an all-you-want sex buffet?”
“More and more are into à la carte.”
“From the same menu? For ever and ever?”
“You just came back from a wedding!”
“And most important—will they share dessert?”
Laurie gave her a puzzled look. “I’ve lost the analogy.”
Gwen wasn’t surprised. “Relationships require give and take and I got tired of being the one doing all the giving. I keep promising myself that each time will be different and then…” She shrugged. “So no more men.”
“Okay, fine. Just wear the skirt until some guy asks you out, then pass it on to another deserving woman before you reject him.”
“It’s supposed to be thrown at a wedding, remember? Kate has to have it next.”
Laurie grinned. “And I’d be happy to take it to her. Let me see it before you go.”
“Whatever.”
They both got out of the car and Gwen shrugged out of her coat, grateful for the mild Texas weather after frigid New York. Laurie opened the trunk and Gwen unzipped her suitcase. The skirt was right on top.
Laurie reached for the folded skirt and shook it out. “It’s just a black skirt,” she said with disappointment. “I wonder why men are attracted to it.” She eyed Gwen speculatively. “Wear it to my New Year’s Eve party. We’ll test it then.”
“I didn’t know you were having a New Year’s Eve party.”
“Neither did I. I feel strangely compelled.”
“Give me that.” Gwen snatched the skirt away and put it back into her suitcase.
“I’m still having the party.”
“Everyone’s already got plans.”
“Do you have plans?” Laurie asked.
“Well, I usually go over to my parents’…stop looking at me like that!” Gwen dragged her suitcase out of Laurie’s car.
“How am I supposed to look at you? It sounds so pathetic!”
“It’s not! They have an open house—and an open bar, the good stuff. It’s not a jug wine-and-chips kind of thing. And they serve real champagne at midnight,” she added with a touch of desperation when Laurie continued to look at her with deepening pity. “And it can’t hurt my career to network with their friends.”
Laurie squinted into the distance. “Their friends could have sons.” She nodded. “Could be good. I’ll come, too.”
“You’re not invited!”
“Why not?”
“What about your party?”
She waved her hand. “Everyone will already have plans.”
“You aren’t going to find any men there—at least not men our age. They’re my parents’ friends.”
“I can’t be your parents’ friend?”
Her mother had breezily suggested Gwen bring “somebody.” Gwen knew she had meant somebody male, somebody to deflect the annual marital status grilling. She eyed Laurie. Bringing a female might be even better. Definitely better. There would never again be any of those “When are you…?” questions.
“Okay,” she said.
“Great! Can I bring anything?”
“No. It’s catered. Oh, and I always sleep over, so pack your jammies.”
“Ooo, not jammies. What if someone sees me?”
Laurie was blond, young and in good shape. Very good shape. She’d blow out the men’s pacemakers. “Bring a robe.”
“No, no, no, no, no. You misunderstood. I might want to be seen.”
“I understood all right. It’s flannel and opaque or you don’t go.”
Laurie threw out her lower lip in a pout. “That’s not very festive.”
“It’s a New Year’s Eve party at my parents’ place. You aren’t supposed to be festive!”
Laurie raised an eyebrow.
“Not festive in that way,” Gwen said.
“You mean in a prepared-for-serendipity way?”
“I mean in a going-after-middle-aged-married-men way.”
“You should talk. You’re the one who’s going to be wearing the skirt. You’ll see. And so will their wives. But don’t worry. I’ll be there to watch your back.”
Gwen shuddered at the thought. “We’ll talk about it tomorrow,” she said noncommittally and began wheeling her suitcase over to the covered parking. “Thanks for the ride.” She turned to wave at Laurie and nearly smacked her in the face because she was right behind her. “What are you doing?”
Laurie discreetly pointed to Gwen’s charcoal gray Japanese import. “Are those legs supposed to be under your car?”
Gwen had already seen the cutoff clad legs of her neighbor sticking out from beneath her car. He’d driven over the curb so that the front wheels were lifted off the ground. From the angle they now stood, she could see under the car to the slice of well-muscled midriff that was also exposed. She heaved a deep breath in irritation. “Yeah.”
Laurie audibly swallowed. “You don’t need the skirt. Give it to me right now.”
Clearly, Laurie wasn’t going anywhere without an introduction. Even though Gwen had given up men, she still didn’t want to see her neighbor’s reaction to Laurie in hunting mode. She had a nice little nonrelationship thing going with him and Laurie could really screw it up.
Honestly, Gwen didn’t know how she did it, yet right now, she could feel Laurie getting into the zone. It was more than just throwing back her shoulders and licking her lips. Something about her walk changed. And her expression. She made eye contact with a vengeance.
Just for the sake of experimentation, Gwen tried making eye contact with her neighbor’s legs. It didn’t work—and not only because he chose that moment to shove himself from beneath the car and stretch, providing them with a brief, yet highly memorable view of his supine body.
Gwen choked in the middle of swallowing.
“Hey, Gwen, you’re back!” Shoving himself off the stained pavement, he brushed at the back of his shorts, examined his hands, reached for a red rag and wiped them off.
“Hi, Alec. This is…”
But Laurie was ahead of her purring, “Hi. I’m Laurie.”
“Laurie, this is my neighbor, Alec Fleming,” Gwen said at the same moment Alec was reaching for Laurie’s hand and introducing himself.
Clearly her work here was done. Ordinarily, Gwen would discreetly move away, but she wanted to see the show. And there was the matter of knowing whether or not Alec was finished with her car.
Laurie immediately moved closer to him, getting into his personal space, Gwen noted, though she didn’t know why she bothered. She wasn’t planning on using any of Laurie’s stalking tips.
