She experienced a slight twinge of guilt that she was going to let him buy her lunch and then never see him again, until she reminded herself that she’d tried—several times—to decline his invitation but he’d been insistent.
The next day, Rachel followed his directions into a residential part of the exclusive neighborhood. It turned out that the address he’d given for Chez Henri wasn’t a restaurant at all but a two-story Georgian-style home.
She might have thought she’d written the address down incorrectly except that she recognized his Infiniti in the driveway. That was when she suspected that he’d kept more secrets from her than the existence of his child. He’d said he was a carpenter, but the gorgeous home in this exclusive neighborhood suggested that he might be connected to a multimillion-dollar furniture company.
* * *
He hadn’t been sure she would come. Despite her agreement, Andrew suspected that as soon as Rachel turned onto Evergreen Trail and realized there were no restaurants in sight, she might turn around again. But because he was watching through the window, he saw the lime-green Fiesta slow down in front of his house, then stop in the middle of the road.
He opened the front door and stepped outside, and after about half a minute, the car pulled into the driveway.
He walked down the flagstone path to meet her. Spring had finally started to show signs of its arrival, and the sight of the crocuses poking their heads up through the soil almost made him forget the frigid temperatures of a few weeks earlier. Then Rachel got out of her car, and he found an even-better reason to appreciate the warmer weather.
She was wearing a skirt. A softly flowing number in pale pink that swirled around her knees and drew his attention downward to deliciously slender calves and ankles. Over the skirt she wore a long-sleeved ivory top that dipped low at the front and tied at the side. Her feet were tucked into natural-colored pumps that added a couple inches to her height.
His gaze skimmed over her again, from top to bottom, and if he hadn’t been so distracted by the mouthwatering sight of her shapely legs as she made her way toward him, he might have seen the steely glint in her eyes and anticipated her mood.
“Chez Henri?” she queried.
“Henry is my middle name,” he explained.
“Any relation to Henry Garrett, of the furniture company?”
“My grandfather,” he admitted.
“You’re one of the Garrett Furniture Garretts,” she said, somehow making the words an accusation rather than a statement.
He nodded. “Yes, I am.”
“Which proves that I really am an idiot.” She shook her head. “I knew your last name was Garrett, but it never occurred to me that you might have any connection to Garrett Furniture.”
“Can we talk about this inside?” he suggested, because so long as she remained standing in his driveway, he knew she was thinking about getting back in her car and driving away.
She didn’t respond to his question. Instead, she said, “We used the company as a case study in one of my business courses in college. Garrett Furniture was cited as an example of a small company that proved it was possible to grow and change and continue to be successful while still employing local people.”
“My father will be pleased to hear that,” he said. “But what I told you was the truth—I am a carpenter.”
“For Garrett Furniture.”
He shrugged. “It seemed disloyal to apply for a job somewhere else.”
She didn’t crack a smile. “I don’t know you at all.”
“You do,” he insisted. “My connection to Garrett Furniture doesn’t change anything. I just wanted a chance to get to know you without all the other stuff getting in the way.”
“Other stuff?” she echoed, her tone filled with disbelief. “Would that other stuff be your job or your daughter? Or are there still other things that I don’t know?”
“No, I think we’ve covered everything.”
“Good.” She nodded and turned back to the driveway.
He caught her arm and gently turned her around to face him again. “You came for lunch,” he reminded her. “I’m not going to let you walk away hungry.”
Rachel wasn’t really hungry, and she knew that the longer she stayed the less likely she was to stick to her plan to say a final goodbye to him.
“I just put the rosemary chicken and potatoes into the oven.”
“You cooked?”
He shook his head. “Sharlene prepped everything for me.”
“Sharlene?”
“My housekeeper.”
“You have a housekeeper,” she said, and wondered why she was surprised. He was one of the Garrett Furniture Garretts—of course he had a housekeeper.
“I hired her after Nina died,” he admitted. “I’m a lousy cook and I didn’t want Maura to starve.”
