Hunk for the Holidays (7 page)

Now that it was his turn to speak, James wasn’t sure he could. Not with four pairs of intense green eyes pinned to him. He cleared his throat three times before he could get anything out.

“I realize how special Cassandra is. I realized that the first time I met her.” The first time he’d met her, he did think she was special. Of course, her satin underwear and purse filled with condoms had helped sway his opinion. But he wasn’t about to let that slip. He liked living too much. Living with no cracked ribs or broken arms.

He cleared his throat again. “Not only is she beautiful, but she’s intelligent and funny.”

“Funny?” Matt looked confused. “Since when has Cass been funny?”

“She was funny when she tried to jump her tricycle over that ramp Jake and I made.” Rory laughed. “But you were too young to remember that. You were still clinging to Mom’s skirts.”

“I never clung to Mom’s skirts.”

“Yes, you did. You were the biggest Mama’s boy I’ve ever seen,” Jake stated. “But Cass breaking her arm wasn’t exactly funny, Rory.”

“No, but a flying red tricycle was.”

“Could we get back to threatening her new boyfriend?” Patrick grumbled.

“Are you her boyfriend?” Rory asked.

“Yes,” James said. He wasn’t, but he wanted to be.

Jake studied him. “You’re older than the others.”

Shit. He was starting to get a complex. Lance and Rod might not have better equipment, but from the sound of things it was newer.

“Could we get on with it?” Patrick’s scowl had deepened to something close to a snarl.

“Right.” Jake nodded at James. “You were saying?”

With all the banter, it took James a second to remember what he’d been saying. “I think Cassandra is special, too. And I have no intention of doing anything to harm her.”
Except maybe lie through my teeth so I’ll get to hang out with her long enough to eventually get her into bed.
God, he probably did need his ass kicked. Fortunately, her brothers couldn’t read minds.

Though he didn’t smile, Jake relinquished his pinched look and stuck out a hand. “So I hear you’re an architect.”

Before James could reply, Matthew butted in. “That’s it? You guys made me come all the way out here, freezing my ass off, just to get him to say that he thought Cassie was special?” He turned and trudged back up the path. “What dumbasses.”

“Don’t mind him.” Rory shook his hand. “He just wants to get back inside to all the women.” He shivered in the cold. “Which isn’t a bad idea.”

Jake nodded and rubbed his hands together. “I agree. Let’s finish this conversation inside.”

James took a step to follow, but was stopped by a hand on his shoulder. A very strong and persuasive hand. It seemed that Patrick wasn’t so easily assuaged.

“Let me make things a little clearer for you.” Patrick stepped around in front of him. “Mess with my sister and I’ll mess with you.” Not waiting for a reply, he turned and tromped after his brothers.

James followed, but at a safe distance.

Maybe he should skip looking in the trash cans and take things a little slower.

Chapter Five

A my Walker finished unloading the last set of glasses from the tray, then grabbed a sponge and quickly wiped the cracker crumbs off the granite countertop. She knew she shouldn’t be in the kitchen wiping off counters and cleaning up dirty glasses. Especially when this wasn’t even her house. And when there were company employees she should be helping to entertain. And when the Hillshires had hired plenty of caterers and waitstaff.

But she couldn’t seem to help herself. When she was upset or nervous, she cleaned, straightened, and organized anything and everything she could get her hands on. During college finals week, she reorganized her entire apartment. From the refrigerator to the closets in her daughter’s Barbie Dream House. Those tiny plastic shoes had been a real bitch. Then, armed with one of Gabby’s old toothbrushes, she had scrubbed every crack and crevice until
the apartment had sparkled. Until her nerves calmed down. Until she got back to being levelheaded Amy.

Except this time, it didn’t seem to be working. In the last two months, she could’ve served soup out of the porcelain toilets in her house, but she didn’t feel the least bit better. Her stomach still felt as if it were filled with helium, and her heart still felt like it was being squeezed by a giant fist.

“I can get that, ma’am,” one of the caterers said as she moved up behind her. “I don’t want you to get that beautiful dress dirty.” The woman held her hand out for the sponge.

For a second, Amy thought about refusing her. She needed the sponge much more than the caterer did. It made her feel useful and gave her a place to hide from the one person who was behind her frenzied emotions.

Rory McPherson.

Making one last-ditch effort, she smiled hopefully at the woman. “I thought you might need some help. I used to wait tables.”

The caterer glanced around the kitchen at the six or seven people jockeying for position as they filled champagne glasses and serving trays. “Thanks, but I think we have it covered.” She lifted a glass of champagne from one of the trays and handed it to her. “Go enjoy yourself.”

“Right.” Amy took the glass and started to walk away when the woman called after her.

“The sponge.”

Shrugging innocently, she handed it back. The woman shook her head before tossing the sponge in the sink and going back to the bowl of peeled shrimp.

Amy turned and walked out of the kitchen. She really needed to get a grip. So what if Rory McPherson was back? And divorced? And gorgeous? What difference did it make? It wasn’t like she had any feelings for him.

She stopped in the hall to straighten a painting.

At least, not anymore.

There was a time when she first started working for M & M that Rory McPherson had been her number one fantasy man. He was tall with strawberry-blond hair, deep green eyes, and a smile that could make a woman melt at his feet. He was mature. So much more mature than all the high school boys she was used to. And a heck of a lot more mature than Luke, Gabby’s father. After the first few months of being tongue-tied every time he spoke to her, Amy had relaxed and discovered she could talk to Rory about anything and everything.

Especially about Gabby.

