Caught by You (10 page)

He squared his shoulders. “I think I'd be a damn good stepfather.”

Honestly, she couldn't argue with that. She couldn't picture anyone better, except maybe someone who actually lived in Kilby. Then again, maybe it would be an advantage that Mike didn't live here. They'd have a long-­distance, come-­and-­go relationship, not a real marriage. Most of the time, she and Zack would be on their own. She could probably live with that.

“What's in this for you, Solo? I still don't get it.”

A strange expression crossed his face, as if he didn't entirely get it either. “I'm going with my gut here. But if you don't want to do this, I can go on Instagram and say it's over. You dumped me. Or I dumped you. Either way.”

Yeah, that would probably work. There would be a flurry of talk, which Bonita would gloat over, but it would die down quickly enough. On the other hand, the thought of going before the judge with Mike Solo on her side filled her with a giddy sense of hope. Maybe there was a way to fake it without faking it. “What if we stay engaged until after the hearing?”

“Won't work. Everyone will be too suspicious. If we get engaged, we have to immediately start planning the wedding. Make it real.”

A wedding
. She felt a little faint and had to grab the back of her comfy chair to steady herself. “Then we get divorced as soon as possible.”

“I won't marry with an eye to getting divorced. I don't agree with my family about a lot of things, but that one's on the list.”

She dragged her hands through her hair in frustration. “You can't possibly be thinking that this is the right way to begin a marriage.”

“It's not the typical way, that's true. That doesn't mean it wouldn't work. I think we have a lot more going for us than you think. I respect you. I trust you. We have lots of chemistry. I always have a good time with you.”

“I have a lot of flaws, Solo. I'm impulsive, I speak before I think, I get into trouble all the time.”

“Maybe you need a good man to look out for you.” He tucked a hint of a smirk into the corner of his mouth.

She crossed her arms over her chest. “You think it's that simple? March in here and save the day? I have a say in this too.”

“Of course you do. You can say no. Or you can say yes.” A wicked grin slid across his face. “There might be lots of benefits to a yes, judging by what happened at the Laundromat.”

“Let's not go there, please. The point is, I always figured I'd get married to a man I love. And who loves me. It kind of seems like a key ingredient of the whole experience.”

Mike's eyes lit up, as if a fuse had suddenly been switched on. “Then the solution is simple. If love is that important to you, all I have to do is make you fall in love with me. Problem solved. So we have a deal?”

“A deal? What deal?”

“We get engaged for real, start planning the wedding, tell our families, tell the judge, all that stuff. But we don't actually say the I do's until I've made you fall in love with me.”

She jerked, like a marionette on the end of a string. Fall in love with Mike? She was already halfway there, but clearly he had no idea about that. She certainly wasn't going to clue him in. “What if it never happens? What if I never fall in love with you?”

That devilish smile flashed across his face. “Oh ye of little faith. You should have a little more trust in your man, Donna. What kind of fiancée are you, anyway?”

Her man?
Jesus, he was going to kill her with this. He wasn't her man. And yet he'd said the words.
Her man.
What would it feel like to
really
have Mike Solo be her man?
Forget it
, she told herself.

“Um . . . unwilling and resentful?”

“Then you'll fit in with the Solo family just fine.” He winked. Suddenly he seemed on top of the world. “I like a good challenge. And I think I'm up for this one. I can be all kinds of charming when I try. Don't bet against me, Red.”

“Oh my God. You're completely crazy.”

“What are you doing tomorrow night?”

“Why?”

“Because I want to get started. Come to think of it, why wait?”

He strode toward her. A rush of heat swept from her head to her toes as he put his arms around her—­so confident, so sure. She wanted to protest, because she was still pissed about this whole thing. The words stalled in her throat as he put his hands on either side of her head and scanned her face as if she were the most beautiful thing in the world. When actually
he
was, with his shadowed green eyes and smile that said,
Come play with me
.

“Don't you dare kiss me, Solo,” she whispered. “I'm still thinking about all this.”

