The Makeover Takeover Page 9

  She fought to keep her expression blank. She resisted the urge to shift in her chair or yank the hem of her emerald knit dress down over her knees. She subdued the need to fiddle with the tiny black buttons at her breast to make sure they were still securely fastened.

  Instead, she kept her eyes fixed on the row of numbers marching across the page. Until finally—thankfully!—his attention returned to the contract in his hand.

  Lauren breathed a silent sigh of relief. She continued staring down at the report on her lap, but her mind kept revolving around Rafe and the new game he was playing.

  Ever since that kiss two days ago, things had changed between them. She’d told him she didn’t want to be one of his women, and he seemed to have accepted that with good grace. On the surface, he appeared to be complying with her decision to keep things platonic between them.

  The only problem was, words like accept and comply weren’t even in Rate’s vocabulary. As for good grace— ha! It wasn’t like him not to mention that kiss—to tease her about it a little. But he hadn’t. Not once.

  At first, she’d thought that was a good thing. She’d been grateful he hadn't brought it up. But then she’d realized he’d launched a more covert campaign. These last couple of days, tension hummed in the air whenever he was near her. She’d catch him looking at her with an unsettling expression in his eyes. She felt like the poor goat in that dinosaur movie, tethered to a stake in a jungle clearing, knowing there was danger just beyond the trees but unable to do anything but wait for the predator to pounce.

  Okay, she had to admit, a small secret part of her was flattered by his sudden interest, but a larger, far wiser part was appalled and alarmed. It had been hard enough fighting her weakness for Rafe when he wasn’t paying any attention to her. It was doubly—triply!—hard to fight it when he kept sending hungry glances her way.

  He had to stop it. Immediately. If she'd learned anything these past couple of weeks—besides how to coordinate her clothes—she'd learned she had to stop herself from making foolish choices, to guard her own heart. She'd changed; but Rafe hadn't. The only thing that was different was his reaction to her new look.

  He still wasn’t the kind of man who fell in love. He still didn’t believe in marriage or forever. In all respects, he was still totally the wrong man to get involved with.

  So, as far as she was concerned, he needed to keep his distance. He could just go direct those “I-want-you-bad” glances at some other woman. Refill his whole address book with more Nancys, Amys and Maureens.

  And, since ignoring him didn't seem to be getting the message across that she just wasn't interested, she’d simply have to say it straight out.

  The old Lauren quailed at the thought of trying to discuss such a delicate subject. The new Lauren straightened her shoulders with staunch determination. “Rafe?”

  “Hmm?” He didn’t look up from his report.

  “About that kiss…”

  For a moment he didn’t move. Then slowly he raised his head until his brown eyes locked with hers. He stared at her with an unreadable expression.

  “You know—the one the other day,” she stumbled on, unnerved by his uncharacteristic silence—then mentally berated herself. Darn! That sounded as if they kissed constantly. She drew a deep breath, and continued more firmly, “I think that we should discuss it.”

  His dark brows lifted, and he set the contract down on his desk. He smiled—a small, intrigued smile that made her toes curl in her new leather boots. “You want to discuss our kiss?”

  She nodded decisively, secretly stretching her toes again. “Yes—yes, I do.”

  “All right. I’m willing to do that.” He rose to his feet, and moved around his desk. He stood next to it for a second, his hands shoved into his pockets. Then slowly he began circling her chair.

  Lauren stiffened, resisting the urge to bleat in protest as he paced around her.

  “Where should we start?” he mused, pausing next to her to rub his chin. “Maybe with how good you tasted?”

  Heat rose in her face. “No! I meant—”

  “Should we talk about that soft little sound you made when I stroked your—

  “No!”

  “—back?” He met her glare with an innocent look.

  She jumped to her feet to confront him. “Of course I don’t want to discuss—any of that. I just wanted to tell you that while it was… nice—it meant nothing.”

  “Nice?”

  She nodded. “I think we should just forget about it.”

  “You brought the kiss up to tell me to forget it?”

