The MacGregor Grooms (27 page)

She saw him go out of the corner of her eye and tried not to let her shoulders slump. It was likely he’d just dropped in for a book—it was a bookstore, wasn’t it? she reminded herself viciously. He’d seen the crowd and had come back to satisfy his curiosity.

Now he’d find his book and leave. And all she’d managed to do was trip over his feet.

Pulling herself together, she turned to chat with some of the waiting customers.

*   *   *

It was after nine before the event wound down. Naomi considered it a very productive two hours—which had taken more than forty man-hours to create. And worth every minute, she decided after personally escorting her featured guest to the door.

Now all she wanted was a quiet place to sit down and close her eyes for fifteen minutes.

“Nice job.” Ian had waited her out, but hadn’t wasted time. He had a loaded Brightstone’s shopping bag weighing down one hand.

“I didn’t realize you were still here.”

“I was going to browse.” He grinned and shook the bag. “At this rate, I’m going to have to add more shelves to my library design.”

“Brightstone’s appreciates your patronage.” She smiled when she said it and managed to stop
herself from fussing with her hair. “Did you find everything you were looking for?”

Found you, didn’t I? “It looks that way. And as an extra service, I did some spying for you.”

“Spying?”

“Well, eavesdropping, anyway. You have some very satisfied customers. There was a group of women scouring the new fiction section. They were pretty chirpy about tonight’s event, and already talking about making an evening of it next month.”

“Wonderful. That’s what we’re after.”

“Are you done, or are you going to be tied up for a while?”

“No, that was it.” She blew out a breath. “Thank God.”

He chuckled. “How about I buy you some excellent Brightstone’s coffee?” He watched her blink, hesitate, and shoving guilt aside, he pushed. “I really hoped I could show you the changes we’ve made in the design. I think we’ve got it now.”

“I’d love to see them. Do you want to go upstairs?”

Where he could be alone with her? Not a good idea, he decided. “The café’s fine with me.”

“All right. But Brightstone’s buys the coffee. It’s the least we can do for such a good customer.”

She led the way, noting that the Children’s Corner needed to be tidied. If Ian hadn’t been with her, she would have stopped and stored the scatter of toys and books herself.

“Tired?” he asked as they climbed the short flight to the café.

“Hmm? No, actually, I’m a little wired, I suppose. I authorized the advertising and promotion budget for this new program. I could almost see my father wincing over the phone.”

“He’s given you pretty much a free rein, hasn’t he?”

“Yes. He trusts me.” Her voice warmed on the words. “It’s going to be very nice to let him know he didn’t make a mistake.”

She scanned the café, pleased to see it was nearly filled to capacity, and smiled broadly when she spotted a table of women bubbling with laughter as one of them read a portion of Shelly Goldsmith’s book aloud.

“Here.” Ian took her elbow and steered her to one of the few empty tables. “Lucky to find one. It looks like Brightstone’s Café is a happening place.”

“Yes, it does. Sometimes I come through here and I get giddy and weepy at the same time. Silly,” she said quickly, annoyed with herself for saying such a thing to him.

“No, it’s not. You’re making your mark, Naomi. You should be proud of what you’re accomplishing. I watched you working. You’re very good at your job.”

She wasn’t sure which thrilled most, the compliment or realizing he’d watched her. “It’s all I’ve ever wanted to do. When I was little, I’d come in here with my father. I’d wander the stacks, tuck myself into corners, sit behind the checkout counter. My poor mother used to buy me dolls, and I’d only use them as customers and clerks when I played bookstore.”

And pretend to feed them the candy I stuffed in my face, she remembered, because I knew she was disappointed I couldn’t be the pretty, frilly little girl she wanted.

“Some of us are born for something,” he murmured. “This is yours.”

“Yes, this is mine.” And her days of hiding in corners were in the past. She glanced at the waitress who hurried over. “Busy tonight, Tracy.”

“We haven’t stopped hopping since five-thirty. What can I get you, Ms. Brightstone?”

“Two cappuccinos,” Naomi ordered, glancing at Ian and receiving his nod.

“You got it. You should try a slice of that Chocolate Sin, Ms. Brightstone. It’s awesome, and you’ve been on your feet for hours.”