Alec had tucked his fingertips in his back pockets, a pose that displayed the width of his chest and showed off his arms, which were revealed by a sweatshirt that he’d cut the sleeves off. The ragged edges emphasized his shoulders.
Ah, mating rituals. Laurie looked dazzled and not as sure of herself as she usually did.
Gwen could see why. Even in his grease-monkey state—or maybe because of his grease-monkey state—Alec was looking mighty fine.
But then, he usually did. He was lucky enough to have a natural honey-on-whole-wheat-toast color of skin that meant he looked good without subjecting himself to the damaging effects of the sun.
Now that she’d given up men, Gwen would no longer be subjecting herself to multihour sessions involving exfoliation and painting her body with self-tanner, then standing with outstretched arms during most of a movie-of-the-week and hoping that no one was peeking through the space where her curtains didn’t quite meet.
Men. Too much trouble. She shook her head slightly as Laurie wrinkled her nose. Wrinkled her nose. Someone probably once told her it looked cute. Gwen supposed it did, in a way, if you were a man. Look at me. I’m so helpless and you’re so big and strong. Ick, ick and more ick.
“I really appreciate you giving Gwen, here, a ride home.” Alec turned just enough to include Gwen in their charmed circle.
“Gwen’s a friend. I didn’t mind,” Laurie breathed.
At least she didn’t tell him it hadn’t been any trouble, because any trip to the busy Houston airport was a royal pain.
“And aren’t you just the sweetest thing to change her oil for her?”
Laurie’s voice had taken a syrupy tone to which she wasn’t entitled since she’d been born and raised in Kansas City. Gwen narrowed her eyes at her, but she didn’t notice.
Alec didn’t either. He was too busy flashing a grin at Laurie. “She’s paying me!”
Which was what Gwen had already told her. It mollified her somewhat that Alec admitted it. She was about to complain about her car not being ready when he continued.
“And I’ve earned every penny.” He lowered his brows—attractively—at her in mock sternness. “Lady, when’s the last time you had your oil changed? The filter was frozen in there.”
Gwen suddenly found herself on the defensive. “I, uh…”
“Since you’ve chosen not to buy American, I needed to borrow a metric tool set, which I didn’t realize I’d need until after I’d drained all the oil out.” He rubbed his index finger against a spot above his eyebrow, leaving a faint smudge that detracted not one whit from his appearance.
“Shame on you, Gwen,” Laurie said snidely.
Gwen glared at her until Laurie remembered they weren’t in competition for Alec’s attention.
“But I’m probably just as bad about car maintenance.” Which was a lie. Laurie was a fanatic about car maintenance because she’d once been stranded in the middle of the night after going to a trendy new club in an iffy area of Houston and never wanted to repeat the experience. However, Gwen understood that Laurie was trying to make up for her earlier comment.
“It was poor planning on my part, I’ll admit. My brother-in-law wouldn’t bring me his tools until halftime. Texas is playing Penn State,” Alec added.
“Oh, yeah,” Gwen said, as though she followed college football. After Eric, she’d had enough of football.
“Like I said, it wasn’t a problem.” Laurie was still hanging around and Gwen guessed she was giving Alec a chance to say something along the lines of “Let me buy you dinner to make it up to you.”
He wouldn’t, Gwen figured. Alec Fleming was starting his own business and currently had no money. Gwen suspected that he might have once had—he’d made a reference or two about working at a family business—but he didn’t have any money now, which was why he’d offered to change her oil instead of Gwen going to the quick oil-change place she usually did.
“So is the car finished?” she asked.
“At last.” He looked skyward.
Hiding her smile, Gwen dug in her shoulder bag. “I am not going to pay you extra.”
“What? No tip?”
“Sure, I’ll give you a tip.” She nodded to his outfit. “Wear warmer clothes when you go outside to play.” She handed him a ten-dollar bill.
“I’m not cold. Besides, they’re all dirty.” He snapped the bill, held it up the light, then kissed it. “Laundry money!”
As they laughed, Gwen glanced at Laurie. Her expression, formerly interested and encouraging, had done a complete one-eighty. Gwen followed her gaze back to Alec and she understood. Instead of an eligible potential boyfriend, Laurie was now seeing him as a good-looking, but broke, mechanic with no ambition and no prospects.
Gwen smiled faintly. Like most women her age, she had one of those in her background and while they were fun, once was enough.
Alec wasn’t anything of the sort and if Laurie asked, Gwen would tell her. Could she help it if Laurie wouldn’t ask?
“Time for me to get going,” Laurie said. “Great meeting you.” She gave a tight nod to Alec. To Gwen, she said, “I’ll call you.”
Gwen noticed that Alec stopped making love to his ten-dollar bill long enough to watch Laurie walk off.
“Nice,” he said, and Laurie hadn’t even put anything extra in her walk.
“Yes.”
“But out of my price range.”
“What do you mean by that?”
At her sharp tone, he turned to her. A second later, realization dawned. “No! Hey—I just meant that a woman like that is high-maintenance and expensive. To stay in the running you’ve got to take her to clubs and restaurants and the bill runs up real quick…and I’m just digging myself deeper into a hole, aren’t I?” He gave her a charmingly rueful grin. Alec had charm to spare and knew it.
“Any deeper and there’ll be an echo.”
He held up both hands, black-creased palms outward. “I meant nothing against your friend.”
“I know. It’s okay.” Gwen agreed with him, anyway, but wouldn’t betray the sisterhood by admitting it.
“And, ah, I didn’t mean that you weren’t worth running up the tab for, either.”
