Chapter 17 #2
But did she think Flo wasn’t good enough for Walter Braedon? He couldn’t imagine Michaela would believe that. Rather than hitting the thought straight on the head, he asked again, “Because Walter’s a hotel magnate, you’re afraid your mother will get hurt in the end?”
She shrugged and pulled her plate back in front of her, taking another bite of enchilada and chewing it thoughtfully.
“It’s just that billionaires are all about galas and big events and flying off to New York to go to a show or to Paris for the weekend.
They want to be seen, to be noticed, to be on the front pages.
But Mom and I are simple people. Our Saturday night galas take place in front of the TV with popcorn and a sappy movie.
We’re homebodies. I don’t think Mom would like the lifestyle of the rich and famous. ”
He chuckled at the reference to the old TV show. “You might find that Walter likes being a homebody too.”
She laughed, short and sharp. “Seriously? He’s taking her to dinner and a show and a night in the penthouse suite of a luxury hotel that probably costs five thousand dollars a night. Except that he owns it.”
He thought for a long moment before he replied. She didn’t want extravagant displays. Maybe she didn’t think she even deserved them. But maybe she needed to hear something simpler. “A lot of couples go to dinner and a show, especially on a first date. He didn’t fly her to New York, right?”
“Well, no, but?—”
He held up a finger to stop her. Thank God he hadn’t flown her down to LA or rented the dining car on a train to impress her. “Maybe your mom wants to have an enjoyable time with a nice man. Doesn’t she deserve that?”
“Of course she does.” She swooped up her wineglass for another sip.
“Then wouldn’t it be good to let her have that? And to trust that she’ll take care of herself?”
She stirred her fork in the enchilada sauce on her plate. “I trust my mother,” she said softly. “But I don’t want her to kiss a frog.”
He leaned over to tip up her chin with his finger, forcing her to look at him. “Maybe for Flo, he’ll turn into a prince.”
After a long moment, a lovely smile grew on her beautiful face. “Maybe he will.” The smile turned into a sparkle in her eyes. “And maybe she’ll have a lot of fun and be very happy, and life will be good to her.”
“She deserves that, doesn’t she? Even if it’s with a billionaire?”
After another extended moment, she slipped her hand into his and squeezed. “She deserves it no matter what.”
And so did Michaela.
He just needed to prove it to her.
As they washed the dishes, Troy asked, “What’s for dessert?”
She had to laugh. “What do you think?” A plate of bite-size cheesecakes sat in the fridge.
He knew all her favorite things. But she’d still keep him guessing.
Troy was right about her mother. Flo deserved happiness.
She deserved a good life and a good man.
But even more, she deserved Michaela’s trust that she could make her own choices.
And maybe, as crazy as it sounded, what her mom needed most was a fun fling with a handsome silver fox.
And if that was all it turned out to be, more power to her.
She shooed Troy out of the kitchen. “I’ll bring dessert into the living room.”
“Can’t I help?”
She pushed him lightly with both hands. “I put a couple of decks of cards on the coffee table. Your job is to shuffle them together.”
He tucked his chin, giving her a narrow-eyed look. “Two decks of cards? What are we playing?”
Hand on the fridge, waiting for him to go, she said, “Spite and Malice. It’s like Skip-Bo, if you’ve ever played that game—” He nodded that he had.
“—but you use regular cards, one deck for each person playing. The jokers act like the Skip-Bo cards.” She grinned.
“But it’s a bit harder because there’s only four jokers in the two packs. ”
“Fascinating.”
She shrugged. “When I was a kid, Mom and I didn’t have a Skip-Bo game. We played Spite and Malice instead.” Spite and Malice had become their tradition.
Troy backed out of the kitchen. “Alrighty, then. I’ll get busy shuffling.”
She’d arranged the cheesecakes on a platter, enjoying the reminder of their day on the yacht—and that kiss .
She mixed a rum and Coke for Troy—his preferred drink, she’d learned from Susan through her mother—then prepared a Blue Hawaii for herself.
The drink was refreshing, especially on a hot afternoon after a hike. And it would be delicious for tonight.
