All Tied Up Page 8

  This time Lauren picked up the remote control and flipped off the television. She scooted forward on the sofa, sitting cross-legged, her knees only inches from Macy’s feet. “I wanted to talk to you about that.”

  Macy felt the first stirrings of uneasiness as Lauren nervously studied her nails.

  “I don’t know Anton as well as I should, after being with him for a year. We never have any quality time, what with both of us working like we do.”

  “That’s not so unusual. It happens that way for a lot of couples.” Enough attacking for one night. “But you’re right. It’s tough when you can’t find the time.”

  “It is. I mean, how are we supposed to make a go of this if we can’t even get to know each other? I mean, really know each other, the way a couple should.”

  “Maybe this scavenger hunt will be a good thing for the two of you.” And hadn’t that been Macy’s plan all along? “You can dig a little deeper and win a fab vacation in the process.”

  “Well, that’s only going to happen if we have the time to work on the hunt. Which is why I’ve decided—” Lauren took a deep breath “—I’m going to move in with Anton.”

  “What?” Really, Macy had been meaning to get her hearing checked. There was no way Lauren would leave her living all alone. “I don’t think I heard you right.”

  Lauren nodded. “You heard me right. Anton asked me a few months ago to move in with him. I put him off then. I wasn’t sure I was ready. That we were ready.”

  “And now, because of the scavenger hunt, you’ve changed your mind.” What was the saying? Be careful what you wish for. Oh, this was not at all what Macy had wished for. “Whose idea was it this time? For y’all to move in together?”

  “It was mutual.” When Macy responded with a skeptical look, Lauren added, “Okay. I broached the subject. But Anton agreed. We have to do something. Otherwise how can I trust what we have to be real?”

  “But doesn’t moving in together seem to be drastic? What if you’re there a week and decide you want out?” And who was Macy going to get to take Lauren’s place?

  Oh, good panicked grief.

  Lauren bolted to her feet and paced the length of the sofa. “Oh, thanks for having so much faith in our relationship.”

  “It’s not that—”

  “Maybe not. But try to give me a little credit. If anything feels wrong, I’ll move back out. Even if I have to find a new roommate.”

  A new roommate. Where was Macy going to find a new roommate? “I don’t think I’ll replace you in a week.”

  “I know you better than anyone, Macy. And I’ll bet my entire share of gIRL-gEAR stock that in the last thirty seconds you’ve already made a list of potential replacements.”

  “It’s a blank list, if that makes you feel any better,” Macy admitted, anxiety testing the limits of her antiperspirant.

  “Yes. It does. I like knowing I’m irreplaceable.” Lauren tugged Macy’s legs down flat and sat in her lap, wrapping an arm around her shoulder.

  Macy leaned her head into the crook of Lauren’s neck and sighed. “Don’t ever let Anton forget it.”

  “Are you kidding? He’s a guy. I’ll be reminding him constantly.”

  “Good.” Macy whispered the word, closed her tear-filled eyes and swallowed. Oh, she was going to miss her best friend.

  “I know a lot of this for him is physical. Who am I kidding?” Lauren chuckled. “I lot of this for me is physical.”

  “You are such a slut.”

  “And damn proud of it.”

  “As well you should be.”

  “Do you really think so?” The wistful question begged for reassurance, not psychoanalysis.

  “Of course I do.” Macy sat up and looked Lauren squarely in the face. “It’s not like men should have a monopoly on enjoying sex.”

  “I know. But I wonder sometimes if that’s all our relationship is about.” Lauren sighed. “I mean, I know it’s not, but it seems like we’re always in bed when we finally find time to be together.”

  “Well, this way, you’ll have time for other things, too. Now—” Macy patted Lauren’s knee, needing freedom, needing air, needing to get to the toilet before she puked on the floor “—get your booty out of my lap before you break my legs.”

  Since you’ve already broken my heart.

  6

  WELL, SO FAR THIS scavenger hunt idea of hers sucked.