Rory didn’t look down on Amy for being a single, teen mom. In fact, every time Gabby came to the office, he held her, played with her, and asked all kinds of questions. What did she eat for dinner? Did she sleep the whole night through? Did she love her mom as much as everyone at M & M did? It didn’t take long for Amy to start fantasizing about Rory as the hero who would sweep her off her feet and love her daughter as much as she did.

But reality came in the form of Rory’s very bitchy and beautiful girlfriend who informed Amy in no uncertain terms that Rory was hers and would never be attracted to some trailer trash secretary with a bastard brat. It had made sense. Why
would
a wealthy, attractive, educated man want to marry someone like her? After that, she’d steered
clear of him and spent more time with his little brother, Matthew, whose carefree flirting posed no threat to her emotions. At one point, she actually thought her rejection hurt Rory, but within a month, he had moved to Chicago and was engaged to Tess. Which proved that he wasn’t interested in Amy as anything more than a friend.

Amy ran a finger along the picture frame, removing any dust. But that didn’t mean Tess was completely right. Amy wasn’t trailer trash. She was a hardworking, intelligent woman who deserved a good man.

“There you are.”

She turned as Derek stepped out into the hallway from the library.

“I’ve been looking all over for you,” he said.

She wiped her finger off on her dress and held up the glass of champagne. “I went to the kitchen to find another drink and stopped to chat with one of the caterers.”

He smiled, his very charming and brilliantly white smile. Derek had a great toothbrush. The kind with big bristles and a smooth handle that would work great for cleaning out tiny little crevices. For a second, she wondered if he carried it with him. The second right before he took her hand and pulled her into his arms.

“I need to talk to you.”

It was strange, but she always felt claustrophobic in his arms. Sort of like she wanted to claw her way out. It was ridiculous; Derek was barely taller than she was in heels. She could get away from him anytime she wanted. Couldn’t she?

Amy forced her paranoia down and smiled at him. “Talk away.”

“Not here.” He took her hand and led her down the hallway. “I found a perfect spot.”

She followed him through the kitchen. The caterer glanced up, and Amy toasted her with the champagne as if to say, “I took your advice, and I’m enjoying myself.” But the woman had obviously put her in the category of the rich and weird. She ignored her and went back to her shrimp.

Derek pulled her into the conservatory, around the fountain, and over to a table and chairs. “Here we are.” He pulled out a chair, then waited for her to sit down before taking the chair across from her.

Amy looked around at the large potted plants. She hated the way greenhouses smelled. Like mildew. Could you Clorox a greenhouse or would it kill all the plants?

“Aimers,” Derek said.

And she hated that nickname; it sounded like a hunting club. Maybe Lysol would work better. Lysol didn’t kill anything except germs. And weren’t germs bad for plants?

“I think it’s time we got married.”

His statement pulled her away from her compulsive behavior.

“What?” She stared at him.

The look on his face was amused and almost superior. “I think it’s time we got married.”

“Oh,” she said.

It was a foolish thing to say. But then she didn’t know what else to say. They had talked about marriage, and she had planned on getting married. Eventually. But just not now. Not when her stomach hurt and her heart ached. Not
when she couldn’t seem to come to grips with the fact Rory McPherson was back and meaner than a rattlesnake. Not when her flatware drawer still needed to be cleaned.

“Oh?” Derek said. “That’s all you can say? How do you feel about this?”

She tried to think. “Well, I feel… scared.” She hadn’t meant to blurt it out, but there it was.

Derek laughed as he took her clammy hand. “I can relate to that. I’m a little scared too. But we’ve talked about it, and I think it’s time to forge ahead. Gabby will be going into third grade next year, and she needs the stability of a father and a home.”

He was right. She knew he was right. But why didn’t it feel right? And why wasn’t she a little more excited about the prospect of becoming his wife?

She smiled because she knew she had a great smile. It was a smile that could sometimes make men forget what they were talking about. Unfortunately, this time it didn’t work.

“So what do you say?” he asked.

The smile died. She cleared her throat and then took a deep breath. “Well—I think we should—”

His cell phone chirped out the Texas A & M fight song, which Amy had always thought was a little strange considering he had been out of college for close to ten years. As usual when his phone rang, he excused himself and walked away before he answered it. He either had great cell phone etiquette or another girlfriend. Surprisingly, the latter didn’t really bother her. It should, but it didn’t. Just like it didn’t bother her that he answered the phone at all while proposing. Derek loved his cell phone.
And, at the moment, Amy loved it almost as much as he did.

Derek looked back at her and held up two fingers. It was a pantomime they’d done before. She nodded and watched as he opened the outside door and stepped out to finish his conversation.

Once he was out of sight, Amy released her breath and sagged back in the chair.

“Saved by the bell.” A deep voice came from somewhere in the green foliage to her right. She instantly recognized the voice and wasn’t surprised when Rory stepped out from behind a bushy plant with bright red flowers.

“Or should I say by a fight song?” He stood there, staring down at her with a look she couldn’t read. His mouth was tipped up in an amused smile, but his eyes were dark and angry.

Amy really wanted to come up with a clever reply, but obviously, tonight was just not her night for sterling conversation. Instead, she lowered her eyes and stared at the toes of his black dress shoes. Derek’s shoes were Dolce & Gabbana and had probably been picked out by his personal shopper. She would bet Rory had purchased his own without one thought to designer labels.

“You surprise me.” He paused, then snidely added, “Aimers. I thought the owner of Terrell Steel would have enough money to satisfy even you. And yet you didn’t jump at the chance to get your hands on some of it. Why is that? Hoping Trump will get divorced again?”

She looked up at him. Her insides might be trembling like a scared rabbit’s, but she refused to let him know that.
“No, Donald just doesn’t do it for me. It’s the whole hair thing.”

A smile tipped one corner of his mouth. “You could use those big, brown eyes of yours to convince him to cut it.”