She wished he hadn’t said that. They both knew she wasn’t a Laurie type and honestly, Gwen was all for the Lauries of this world. Why shouldn’t they value themselves enough to require men to make an effort? For all the effort Gwen required, she was a bigger bargain than a Christmas sweater in January. She needed to stop that.
But she didn’t want to have that kind of discussion with Alec, who was still standing there, searching her face for a sign of whether she was mad at him or not. He was a decent, if typically male, sort.
“I’m in a good position to guilt you into a really expensive evening, aren’t I?”
He didn’t smile and Gwen felt a twinge of that same guilt for making him suffer. But just a twinge. “Let me have a moment to savor the feeling….” She drew a deep breath. “I’m done. You’re off the hook.”
He grinned and his whole stance relaxed. “You’re okay, Gwen.” He made a movement and for a second, she thought he was going to give her a punch on the arm, but at the last minute, he swung his hand upward and raked his fingers through his hair. “Hey, you should give your car a spin around the block to make sure it’s running okay. Or I could do it for you,” he added casually.
He probably had errands to run. She really didn’t mind, though she was succumbing to his charm more than she should.
“Would you?” Gwen asked, as though he’d be doing her a huge favor.
“Sure!” He patted his shorts for her keys and dug them out. “I might stop off at the grocery store and get some quarters. Need anything?”
Gwen shook her head.
“Uh—do I look okay? I don’t have a grease moustache, or anything?”
“Just…” She hesitated, then reached up and rubbed at the faint streak on his brow bone. She could feel him watching her and hoped she wouldn’t do anything horridly juvenile like blush.
He had warm brown hair and warm—friendly warm—brown eyes to go with his warm brown body. Okay, so the warm body part was a wild guess based solely on his forehead, but the rest was true. Gwen also had brown hair and eyes, but her hair wasn’t as rich as his since she’d quit streaking it. What was the point? She’d given up men.
Funny how she had to keep reminding herself.
Especially when she was around Alec.

2
MAYBE IT WAS being around Chelsea and Kate and the wedding, or maybe it was the skirt—or more likely Alec and his stupid cutoffs—but Gwen decided she needed to do something active to remind her of her goals.
Or at least fine-tune them a bit. As she unpacked her suitcase, Gwen reflected on what Laurie had said about the intrinsic value of playing caffeine fairy to the office workers in the greater Houston area. In the mornings when people arrived at their jobs after fighting the rush-hour traffic and were absolutely dying for that first cup of coffee, the Kwik Koffee machines were mighty important. And didn’t those cardiologists and astronauts and scientists drink coffee, coffee that her company made sure was fresh, hot and available? Didn’t it put them in the right frame of mind to begin their days of important discoveries and saving lives? Therefore, wasn’t Gwen actually helping the world?
Okay, so that was a stretch, but she’d file it away for the next time Laurie downplayed their importance in the grand scheme of things.
But she’d also realized that climbing up the ladder at her company was really only a means to her true goal: she, Gwen Kempner, wanted to live the life of a man. Not be a man, just get the same advantages.
From where she stood—currently on a chair so she could shove her suitcase onto the top shelf of her closet—men had it pretty good and that was because they had conned women into helping them. They didn’t even have to be married—Gwen had noticed that the single men always seemed to have a girlfriend or even a spare mother to take care of them or wait for various delivery people. Men could even negotiate the after-five delivery times, whereas Gwen always got the, “Don’t you have a neighbor who’s home during the day?” question. Once, and she wasn’t proud of this, she’d taken half a personal day to wait for the cable guy for Eric.
Never again.
She needed somebody to help her, someone to take care of the little things so she didn’t have to.
She needed a wife.
Most career women did, and since they couldn’t have one, the superachievers who could afford to hired nannies, housekeepers and personal assistants. Gwen didn’t need a nanny, and she didn’t mind cleaning her apartment herself. But boy howdy, a personal assistant was sure looking good. The trick was to get the company to pay for one and they weren’t going to pay for a junior member of the regional director’s staff to have an assistant.
So Gwen would just have to become a regional director.
After sorting the clothes she was going to take to the dry cleaners tomorrow, Gwen looked again at the skirt.
No washing instructions. In fact, no label of any kind. She couldn’t exactly call Chelsea on her honeymoon and ask her how the thing was supposed to be cleaned. The skirt looked fine and Gwen decided that Chelsea had cleaned it before she’d passed it on.
Okay, then. Gwen hung it up, got out her laptop, plugged it into the phone line, flipped on the TV and proceeded to check her office e-mail. She’d missed work Friday and it would pay to get a jump on the week instead of spending Monday morning getting up to speed. That’s what people who wanted promotions did.
Assuming there were no coffee crises requiring her immediate attention, she’d spend the rest of the evening coming up with a battle plan that would lead to a promotion. After all, the sooner she got an assistant, the better.
ALEC STUDIED all the laundry detergents and picked the cheapest no-name brand he could find. Passing up fabric softeners—a luxury he hadn’t missed—he headed for the frozen food aisle to see if there were any ninety-nine cent TV dinners or frozen pot pies on sale three for a dollar.
Instead, he found himself tempted by store-brand frozen pizzas. They weren’t big, but they were three for five dollars. However, right next to them—at two for five dollars—he found a more generously sized-and-topped brand. Before he could talk himself out of it, he’d grabbed the pizza and then had the insane impulse to buy a six-pack of domestic beer. His import days were gone for now. Unfortunately, as he stood in front of the cooler, he realized that even a six-pack was out of the question, so he snagged two oversize individual bottles and made his way toward the express checkout lane.