She let him lead her into the house, even though she knew it was probably a mistake. She shouldn’t be here. She was happy with her life: she was a partner in a successful business—nothing even close to the scale of Garrett Furniture, but definitely holding its own—she lived in a nice if small apartment with a great view of Memorial Park, and she’d recently made the last payment on her car. Yes, she had a good life, but it didn’t belong anywhere near his world.
A truth that became even clearer when she followed him down the wide hallway, peering into the doorways of the rooms they passed. Her first impression was that his house was surprisingly homey. It wasn’t overdone or ostentatious, but the art on the walls and the heirloom carpets on the floor quietly whispered money, a sound that was echoed by the glossy antique tables and richly textured fabrics of the furniture.
And then she stepped into the kitchen.
Acres of glossy cherry-wood cabinets contrasted with miles of mushroom-colored quartz countertops, while the stainless steel handles on the cupboards and drawers coordinated with the top-of-the-line appliances, including a Sub-Zero refrigerator and dual-fuel range with double oven, six burners, charbroiler and griddle.
“You like to cook, don’t you?” Andrew’s voice was tinged with amusement.
She tore her gaze from the Rolls-Royce of ranges to look at him. “How can you tell?”
“You have that slightly glazed look in your eye that Jordyn gets whenever she comes in here.”
Rachel smiled, but the truth was, she didn’t just like to cook—she loved to cook and entertain. Unfortunately, neither was easy to do in her miniscule kitchen with basic amenities. In the limited space of her apartment, it was an accomplishment to put out cheese and crackers for half a dozen friends. If she was ever let loose in a kitchen like this, she was confident that she could put together a six-course meal for twice as many people.
“Whatever you paid for this house, I’d say it was worth it just for the kitchen,” Rachel told him.
He chuckled and reached into the wine cooler—yes, there was actually a wine cooler built into the island—and pulled out a bottle of Riesling.
“I guess I did luck out. The previous owners, both serious chefs, had just completed the remodel when they found out the wife’s company was transferring her to Singapore.”
“That’s quite the transfer.”
He nodded. “They were motivated sellers.”
“How long have you been here?”
“Almost two years.” He showed her the label on the bottle. “Is this okay?”
She nodded, her thoughts on the timing of his move more than the wine. Somehow the realization that he hadn’t shared this house with his wife helped her relax a little.
He deftly uncorked the bottle then poured the pale liquid into two elegant crystal glasses. She accepted the glass he offered, took a tiny sip, wary of the effect of any amount of alcohol on her already-precarious emotional state.
He checked the timer on the oven, then took her free hand and led her into the living room. Or maybe it was a parlor. She didn’t think a house like his would have something as commonplace as a living room. Whatever it was called, it was warm and inviting.
There was a marble fireplace on one wall, flanked by tall windows covered in heavy brocade drapes. Flames crackled in the hearth, filling the room with warmth and light. It smelled pleasantly of leather and wood smoke with an underlying hint of lemon polish.
The longest wall boasted a couple of paintings, vibrantly colored landscapes in thick frames. Probably original works, undoubtedly valuable. But there were also photographs scattered around, mostly of Maura at various ages, some professionally posed shots but many more candid ones.
Rachel moved closer to the fire to look at the trio of frames on the hearth. The first was a picture of Maura blowing bubbles through a wand. The second was Maura bundled up in a snowsuit beside a snowman that was nearly twice as big as she was. The third was of Andrew and Maura, sitting on a dock by the water, their feet dangling over the edge.
She took another sip of her wine and moved away from the fire.
“I know I screwed up,” he said to her now. “But I’m asking for another chance.”
“I can’t be with someone who won’t be honest with me,” she told him.
He took her glass from her hand and set it on the table beside his. “Maybe I held back,” he admitted. “Maybe I wanted to see if you were really interested in me for me and not my connection to the business.”
She wanted to be offended that he would even think such a thing, but the truth was, he didn’t know her well enough to know that his financial status wasn’t a factor. So she could understand why he might have been reticent to disclose the truth about who he was. But—
“Why were you interested in me?”