“Oh, I—”

“We’ll split it,” Ian said, flashing a smile at the waitress. “Thanks.”

“Six million calories,” Naomi muttered, and Ian laughed.

“Honey, odds are you’ve already burned them off during the event. Where do you get your looks?”

The “honey” had thrown her off, and the sharp veer in topic finished the job. “Excuse me?”

“Your coloring. You have hair like my mother’s—that thick, dense black. Is Brightstone Native American?”

“Yes, actually. There’s some Cherokee on my father’s side, mixed with all manner of others. Some Italian, some French, some English, then English and Welsh on my mother’s. She likes to say her children are hybrids.”

“I have Comanche through my mother, but Laura got the coloring.”

“She’s beautiful, your sister.”

“Yes, she is.”

“Your whole family’s dazzling. Whenever I see a picture in the paper, or a clip on the news, I’m staggered. You take after your father. I suppose one day you’ll be a mix of the distinguished statesman and the Harvard Hunk.”

When he winced, she simply goggled. Had that actually come out of her mouth? “I’m sorry. What a ridiculous thing to say.”

He angled his head, amused that she was more embarrassed than he was. “So I’m not a hunk, and have no hope of achieving distinguished status?”

“No, of course you are, and …” She simply shut her eyes and wondered if the Grand Canyon might be a big enough hole, after all.

He laughed until his sides ached, and caused the waitress who brought their drinks to grin in delight. It was about time, as far as Tracy was concerned, that Ms. Brightstone got lucky. And it was looking as though she’d hit the jackpot.

“I’ll never live down that picture.” Ian sighed and stirred his coffee. “What was I, twenty-three, twenty-four? Out for a sail and minding my own business. Guy takes his shirt off to catch some rays, and snap! He’s immortalized.”

“It must be intrusive … the press.”

“I grew up with it.” He scooped up a forkful of the creamy chocolate confection on the plate between them and offered it. “You get used to it.”

“I’m not sure I could.” Because he didn’t seem offended, after all, she accepted the bite. “I’ve been dealing with the media for over a year now, promoting the store, giving interviews, that sort of thing. It’s necessary for the store, but I can’t say I’m used to it.”

“Doing it well’s often the bottom line.” He sampled the chocolate himself. “This is very well named. ‘Sin.’” He tormented himself by imagining the taste of her mixed with the chocolate.

It made her stomach jump. “You’re going to have to sin by yourself.” She picked up her coffee. “I’m resisting.”

“One more,” he murmured, sliding the fork into the dessert, lifting a tempting bite to her lips. And he was pleased to see, when she took it, that she could indeed be tempted.

He also decided that if he wanted to survive the evening, he’d better shift into business mode. “So, let me show you what I’ve got. Tell me what you think.”

He opened his briefcase, took out the scale drawing of the proposed design. “I’m handing it over to Cullum tomorrow. He can get started right away.”

“You move quickly.”

“Usually,” he muttered, then spread out the drawing.

Naomi took her glasses out of the little case in her pocket, slipped them on and made Ian’s mouth water. Then she leaned forward, bending over the drawings, and drove him slightly mad as her scent slipped into his senses.

“Oh, these are wonderful. Just wonderful. You put in the library ladder and the console.”

“They were good suggestions. Thanks.”

“I’m so glad I could help. This is going to be fabulous. You have a wonderful space for furniture, too, and with the fireplace here, a perfect spot for enjoying the books you’re going to display.”

He imagined the two of them doing just that. Sprawled together on the sofa in front of a roaring fire, with a nice bottle of red, and music playing quietly in the background.

He’d rub her feet, he thought. Then start nibbling until he’d worked his way up to …

Hold it, he ordered himself, and resolutely shoving the image aside, cleared his throat. “Any changes you’d make?”

Oblivious, she continued to study, shaking her head. “No. I think it’s absolutely perfect as it is. I love it, Ian.”

“Good. So do I.” He wanted to touch the hand she had on the table, stroke a fingertip over her knuckles, down her wrist.

Down boy, he thought, and comforted himself with Chocolate Sin.