What are you doing? It was the voice of reason, which had been remarkably silent when he’d accepted his grandfather’s gleeful challenge, but which could always be counted on to provide wet-blanket thoughts every time Alec contemplated anything that might be self-indulgent these days.
But Alec knew what he was doing. He’d already done the math and would have enough quarters left for three loads of laundry, though only enough to dry two.
So he’d dredge up fifty cents from somewhere or hang his jeans over the kitchen chairs for a couple of days. No big deal.
Besides stranding Gwen at the airport, he was conscious of having hurt her feelings. Maybe hurt was too strong a word because Gwen didn’t seem the overly sensitive sort and they didn’t have that kind of relationship. But he felt a gesture was called for because he liked Gwen. He counted her as his first woman friend. Not a former girlfriend from whom he’d parted amicably and still ran into from time to time, but a person he’d met and come to know since he’d lived in the apartment on Westheimer. In fact, he thought of her as a person first and a woman after that—if at all—which was why he’d spoken without thinking.
Somehow, they’d skipped all the messy girl-boy stuff and were just casual friends. He was pretty sure she wasn’t currently seeing anyone, though he hardly tracked her every move. He did know that she worked a lot of overtime, but then, so did he.
In fact, he worked all the time. He had a nifty, nobrainer, thirty-hour-a-week job as the clerk in a pager store that was within walking distance of his apartment. The rest of the time he spent trying to get his fledgling business off the ground.
But tonight, he would give it a rest.
Alec handed the grocery clerk the ten-dollar bill, asked for his change in quarters, then shoved them into his pocket, noting a grease smudge on his arm as he did so.
He’d changed the oil in a car. A self-satisfied smile creased his face as he walked toward Gwen’s car in the parking lot. He’d never changed oil before. Just to be on the safe side, he checked under Gwen’s car for any ominous puddles.
Nope. All right!
He’d spent way too much time and had called his brother-in-law three times, but he’d done it—unfortunately, not in time to pick up Gwen from the airport according to the plan. She’d been a real pal about letting him use her car and not making him grovel for it, either. These past few days it had been great to have a car again. He’d filled up the gas tank this morning, which had pretty much tapped him out. But he’d accomplished a lot on Friday. Meeting face-to-face with manufacturers, brochure printers, suppliers and potential customers for his portable exercise equipment was more effective than e-mail and phone. He’d made some good deals and had a couple of new leads, but no money had come his way.
Well, payday from the pager store was tomorrow. Unfortunately, due to Christmas, he’d only worked twenty hours, but on the positive side, he’d already paid January’s rent.
He pulled into Gwen’s usual parking spot, which wasn’t as close to her apartment as she was entitled. Some jerk who lived in the units across the back parked there. Alec had offered to challenge him, but Gwen wouldn’t let him and said that the walk was good for her. In his opinion, Gwen could use a stiffer backbone, but that wasn’t Alec’s business.
He was only passing through.
Alec showered, changed into his last clean T-shirt—a giveaway from some charity 5K run three years ago—grabbed the pizza and beer, and headed for Gwen’s apartment.
He’d already knocked when he replayed their last conversation in his head and suddenly realized how his cheap frozen pizza and single bottle of beer offering would look.
To stay in the running you’ve got to take her to clubs and restaurants and the bill runs up real quick…. Why didn’t he just bang on the door and shout, “You’re not worth it!”? It would be cheaper.
Maybe she wasn’t home. But Gwen opened the door right then. “Hey, how’s the car running?” She held out her hands for the keys.
If she hadn’t been wearing her Scooby-Doo fuzzy slippers, he would have dropped the keys into her palm and taken his pizza with him. But…but he remembered the first time they’d met. He’d heard the Scooby-Doo theme music coming from inside her apartment and they’d discovered a mutual covert obsession with the cartoon character. He couldn’t afford cable and she got the cartoon channel, so there had been a few instances when he’d watched episodes with her. Okay, more than a few.
“The car runs fine.” He gave her the keys, then held up the plastic bags. “I brought pizza and beer. How about dinner?”
She blinked. “Is there a Scooby-Doo marathon on?”
It was his turn to blink. “Not that I know of. I thought it would be…be nice to…” She thought he only wanted to eat with her so he could borrow her TV set. Had he been that much of a moocher?
“To what?”
“You know, eat dinner together.”
They stared at each other amid an unaccustomed awkwardness. What had he done? They’d eaten dinner together before, and yes, they usually ended up watching Gwen’s TV. But this was different somehow. About the time Alec figured out it was because he’d never sought Gwen’s company just for the sake of being with her, and why hadn’t he, she pulled the pizza box out of the bag.
“You need a distraction while you eat this, huh?”
“Hey, that’s the premium store brand,” Alec shot back, relieved to fall into their usual pattern of mock insults and zingers.
“Ooo, the premium brand.”
“Sarcasm? After I make a genuine spontaneous gesture of friendship and sharing—”
“All right, all right. I’ll heat up the oven.” Laughing, she took the pizza into the kitchen.
Back to normal. He exhaled and wandered over to the sofa, noting her open laptop and the papers beside it. “Gwen?”
She looked at him through the kitchen bar.
“If you’re busy—”
“Actually, you can help me. I’d like a man’s opinion.”
“Oh?” He held up one of the beers and she nodded. Twisting off the top, he set the bottle beside her laptop, careful to keep it away from the keyboard. He didn’t mean to pry, but with the words Plan Of Attack written in eighteen-point type, he could hardly avoid reading. She’d made a column of words like “weakness, strength, objective, timeline, ammunition” and so forth. “What’s up?”
