Jaded (3 page)

“Thanks, I appreciate that. Most of the guys can barely operate a microwave. We try not to intrude too much on our clients’ lives, but I can’t say they won’t put a drink or two in your fridge.”

“That’s fine. As long as my wine is left untouched, we won’t have a problem.”

Luke leaned closer to look at the eggs. “Add some oregano. It’ll taste good.”

“You think?”

“I know.” He grinned and crossed his arms over his chest. “So you live here alone?”

She was intrigued by his culinary suggestion, surprised that he even knew what herb to suggest. “Yeah, I do.”

“Big house for one girl.”

“Definitely. But it was a gift. What can a girl say to that?”

Luke nodded, thinking it over. “Some gift, though. Your parents are either loaded or feeling guilty about something.”

She laughed, surprised by his candor and wit. “That’s one way of looking at it.” She reached past Luke into a cupboard and grabbed a jar of oregano. As she did, she caught the faint scent of his body, a delicate mixture of outdoors and body wash. She felt lightheaded for a moment and cleared her throat again.

“So, what do you do around here? Where do you work?” He was watching her with narrowed eyes, and she could sense he was trying to figure her out, like he might be testing her responses against some preconception in his mind.

“I’m a writer,” she said. “I do investigative journalism for a few different magazines, and I have a few columns.”

He was quiet for a moment as he mulled over the information. She jostled the pan as the eggs cooked and added a pinch of salt. He repositioned himself beside her, arms still crossed over his chest. “So, you from Florida?”

“Yeah, more or less.”

“What does that mean?”

“I grew up here but I wasn’t born here. We’re kind of an international family.”

He nodded again. “Does that mean you’re spies or part of a mafia or something?”

She laughed. He’d made her laugh more times than she cared to count; something about his frankness and unexpected wit was very appealing to her. “Not that I know of. Not that I could admit to you, at least.”

He watched her flip the omelet and as it sizzled, Isabella asked, “Are you not supposed to be out there working?”

“We’re on lunch,” he said. “Or, for some people, breakfast.”

She bit back a smile.

“But anyway, I’m the boss; I’m allowed to chat up the lady of the house if I want to. Hey, you a partier or something? Not too many investigative journalists are hung over at 8:00 a.m.”

She raised her eyebrows. The guy wasn’t afraid to ask questions, it seemed. “You have an eye for detail. You should try doing some investigative journalism.”

“Yeah, you think I’d be good at it?” He smiled and she caught the subtle way that the corners of his lips turned up. Her heart fluttered. She looked back at the eggs.

“Well, at the very least you could do some fine reporting on the morning-afters for local single women.”

“Oh, you’re single?” He seemed suddenly hopeful. She could have sworn he inched closer to her, unless that was just the skillet throwing off such intense heart.

She didn’t respond, and instead folded the omelet.

Quietly, he said, “With a body like yours, I was sure you’d be taken.”

It took a moment for her to register the comment. She turned to look at him, mouth agape. “Excuse me?”

He was grinning, eyes sparkling as he gobbled up her reaction. He bit his lip, and she couldn’t ignore the dimples that emerged as he did so. “You heard me.”

“I can’t believe you just said that to me.”

“I’m just testing out my journalism skills,” he said. “I’m reporting what I see.” He laughed softly. “Like I said, do you think I’d be good at it?”

She turned back to the skillet, unsure whether she was appalled or amused. She fought back a laugh. “There’s a difference between being a reporter and being a pervert.”

“Come on, don’t be like that!” He placed his head in her vision and made her look him in the eyes. “It was a joke.”

“Hm.” She met his gaze briefly, and then looked back at the skillet. “When does your lunch break end?”

He sighed, clearly still amused but catching on that she was done with his company. “Not for awhile. But I’ll let you eat your lunch. I mean breakfast.” He grinned and walked toward the back door. “Enjoy.” He let himself into the backyard.

Isabella found herself clenching and unclenching her teeth as she worked through the past ten minutes in her mind.
How dare he!
Yet, at the same time, a small part of her was intrigued by his forthcoming nature, and despite all obvious signs that he was nothing more than a good-looking player, she felt compelled to play his game.