He stilled, his mouth hovering an inch or so above hers. Electricity pulsed between them, thick and drugging. How easy it would be to rise up on tiptoe and touch her mouth to his. How easy to slide into that mad lust that simmered just below the surface. But her emotions were too chaotic, her thoughts all over the place. If he kissed her, she'd never get them sorted out.

She held his gaze, not giving an inch, until finally he sighed and stepped back. When his warm, rough hands left her face, she felt abandoned, which made absolutely no sense.

“I can tell you're going to be a boatload of trouble as a fiancée,” he told her.

“Count on it.”

“Oh, I am. I am.” With an enigmatic smile, he let himself out the door.

Donna collapsed onto her couch.
Sweep into your life like a hurricane
. Yes, that's exactly how it felt. What the hell just happened? Was she actually kinda sorta engaged?

No. Not in her mind she wasn't. Maybe Mike couldn't lie. But she could. She hated it, but she had practice hiding the truth. After all, she'd hidden Zack's existence from Sadie. Even her current life was sort of a lie. She hated wearing navy blue. Didn't enjoy scheduling root canals one bit. But she'd do anything for Zack.

It would be a piece of cake to pretend that she wasn't already infatuated with Mike. He could knock himself out trying to get her to fall for him. She'd make him work for it. Make him sweat. But he'd
never
get those words from her. Never. And then they could call off the farce with no hard feelings.

Mike's horrible plan was to make her fall in love with him . . . without one word about
him
falling in love with
her
. In fact, he'd ruled out the whole idea of love. And there was no way she wanted to marry someone who didn't love her. Even if she was crazy about him.
Especially
if she was crazy about him.

 

Chapter 10

D
ATE NUMBER ONE
did not go at all the way Mike planned. Once again, he showed up on Donna's doorstep with a bouquet of flowers—­sweetheart roses that perfectly matched the fresh color of her lips. He intended to tell her this, but as soon as she sniffed them, she started sneezing. Not dainty little sneezes either. These were sharp, high-­pitched little wheezes, like the bark of a Chihuahua.

“Are you okay?”

“I . . . yes. They're gorgeous. Wow, Mike.” She fell into another spasm of sneezes. “I'm definitely in love with you now.”

“Ha ha. Are you allergic to roses? You were fine with the lilacs yesterday.” He cocked his head, remembering the cone of flowers she'd flung away when he'd proposed.

“It's just . . .
atchoo
. . . certain flowers.”

He hesitated, not sure what to do with them. No sense in tossing them anywhere in her apartment; the place was so tiny she'd still smell them. “Hang on. Stay right there. You look amazing, by the way.”

That she did, in a sapphire-­blue halter-­top dress that showed off her cleavage and a whole lot of her legs. He tore himself away from her and took the steps to the downstairs apartment two at a time. An elderly woman lived there; he'd seen her peeking through her curtains. He knocked on her door and presented the bouquet to her with a grin and a bow. Her face lit up, which filled Mike with the comforting knowledge that at least he'd made
one
lady happy tonight.

Donna was on the landing, watching him with a disgruntled expression. “
Still
not in love with you.”

“Not at all?” He gazed up at her, feeling like some sort of Romeo. “Maybe ten percent? Twenty?”

“
Atchoo
.”

Of course Donna MacIntyre would have to make things difficult. Why would he expect anything else?

As he led her onto the outdoor patio of his favorite local Tex-­Mex restaurant, La Gallina, she stopped short.

“I don't know if I should do this,” she said in a warning tone.

“Do what?”

“Well, I sometimes have a weird reaction to Mexican food.”

“Sneezing like a Chihuahua?”

She gave him a narrow-­eyed look. “No, nothing like that. You'll see. Or maybe not—­it doesn't always happen. It depends on what kind of corn they use. We'll just take our chances, how's that? I just thought I should warn you.”