“Just a minute.”
He heard a buzz indicating that the oven had reached the baking temperature and then watched Gwen bend down to put the pizza in. Yeah, she was all right. Great female friend material. Twisting off the top of the second bottle, he took a swallow of beer and hoped again she wasn’t too insulted by his pitiful offering.
He thought of her friend Lisa. No—Laurie. Whatever. That wasn’t going anywhere. For a while there Linda—Laurie?—was sending all the right signals and under other circumstances…under other circumstances, Gwen wouldn’t have been standing right beside them.
Why hadn’t she ever looked at him like that?
Gwen threw away the pizza wrappings and came out of the kitchen. “This is really nice of you.” Her smile was maybe a little too wide to be real.
Hell. “Look, Gwen, I know it’s not much, especially after I—”
“You big doofus, you spent all your money, didn’t you?”
Doofus? “Well, yeah.”
She put a hand to her chest. “I’m flattered.”
“Seriously? You are?”
“Yes. Now sit down and quit fussing.”
“Fussing?” He never fussed. But he sat down.
Instead of being insulted, she was flattered. Women. He’d never understand them.
GWEN SAT beside him and handed him a brown foam insulator with the Kwik Koffee logo on it. Just when she’d given up on men, one of them had to go and do something sweet. Trying not to make a big deal out of Alec’s gesture, Gwen nodded to her laptop screen as she fit her bottle into the foam rubber. “I’m going after a promotion,” she said. “And I’ve been trying to think like a man.”
“So you thought military instead of sports?”
“Yes.” She hesitated. “I’m off sports.”
“Works for me.” He tilted back his head and swallowed, yet kept his eyes on her computer screen.
Gwen ruthlessly smothered a sigh and erased the mental image of Alec’s jawline.
He tilted the bottle toward her list. “You haven’t got very far.”
“I know. That’s where you come in. I’m currently on the staff of one of the regional directors. Kwik Koffee’s got seven, but two of the largest regions need to be split and I think that’ll be my best shot for a promotion. Now, visualize the regional directors holed up in a fort under siege. I want in.”
“I’m visualizing and I’m not seeing any women. Are there any women directors—is that the problem?”
“No women.” Gwen shook her head. “But I think that’s coincidence.”
“Maybe. Maybe not.”
“There are two assistant regional directors. Both women.”
“And the fact that women are assistants is just coincidence?”
Gwen frowned. “I don’t want to go there. The assistants are in the biggest regions, so logically, if the regions are split, they should get the promotion. I want you to tell me what an ambitious man would do in my position.”
Alec sat back. “There’s the time-honored, yet slimy, method of joining the same club and bonding in the steam room, a couple of rounds of golf a month, that kind of thing.”
“I don’t play golf.”
“You should learn.”
“I don’t steam, either.”
Alec laughed. “Put ‘find something in common’ on your list. Maybe the guy in charge collects wines or model trains. Or, I know—nothing beats a plate of warm brownies.”
Only the wicked flash in his eye saved him.
“There is a huge difference between a plate of brownies and time in a steam room.”
“That’s a plate of warm brownies—okay!” he conceded when she opened her mouth. “But find out what he likes and give it to him.”
Gwen raised her eyebrow.
He waved his beer bottle impatiently. “You know what I mean. Also, figure out who makes the promotion decisions. You have to make your boss look good to him.”
“Why shouldn’t I make myself look good to him?”
“You will be.”
Gwen dutifully typed his suggestions. “I also know to analyze the work and find something that needs to be done, then volunteer to do it, but I can’t figure out anything that needs to be done that I’m capable of doing. Kwik Koffee seems to run an efficient operation.”
“Think small, but visible. Oh, yeah.” Alec gestured for her to continue typing. “Think cost-cutting. Companies love it when you save money.”
Gwen knew that, but she added it to the list to humor him. He was really getting into this corporate competitiveness.
“Reprice supplies or something. Then you can send a memo detailing what you found. Don’t forget to print out your e-mail.”
“Right, a paper trail.” Gwen made a note to check prices on environmentally friendly coffee filters. They were a great idea, but had been too expensive in the past. Maybe the price had come down enough so that Kwik Koffee could reap the public relations benefit of a switch.
“Do you miss your job?” she asked as she typed. Alec had never gone into detail about his life before he came to live at Oak Villa Apartments, but Gwen got the impression that he’d been fairly high on the corporate ladder in a family-owned company.
He laughed. “I miss the salary! But this experience has forced me to look at life differently, which was no doubt what my granddad had in mind.” He grimaced. “I suppose I’ll have to admit it to him, too.”
Gwen met his eyes. “Were you…fired?” she asked hesitantly.
“No! Hey, didn’t I tell you about Granddad’s big challenge?”
“You just told me you were trying to start your own business.”
Alec took a deep breath and settled back on the sofa. It looked like it was going to be a long story. But that was okay. Gwen liked having Alec around. He wasn’t any trouble. At least not much.
“Granddad came to this country with something like forty bucks in his pocket—I don’t know, the amount is less every time he tells the story. But he started a little lunch-cart business, which grew and now we all work there. My dad and uncle really expanded the company. It was just strictly local and they worked their butts off taking it national.” He stopped talking and looked off into the distance. Gwen had never seen him this somber before.
“Dad wasn’t around much when I was little,” he said, exhaling heavily.
“It must have been rough on your mother, too,” Gwen said.
“I guess so.” The way he said it told Gwen that he’d never considered his mother’s point of view before. Well, he was now.
