The Tea Shop on Lavender Lane. Sheila Roberts

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ removed the glass from her hand and gently nudged her chin in his direction. “I’ve wanted to kiss you ever since I first saw you. Are you gonna let me?”

      And then, assuming the answer would be yes, he did just that, and her nerve endings went from stirred to shaken. Oh, she was in trouble. Against her better judgment, she was falling hard for this man. She felt his hand drifting along her midriff, moving upward, and her nerve endings went into delirium. If she didn’t stop this right now, she never would. And she wasn’t ready to make that leap yet. She had to be sure.

      She pulled away. “That was quite a kiss.”

      “You’re quite a woman,” he said and started to move in for more.

      She placed a hand on his chest. “I think I’ve had enough fun for one night.”

      “Don’t like to kiss on the first date?” he teased.

      “I’m not sure playing pinball at your tavern and then coming over here for a grope fest counts as a date.”

      “Who groped? You never let me get that far.”

      “It’s time for me to go home,” she said and stood.

      He stood, too. Now they were just a breath away from each other. He reached up and began playing with her hair again. “Have I mentioned that I’m a sucker for blondes?”

      And she was a sucker for having someone play with her hair. But she wasn’t about to be suckered by Todd Black—at least not tonight. “Thanks for sharing,” she said and removed his fingers from her hair.

      “And you are truly the most beautiful blonde I’ve ever seen.”

      Men had been telling her she was beautiful since puberty, and she wanted more than someone who was turned on by her appearance. She wasn’t interested in a relationship where sex was the driving force. Although, if that kiss was any indication, sex with Todd Black would be amazing.

      Stop it! she scolded herself. To him she said, “I’ve heard that before.” And it didn’t move her. She needed to be with a man who wanted more.

      “I bet you have. I bet men have been telling you you’re beautiful since the day you got your first training bra.”

      She frowned at him. “That was poetic.”

      “I try.”

      “Try harder. I’m not looking for someone to sleep with.”

      “Aw, and I put clean sheets on the bed and everything.”

      Cecily frowned at him again. “Can’t you ever be serious?”

      “Yeah, actually, I can. You’ll have to go out with me, so I can show you my serious side.”

      “It’s a little hard to date when I work days and you work nights, doncha think?”

      “I own the place. I can take a night off. I can take tomorrow night off. Let’s go out to dinner. Zelda’s, and a movie after.”

      She should derail this train before it went any farther down the track. Instead, she said, “All right. Zelda’s, and a movie after. With popcorn. Don’t cheap out on me.”

      “I wouldn’t dream of it.” He put his hand to the small of her back and gently steered her toward the front door. “Come on, Beauty. Let’s get you out of here before the beast ravishes you.”

      And before her nerve endings betrayed her.

      Who was she kidding? They already had.

      The ride back to The Man Cave on his Harley didn’t calm them down any. Todd Black in leather, seated astride a big rumbling machine, was like a romance-novel cover come to life, and the minute she climbed on behind him, her zing-o-meter took another hit. What was she doing? Who was in charge here, anyway, her brains or her hormones?

      As if she needed to ask that question? Oh, boy.

      * * *

      Bailey’s bank account was dwindling, and she was down to her last catering job.

      The detective hired by her L.A. lawyer had learned that the doctors found no evidence of food poisoning when Samba Barrett came in and played her General Hospital scene. Big surprise. Bailey’s lawyer had sent Samba a letter threatening to sue her for slander and that had been enough to shut up her collagen-plumped mouth as she made the late-night talk TV circuit. It was one thing to be a tragic victim. Quite another to get taken to court for being a fake.

      Sadly, it was all too late to bring back Bailey’s customers.

      You still have the Amora Bliss baby shower, she reminded herself. That would have several Hollywood people at it, and if all went well, maybe she could rebuild her reputation.

      Or not. Saturday morning, the day before the shower, Melinda Spooner, the hostess, called her. “It turns out we’re not going to need you,” she said.

      Seriously? She was canceling the day before the event? After Bailey had purchased the food, begun making preparations? “But I’ve already started on the baby bootee cakes,” Bailey protested. “And they’re adorable.”

      “I’m sure they are, but we won’t be needing you.”

      This woman was an actress friend of Bailey’s high school pal Bitsy (also an aspiring actress—in Los Angeles, who wasn’t?). It was enough of a connection that Bailey felt she could fight to keep this gig. “Melinda, does this have anything to do with what happened at Samba Barrett’s party?”

      There was a betraying moment of silence before Melinda spoke. “No, of course not.”

      “You know Bitsy wouldn’t have referred you to someone incompetent,” Bailey pushed. “And you know you can’t believe everything you read in the Star Reporter.”

      “I know. It’s just that, well, uh, Amora’s having labor pains, and we’re not sure if she’ll even be around for the party tomorrow.”

      “I thought she wasn’t due for another two months.”

      “They’re premature.”

      Right.

      “I’d better go,” Melinda said. She ended the call before Bailey could say anything more.

      Bailey looked around her rented commercial kitchen at the piles of fruit, waiting to get made into salad, the fresh herbs, the half-decorated little cakes, and burst into tears. And then she called her big sister.

      Samantha answered on the first ring. “How are you doing?”

      “Horrible,” Bailey sobbed. “I lost my last client.”

      “Okay, that’s it, end of story. You’re coming home.”

      “I can’t afford to come home.” She also couldn’t afford rent. Or food. Heck, she couldn’t afford to breathe.

      “Oh, yes, you can,” Samantha СКАЧАТЬ