Luckily, she wasn’t in the game anymore. At all. So he’d have to find his cheap thrills elsewhere.

She smiled at her omelet, satisfied, as she slid it onto a plate.

***

Outside, Luke couldn’t help but smile as he got back to work. There was a lot that Isabella didn’t know about him, but there were a few things she was starting to catch onto, the first and foremost thing being that Luke Peterson liked what he saw.

He didn’t often make mistakes, but he’d made a big one when he figured her for an ugly Betty that morning. He was still reeling from being near her while she was so visibly fresh from the shower and wearing those damn shorts. She smelled like floral shampoo; he could only imagine how soft her skin must be. Not only that, her tank top had displayed some surprising assets. And damn if he wasn’t getting hard just thinking about it.

He shook his head, trying to clear the image of her body from his mind. He liked real women, and Isabella was a real
woman.
With fleshy thighs and a belly that begged him to grab her from behind—he didn’t even want to think about how that body would feel wrapped around his own. He was sick of all those skinny girls his buddies kept sending him after. It’d been too long since he laid eyes on a body like Isabella’s. But he had to keep his cool. If he got too mixed up in
wanting
her, there was room to fail. If it was a job to him, he did it without question.

“So, have you seen her bedroom yet?” Jimmy approached from the side yard.

Luke looked up and shielded his eyes against the sun. “I’ll be seeing enough of it soon,” he said, smirking.

Jimmy clapped him on the back. “Atta boy!”

Luke wondered, though, if he would even make it inside there. He already knew Isabella was quick-witted and sharp, definitely sharper than the kind of girls he was used to seeing. He still wasn’t sure how the episode in the kitchen would pan out—whether it had repulsed her or intrigued her—but once they met up again he could figure out the game plan.

One thing he knew for certain was that he’d be pursuing her regardless of the bet. Money or not, there was something about Isabella that made him want to know more. And given his own history, there was a good chance she’d be on his side before too long.

Chapter Two

Isabella opened her eyes to find sunshine casting strange designs on her bed through the diaphanous material of her canopy. She yawned, stretched, and burrowed deeper into the warm cocoon she’d created overnight. The day was already off to a great start—quiet comfort, twittering birds outside, and...the smell of coffee brewing?

She sat up and sniffed the air again. Coffee and...pancakes?

She swung her feet over the side of the bed and threw on a loose top and some yoga pants. She’d said they could
use
the kitchen, not raid the fridge and eat all her food like a pack of Vikings. And while she was a nice person, generous and welcoming and all that jazz, she wasn’t going to be budgeting for ten extra mouths.

As she made her way downstairs and toward the kitchen, there was a pleasant hum of activity, vastly different from how she usually began her mornings, all alone in her giant house. As she rounded the corner, she gasped at what she saw.

Luke was in front of the sink drying off a skillet; on the breakfast table was a steaming pile of pancakes, topped with blueberries, next to a cup of coffee.

“Hey there,” he said, looking back at her. “You hungry?”

She looked at the table again, then back at Luke. “Yeah. Don’t you guys eat before you come?”

He shrugged, flipping the dish towel over his shoulder as he put the skillet back in the cupboard. “Yeah, I think most of the guys do, why?”

“Well, I said you could use my kitchen, but not to feed the army,” she said, looking pointedly at him.

“I’m not feeding any army,” he said, smiling. “That’s your breakfast. Nobody else gets any.”

She paused, looking back at the pancakes. They looked perfect, better than anything she’d been able to produce with that skillet. She wanted to take a picture of them; the guy had an eye for detail.

“That’s nice of you,” she said finally, going to the table. “Actually, really nice.”

“No problem. I like to cook, a lot. So this is one of the perks of my job.” He laughed. “Enjoy.” He strode out of the kitchen and left Isabella alone, staring at the pancakes and coffee and the delicate stems of the blueberries, wondering what the hell she was supposed to think about that guy. He was forward and blunt and gorgeous and irritating and thoughtful. Just as she caught herself picturing Luke on the surfboard again, she stopped. She only had room for the perfect man, and Luke had already botched that from day one. It didn’t matter if he was manly, or thoughtful about breakfast, or good at his job. He was just
another guy.
Another guy who just
happened
to look like her dream man...