But apparently only for a second or two. “The thing that gets to me is that Granddad doesn’t even acknowledge what his sons did or what any of us are doing. According to him, we’re all just leeches benefiting from his hard work. And dad just…takes it. Drives me and my cousins nuts.”
“So you quit?”
“Only temporarily. We want to develop the Web site and maybe open some stores in the malls, but Granddad won’t listen to us, soooo…” Alec paused when the buzzer on the oven went off.
Gwen headed for the kitchen. “Keep talking. I can hear you.”
“So we decided that one of us would start a business from the ground up under the same conditions—or as close as we could get—and prove to the old guy that we’re not complete write-offs.”
“And you lost?” She glanced through the bar as she got out plates.
Alec stared down at the beer in his hands, then looked up at her with a half smile. “No. I won.”
Which was a pretty good insight into the male psyche, Gwen told herself. They liked challenges. Enjoyed them, even. She should start thinking that way about her promotion campaign.
“It’s been tough, I won’t kid you. I can’t imagine how desperate and scared my grandfather must have been. At least I’m in the same country—the same city, even.”
Gwen was cutting the pizza and trying to do so quietly so she could hear Alec, but managed to burn her thumb on hot cheese. She dropped the piece halfway between the plate and the cookie sheet and stuck her thumb in her mouth. Part of the topping was on the slice of pizza, the rest was on her counter. She nudged it into place, sort of, then looked up to find that Alec had left the sofa and was leaning his elbows on the bar as he watched her.
“Not much of a cook, are you?” He grinned.
“Like this never happened to you.” She handed him the plate with the good pieces on it.
“Actually, no. Your mistake was in using plates. I just eat from the pan.”
“Barbarian.”
“Bad pizza cooker.”
“That’s the worst thing you can call me?” Gwen sat down and shoved her papers aside, then propped her Scooby-Doo slipper clad feet on the coffee table.
“My brain is running on low.” Alec added his feet to the table, slouched down and propped the pizza plate on his stomach. His flat stomach. “I’ll think of something after a few bites. In the meantime, speaking of Scooby-Doo—”
“Were we?”
“No, but we are now.”
“Why?”
“Well, I’ve heard rumors of a New Year’s Eve marathon.” He gave her look out of the corner of his eye. “Got any party plans?”
Gwen’s heart gave an extra thump. If only he’d stopped right then and there, but no, Alec continued.
“’Cause if you’re going out, I wouldn’t mind keeping an eye on your television for you.” He grinned hopefully.
“I’m sure you wouldn’t.” Not, hey Gwen, let’s spend New Year’s together but I want to watch cartoons on your TV. Gwen took a moment to give herself a mental kick—she’d given up men. This was one of the reasons why.
“Won’t charge you, either.”
Oh no, not that smile, not the one he knew charmed women. She gave him a look to let him know she wasn’t charmed. “Don’t you have any plans? What about your friends? Have they abandoned you?”
Instantly, the smile faded and he looked down at his pizza. “They’re all going to the Uptown Women’s Center benefit ‘gala.’” He used his fingers to make quote marks. “My girlfriend is on the steering committee. It’s occupied her every waking moment since October.”
Girlfriend? Girlfriend? Alec had a girlfriend? Not that it mattered to Gwen. It shouldn’t matter to her. Wouldn’t. Didn’t.
“Have you noticed how nobody just throws a party for the sake of a good time anymore?” Alec was speaking rhetorically, which was a good thing since Gwen had frozen beside him. He hadn’t noticed, which was also a good thing.
“It always has to benefit some organization. Why should we justify wanting to have a good time?”
“The Women’s Center is a very worthy cause,” Gwen managed. She also managed to sound tight-lipped. She wrapped her tight lips around the beer bottle and swallowed.
“Of course it is,” Alec grumbled. “That’s not the point here. The point is guilt-free partying.”
“And so, what? You’re boycotting?”
He mumbled something.
“What?” Gwen cupped her hand around her ear. “Is that a tiny tantrum I hear?”
“No.” He shifted until his head was resting on the back of the sofa. “Stephanie—”
“That would be your girlfriend.”
“Maybe, maybe not. Who knows anymore?”
“Well…this is just a thought…but if I spent hours and hours working on one of those charity things, I might be the teensiest bit put out if my boyfriend refused to go.”
Still leaning against the sofa, he rolled his head to face her. “I can’t afford to. My tux is back at my town house, along with my car, and I don’t have the money to rent either. So no gala-going for me this New Year’s.”
“Wait a minute—you mean you own a car and you have a town—”
Alec held up a hand. “Technically, yes—”
“Is there any other way?”
“My grandfather didn’t have a fancy place to live or his own—”
“It’s fancy?”
“Well…it’s…my cousin’s wife is a decorator and she did the place for me, so it’s okay.”
“It’s just okay.”
“Okay, better than okay.”
“Wood floors?”
“Yeah.”
“Fireplace?”
“Yeah.”
“Dining room?”
“I gotta eat someplace.”
“Whirlpool tub?”
“Aren’t those standard these days?”
“BMW or Mercedes?”
He gave her an exasperated look. “Beemer. Gwen, it doesn’t matter. My grandfather wouldn’t have had any of that stuff, so I can’t either right now. That’s why I traded places with the guy who used to live in the apartment here. Brad’s living it up at my place, and I’m here with his damn cat.” Apparently thoughts of the cat were worth two swallows of beer.
“I see.” She crossed her arms and stared straight ahead. In her line of sight was a framed poster—Alec was no doubt used to original art—and put-it-together-yourself shelving displaying her Scooby-Doo memorabilia, which up to this point she’d thought was charmingly quirky. But now it looked kitschy and cheap.