  “Yes,” she said firmly. “I want to make sure you understand that it can’t happen again.”

  “I see.” Rafe studied her thoughtfully. “You don’t think we’re missing a great opportunity here? To get to know each other better?”

  “I know you as well as I want to.”

  “Is that so?” he said in a skeptical tone. “Are you saying you didn’t feel anything more than ‘nice’ when you were in my arms?”

  Lauren wanted to say yes. She knew she didn’t dare. It would be just like Rafe to call her on the lie. “Maybe. A little more,” she temporized. “But just because you took me by surprise.”

  He took a step toward her, his eyes darkening. “Maybe we should try it again.”

  She hastily moved back. “Certainly not! As I said, it’s never, ever going to happen again.”

  He watched her for a long moment while Lauren fought to keep her expression firm, her knees from going weak, before finally returning to his chair.

  Slowly releasing the breath she’d been holding, Lauren sat down also. He picked up the contract again, and she started to relax.

  Until he said without looking at her, “Don’t be too sure of that, Lauren. Never-ever can be a long, long time.”

  Patience, Rafe knew, was a virtue. But he’d never been big in the virtue department—especially when he wanted something.

  And he definitely wanted Lauren.

  But for several days following her announcement that they were never going to kiss again, he kept everything strictly professional between them. They worked next to each other, discussed contracts, mergers and meetings, and he acted as if nothing had ever happened. He let Lauren maintain a careful distance between them without showing that it bothered him in the least.

  But it did.

  The most innocent brush of her fingers on his. the slide of silk when she crossed her legs, the subtle scent of her new perfume—all were driving him crazy. Hell, he couldn’t even listen to her assess stock options in her serious little voice without wanting to drag her across his desk and show her what a “nice” kiss really felt like.

  So here he was, four nights later, standing at her door at seven in the evening with intentions that were anything but professional.

  He knocked, rubbed his hands against the cold and knocked again. A few seconds later, Lauren opened it.

  This time she wasn’t wearing a faded sweat suit but a silky blue blouse that darkened her eyes and black pants that made her legs look impossibly long and slender. And this time there wasn’t a welcoming smile on her face but a frown as her gaze met his.

  “Now, give me a chance to explain,” he said, before she could speak. “I’m not here to bug you—and I don’t want to fight. I was just out walking my tree, and when we passed your place, I thought you wouldn’t mind giving it a glass of water.”

  He’d mentioned to her after lunch that he’d pick up a tree after work and bring it over, but she’d politely refused I his offer, telling him she’d already made arrangements with friends.

  He hadn’t believed her. He still didn’t. And when he’d seen a small pine, apparently abandoned on a deserted tree lot, he’d known immediately that she would like it. Lauren would never turn away a stray.

  But for a long moment—definitely long enough to make him wonder if he’d underestimated the strength of her resistance—she simply stood in the doorway, studying his f
ace.

  Then her gaze shifted to the tree by his side… and Rafe knew he had her.

  She glanced up at him again, a reluctant smile tugging at her lips. “Oh, Rafe. Where did you find the poor thing?” She opened the door wider in a silent invitation to enter.

  Tension eased in his chest. She liked it—just as he’d known she would. He pretended to be offended as he picked up his tree again to bring it inside. “Hey—back off. I’ll have you know this is a Chicago tree, city-born and -raised. You have to admit, it’s definitely a pine with some attitude.”

  “Attitude is right,” she agreed, looking it over. The tree was only five feet tall—but it was also five feet wide. Its lopsided branches spread out in a pugnacious way as he attempted to cram it through the door. It wasn’t that the tree was too large to fit, Lauren decided, it simply appeared determined not to enter. Rafe would bend one stubborn branch, only to have another jump out and catch at the frame. The scent of pine, crisp winter cold and muttered curses soon filled the air.

  “Maybe you should set it free,” she suggested, rubbing her arms to warm them as she stayed out of the way. “It doesn’t seem to want to be domesticated.”

