The Marriage Recipe. Michele Dunaway

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      AS COLIN PUSHED the elevator button for the third floor, he remained extremely aware of Rachel. Even though they hadn’t spoken walking across the lobby, he’d sensed exactly where she was behind him. He’d heard during a partner meeting yesterday that she’d returned—gossip in Morrisville traveled faster than lightning. Tongues had wagged about how Rachel had been engaged to some hotshot restaurateur in New York and she’d said good riddance to him.

      “I’m down here,” he said as the elevator doors opened. His corner suite was on the Morris side of the building and had a bird’s-eye view of Main Street, including Kim’s Diner. Two years ago faulty wiring had caused the diner to burn to the ground, leaving little but a large pile of ashes. He’d expected Rachel to come home then, but she hadn’t. Thus he suspected there was more behind her current relocation. Colin hung up his jacket.

      “Can I get that?” he asked.

      “No, I’m fine,” Rachel said, removing her coat and sitting in the wingback chair across from his desk.

      So she was still stubborn. That hadn’t changed.

      “I like your office,” she said.

      “Thanks,” he said politely, drinking in the changes to her appearance. Growing up, she’d always worn her hair in a bob. Now it had grown out to past her shoulders, and she’d swept her bangs off her face. The longer style suited her. She’d filled out nicely, as well, he noticed. The red, long-sleeved Henley fit like a glove.

      “Do Bruce and Christina have offices up here, too?” Rachel asked, bringing her attention from the surroundings to him.

      Always Bruce, Colin thought. Rachel’s hair was different, but her fascination with his friend hadn’t changed. Bruce would visit the Morris household and within five minutes Rachel would be knocking on the back door. Not that he or Bruce had minded. For years, she’d simply been one of the boys, but eventually they’d reached their teens and nature had interfered. Rachel had developed the biggest crush on Bruce.

      Rather inconvenient, playing second fiddle. Only in college had Colin stepped out of Bruce’s shadow, at least with the ladies. As a lawyer, he’d never have the great legal mind his friend possessed, but Colin had made his peace with that and had carved out a decent career. Bruce actually had been passed over for a senior partnership when the firm had hired Christina, and now that Bruce had been promoted, Colin knew he was finally next in line.

      “Their offices are in the south wing. The Lancaster end. So,” he said with a deliberate cough to clear his tight throat, “what’s going on?”

      Rachel twisted around, the material of her sweater stretching tight. Colin swallowed and shifted. Darn, but this grown-up version of his childhood buddy had his libido roaring to life, and somehow his immediate reaction was profound and, darn it, uncomfortable. She wasn’t even sending him signals, and here he was, grateful that he was safely sitting behind his desk.

      She removed a wadded-up envelope from her purse, leaned over the edge of his desk and pushed the paper toward him as if touching it had burned her fingertips. Bright red polish, Colin saw. She’d worn pale pink in the past, and he wondered if her toenails were the same shade of red.

      “You probably heard I was engaged,” Rachel said, and he lifted his gaze to her brown eyes. That was a mistake. Anger mixed with hurt radiated there, and Colin had the immediate urge to kill the guy who had wronged her. He retrieved the envelope and removed its contents.

      “Go on,” he prodded when she stopped speaking. “I’m listening and skimming this at the same time.”

      “Airing this is awkward. Marco Alessandro, my ex-fiancé and former employer, is demanding my recipes. He says he’s going to sue me for them. He’s claiming they’re rightfully his. The bastard didn’t even give me the letter until after I refused to marry him. As if.”

      Colin waited. Rachel had always been like a shadow. Present yet unnoticed. Her New York experience had her cursing, and as visible as the neon in Times Square. The change was mesmerizing and worth study.

      “Sorry,” Rachel said with a dismissive wave. “My language has taken a turn for the gutter since leaving Morrisville. Both my mother and grandmother want to wash my mouth out, but I’m too big now for them to hold down. They’d try if they could, because my mother says I swear like a sailor. I’m working on it. I’ve just been so agitated lately.”

      “It’s okay,” Colin said, smoothing out the demand letter and setting the legal missive aside. “I can understand. You said Marco was your fiancé.”

      “Yes.”

      “And you broke off the engagement,” he went on.

      “Yes.”

      He sat still and waited for her to elaborate. She held his gaze for a moment, blinked, then turned her head so she could study the bookcase. He didn’t think she was really interested in any of the legal titles shelved there. “Rachel,” he prompted. “You have to be honest with me. If I’m to help you, I’ve got to know everything.”

      “I broke off my engagement because he, he…” Her entire body shook as she relived the horror of that moment. “I caught him.”

      Experience had taught him patience. He waited.

      She stared at him, her brown eyes imploring him not to make her do this. “Do I have to say it? Are you that much of a sadist? I caught him—in my bed—with another woman.”

      Had Marco Alessandro been sitting in his office, Colin would have leaped across the desk and throttled the guy with his bare hands. How dare anyone do this to Rachel? The fact that he cared this much after all these years shook him a little. And unlike those wannabe black belts, Colin legitimately was one. He’d found martial-arts training a great way to stay fit and hone both his mind and body.

      Lawyers weren’t supposed to be emotionally involved, but they could be empathetic. “I’m sorry,” he said finally.

      “Thank СКАЧАТЬ