Coming Home to Love (Lakeside Porch Series Book 2) (10 page)

“And now?”

Gianessa reached for the knife. “Now we make them bite size.”

Justin stepped back and watched her slice the rolls and tip each piece onto its side.

“If you’ll finish cutting this sheet,” she invited, “I’ll cut the rest, and we’ll let them bake until they’re golden and bubbling.”

After Justin slid the sheets into the oven, she handed him a towel for his hands. “And we will eat a few delicious samples ourselves,” she told him.

“But phyllo has wheat.” He looked puzzled, and then the light dawned. “So you made this dough from other flours.”

“Exactly, and I’ve only done it once before, so we need to sample.”

“You’ve gone to a lot of trouble.”

“I wanted to take something special, and my name was on the list for hors d’oeuvres.”

“Is the After-the-holiday Staff Party at the Manse a bring-your-own or a pot-luck or some such?”

“A combination, I think. People who are really good cooks are encouraged to bring appetizers or desserts, and the rest is catered. I don’t know the history, but everyone’s excited about it, and it should be a good time.”

“While these bake, let’s get back to my question.”

Gianessa leaned back against the counter. “The one I thought I’d sidestepped?”

He grinned.

“But we had a nice detour, didn’t we?” she said with a bright smile.

“An unprickly detour.” Justin dried his hands and set aside the towel. “I still don’t know why you’re prickly today, and the mixed messages you sent on our detour didn’t clarify anything.”

“You’re a patient strategist.”

“And persistent.”

Gianessa bit her lower lip, her eyes down, and nodded.

Justin pressed, “Seriously. I enjoy our flirtation, but I want to know if you’re interested in more with me.”

Gianessa blurted, “I don’t want to fall in lust with a Sugar Daddy.” She met his gaze and cringed.

Justin’s head tipped back, as if he’d been slapped. “And that’s all that could happen here?”

“No.” She shut her eyes and apologized. “No, that came out all wrong.”

“I think that was loaded with truth, wasn’t it?”

“It was loaded with fear, Justin.”

He stepped back and reconsidered. “Now I’m even more confused.”

“Justin, you’re the most interesting, exciting man I’ve met in a decade, but I don’t trust my feelings right now. I’ve screwed up my life. I think the right thing is to focus on my professional gifts and to become self-sufficient. But then I see you and you get me. And I know I’m at my best in a loving relationship. But I feel so conflicted, I don’t know what I’m doing. You’re rich, and I wonder if I’m just flirting with you so I won’t have to do the hard work of rebuilding my career. You’re handsome and funny and getting more buff every day.”

Gianessa smiled as Justin drew himself up taller and squared his shoulders.

She swept an admiring gaze over his lean hips and the very interesting bulge in his jeans. When their eyes met, she blushed.

Justin stroked her cheek, and heat spread all the way to her toes.

“My self-esteem thanks you. There was a ‘but’ coming, I feel sure.”

She pressed her fingertips to her forehead. “But I worry that you’re just a distraction at a time when I should be—”

“—focusing on your professional gifts, yes. I don’t understand why the two have to be at odds with each other.”

“That’s the thing. They shouldn’t be, but they are at odds. When I gave you that first massage, I couldn’t set aside my attraction. I couldn’t be strictly professional with you, and—”

“Ah. That’s why you always insist on handing me off to another masseuse?”

Gianessa nodded.

“And why you won’t let me pay you for the cooking lessons and the coaching?”

They could smell the herbs and the just-baked dough. Justin suggested, “Think they’re done? Let’s see.”

Gianessa moved to the oven and opened the door halfway. Heat and mouth-watering smells rushed at her. She reached for the top pan.

Justin grabbed her hand.

She looked at him, startled.

Justin fitted an oven mitt on her hand and gave her the second mitt.

Gianessa stared at the mitts. She’d reached into the oven with no protection. “Where is my head?” She stuffed her other hand in the second mitt, drew the pans out of the oven, and set them on the cooling racks.