  It was Monday, and since springing the game on her crew a week ago Saturday night, Macy had lost her roommate, spent the last two days alone in a loft that now resembled a crypt, and been felt up by a man she hadn’t seen since.

  And she’d had the nerve to call Lauren a slut.

  Living alone was obviously getting to her, not to mention this was no way to win her own scavenger hunt, being totally out of touch with her partner.

  Today was the first time she’d grocery shopped for one. A half gallon of milk. Whole milk. No more watered-down skim for this girl. Sour cream. Real butter. Cream cheese. Oreos.

  Without Lauren along to reshelve half the things Macy picked out, she was going to reach the checkout counter with a heart attack in a shopping cart. She might fuss at Lauren for her birdlike diet, but at least when Lauren was around Macy ate a healthy balance of nutritious foods.

  With Lauren around Macy also managed to work instead of staring out the loft’s sliding glass doors while sitting at her desk. She hadn’t even written up half the notes she needed for tomorrow’s departmental meeting.

  Which went to prove that she was going to have to do something about this roommate dilemma. When she couldn’t string together one coherent sentence on a subject she’d worked out in advance, well, something was going to have to give.

  The fact that she thrived on chaos was not exactly a secret or a surprise. Growing up the youngest of six meant she’d never had the luxury of quiet time. She’d been the runt of an oversize litter, scrabbling for what attention she could get in a family where attention was inevitably spread thin.

  Not everyone would’ve enjoyed the noise or learned through the years to work in the uproar as Macy had, but pandemonium had always been so much a part of her life that both madness and mayhem were as comfortable as a pair of worn sneakers.

  She pushed her cart, crackling with bags of blue corn chips and organic potato chips and curly cheesy puffs, out of the snack food aisle and into the produce section, where the choices of fresh food seemed to stretch for red-and-green acres.

  She gave a pathetic little sniff. Lauren loved this market more than any other for this very reason.

  Okay. Macy could deal with this. Buying green beans for one was not the end of the world. Choosing three apples, two bananas instead of a half dozen of each meant less to carry home, less to go bad, and guaranteed Macy the pick of the crop.

  Iceberg lettuce, none of Lauren’s fancy, frilly red and yellow types. A bag of mini carrots, one small Roma tomato and that would do it. Simple salad makings instead of the gourmet fare Lauren always chose.

  Buying all this roughage on her own…Lauren would be so proud, Macy wistfully mused, missing her best friend’s critical eye as she tested the waxy skin and weight of the cucumbers.

  “It’s not really true. What they say.”

  Macy glanced up into the face of Leo Redding. She blinked, blinked again, but he didn’t vanish into thin air like a good little figment of her imagination. “What’s not true?”

  Leo directed his gaze to the produce in her hand. “Size doesn’t matter.”

  Bad enough that he’d caught her fondling cucumbers. Now he’d managed to make her blush. Searching for a comeback, she took her time, added the cuke to her cart, then poked an index finger at the honeydew melon in his carry-all. “I guess we both have our fantasies.”

  She glanced up to see how close to the mark her barb had landed. And then she wished she’d kept her eyes front and center and focused on the miles of fruits and veggies. How, in the span of a week and two days, had she managed t
o forget how devastatingly gorgeous he was?

  His eyes were a soft lettuce-green, his dark beard just beginning to be visible along the solid line of his jaw. He stood a good head and a half taller than her, giving Macy the perfect perspective to visually measure the breadth of his chest and shoulders, both impressively masculine and tempting to her hands. Those hands remembered the resilient give of muscles. Remembered, too, the feel of that hint of whisker grazing her cheek, scraping her mouth, tickling the tips of her fingers.

  She sighed. There really ought to be a law about who was allowed to shop in public, and given a moment, she’d think of one. Here she was, about to drool all over herself and all over the produce. Surely that violated all manner of health codes and store policy.

  Of course, and thank goodness, Leo seemed totally unaware of her lust-ridden dementia. He’d reached into the breast pocket of his crisp white oxford shirt only to pull out, instead of his grocery list, the list from the scavenger hunt.