She hadn’t intended to speak the question out loud, but it had been churning in her mind since she’d pulled up in front of his house and realized exactly who he was, and it came spilling out now.
“You could have any woman you wanted—why do you want
me?
”
Chapter Eight
A
ndrew took a step closer, so that she was trapped between the couch at her back and his body in front. Then he leaned in, until his lips hovered just a few inches above hers. He lifted a hand, touched his fingertips to the pulse beneath her ear, then skimmed them down her throat, over her collarbone. Rachel’s heart was pounding hard and fast, and he knew it.
“You’re right,” he finally said. “I probably could have any woman I wanted. That’s not ego but fact, because most of the women I’ve gone out with don’t really want me—they want access to the Garrett fortune and the lifestyle it can buy.”
“And you thought I might be one of them?”
“Not once I got to know you,” he assured her. “But the more I got to know you, the more I enjoyed being with you without my name getting in the way. It was...liberating.
“And the more I got to know you, the more I wanted you. I don’t know if it was the sparkle in your eyes or the warmth in your smile that first got to me. I only know that I don’t want any woman but you.”
It was undeniably flattering, being the focus of his attention. It was also a little scary, because she knew that he meant it. Scarier still was the fact that she only wanted him.
“I started dating about six months ago—not because I was looking for a relationship but because I wanted to get my brothers off my back, to prove to them that I wasn’t still grieving for Nina.
“I had a lot of first dates in those six months, but not one that I wanted to follow up with a second date. Until you.
“I was attracted to some of those other women, but I never wanted to take any one of them to my bed. Until you.”
She swallowed. He was barely touching her, just the lightest caress of his fingertips over her skin. Just enough to make her want more.
She wanted him to kiss her; she wanted his hands on her, so that her mind would so completely cloud with lust that she wouldn’t be able to think of all the reasons that this was a bad idea. But mostly she just wanted.
He brushed his lips against hers. It was the barest hint of a kiss, but still her knees trembled and her body yearned.
“But if you want me to back off, tell me that you don’t want me as much as I want you.”
She wanted to tell him exactly that, but he would know it was a lie. She did want him, every bit as much as he wanted her. What she didn’t want was to have her heart broken again, but she knew that even if she ended it right now, she wasn’t going to walk away unscathed.
“Wanting is the easy part,” she said.
“Wanting you has been keeping me awake at night for weeks.” He whispered the words against her mouth, then nibbled on the plump curve of her bottom lip. Her eyes closed, and a soft, needy sound whimpered in her throat.
He deepened the kiss, sliding his tongue between her lips. The distinctive male flavor went to her head more quickly than the wine. She lifted her hands to his chest, curled her fingers into his shirt for balance as the world tilted and spun. As he continued to kiss her, the wall she’d been trying to build between them crumbled.
He found the tie of her sweater at her waist, tugged the knot free. The fabric parted easily, and his hands dipped inside, stroking up her torso. His palms were rough, and the contrast against her bare skin made her shiver.
He eased his mouth from hers to trail kisses along her jaw, down her throat. His mouth was hot and wet on her flesh, his teeth scraped over her collarbone, his tongue traced the satin edging of her demi-cup bra. He tugged one of the straps down her arm, freeing her breast so that he could take her nipple in his mouth and suckle deeply. She felt moisture pool between her thighs, and the sharp ache of desire spread through her body. Her fingers sifted through his hair to cup the back of his head, holding him against her breast, wordlessly urging him to continue the exquisite pleasure.
His other hand moved under her skirt, over the silky nylons to the scalloped edge of her stay-up stockings. His fingers traced over the lacy detail, slowly, teasingly, until she shivered. “Andrew.”
“Tell me what you want.”
But she couldn’t speak. She couldn’t even think while he was touching her.
So he decided on his own course, and let his fingertips climb higher, skimming over the bare skin of her thighs, then to the wisp of fabric between them. He stroked a thumb over the satin and groaned when he found the material damp.
She was too aroused to feel embarrassed, and eager to touch him as he was touching her. Her hand slid down the front of his jeans, tracing the shape of his erection through the denim. He was rock-hard, and she trembled in response to this proof of his desire.