“Gwen?” There was a hint of uncertainty in his voice, no doubt carefully calculated to elicit the most sympathy. “You understand about all that, don’t you?”
“I’m feeling used,” she declared. “Before, I felt used, but it was for a good cause.”
“I’m still a good cause.”
“You’re a hopeless cause.”
“And you’re as bad as Stephanie.”
Gwen bolted upright and gasped. “What a vile thing to say!”
Alec’s lips quivered and then he started laughing.
She hadn’t been serious, but he shouldn’t have figured it out so quickly. Shaking her head, Gwen cleared away their plates. “At least that explains the cat. You have never struck me as a cat person.”
“Armageddon is not a cat. Armageddon is demon spawn from hell.”
“Poor kitty. With a name like Armageddon, what do you expect?”
“He earned the name. Thirty seconds at my place and he’d sprayed a white silk sofa.”
Gwen rolled her eyes. “No real person has a white silk sofa.”
“I do, or I do if the cleaners did their job. But Army came to the apartment with me that day and has avoided me ever since. He lives under the bed until I go into the bedroom. The rest of the time, he plots his escape.”
Gwen rinsed their plates and put them in the dishwasher. “From what I remember, he’s had a couple of successes.”
“Yeah. Brad comes over and lures him back, though.”
“The poor little thing.”
“Don’t feel sorry for Brad.”
“I was talking about the cat and you know it. He just doesn’t understand.”
“He’s not the only one,” Alec muttered darkly.
Gwen returned to the sofa. “Is that an oblique reference to Stephanie and New Year’s?”
He nodded.
“She doesn’t quite see why you have to maintain the purity of the quest.”
“Or words to that effect.”
“I’ll bet.” Gwen stared at her Scooby-Doo slippers. They stared back. “Your grandfather could have shopped at secondhand stores, right?”
“Oh, yeah. Wearing clothes from the church’s charity box is always a featured part of the story. But if you think—”
“Buy your tux from Brad.”
“What?”
“Offer him five or ten bucks for it. He’s not going to be wearing it and you know it fits.”
“That’s…” Gwen could see the possibilities occur to Alec.
He gave her a slow, admiring smile. “That’s brilliant.”
“I thought so. And if you give me a ride over to my parents’ house, then you can borrow my car.” Sometimes she was too brilliant for her own good.
Alec kissed his fingers toward her. “Gwen, you are a prince among women.”
“Is that anything like being a queen among men?”
He hesitated briefly, but tellingly. Very, very tellingly. “I didn’t mean it to be.” He laughed. If a forced chuckle could be called a laugh.
Gwen could attribute the hesitation to him being slow on the uptake, but Alec wasn’t slow. No, for just a moment there, he’d considered the possibility that they were both sexually oriented in the same direction.
Was this what she was going to have to face? If a woman didn’t want to be with a man, then…then… And just because she wasn’t Alec’s type didn’t mean she wasn’t somebody’s type.
She’d show him. She’d…she’d go put on the skirt, that’s what she’d do. Gwen jumped up. “Hey—I got a new skirt I was thinking of wearing on New Year’s. How about a man’s opinion?”
“Danger. Warning. Woman requesting clothing opinion. Alert, alert.”
“Oh, stop.” She headed for the bedroom. “I just want to know what you think.”
“What I think is that nothing I say will be right,” Alec called after her.
Gwen grabbed the skirt, hanger and all, and went back to her living room. She unsnapped the clamps, then held up the skirt. “I’ll be with Laurie, so…you know.” She hoped he’d fill in the blanks about at least holding her own beside Laurie.
And speaking of blanks—Alec stared at the skirt, then met her eyes. “It’s…it’s just a black skirt. It doesn’t look all that short or tight.”
“So you’re saying that to appeal to a man, a skirt has to be short and tight?”
“Not…yes. Yes, it does.”
She walked closer so he could see how the light made it shimmer, maybe even feel the fabric.
He was clearly unimpressed by shimmer. “Well, Gwen, it’s a nice skirt.”
Nice. Kiss of death.
“I don’t know what you want me to say.”
I want you to be overcome with lust, that’s what. So much for the skirt’s man-attracting potential.
“The sweatpants make it look lumpy. Why don’t you put it on?”
“All right, I will.”
Gwen returned to the bedroom, suspecting that the reason she hadn’t put the skirt on in the first place was because if Alec was overcome with lust, she’d forget that she’d given up men and men like Alec were exactly the reason why. He’d talked about Laurie being high-maintenance, but if he took off his shirt—a pleasant, but distracting prospect—he’d have “high-maintenance” tattooed across his chest.
Already, she’d offered him her car and helped him with his love life—a love life that didn’t include her. Now, she was putting on the skirt after she swore she wouldn’t just so he’d find her attractive. And she’d just cooked dinner for him. Hadn’t she?
Gwen stepped into the skirt, thinking that she probably ought to put on panty hose, and pulled it up. Pulled…now more of an easing…sucked in her stomach…more…gave up on fastening the hook until after the zipper was zipped…zipped two inches and…
And staring in horror as her white, pizza-filled belly remained exposed because her hips and thighs had taken up all the room in the skirt.

3
SAVED. SAVED FROM herself. Putting on the skirt to attract Alec—what had she been thinking? Or rather, why had she been thinking it?
Fortunately, when she returned, he was typing some manly strategy he’d thought of into her laptop, and didn’t seem to remember the skirt.