  “It’s going to be—whether it wants to or not.” Rafe swore beneath his breath again as a branch whipped across his face and scratched his cheek.

  “No, stay back,” he ordered, as Lauren moved closer to try to help. “I’ve wrestled these things before—in the marines,” he elaborated, in an attempt to make her smile. When he succeeded, he smiled himself, feeling a glow of warmth spreading inside him.

  He finally managed to get the tree through the door, and she quickly shut out the cold. She held the tree for him, struggling not to let it fall, as Rafe shrugged out of his coat and suit jacket, and rolled up his sleeves. He took it back from her, and holding the pine upright in her small hall, shook the snow off its branches. A few needles fell on her wooden floor as well.

  “It does need a drink,” he conceded. “Why don’t you go get your tree stand? I think once we get this thing in water, it’ll be fairly well subdued.”

  Lauren went over to some boxes she’d piled in a corner of her living room, and extracted a tree stand—the same one he’d bought her two years ago, Rafe noticed in silent approval. She’d already begun decorating for Christmas, he saw as he glanced around. Red-and-white-striped candles lined her mantel, a wooden reindeer lay curled by a large basket on her hearth. The scent of cinnamon mixed with—he sniffed—could it be sugar cookies? mingled with the scent of pine.

  He took the stand and kept her busy helping him hold the tree up, pouring water in at the base. He didn’t want to give her time to remember he wasn’t her favorite person at the moment.

  “Now that the tree has a drink, how about me?” He looked at her hopefully after they got the tree in the stand.

  “Something hot or cold?”

  “Something hot would be nice.”

  Lauren felt her pulse leap as Rafe’s gaze dropped to her mouth. “I’ll make some tea,” she said quickly and hurried out of the room.

  Why had she let him in? she asked herself as she took a cup out of the cupboard and slammed the door shut. Why was it so hard to say no to the man?

  She filled the cup with water and shoved it in the microwave. What she should have said was, “It’s a lovely gesture, Rafe, but no thank you.” Did he think he could just waltz in here with a tree, and she’d fall helplessly at his feet like—like those pine needles? She took the cup back out. Just because he’d done something so sweet, so charming, so—

  She yanked open the tea canister. Well, she wouldn’t give in. She wasn’t a fool. She dunked a tea bag—up and down, up and down—in the water, then tossed the bag in the trash. Picking up the cup and a tray of appetizers she’d made earlier, she marched into the living room—and slowed to a stop.

  Rafe was lying on his stomach on her living-room floor, tightening the tree stand, his head almost buried beneath the tree’s branches. Helplessly, her gaze traveled over his long legs, up past his flat masculine butt, to his wide shoulders. The muscles in his back and biceps strained against his shirt as he twisted the clamp tighter on that broad, belligerent, beautiful pine.

  Lauren bit her lip and looked away.

  “I’d better get out my ornaments,” she said huskily, setting the cup and platter down on the coffee table.

  “Oh, yeah. That reminds me…” Rafe climbed out from under the tree and stood up, briskly wiping his hands together. “I left something in the car.”

  With a few quick strides he headed out the door. If she knew what was good for her, she’d bar and lock it behind him, Lauren thought crossly. But instead she watched from the doorway as he raced down the steps, took something from his trunk, then bounded up the stairs again, two at a time.

  He wasn't even breathing hard when he reached her. Shutting the door behind him, he handed her two packages. “What are these?” She looked at them in surprise.

  “Your Christmas presents.”

  She glanced at him suspiciously. “You’ve never given me presents before.”

  “So, this is a first.” He widened his eyes in mock innocence. “They’re just a couple things I picked up while I was out shopping.”

  “Shopping?” she repeated. “You?”

  “I may not shop as creatively as you,” Rafe said wryly, remembering her most recent shopping spree—the one that had almost gotten him killed, “but I do my best. C’mon, Lauren, it’s no big deal. Open them.”

  As he’d hoped, her curiosity overcame her misgivings. She went into the living room and he followed. Leaning his shoulder against the doorjamb, he crossed his arms as he watched her.