She tugged at the button of his pants, but he caught her hand in his and swore softly.
“What’s wrong?”
“I don’t have a condom,” he admitted.
“Please tell me you’re kidding.”
He shook his head. “I didn’t plan on this happening today. I didn’t dare hope.”
She leaned against the back of the couch and blew out an unsteady breath. She knew she should probably be grateful that he’d put the brakes on, but she couldn’t help feeling disappointed.
“How far is the closest drugstore?”
His laughter was strained. “Too far.”
“Damn,” she muttered softly.
He brushed his lips against hers. “I promise that I won’t be unprepared next time.”
The idea of a next time was tempting, but she was still wary.
He took her hand, linked their fingers together. “Come on.”
“Where are we going?”
“I promised you lunch,” he reminded her, and then, almost on cue, the oven timer started to buzz.
* * *
Lunch was the roasted chicken and potatoes that he’d promised, along with a medley of vegetables and a salad of baby greens.
“I wish your housekeeper hadn’t gone to so much trouble preparing lunch.”
“Are you not enjoying it?”
“It’s delicious,” she assured him.
“But now you’re feeling guilty about trying to dump me?” he guessed.
“You have to be in a relationship in order to be dumped,” she pointed out.
“You don’t think we have a relationship?”
“We went out exactly once.”
“Twice.”
“Valentine’s Day wasn’t a date.”
“I asked you to go out and you said yes—to me, that’s a date. Plus we had lunch at your shop, so we’ve actually had three dates.”
“Okay, even if it was two or three dates—that doesn’t make a relationship.”
“What about what almost just happened in the living room?”
“A few dates and incredible chemistry still don’t make a relationship.”
“Why are you so resistant?” he asked. “You told me how close you are to your nephews, so it can’t be that you don’t like kids.”
“I love kids,” she admitted.
“But you don’t like my daughter?”
“I don’t know her,” she pointed out.
“So spend some time with us, get to know her.”
It was the obvious answer, but still she hesitated, unable to trust that he meant what he was saying, that he might actually be willing to let her all the way into his life—and into his daughter’s life. She wanted to believe it, but she was wary. “It’s not that simple.”
“Why does it have to be complicated?”
“Because I don’t do casual relationships,” she admitted. “Even when I think I want to, I don’t know how to hold back. And if I spend time with you—and with Maura—I’m afraid I’ll fall in love with both of you.”
His brows lifted. “You’re afraid of falling in love?”
“I’m afraid of the splat that comes after the falling part.”
“You think I’m going to hurt you?”
“No one ever goes into a relationship thinking that it’s not going to work out.”
“Then you’re acknowledging that this is a relationship?”
She shook her head, equally charmed and frustrated by his persistence. “I’m acknowledging that it could turn into one.”
“I haven’t been in a relationship in a very long time,” he reminded her. “I haven’t wanted to be. But I want to give us a chance.”
She’d have to be an idiot to say no. And not because he was Andrew Garrett of the Garrett Furniture Garretts but because of the way she felt when she was with him. He made her smile and laugh, and he listened when she talked, as if he really cared what she had to say and valued her opinion. Even when they were out in public, he was focused on her, as if she was the only person he wanted to be with. And if the way her body had responded to his touch in the living room was any indication, sex with Andrew would be off the charts.
But was she ready to take their relationship—if it was a relationship—to the next level? Was she ready to open up her heart? Because she’d never been good at sharing her body without giving her heart, and making herself that vulnerable again was a scary prospect.
“What do you say, Rachel?” he prompted.
Yes, opening her heart was scary, but she’d always said that if she was going to have regrets, she’d rather regret something she’d done than an opportunity she’d missed.
“Okay,” she finally agreed.
He bent down to touch his lips to hers again. “And for that, you get dessert.”
* * *
Andrew and Rachel had almost finished the apple caramel cheesecake Sharlene had made for dessert when he heard the front door open. As light footsteps raced down the hall, Rachel’s gaze shifted to meet his. Before he could respond to her unspoken question, Maura skipped into the room.