“All right.” Mike was starting to think she was playing him, but he shrugged it off and gestured to the hostess, who sat them at a cozy table in the corner behind an old tortilla press. La Gallina was third-­generation family-­owned, an old ranch house with only about ten tables and lacy curtains on the windows.

“What was it like growing up in Texas?” he asked, after they'd placed their orders for the house specialty, chicken enchiladas with
mole
sauce. “You were best friends with Sadie, right?”

“Since fifth grade. It started out rocky because we both wanted to jump, and we both got stuck turning the ropes instead.”

“What?”

“Double Dutch. The jump roping game? We were both obsessed with it. After we got to be friends, we practiced all the time. I think Kilby's a pretty good place to grow up, until you're about fourteen. Then you go a little crazy because you basically know everyone, and they know you. You're sure there must be something more exciting out there, but it's a four-­hour drive to Houston, the nearest city. You start going to parties just to experience something different. The something different could be trying beer for the first time, or Gentleman Jack whiskey, or it could be riding on the back of a motorcycle, or streaking across the old lady's lawn next door, or egging the cop car parked outside the Dunkin' Donuts . . . I'm telling you all my flaws, Solo. If you want to back out, do it now.”

“Not backing out.” Actually, Mike loved listening to Donna talk, no matter what the topic. She was so easy to be with, unlike Angela, who'd always seemed so untouchable, so remote and pure.

Donna was not untouchable. Or remote. Or pure, unless you counted “pure fun.” She was real and unpretentious and she loved to tease.

About halfway through their meal, as Mike was telling her stories from the clubhouse—­his problems with Yazmer and Bieberman's quest to add the phrase “what the Jeter” to the English language—­her eyelids dropped halfway over her pretty hazel eyes. She ran her tongue over her lips, leaving them pink and glistening. “Mike, I . . . uh . . . I hate to do this, but I think we should go now.”

“Go? Why?”

“I warned you about the corn. Certain kinds of corn . . . make me very . . . very . . .” Under the table, with its red-­and-­white checkered tablecloth, her hand latched on to his thigh. “ . . . horny.”

“Corn makes you horny?”

“Oh yes.” She danced her hand farther up his thigh, making his cock jump to attention. “Extremely. White corn more than yellow corn, and especially if it's GMO and non-­organic.” She ran her fingers across the crotch of his trousers.

“Donna,
stop that
. We're in a public place.”
Again
. “What about Bonita? She could be stalking us with a camera again.”

“So? We're engaged, right? Anyway, no one can see us back here.”

She traced the contours of his bulging erection.
Oh, fuck
. “Donna, you have to stop. Have you forgotten my vow?”

“But . . . we're engaged, have you forgotten that?”

“Engaged is not married.” He captured her hand firmly in his. “And this is still a public place. And I don't think you should have any more tortillas.”

She pouted, her bright hazel eyes catching the candlelight, and suddenly he wanted her in his arms, wanted her sweet body curled around his. “Ah, forget it. Let's get out of here,” he growled.

“
Yes.
Sorry, but I did warn you. Oh Mike, take me home, you gorgeous man.”

He threw a bunch of bills on the table and whisked her out of La Gallina. But when they got home, apparently the effects of the corn had worn off. Donna was yawning and drooping and had no more interest in his crotch. Instead, she stretched out on her couch. “You know what
might
make me fall in love with you? A foot rub.”

“A foot rub.” Blood was still pounding into his cock. How was he going to manage a foot rub when he wanted to throw her down right here, right now? Too bad. He'd taken a vow. And he was trying to make her fall for him.
Man up, Solo. Rub those feet.
“Okay. I can do that. The PT at the stadium taught me a few tricks.”

But his techniques didn't work on Donna. Instead she burst into giggles every time he touched her, giggles that turned into gales of laughter. Apparently her feet were freakishly sensitive. “Never mind the foot rub,” he said grimly. “Do I need to throw you in the shower to make you stop laughing?”

“No,” she gasped. “Put on a movie.
Frozen
will work.”

“
Frozen
? Seriously? I saw it once, I think that was plenty.”