Carrying a tray into the living room, she found Troy on the sofa, leaning over the coffee table as he shuffled expertly.
She stood for a long moment, taking in all of him as he concentrated.
So handsome. So perfectly formed. She ached to kiss him, ached for him to touch her the way he had on the hike.
Her head wanted to tell her it was a bad idea. Her body didn’t care.
But what about her heart?
Maybe she should take a page out of the book she’d just written for her mother. A fling with a handsome man. She’d never had a fling.
Maybe it was time to start. With Troy.
He eyed the little cheesecakes almost lasciviously. “Did you make them?”
She pursed her lips primly, trying to disguise a smile. “I did.”
“Then I bet they’ll taste a hell of a lot better than the ones I brought you on the boat.”
“Yacht,” she corrected him, but she blushed at his compliment. “I made you a drink.” She placed it on a coaster beside him.
He chuckled. “Don’t tell me someone has been talking to you about my favorites again.”
She didn’t even try to hide her smile this time. “Rum and Coke.”
“And a Blue Hawaii for you. I don’t remember anyone telling me that was your favorite.”
“Cakebread is still my favorite chardonnay.” She sat cross-legged on the other side of the coffee table. “I’ll deal the first time.”
As the game began, he sipped his rum and Coke, she enjoyed her Blue Hawaii, and they worked on devouring the strawberry cheesecakes.
Playing cutthroat, they blocked each other with glee and glowered when one or the other got several cards in a row off their pile.
She won the first game, and he won the second.
They finished their drinks, and while he shuffled again, she got up to make a second round.
In the third game, they gave each other no quarter, playing hard. Each game took at least half an hour. They were both excellent players, and they were both determined to win. She pulled ahead, winning the third, but then he won the fourth, and they were tied.
He gave her a devilish smirk. “How about we up the ante and make a bet?”
“You and your bets. What kind?”
His smirk grew. “Sudden death. Whoever wins this one wins the match, and?—”
She interrupted him. “I know exactly what you’re going to ask for. If you win, you get a kiss.”
His smile was all beautiful white teeth. “Is it a bet, then?”
“Agreed.”
“What if you win?”
She flashed him an equally sharklike smile. “If I win, I don’t have to kiss you.”
“Then be prepared to lose,” he said, holding her gaze, shooting a thrill through her. He raised one devilish eyebrow. “And be prepared to pucker up.”
She was prepared, all right. But she still played cutthroat, no matter how badly she wanted to lose.
Usually a cautious player, she wouldn’t lay down a card that might let him have the advantage, even if it meant she could pick up five more.
But not in this final game. Then they were neck and neck, each with one card left.
“You’re taking more risks than usual,” he remarked.
“You’ve been taking risks all along, and they paid off. I thought I’d try the same tactic.” Even as she’d been praying it would be the exact opposite for her.
He eyed her. “Be prepared to risk it all now.”
Oh, she was ready to take a risk. So ready.
During his turn, Troy was able to get rid of a couple of cards out of his hand, but unable to play that last card on his pile.
After picking up more cards, Michaela studied each stack in the center of the table.
There was no way she could play the last card in her pile either, but she could play all the cards in her hand and pick up another five.
If she didn’t get the cards she needed, though, she would be giving the win to him.
Michaela drew it out, playing a couple of cards, thinking, playing another, thinking again.
“I know you’ve got the card you need,” he said. “And you’re just trying to draw out my defeat.”
She smiled, hoping it was a little wicked, and played one more card, leaving one in her hand.
He cocked his head, scrutinized what she’d done, and said, “I don’t get it.”
Then she played the last card and said with a big smile, “I get to pick up five more.”
He laughed. “Okay, a really big risk-taker now.”
All she needed was one card to block him. She studied the new hand, examined the stacks, checked his final card. Then she sighed heavily. “Sometimes a risk doesn’t pan out.” And she discarded.
He crowed, picked up enough cards to fill his hand, then slammed a couple down into play and threw his last card on top. “I win,” he said in a roar of triumph.
She gathered the cards closest to her, mixing the ones in her hand into them.
Including the card that would have blocked him.