  She sat on the couch and placed the smaller present next to her. Setting the larger on her lap, she carefully untaped the silver foil paper, then folded it before laying it neatly aside. She opened the flat wooden box.

  “A chess set!” Lauren looked down at the pieces neatly lining the case. Half were in clear crystal, the other half in frosted glass. “They’re wonderful, Rafe…” She glanced up at him. “…but I don’t know how to play.”

  “I’ll teach you.”

  The husky note in his deep voice—the promise in his eyes—made Lauren drop her gaze. With an incomprehensible murmur of thanks, she set the box aside.

  Thankful to have something to distract her from his intent stare, she unwrapped the second present. This time the box beneath the foil was white cardboard. She opened it— then gasped, her lips parting in wonder. “Oh, Rafe…”

  Cradled in a cloud of pink tissue was a tree-top angel. Carefully, Lauren lifted her free of the box.

  The angel’s gown was exquisite. Like a white lace snowflake, it drifted around the small body, draping arms that were outstretched in joy.

  Golden hair framed the angel’s creamy porcelain face. Her painted eyes were blue, her cheeks were tinted a delicate pink. Her rosy lips curved up in a gentle smile that looked appealingly human for such a heavenly little being.

  Just looking at her made Lauren smile, too. She swallowed a lump in her throat and touched a finger to one tiny hand. “She’s beautiful, Rafe,” she said huskily.

  “I’m glad you like her,” Rafe replied. And he meant it. The happiness on Lauren’s face pleased him more than he expected. As soon as he’d caught sight of the angel looking down on him from a tree in a store window downtown, he’d thought of her. He’d immediately bought it, glad to find something she’d enjoy.

  Especially since she’d worked so hard on his present.

  For the past two days—while she was busy ignoring him—he’d reviewed everything that had happened recently, trying to pinpoint exactly where he’d gone wrong in his dealings with her lately. He’d thought hardest about the evening all the trouble had started—the first evening he’d come over to her house. And suddenly he’d remembered the sweater she’d been knitting.

  He’d been too preoccupied to think much about it then, but over the past two days he'
d thought about it a lot.

  It had been big. Too big for a woman. It might be for her new friend Jay, but he didn’t think so. Dark brown was a color Rafe wore often—the same color as the scarf she’d made for him last year. Adding all the evidence together, he'd become almost positive that she'd been making it for him. She’d gone to a lot of trouble, knitting a sweater like that, and he didn’t want to deprive her of the joy of giving it to him. But realizing that she might feel awkward about handing it over with everything that had happened lately, he decided to make it easier for her.

  “Don't you have something for me?’’ he urged, in a broad hint.

  “Oh! Oh, yes, I do.” Reluctantly, she set down the angel, then rose and walked over to an end table by a chair. A pile of wrapped gifts were stacked there. Small gifts, Rafe noticed with a slight frown. Way too small to be a sweater, and all approximately the same size.

  She picked one at random, and handed it to him. He opened it up. A gold pen was inside.

  He looked up at her. “A pen?”

  “Don’t you like it?”

  “Yeah, yeah—it’s great, it’s just—” He frowned. “Wasn’t that sweater you were making for me?”

  Her eyes shifted, as if she was going to lie. But then she admitted stiffly, “It was. But I changed my mind.”

  Aha! Triumph surged through Rafe making him almost light-headed. So she had made it for him! “C’mon, Laurie,” he coaxed. “It's not fair to change your mind and not give it to me. I'd really like it.”

  Lauren stared at his amused eyes for a moment, then her gaze dropped to the confident smile on his mouth. “All right,” she said woodenly. “Then you can have it.”

  She walked over to a basket on her hearth and pulled out a big brown ball. She tossed it to him.

  Rafe caught it automatically, and stared down at the yarn ball in surprise. “This is my sweater?”

  “I made a mistake while knitting it. I corrected the error.”

  “That was some mistake,” Rafe said dryly, “and some correction.”