  He actually had it folded in his pocket and was carrying it with him. He was mocking her. She couldn’t believe he would keep the thing on his person for any other reason. Macy shook her head. “What are you doing with that?”

  He adjusted his glasses, shook open the sheet, frowned and peered closely. “Checking to see if there’s anything on here about favorite foods…or a food fetish.”

  She put her cart into motion, waiting to see if Leo followed. He did and she felt a little thrill. No, a chill. That was it. The refrigerated cases were around the corner.

  “I can tell you right now any fetish I have is going to be of the chocolate-covered-cherry variety. Maybe even peanut butter. Or popcorn.”

  “Popcorn?” he asked from behind.

  “Forget it. Hey. Wait a minute.” She jerked her cart to a complete stop. Leo sidestepped and avoided the collision. Macy glared in his direction. “Are you stalking me?”

  Leo blinked. “Stalking?”

  “It’s Monday afternoon.” She glanced at her Winnie-the-Pooh watch. “Three-fifteen. Shouldn’t you be at work doing something legal? Instead of engaging in whatever questionable activity brings you to this part of town?”

  An aristocratic brow arched upward. “Grocery shopping? A questionable activity?”

  “Exactly. Especially since you are doing so miles from your home turf.”

  “Sorry to burst the bubble of your conspiracy theory, but this store isn’t miles from my home turf. At least not any longer.”

  Perfect. Just dandy. Of course he was living nearby. She gripped the cart’s handlebar, twisting one hand forward, one hand back, nearly cracking the red plastic cover. “You’ve already moved?”

  “Yes and no. I bought one of the Neville and Storey condos downtown. Closing won’t be for another week, so I’m camping out in an extended-stay suite. I didn’t want to add another month to my lease when we’re only talking a matter of days.”

  She glanced over her shoulder before pushing the cart forward again, and mumbled to herself, “Stalking. That’s what it is.”

  “What was that?”

  “Nothing.” Change the subject. Forget how close he was, er, he’d be once he moved. Forget that he was driving her crazy at the same time he was driving her…crazy. “Can I ask you a question?”

  Leo picked up a bunch of fresh spinach, a tub of butter lettuce. “Shoot.”

  “What is the most strategically bizarre place you’ve had sex?”

  Leo chuckled. “Since the last time I answered that question?”

  “Oh, I give up.” Macy started pushing her cart toward the front of the market. Leo, of course, still followed. He continued to follow, and even stopped when she stopped at the olive bar to load up at $6.99 a pound.

  “You’re actually going to pay that price?”

  “Why not? I’m worth it.” She went for the Greek style and the jalapeño stuffed. “Besides, I’m drowning my tears in salt. Lauren had olive issues. She refused to allow them into the house. But I can eat anything I want to now that she’s gone.”

  “Gone? Where’d she go?”

  “She moved in with Anton over the weekend.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “Nope.” Macy popped an olive into her mouth.

  “So.” Leo ladled $6.99 a pound olives into a small plastic tub of his own. “You’re living in that great big loft alone. And I’m living by myself in a glorified hotel.”

  “Yes, I am. And don’t think I don’t know what you’re thinking because I do. The answer is no.” She popped another olive because, even though she’d made a weak effort to head him off at the pass, a sense of where he was about to take this conversation had her heart racing, her toes tingling, her dread of having the loft to herself ready to invite him to stay.

  “Why not? It’s the perfect solution.”

  “Solution to what? I don’t see any problem here needing solving.” She circled her shopping cart around the olive bar, turning to the barrels of fresh-roasted Sumatra Mandheling coffee beans.

  “Rent money? I could make up Lauren’s half. Go a few dollars extra.”

  Money she didn’t need. Money she was fine with. It was the prospect of silence and solitude making her crazy. Crazy enough to realize that Leo Redding—why, of all people, Leo Redding?—had just provided a short-term answer to the question of what she was going to do about her living arrangements.

  She shoveled a pound of the coffee beans into a paper bag. “Money’s not a problem. But you know that. You know how much gIRL-gEAR is worth.”