The discreet announcement that the store was closing in fifteen minutes had Naomi looking up. Where had the time gone? “I didn’t realize it was so late.”

“Do you have anything left to do?”

“No. And I actually don’t have to be in until midmorning tomorrow. My little treat for the last few twelve-hour days.”

“Want to go to a movie?”

“A movie?”

“We’ve just pumped in all this caffeine.” He smiled easily, noting how quickly her eyes could go wary. If she was going to learn to trust him, to become used to him, he was going to have to start nudging her into his company on a regular basis. “Neither one of us are going to sleep for a while yet. Why not take in a movie?”

“Well, I suppose …”

“Great.” Moving quickly now, he folded the drawing. “You walked to work, right? My car’s just down the block. I’ll drive you home afterward.”

He was already on his feet, the bag and his briefcase in one hand, and his other held out to her.

He was a patient man. He knew how to wait. He understood and appreciated the value of building foundations, developing relationships, bonding friendships.

He enjoyed taking his time, holding on to moments, planning days. He found those times, those moments, those days he managed to spend with Naomi very precious. And he certainly valued learning more about her, having conversations about family, about work, about mutual interests.

He wasn’t an animal, after all, whose only goal in life was sex. He was a civilized and reasonable man who found pleasure and contentment in the company of a woman he liked, respected and enjoyed.

And he thought if he didn’t get his hands on Naomi Brightstone soon, he’d go completely insane.

She was fascinating, fabulous and so unwittingly sexy he spent half his time with her quivering like a stallion wild to cover a mare. And the other half in dazzled delight at having found her.

He was careful not to touch her—oh, a few brotherly pats or pecks, but nothing that came close to that hot-blooded embrace in his kitchen. He wasn’t about to risk scaring her off.

And as he’d gotten to know her over the past weeks, he’d realized that she was a great deal more shy, more vulnerable and more insecure than he’d assumed when he’d met her.

They went to concerts, to films, for long walks. They cooked a few meals together and spent ridiculous amounts of time on the phone late at night.

He realized he hadn’t experienced such an intense, wonderful, innocent and sexually frustrating relationship since high school.

And when once or twice he tested the waters, she’d shied back like a rabbit under the gun and had left his gut grinding.

It reminded him, forcibly, that if they did become lovers, he would be her first and would have not only the pleasure, but the responsibility of that.

It wasn’t a simple matter, or one to be taken lightly, or quickly. But he was a patient man, Ian assured himself, as he surveyed the nearly finished library. He had always been able to work steadily toward what was really important.

This was important in its own way, too, he thought, running his fingers on the freshly waxed trim of one of his custom-designed, built-in units. The creation of something that was well thought out, that was right, that would last. Cullum did beautiful work, he mused. Precise, creative. The cherrywood gleamed, its corners softly curved, almost fluid.

Shelves stood at varying heights, as Ian had wanted to avoid the look and feel of uniformity. He wanted nothing rigid or forbidding about the room. Between the two tall windows he’d set a huge, festive, ornamental lemon tree in a brass pot. A gift from his parents. They always knew what suited him best, he thought, smiling as he trailed a fingertip over a glossy leaf.

He’d already arranged the seating area. A long, take-a-nap sofa in cheerful blue, a pair of wide chairs, low tables that invited the occupants to put up their feet and relax. Naomi had helped him choose the lamps, he recalled—the charming die-cut tin shades, the romantic globes—on one of their shopping
forays.

The stately pewter candlesticks that graced the mantel were heirlooms, housewarming gifts from his grandparents. The bronze-colored mums that stood in a Wedgwood vase between them had come out of his own garden.

There was a great deal of himself in the room, Ian realized. And pieces of those he loved.

Including Naomi.

He sat in one of the oversize chairs, dragged his hands through his gilt-edged hair. There was no point in turning away from it, he told himself. He was in love with her, was nearly sure he’d fallen flat on his face in love the instant he’d met her.

He believed in such things—in love at first sight, in fate, in mating for life. He wanted such things, Ian admitted. Even during his college years, when he’d played as hard as he’d worked, he’d always had an eye focused on what was ahead for him.

His career and where he wanted to take it. His life and where he needed it to go. And that was home, marriage, family, children.