Her hands shook when she removed the mitts. “And that’s what I mean. I’m a little insane about this attraction to you.” She gave a little kiss to each mitt before placing it on the counter.

“It scares you?”

“A lot.” She got her breathing under control. “Thank you for keeping me from a serious burn.”

Justin reached around her to switch off the oven. He rested his hands on her shoulders.

Gianessa did not jump this time.

“Let’s have lunch and talk this over.”

She put her hands on his chest and felt the warmth and softness of his cashmere sweater, pressed a little to check the firmness of his chest muscles. His gaze was on her lips. She placed a gentle kiss beside his mouth and let him draw her into a warm embrace. “Yes,” she told him. “A good meal with you is just the thing right now.”

She let him hold her until she stopped shaking.

“And we’ll talk about whatever is going on between us?” he tested.

“We will.” She gave him a dimpled smile. “You know, I think I am starting to get you, Justin.”

“There’s a lot to get,” he said, eyes twinkling.

Gianessa closed the front door as quietly as she could, slid the deadbolt home, and let her hand linger there for a moment. She was deliciously happy. Justin had been a funny, charming companion at the party. She hadn’t laughed so much in a long time.

The Manse staff party must have been a challenge for him. What did he have in common with hairstylists, masseuses, receptionists, security guards, waiters, chefs—well, chefs, that was obvious. In fact, he’d spent quite a bit of time with Louie and Alicia, probably talking about gluten-free menus.

He was a dancer, too, something she hadn’t guessed. He’d had every one of the spa women out on the tiny dance floor at one time or another. He’d timed it so he danced just a minute or so each time and only for the slower dances. His body had a long way to go before he could handle a whole night of dancing. He’d been caught by surprise once when the band switched to a hot rhythm midway through a slow number. Justin had feigned ignorance of the steps and let his partner “teach” him the moves while he acted out a comically slow version of her lead. Everyone enjoyed the show.

They’d left the party early. Justin wanted to enjoy a coffee with her, so they’d gone back to his apartment and talked for an hour. Or was it longer?

“And where have you been?” Sara asked from the living room in a sleepy imitation of a stern parent’s voice. Her cheek was creased from the pillow.

Gianessa hung up her coat with a laugh. “Don’t tell me you waited up for me?”

“Are you kidding? Of course I waited up. My assignment is to get all the juicy details. Where did you and the hit of the party go after the party?”

“Ohmigod, Sara, are we the hot topic now?” Gianessa pretended a groan. “We had coffee at his place and talked.”

“Talked?” Sara drew out the word with a knowing smile.

“Talked.” Gianessa drew it out with a ‘Duh’ look on her face. “We’re just friends, Sara. I keep telling you.”
But those kisses at the door . . .
A delicious shiver ran through her.

“Maybe you were friends before, but tonight you were On A Date for all of the Manse and a pretty good chunk of Tompkins Falls to see.”

“Are you serious?”

“Think about it.” Sara drew her legs to her chest and wrapped the afghan around her.

Gianessa slid onto a slipper chair, kicked off her heels, and massaged her tired feet. “He’s quite a dancer, isn’t he?”

“He’s a hell of a dancer. And you’re the queen of changing subjects.”

“You’re catching on, roomie. So you really believe Justin and I were on a date tonight?”

“Everyone at the party thinks you were on a date tonight. Especially when he called you ‘Darling.’”

Gianessa muttered, “I hate that word. I wish he’d stop. He knows I don’t like it.”

“He’s crazy about you. So, what’s the scoop? You asked him to the party, and he said, ‘Sure,’ just like that?”

“I didn’t ask him.”

“Gianessa, it was
your
party.
He
couldn’t ask
you
.”

Gianessa moved her attention to her left foot.

“Or did he?” Sara laughed. “I have a feeling he can do whatever he wants and people will just go along with it and think it was their idea.”

“That’s the truth. I remember now. I asked him if I could use his kitchen to make the hors d’oeuvres, and—”

“They were delicious. Those mushroom thingies especially, and the cheese puffs were so light and really delicious.”