Okay, so she’d admitted it to herself. Luke was the man she’d fantasized about since the age of thirteen. He was the nebulous image of a man that was constantly lurking in the back of her mind, making every other man’s attempt to compare nearly hopeless. The type of guy to command the attention of every woman within a three-mile radius, make her reconsider whatever it was she had previously set her heart on. He was utterly and mouth-wateringly gorgeous. She conjured up possible images of the next few months, fighting to erase the ones involving her and Luke and an obvious lack of clothing. Better to leave those thoughts where they belonged—in her head. But still, she was already able to feel the intensity of her friends’ surprise as she showed up at an event with Luke on her arm or her mother’s coy satisfaction as they arrived for a family dinner...

But, she reminded herself, while Luke might
look
like the magazine ideal of her dream man, he certainly didn’t resemble any man she’d ever been with. All of her past boyfriends had been unwaveringly tall and thin, intellectual types who peered over newspapers in the morning and slurped coffee after making slow and sweet love. Calm, rational men, who had big goals and even bigger yachts. The kind of man she sometimes thought her mother had bred her to gravitate toward, the sort of man who looked regal enough to be distant royalty and maybe had the bank account of distant royalty as well. Isabella sighed.

Luke peeked into the kitchen. “Is it good?”

She looked over at him and smiled genuinely. “Yeah. What did you put in there, cinnamon?”

“It’s my secret and I won’t tell. You have a pretty nice spice cabinet.”

Isabella laughed. “I never figured you for the type of person to comment on a woman’s spice cabinet.”

“I might have gone to culinary school, briefly,” Luke said, smiling at her and sitting down at the table. “Which is also my secret, and you shouldn’t tell.”

“I promise none of your coworkers will know.”

“Besides, if anyone tasted my chicken parmesan, I’d be forced out of the construction business and into the kitchen.” After he saw her look of disbelief, he added, “I’m not kidding; it’s really tasty.”

Isabella was pleasantly surprised. She looked down at her lap, folding her napkin over and over as she struggled yet again to decipher the man in front of her and how she should react to him. His come-ons from the day before were still fresh in her mind, but maybe he was just a playful guy who didn’t care how well he knew someone before he was unapologetically himself.

Or, Isabella reminded herself, maybe he was just trying to get into her pants. She decided, for now, that she’d stick with the latter rationale.

“It sounds like it might be delicious,” she said. “But who knows unless you try it...you could be all talk and no sizzle.”

“I’ve got sizzle,” he challenged. “You want to try my chicken?”

“Well, Luke, I don’t know—”

“How about tonight? You busy?”

Isabella paused, looking hard at him. “Are you asking me out on a date?”

“Maybe.”

“You barely know me.”

“But maybe I want to get to know you.” He raised a brow and half-smiled, as though tempting her to challenge such logic.

Isabella narrowed her eyes. Let him challenge her; she’d rise to the occasion. “I’m your client.”

“You’re only my client during the day; after work hours, you’re fair game.”

“Ha! I don’t think so, buddy.”

“You’re single, I’m single. It couldn’t be more convenient for a tiny date with chicken parmesan,” he said. “Come on.”

She sighed. First the offer, and then the pressure when she didn’t immediately fall into his arms. Such a predictable man. “I’m not dating right now.”

He furrowed his brows. “Why?”

“I’m done with men. I’m not dating anymore.”

“So...you’re into women now?”

She laughed, in spite of herself. “Not even women, although I suppose if the right one came along I’d give it a shot...”

He looked doubtful. “So it’s a double-standard.”

“Let’s put it this way: my track record with women is spotless. With men, on the other hand, it’s nothing but shit.”

His brow creased. “But I can’t imagine any reason why you wouldn’t want to go on a harmless date with me.”

“Well, nothing personal, but you should try somewhere else. This is closed until further notice.” She gestured toward herself.

“Aw, come on, Isabella! Look at me! I’m fun, I’m good-looking, and I’ve got a lot of other qualities that you don’t even know about yet!”