  Leo gave an acknowledging shrug and pointed her toward the barrel of Hawaiian Kona. “That’s still a lot of space for one person to manage.”

  “I’ll manage,” she answered, frowning when she realized she was actually scooping up the beans he wanted. Expensive tastes, this one had. But then she knew that about the man, didn’t she?

  “I’ll bring my espresso machine.”

  “There’s a Starbucks on the corner.” She tossed the Kona into his basket, wheeled her cart around and made for the bakery before she actually handed him her extra house key.

  This was absolutely insane. Leo Redding? Living in the loft? There was no way she could share her space with this man. He was the chalkboard beneath her fingernails, the hot leather car seat beneath her short shorts. So why was the prospect of having him under her roof, even temporarily, such an incredible turn-on? The idea should’ve turned her off completely.

  Her nerves fired a round of thrilling jolts. She reached for a three-pack of apple-bran muffins, a loaf of oatmeal-cinnamon bread. She wondered if Leo liked oatmeal-cinnamon bread. She looked up to catch him watching her. “I suppose you have a bread machine, too.”

  “Too much trouble.”

  “And pulling your own espresso isn’t?”

  “Priorities,” he said, and shrugged with one shoulder, his white shirt drawing tight over his muscles as he moved.

  “Mine are in order, thank you.” She pondered the garlic-topped onion rolls. Bad breath. The perfect repellant to ward off sexy, broad-shouldered men. She added a bag to her cart.

  Leo reached for a bag of his own. “Your scavenger hunt isn’t a priority?”

  Screw the scavenger hunt. Who needed a cruise, anyway? If she needed anything it was a reversal of the lobotomy she’d undergone between the olive bar and the onion rolls, because she was actually close to saying yes.

  She had to get out of this store before she lost any more of her mind. “I didn’t think you wanted anything to do with the scavenger hunt.”

  “What I said was that it could wait.”

  He had said that. He’d also said he’d learned enough of the truth for one evening. A comment Macy still hadn’t quite decided how to take. “And now? You’re done waiting?”

  “Timing seems right.” Leo started toward the front of the store.

  Macy hurriedly followed. “What timing? Right for what?”

  “For playing with you again.”

  Oh, but her heart lurched
at that. “Very funny.”

  “The scavenger hunt, Macy.” He cast a glance back over his shoulder. “Isn’t that what we’ve been talking about?”

  “You hardly need to move in with me because of the scavenger hunt.” She couldn’t think of any reason for him to move in with her. Not a single one.

  Rent money wasn’t a legitimate issue. Leo wanting more space than the hotel allowed was bogus. He could deal with cramped quarters for an additional few days.

  And she could not, would not have him moving in because she was desperate to avoid living alone. She didn’t want it to be Leo Redding who kept her company, who made the noise she needed in order to think.

  She didn’t want Leo Redding for anything. She didn’t want him moving in at all. She didn’t want him, most of all, to know she’d become a consummate liar.

  “I wouldn’t be moving in because of the scavenger hunt,” he said, and made his way to the end of the shortest checkout line.

  Macy chose the line to the left. Not too close, not too far away. “Why then? I can’t think of any logical reason.”

  He pulled off his glasses, tucked them in his pocket and looked at her then. He held her attention for the longest time, his steady gaze compelling, his entire presence commanding.

  Macy couldn’t do this. She couldn’t do this! She couldn’t give in, not after holding out this long. All she had to do now was pay for her groceries and get out of the store. Another five to seven minutes and her mind would once again be hers.

  Who was she kidding?

  Nine days ago she’d crawled up into this man’s lap and demanded his smile. He’d given her that much, given her more, and in exchange had captured her interest. He’d kissed her full on the mouth, left behind his texture, his taste, the temptation of his wicked wit, making sure she would never forget him.

  And then Leo ruined her plans for escape anyway by giving her a reason she couldn’t refute.

  Simply, he said, “Because you can’t think of a reason to say no. And because I dare you to say yes.”

  Oh he did, did he? One eye narrowed, she asked, “When did you say the condo would be ready?”