“Thank you. Justin helped make the mushroom roll-ups, and he provided the cheeses for the puffs. Grated the cheese, too, and did all the heavy mixing.”

“But—wait—why did you need to use his kitchen? You have a great kitchen here.”

“We have an adequate kitchen here. Justin has two ovens, one of them generous enough for two pans of hors d’oeuvres at a time. We prepared everything in less than two hours start to finish.”

And in between we had lunch and talked very seriously about our relationship
. Gianessa was not about to tell Sara about that discussion. She wasn’t entirely sure herself what they’d concluded.
But those kisses at the door were more than friend kisses
.

“So you asked to use his kitchen and, somehow, he wrangled an invitation to the staff party?”

“He agreed to my using his kitchen, but only if I’d teach him how to make the recipes and let him contribute some ingredients and take him to the party.”

“Hah. He’s good.”

“I never thought twice about it.” Gianessa frowned at her roommate. “But you’re right, we looked like we were on a date, didn’t we?” Another thought followed. “And as if
I
was pursuing
him
.”

Sara wiggled her eyebrows, and they both burst out laughing.

“That schemer.” Gianessa made tiny fists and beat the air.

“And you had a great time, didn’t you?”

“I did. He’s a fun date.”

“Are you going to get jealous if he starts dating the other women he met at the party tonight?”

“What?” She stood up and planted her hands on her hips. “Is that why he did this? To meet other women?”

“Don’t get crazy, Gianessa. He may have been working the room, but he only had eyes for you.”

“No, he did not. He was pretty tight with Mireille and Alicia out there on the dance floor.”

“You’re jealous. You’re crazy about this guy.”

“Stop it. You’re making me crazy. I’m just . . .” her voice trailed off.

“You’re just miffed because he manipulated you into a date and now everyone thinks you’re an item, and no other guy will dare ask you out.”

“That is so not fair. You’re being mean.”

“Lighten up, roomie.” Sara laughed. “You’re out of practice, and he’s smarter than you are.

Gianessa stamped her foot. “I don’t like that.”

“I can see that.”

She turned on Sara. “And when did you get so smart about dating politics?”

“Dating politics?” Sara chortled. “You made that up.”

“Well, yes, I did.” She collapsed onto the slipper chair. “I had a perfectly wonderful time tonight, and now you’ve gone and spoiled it.”

Sara rushed over and gave her roommate a hug. “I’m sorry. I was just teasing.” She sat cross-legged on the floor next to the chair.

“But you’re right,” Gianessa pouted. “He manipulated me into taking him as his date, and everyone saw us and assumed I’d asked him. And now every eligible woman in Tompkins Falls knows he’s on the dating scene.”

Sara squeezed her hand. “You know what I think he
really
intended by coming with you tonight?”

“You already said.” Gianessa huffed.

“But you heard it wrong. I think he wanted everyone to believe you and he are an item. He has staked his claim on you.”

“I don’t like that. I’m nobody’s claim.”

“So what are you going to do about it?”

Patrice LeBlanc came late to the village coffee shop. She spied George in a booth in a quiet section. Good, they could talk freely there. As she approached the booth, she sized up the man he talked with. He looked remarkably like Joel Cushman, but older and somehow more powerful. No wedding band, but he had the aura of a man contented in his relationship.
Good
. She didn’t want another sex scandal at Tompkins College. They were in enough trouble as it was.

Joel had blown the whistle on an unbelievable mess of exploitation, abuse, and embezzlement. She loved her alma mater and did not want to see it fail. But without someone with vision and the balls to fire the hundred or so offenders, her college was going down the tubes.

She announced herself with a crisp, “Gentlemen, don’t get up. Booths are barriers to old-fashioned manners. George, thanks for finding the booth in the back with no listening devices.”

George’s eyes crinkled in a smile, and he returned Patrice’s firm handshake. “Latte, Patrice?” he asked and, at her answering nod, headed for the coffee bar to let her talk privately with the new guy for a minute.