KISS AND MAKE-UP (6 page)

Her jeans got even tighter.

It wasn’t just sex, they couldn’t talk about their past relationship at all. She needed to make sure she wasn’t too close to him when they had that conversation because she’d already realized she was still susceptible to Wyatt. Not just physically, either. Every minute she spent with him was reminding her why she’d fallen for him so hard in the first place.

So they’d need to be in less confined quarters, when she told him he’d been a fat-headed, stubborn, proud fool to throw their marriage away because she’d been scared and stupid. And then tell the fat-headed, stubborn, proud fool to sign the papers weighing down her purse like a chunk of lead.

“So tell me about this automotive firm you’re trying to land,” she said, finally coming up with a topic of conversation that might leave her breathing normally and keep her panties from getting any more moist from her overheated imaginings. “Why’d they shoot down your first presentation? I liked the concept of various men in different models of cars all stopped at the same intersection, deciding whether to turn right or turn left.”

Wyatt’s jaw dropped.

“Jackie,” she explained, almost feeling sorry for him. Couldn’t be easy to have such a chatterbox sister. Then again, any sister would be nice, as far as Cassandra was concerned. Being the only child in her family, she’d often wished for a sibling to share in the attention. And the pressure.

“The bigmouth,” he said, shaking his head in disgust.

“Okay, right, but get past that. What was the problem with the campaign? Sounds pretty cute to me. Playing on the whole ‘which road should I take’ thing, but keeping it sexy and light.”

He looked over again, though he should have had his eyes on the road. Wyatt’s gaze narrowed and he tilted his head in confusion. “How’d you grasp that so quickly?”

“Grasp what?”

“The which-way-should-I-turn moment we were going for.”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s just what I visualized when Jackie mentioned it.”

A horn beeped, startling them both. Wyatt quickly returned his attention to the road, giving an apologetic wave to the driver in the next lane who he’d nearly swerved in front of.

“Well, you visualized it exactly the way
I
visualized it,” he admitted, his words slow, as though he was surprised by the realization. “They just didn’t get it.”

“I guess the coming to the crossroads and choosing which way to go is pretty American,” she said.

“They’re selling to an American audience,” he said, his tone dry. As if he’d made the argument before.

Apparently, however, that hadn’t helped him land the difficult account. “So did you scrap it and go back to the drawing board entirely?”

Wyatt shook his head. “Not entirely. We all liked it, but I know something didn’t click. I just haven’t figured out what yet, or how we can salvage some of the overall concept.”

She tapped her index finger on her cheek, thinking about it. “How about a line of women at a stoplight, all putting on eye shadow?” she asked, not trying to hide the mischief in her voice.

“To sell imported cars?”

“Nope. Cosmetics.”

“Forget it. I’m not working for you.”

“Or,” she said, as if he hadn’t spoken, “wind blowing wildly through an open car window, but never messing up her foundation.”

“Cassie…”

“A couple lying on the hood of a sexy convertible, kissing passionately without smearing her lipstick?” That certainly put
her
imagination into overdrive….

“Cassandra!”

She clapped her hands together. “I’ve got it! A well-dressed woman crying to the cop who pulled her over to give her a ticket, without getting all raccoon-eyed from runny mascara.”

He groaned, deeply, helplessly. But then, as if unable to help it, Wyatt began to chuckle and shake his head. “When did you get to be such a pain in the ass?”

“When did
you
get to be so stubborn?”

Wyatt stopped at a stop sign and looked over at her, the soft reflection from the dashboard casting lines of light and shadow across his handsome face. His amusement gradually faded until he was staring at her, looking both intense and also perhaps a bit concerned. “Why is it so important that I work for your company? Are you in some kind of trouble, Cass?”

Trouble? Well, not the kind he meant. He was asking if
Fresh Face Cosmetics
was in trouble. And while they did need to diversify and open up their company with an expansion into lower-priced markets, things weren’t dire or anything.

“Everything’s fine. The company’s doing well—even if I do have to fight some of the
big
boys to keep my seat at the table.”

“Your cousins?”

She nodded. Obviously he remembered some of the details she’d told him about her family.

“I guess they don’t like that the
little
girl is now the big boss.”

“Definitely not.”

“That’s awesome,” he said, sounding pleased for her.

Of course he would be. Wyatt had always been supportive and encouraging, never seeing any limits for her, any more than he had for himself. He’d been amazing as a young man. Now as a fully grown one, he was utterly remarkable.

“So you’re really okay?”

“Yep,” she insisted, because she wasn’t truly worried about her job or her cousins.

Her personal life? Well, that was another story. But she wasn’t about to get into that with him, not yet, not here, not when they were about to spend the evening with his kid sister.

Chatty Jackie did not need to know Casandra had once been—and still was—her sister-in-law. Nobody else needed to know about Cassandra’s problems. Problems that included some seriously confused emotions. Plus her inability to get over what had been the most important relationship in her life.

Her inability to get over
him.

Oh. And the fact that they were still married.

D
inner was shaping
up to be a complete disaster. Despite having issued the invitation, Wyatt’s sister obviously had no idea how to cook. Cassandra quickly discovered that when she walked into the large, fully equipped kitchen of Wyatt’s spacious apartment near Beacon Hill. Wyatt was getting cleaned up so Cassie had asked Jackie if she could help.

“Is there an easy way to get this stuff out of the bottom of the jar?” Jackie was shaking an open container of premade Alfredo sauce into a much-too-small saucepan. “I was going to put water in it to get the last little clumps out, like I do with tomato soup, but I was afraid it might get runny.”