Not fitting into the skirt didn’t matter. And yet Gwen ate salad with dressing on the side and avoided ice cream until Wednesday. She wasn’t dieting—she just suddenly developed a real fondness for naked lettuce. Besides, her ice cream day was Friday. Okay, Thursday through Saturday—Wednesday, if it had been a really rough week. But never Monday or Tuesday. Never. Oh, maybe a bite or two from Friday’s pint—but that was absolutely it.
And did the skirt care about naked lettuce or avoiding ice cream? Did it cooperate by at least letting Gwen zip the zipper completely? No.
So when New Year’s Eve rolled around, Gwen had to resort to her “safe” outfit—black silky pants, elastic waist, and the cute, but scratchy, Lurex sweater with the gold and silver champagne glasses all over it. Some of the glasses had bubbles coming out of them and Gwen had to stand up straight or a couple of the bubbles would be positioned suggestively.
The sweater had a V-neck and by aggressively pulling it down and standing with her arms just so, Gwen summoned up more cleavage than she had last year.
At least not all the extra pounds had gone to her hips.
She released the hem of the sweater and the neckline sprang back into mother-approved territory.
Gwen sighed and spent more time on her makeup. Why, she didn’t know. She hadn’t been kidding when she’d told Laurie that the pickings were slim among her parents’ New Year’s Eve crowd.
As the thought occurred to her, Alec knocked on her door. She knew it was Alec because he was the only one knocking on her door these days. And she suddenly knew why she was wrestling with lip liner.
Alec came from a background where the women wore lip liner. They didn’t just buy it with good intentions, then leave it in their bathroom drawers until it dried out and crumbled when they got around to using it on New Year’s Eve to impress him.
Not that she was trying to impress him. He knocked again. Gwen threw down the lip liner, slashed at her mouth with lipstick and hurried to the door, then slowed when she realized he wasn’t going anywhere—she had the car keys, after all.
Speaking of…where had she put her purse? Right, back in the bedroom so she could exchange her leather carryall for a petite evening bag that was basically useless. She was just going to her mother’s, but Alec would see her and Gwen had some pride, misplaced though it was.
He knocked again.
“All right! I heard you the first time you banged on the door!” He must be eager to see Stephanie.
Irritated, Gwen flung open the door. “You’re just going to have to wait until I get my purse and a jack—”
Hands shoved in his pockets, Alec lounged against the iron railing at the top of the stairs outside her door. He looked…he looked…well, certainly worthy of lip liner.
He’d done the slicked-back thing with his hair, only on him it looked good. And the tux was…was black and shawl-collared with a shirt so white it hurt to look at it. He wore the traditional black bow tie and his shirt studs had to be a studly onyx and not plastic.
Gwen hung on to the doorknob with a death grip and tried to remember what she’d been saying. It would help if he’d give her a clue, but Alec wasn’t even looking at her. No, judging by the direction of his gaze, he was looking at her…bubbles.
“Nice sweater.” Grinning, Alec raised his eyes to hers. “Very…effervescent.”
“Ha ha.” Gwen straightened. “You have cat hair on your tux.”
“Damn cat.” He spoke with resignation and brushed at his arms.
“Pant leg,” Gwen pointed. “Come in and I’ll get you some masking tape.”
“Why?” He followed her in and shut the door.
Gwen ignored her wobbly legs and took off for the kitchen. “For the cat hair.”
She rummaged around in her kitchen drawer and brought him the roll of tape. “Wrap it around your hand sticky side out.”
“Wouldn’t it make sense to invest in a lint brush?”
“I have a lint brush, but I don’t want cat hair in it.”
Alec smiled in a worldly amused way and wrapped his hand in the tape.
It was so not fair. He looked fabulous and she could only aspire to cute with slightly risqué bubbles. And then only if she slouched.
While Alec removed all traces of Armageddon, Gwen went back to the bedroom, packed the tiny purse and found her trench coat. It was khaki and didn’t go with her outfit. Why was she only thinking of that now? On the other hand, was it really cold enough for a jacket? What had she worn last year? Probably the trench coat.
Her car had a heater. She’d just ditch the coat.
Then she remembered that she needed an overnight bag which would really spoil her look, but she no longer cared. If she took too much more time, then Alec would come looking for her and the thought of Alec in her bedroom… She refused to entertain thoughts of Alec in her bedroom.
Alec was still in her kitchen disposing of the makeshift lint brush in the trash can under the sink. “So how do I look? Any more cat hair?” He held out his arms and turned around.
Gwen stuck her nose in the air. “Absolutely fab, dahling. Seriously, you look great—like you’re wearing Armani.”
A beat went by. Something about the expression on his face… Gwen cringed inwardly. “You are wearing Armani, aren’t you?”
“I got a great deal.” Alec took her overnight satchel from her. “I paid fifteen bucks for it yesterday afternoon. Got it from a guy who found it hanging in the back of his closet.” He held open the door for her.
“What luck.” Without meeting his eyes, Gwen waited until he was outside, locked the door and handed him the keys.
Alec stood staring at them as they lay in his palm reflecting the multicolored blinking from her neighbor’s Christmas lights.
Maybe she should have taken the Scooby-Doo in a Santa hat off the key ring. Gwen wondered if Stephanie liked Scooby-Doo. “Sorry, my Rolls is in the shop. It needed an oil change.”
He didn’t even crack a smile. “I appreciate this, Gwen.” Gesturing for her to precede him down the stairs, he muttered something that sounded like, “I hope Stephanie does,” but Gwen couldn’t be sure.
Alec was in a strange mood. As he drove her to her parents’ house, he smiled and joked back at her, but there wasn’t any zing to it.

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