A Bride For The Holidays. Renee Roszel

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СКАЧАТЬ gut under all that expensive fabric. Even steeped in self-contempt and dismay she experienced a rush of feminine admiration. “I really must insist that you let me clean your stomach!” she said.

      His hands covered hers, removing the napkins from her fingers and taking over the job. “That’s not necessary,” he said, sounding less put-out than she would have imagined. “I think my stomach escaped most of the coffee.”

      Her gaze shot to his face. Had she actually offered to clean his stomach? Shamed to the soles of her feet, she cried, “Oh—I—I meant—your coat! I’d like to have your coat dry-cleaned, at my expense. It’s the least—”

      “Just fix me another cup of coffee,” he said. “Forget the coat.”

      She swallowed around the lump of wretchedness in her throat. In the five months she’d worked at Ed’s, she’d never spilled coffee on a single customer. And now, to spill a whole biggie-extra on this—this—gorgeous man—er—coat! And then, to make matters a thousand times worse, to offer to clean his stomach!

      She found herself staring into his sexy but oh-so-steely gaze, mesmerized. Looking into those eyes, she experienced a strange contradiction within her. His gaze was all business and bottom-line, yet there was something compelling and exciting in the way he was able to hold her attention, something she couldn’t name. But it was there, stunning and impossible to resist. Unnerved, she realized she’d lost her train of thought. “Er—excuse me?”

      He laid the soaked stack of napkins on the coffee-doused countertop and accepted the roll of paper towels from a breathless Amber Grace. “Thank you,” he said, tearing off a wad and applying it to his lapel. Odd, Trisha couldn’t recall his gaze leaving hers. “I said, why don’t you fix me another cup of coffee and forget the coat?”

      “Oh—right.” Trisha was so flustered and miserable she wasn’t thinking clearly. Take a breath, she berated inwardly. Calm down or you’ll make things worse—if that’s even possible!

      “Amber Grace?”

      Trisha was surprised to hear the stranger speak directly to Ed’s niece, and peered at them over her shoulder as she retrieved another cup.

      “Yes, sir?” Amber Grace asked, an unusually dopey smile on her freckled face.

      He handed her the roll of paper towels. “Why don’t you wipe up the countertop?”

      “Okay.” The teenager’s smile remained dopey and her gaze stayed on the stranger as she slowly unwound some of the towels and began to dab them on the wet counter.

      Trisha turned away to fill the coffee cup, frustrated beyond words. There was no debating the fact that they would never see this customer again. Between her unprofessional rant about the loan, and Amber Grace’s ineptitude, his impression of Ed’s employees had to be pretty awful. And that wasn’t taking into account the fact that she’d flung coffee all over him! She refused to even think about the—the stomach thing. Since he was kind enough to forget it, she would, too.

      Someday, in the far, far distant future.

      The stranger’s languid-lidded eyes seemed to have a unique effect on females. Both she and Amber Grace were doing a first-class job of making idiots out of themselves. She wondered if this man sent all women into tizzies, or if she could possibly blame her bizarre behavior on a leak of laughing gas from the dentist’s office next door? No. That was too much to hope for. They’d all be affected, and so far, the man with the great lips and bedroom eyes had only half smiled when he’d first come in. Since the spill, he hadn’t smiled at all.

      From the sappy look she’d seen on Amber Grace’s face, the teenager was clearly gaga about the handsome stranger. Having made a complete fool of herself, Trisha couldn’t very well blame Amber Grace for her infatuation. Unfortunately, it wouldn’t do Amber Grace’s industriousness any good, if her inattentive dabbing at the countertop was any indication.

      Trisha filled the cup, returned to the counter and held it out to him, sternly telling herself to be all-business, and guard every single syllable that came out of her mouth. “Compliments of Ed’s, sir,” she said, not caring if she did have to pay for it herself. There was no way she would ask the man for three dollars and ninety-nine cents now. “You’ve been very gracious.” She decided she must make her coat-cleaning offer once more. “I really would be happy to pay for having that beautiful coat dry-cleaned.”

      “It wasn’t your fault.” He accepted the cup, which was far less dangerous this time, since Amber Grace had suspended her wiping duties to rest her elbows on the damp countertop. Her chin plunked on her fists, she grinned dreamily at the man.

      He took a sip of coffee, then seemed to savor it. “Not bad,” he said. “I think it does have coffee in it.”

      Trisha was amazed that she was once again smiling. After all that had happened, she could only call it a miracle—or an act of a person who’d gone completely insane with disgrace and defeat. Looking at his chiseled features, those seductive, silvery eyes, and most especially that lopsided, casual quirk of his lips, she decided she had to go with “miracle.” She’d never met a man before, who could shift his lips slightly, the way this stranger did, and sire an actual smile. Especially on her lips, that only moments ago she’d thought incapable of waywardness.

      “Now, tell me about that business,” he said.

      She was startled by the suggestion. She’d assumed he’d asked to be polite. She couldn’t imagine he truly cared. “Oh, I wouldn’t want to bore you,” she said.

      He took another sip of coffee. “If you really want something, you should never pass up a chance to go after it.”

      He had a point. So what if she caused a stranger a little boredom compared to a shot at getting her life’s dream?

      “Go on, tell him,” Amber Grace urged, her voice the rapt singsong of the hypnotized.

      They both glanced at the loafing teenager, an outrageous riot of quarreling colors. Amber Grace was a sight to behold in a lemon yellow polo shirt, aqua trousers, topped by a ridiculous aqua cap, reminiscent of something a nineteen-fifties nurse might have worn. Her short, shaggy catsup-red hair was the consistency of straw, and her two golden nose rings gleamed under the glare of the lights. Amber Grace was the poster child for parental suffering, not to mention a Day Manager’s nightmare.

      The horrible uniform colors weren’t Amber Grace’s fault, though. They were Ed’s. The ultra-frugal coffee shop owner had bought them on the Internet. Trisha suspected it had been during a “we can’t get rid of these terrible uniforms” sale. But Ed was not only frugal, he was shrewd. He got his money back, probably made money, since he required his employees to buy their uniforms from him.

      Except for the catsup-colored hair and the nose rings, Trisha knew she looked every bit as bad as Amber Grace. Who on earth looked good in yellow and aqua under stark fluorescent lights?

      The ugliness of the uniforms hadn’t really hit home until—well, until just this minute, when she realized how tacky she must look to this obviously discerning stranger, whose attire was so classic and tastefully elegant. And coffee stained, a nagging imp in her brain insisted on needling.

      Trying not to dwell on things that couldn’t be helped, Trisha plucked up the abandoned roll of paper towels and tore off a bunch. The man wanted to hear about her business, so she would be wise to get focused where she might do herself some good. “Well…” СКАЧАТЬ