“I’m home, Daddy,” she announced.
The plan had been for Carol to pick her up from the birthday party when it ended at four o’clock, then he would get her from her grandparents after dinner. He didn’t mind that she was home early, but he wasn’t thrilled about the prospect of introducing his former mother-in-law to Rachel.
And although he wanted Rachel and Maura to spend some time together and get to know one another, he was a little wary. He didn’t doubt that they would hit it off, but he was concerned about tempering his daughter’s expectations. She’d been so excited after meeting Rachel the day before—it was practically the only thing she’d talked about from the time they left the movie theater until he tucked her into bed last night.
He’d wanted to make sure she understood that he and Rachel were going to be dating, but there were no guarantees it would lead to anything more. And if he could figure out some way to convince himself the same thing, even better. But the joy on Maura’s face when she spotted Rachel warned that if he’d hoped to temper her expectations, he was already too late.
She gave him a hug and a kiss on the cheek, then climbed onto an empty chair and smiled shyly at Rachel. “Hi.”
“How was your party?” Rachel asked her.
“It was good. We played games and had pizza and chips and cake.”
“Sounds like fun.”
Maura nodded. “But after the cake, I didn’t feel so good.”
“She wanted to come home because she had a tummy ache,” Carol explained.
“Why didn’t you call me?” Andrew asked his daughter.
“Jolene’s mom said it was easier to take me to Grandma’s.”
“I didn’t mind running her home,” Carol assured him.
And he knew it was true. The Wakefields had always been willing and eager to help out with respect to their only grandchild, and he was usually grateful for their help.
He nodded, but kept his attention focused on his daughter. “Did the cake have strawberry filling?”
She shrugged.
“She has some food sensitivities that she isn’t always careful about,” he explained to Rachel. “Although thankfully nothing severe.”
He turned back to his daughter. “Did it look like it might be strawberry?” he prompted.
“Maybe,” she finally admitted.
He sighed. “Maura.”
She pouted. “I didn’t want to be the only one not having any. And I feel better now.”
“Then you can come back to our house for dinner with me and Grandpa Ed, like we originally planned,” Carol said.
But Maura shook her head. “I wanna stay here with Daddy and Rachel.”
Andrew took that as his cue to introduce his former mother-in-law to his guest.
Rachel offered her hand to Maura’s grandmother. Carol waited a beat before accepting, just long enough that the hesitation could not go unnoticed.
“You’re a...friend...of Andrew’s?” Carol asked, her tone cool.
“Yes, I am,” Rachel confirmed.
“I wanna be friends, too,” Maura said.
Her earnest statement tore at Andrew’s heart, because it proved that no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t give his little girl everything she needed.
Rachel smiled at Maura. “I’d like that.”
Carol, on the other hand, was looking anything but friendly. Andrew reminded himself that the older woman was Maura’s grandmother, not his mother, and he didn’t want or need her approval.
“I’ll see you out,” he said, and gestured for her to precede him to the foyer.
When he and Nina first started dating in high school, Carol had been less than supportive. Her mother had been a Du Pont, which meant that she didn’t just come from money but old money, and she was unimpressed by Andrew’s financial situation or social status. The fact that he worked with his hands had been another strike against him.
But Nina was their only child, and there wasn’t anything she’d ever wanted that she didn’t get. When she’d made it clear that she wanted Andrew, her parents had come around. And when Maura was born, he’d gone from being tolerated to respected as the father of their granddaughter. They’d been devastated when Nina died—and terrified that they would lose their granddaughter, too. But Andrew understood that Maura needed her grandparents and the connection to her mother that they represented as much as they needed her.
From the time she was two years old, Maura had spent one weekend a month with Carol and Ed. Nina and Andrew had appreciated the alone time that gave them, and they’d started talking about having another child just a few months before an aneurysm ruptured in her brain, taking her from her husband and daughter far too soon.
His former mother-in-law paused at the door and turned to face him. “I’m concerned, Andrew.”
“About what?”
“Women parading in and out of your daughter’s life.”