Cassandra sucked her bottom lip in her mouth so Jackie wouldn’t see her amusement. The girl looked thoroughly confused, with globs of whitish-gray sauce splattered on the stove, the counter and Jackie’s face. The scene, and Jackie’s woebegone expression, emphasized her youth. Wyatt’s sister was probably only twenty or twenty-one, and in way over her head. She looked a lot like Cassandra probably had during her brief marriage.

The realization made her heart twist.

“Is Wyatt really lactose intolerant?” she asked, to see if he’d been messing with her head earlier, and to make sure his sister wasn’t about to make him sick. As his wife used to do.

“Oh, cripes, I forgot,” Jackie said, her eyes widening into big circles. “Is this stuff dairy?”

Wincing as she read the label, Cassandra nodded. “I’d expect so. Cheese, cream…”

The girl muttered a four-letter word, then gave Cassandra an apologetic smile. “Sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it. I did my share of cursing when I was first learning to cook. Especially when I first made soufflé.”

“Are you a good cook?” The hope in Jackie’s face and voice told her just how overwhelmed the girl felt.

Thinking of the hours she’d spent with her family’s cook growing up—because the woman was the only person on the estate who’d ever made her feel welcome, rather than underfoot—Cassandra nodded. “Cooking is the one thing I’m very good at.”

“What about selling makeup?”

Cassandra winked. “I’m pretty good at that, too. But it helps to have an awesome product line.”

“Which you do,” Jackie said with an earnest nod. “I never thought your company’s cosmetics were worth the outrageous prices, but that thickening mascara makes my eyes look incredible.” Her face instantly reddened. “I’m sorry. I was trying to pay you a compliment.”

Grinning, Cassandra said, “Don’t worry about it. The overpriced perception is one of the reasons I need your brother’s help.” Striding to Wyatt’s pantry, she took stock. Then she scoped out the fridge, noting the fruits and veggies. She was already picturing pasta with marinara sauce and a big salad. “He sure eats healthier than he did in the old days,” she murmured.

It was only when Jackie cleared her throat that she realized what she’d said. Whirling around, she stammered, “Your brother and I have known each other for a while.”

Jackie stared at her, but didn’t answer at first. Instead, she walked to the kitchen door and pushed it open, peering into the living area of the apartment. Then she pulled her head back in, closing the door again. “I know,” she said in an exaggerated whisper. Her wide, sparkling eyes and the way she bobbed her head up and down in several jerky nods added to the melodrama.

Cassandra was almost afraid to ask what the girl meant. Because judging by the way she’d scoped things out to make sure Wyatt wasn’t going to overhear, Jackie knew a lot. And she didn’t want her brother to know she knew.

“I lived here with Wyatt for a couple of months last summer after sophomore year, instead of going home to Montana,” Jackie said, still sotto voice. “I wanted to be helpful, so I was doing some cleaning and I found a box of stuff in the closet.”

“Stuff?”

“It was a bunch of pictures. Of him…and you.”

Oh, boy.
She didn’t know whether she was touched that Wyatt had kept pictures of them—as she had, though she’d never admit it to him—or if she worried about which pictures Jackie was referring to. Hopefully they didn’t have a skinny Elvis in them.

“They were of your wedding.”

So much for that hope. Cassandra lowered her eyes, not quite knowing how to face the young woman, who could have been her sister-in-law all these years. “I see.”

“He had your divorce papers in there, too.”

The not-terribly-effective-ones, apparently.

“But it was the pictures that really made me sad.”

Jackie crossed the room before Cassandra even realized she was moving. Throwing her arms around Cassandra’s shoulders, she gave her a big hug. “You and my brother were perfect together—I can tell by the pictures. So what on earth happened? How did you two screw it up? Are you here to get him back?”

Since Jackie’s hair was going up Cassandra’s nose and in her mouth, and she could barely breathe because of the bear hug, she couldn’t reply at first. Finally, Jackie let go and stepped back. It was then Cassandra noticed the tears on the girl’s cheeks. “Oh, honey, I’m so sorry,” Cassandra said. “Wyatt knew you’d be hurt by it, that’s why he never told you.”

Jackie shook her head, her brown eyes—so like her brother’s—wide and miserable. “I’m not sad for me,” she said. “I’m so sad for you two, that you let it slip away. Because, Cassie, honest to God, judging by the things he wrote to you in the letters he never sent, my brother loved you more than life itself.”

To his great
surprise, his sister pulled off a nice dinner. Considering Jackie had set off his fire alarm every time she’d tried to cook something last summer when she’d lived with him, Wyatt was impressed. “They teaching cooking classes at Boston University now?” he asked as he pushed his plate away and leaned back in his chair.

Jackie shoved a forkful of spaghetti into her mouth and mumbled something.

Wyatt couldn’t help laughing. “What’s Ms. Devane going to think about our table manners?”

“Considering Ms. Devane just sopped up the last of her marinara sauce with her bread,” Cassie said, “she’s going to think they’re just fine.”

Her eyes were sparkling, her lips quirked in a smile. And Wyatt was simply unable to resist smiling back.

If someone had told him one week ago that he’d enjoy an evening in Cassandra Devane’s company—in his own home—he would have thought they’d been smoking something other than a cigarette. But it had happened. She was here. And it was…okay.

Better than okay
.

The three of them sat at his dining room table, with Jackie at one end and Wyatt on the other. His sister had insisted on playing hostess to the nth degree, meaning Cassie was seated at Wyatt’s right hand. Very close to him. Close enough that he could occasionally feel the brush of her leg against his own under the table. Which might not have been good for his sanity, but was so wickedly enticing that he couldn’t bring himself to care.

He was also unable to resist leaning toward Cassie. “You have tomato sauce on your chin,” he said as he carefully wiped it away with his napkin.

She turned, her blue eyes widening as she watched him. He was close enough to note the redness of her lips from the wine she’d just sipped. “Thanks.”