High-Society Bachelor. Krista Thoren

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      “Look, why don’t you clue me in?” He steered her over to the couch, and she sat down without protesting. “What’s so terrible about hostessing my party?”

      Aside from the fact that being romantically linked with him horrified her so much she’d rather take her chances with a dog. Cam grimaced.

      Looking on the bright side, this situation was a nice change from being chased for his money. It was pretty damned ridiculous to be annoyed, especially since she wasn’t an appropriate romantic interest for him, anyway.

      For a long moment, it looked like Deborah was going to refuse to tell him anything. She sat there watching him with her big blue eyes. Finally, she gave a small shrug. “I don’t like parties.”

      Cam stared at her. “But you plan parties. That’s what you do for a living.”

      “Of course it is. That doesn’t mean I have to like going to them,” she explained, as if her line of reasoning made complete sense. His disbelief must have shown, because she sighed and continued. “I like the idea of parties, and I have fun planning them. I even enjoy the atmosphere if I’m working at an event. But going to a party, not having anything to do there, not knowing what to say—” She shook her head. “It’s the pits.” Her expression was eloquent.

      “But you’re so talkative,” Cam protested. “You’re a natural party girl.”

      She glared at him.

      “I didn’t mean it like that,” he said.

      “Don’t call me a girl, either,” she ordered. “I’m a woman.”

      He laughed.

      Her glare intensified.

      “Fine, you’re a woman,” Cam agreed. “A woman who, every time I see her, is chatting away to someone.” Not to him, of course. She didn’t chat with him. Probably because she didn’t like him. Perfectly logical, of course, since he hadn’t been very nice to her. In any case, she didn’t have to like him. She only had to agree to his plan.

      “I like talking one-on-one,” she said. “But I don’t like crowds of people, all of whom I’m expected to exchange meaningless chitchat with.” She gave him a determined look. “So let’s just agree that I’d be a disaster as your hostess.”

      He shook his head. “I don’t agree. You’ll do fine.” She would, too. It was only a party. They didn’t need to have anything in common in order to spend one evening together. He just hoped she would manage to look older than sixteen. Maybe he could add it into their contract.

      Deborah was staring at him. “Doesn’t it bother you at all that I don’t want to do this?”

      “I can live with it,” he assured her.

      She muttered something he didn’t catch.

      “You’re the one who started all this,” he reminded her again.

      “Yes, and I’m also the one who’s volunteered to make it up to you in other ways!” she snapped. Then her eyes flickered and her cheeks reddened, and Cameron realized her thoughts were moving along the same lines his were. That surprised him, coming from someone so innocent. She emitted purity like some women did perfume.

      “I could wash your car every week for a month,” she offered hastily. “You know, that fancy foreign silver thing you love so much.”

      Wash his car? Cam flinched. He couldn’t help it.

      “Ooo-kay,” she said. “You’d rather die than let me touch your car. Fine.” Her tone was light, but a hint of hurt filled her beautiful blue eyes.

      Cam sighed. Damn. He was going to have to tell her. He’d hoped to avoid it, although that was probably an unrealistic hope, anyway, since he would need her cooperation.

      “Look, I need you to help me with a little problem I have.” He wasn’t used to fumbling for words like this, but the whole situation was damned awkward. “I’ve got a business associate whose eighteen-year-old daughter has decided I’m…” He searched for an appropriate expression, didn’t find one, and started over. “I mean, for some reason, she finds me—” He stopped. This was hopeless.

      Deborah smiled faintly. “She has a crush on you?”

      “Yes, that’s it.” He hoped he didn’t look as embarrassed as he felt. “Anyway, since her father’s divorced and she usually goes to functions with him, it’s a safe bet she’ll be at the party.” He grimaced. “Heather’s very young, and she’s had a rough time with her parents’ divorce. The last thing I want to do is hurt her feelings. It’ll be much easier all around if I’m otherwise attached.” Attached to a woman, he wanted to emphasize. But this wasn’t the time to point out that Deborah would have to mature herself for his party. He’d cover that later.

      “I see,” Deborah said slowly. She was looking at him strangely, as if something about him puzzled her. For a long moment she said nothing at all. Finally she asked, “How attached are we talking here? Moderately or intensely?”

      Cam stifled a smile at her pink cheeks and the hint of wariness on her face. How would she react if he insisted they needed to appear intensely involved? The impulse to find out was almost overwhelming, but he ignored it the way he ignored all impulses. “Moderately would do, I’m sure.” Cam examined the resigned expression that now appeared on her face. “You’ll do it?”

      Her sigh told him everything he needed to know.

      Chapter Three

      “So I agreed to do it,” Deborah said later that afternoon as she sat on a stool in the large kitchen of Sweetness and Light. From behind her came the constant hum of conversation in the gourmet shop’s small café area. Scents of coffee and cinnamon rolls filled the air.

      Ann Medford dropped a spoonful of salmon mousse into a pastry casing. “And you want me to do the catering.”

      “Exactly.”

      “All right, I’ll work you in. But only because it’s you.” Her friend grinned. “And because I’m curious as all get-out about this guy’s house. From what I hear, it’s got a kitchen to die for.”

      “How did you hear that?” Deborah sampled a spoonful of the salmon mousse. She was just making conversation, of course. She couldn’t care less about Cameron Lyle’s house.

      “I heard it from Stella. You know, up at Rags to Riches. One of her customers designed his kitchen, and she said the whole house was beautiful.” Ann whirled away to check on the pans of cinnamon rolls in the huge steel oven. She was only a few inches over five feet, but energy pulsed from her almost visibly. She was back within seconds. “Stella also said that another of her customers dated him for months, but she was never invited to his house.”

      “Hmm.” Deborah dipped another spoon into the mousse.

      Ann nodded. “That’s exactly what I said. He must be the private type. Hey, Deb, cool it with the mousse, would you? I’m going to have too many shells left over.”

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