“Please.”

So they watched
Frozen
, except that fifteen minutes in, she fell asleep draped across him. In that position, he couldn't move without waking her, so he ended up watching the entire movie. By himself.

On their next “date,” he had to watch
Frozen
again, since she'd fallen asleep the first time. How many times could a red-­blooded, full-­grown American male watch those darn princesses? Also, tulips were a completely different kind of flower from roses. So why did his latest bouquet bring back the Chihuahua too?

At this rate, the woman downstairs would be able to open a flower shop.

On their third date, he skipped the flowers and brought take-­out Chinese food. It turned out that MSG was just as bad as flower allergens. To distract from her uncontrollable sneezing, she put in the DVD of—­what else—­
Frozen
.

“If I turn into a Disney princess after this, you get to break the news to Duke,” he grumbled.

“
Atchoo!
”

He settled on the couch next to her. By now, they knew exactly how to position themselves when sitting side by side. She liked to curl her feet under her, while he stretched his legs out. She often ended up pressed against his side, perfectly tucked between his arm and his hip. Maybe there was a bright side to the millionth viewing of
Frozen
, he thought. Time to go in for some hand holding.

While the little snowman sang his heart out on the TV, Mike snuck his hand toward Donna's. She seemed oblivious, riveted to the screen, mouthing the words along with Olaf. Seizing the moment, he wrapped his hand around hers, palm to palm.

Bzzzzzzz

The loud drone made him jump two feet into the air. A goddamn noisemaker. In her hand. That little . . .

“
That's it.
” He rolled on top of her, pinning her between his thighs, putting his back to
Frozen
—­finally. “You're doing all this on purpose, aren't you? The allergies, the corn,
Frozen
. This is all some sort of master plan.”

She blinked at him, innocent as a kitten. “Geez, Solo. I seriously have no idea what the Jeter you're talking about.”

A stunned pause, then a snort of laughter rolled out of him. Big waves of mirth followed that one, until he was shaking with them, tears popping into his eyes, his ribs aching. She laughed along with him, her face radiating glee. He laughed until he couldn't anymore, then slumped next to her on the couch.

“You got me. I have to admit. The corn? Non-­organic, GMO . . .”

“I'm not even sure exactly what GMO is,” she admitted. “And I've eaten tortillas all my life.”

He wiped a tear off his cheek. “You're an imp, you know that? You've been playing me this whole time. So much for my moves. At this rate, I have a better chance of making you
not
fall in love with me.”

“Might be a lot less work,” she said demurely.

After that, he abandoned his planning method, and simply went along for the ride when he got together with Donna. He asked her lots of questions, listened attentively, and observed. He learned about the pain of her mother's leaving, and how she still idolized the gypsy, world-­traveling Lorraine MacIntyre. He heard all about her father, a quiet man who spent most of his time under cars in his shop. He learned about her wild party days; her friendship with Sadie; her spontaneous, warmhearted nature; her dislike of rules and bullies; her deep love for her son. She'd gotten outstanding grades in high school, but hadn't been interested in college. He knew about her knack for mimicry, her way with a quick joke, the fact that she preferred laughter to sadness. Given the choice between being sexy and being funny, she'd pick funny every time.

That didn't make her any less sexy to him, but they were keeping their distance on that front. Strangely, now that they were “engaged,” it seemed almost too . . . intimate.

About a week after their “engagement,” as Mike headed to the clubhouse to get ready for a bullpen session with Yazmer, Joey called. Mike answered with his traditional greeting. “How's my kidney?”

“What on earth are you doing, Mike? Rita said you're engaged.”

Mike winced, feeling funny about his decision for the first time. Joey was like the voice of his conscience. “Yes, although the way things are going, my fiancée might not survive to the wedding. Did you know that some ­people can't digest chocolate? What kind of life is that?” Donna had played one more prank on him the night before, when he'd brought her a box of Godiva chocolates.

“I'm serious, Mike. What are you up to?”

“You make it sound like getting married is some kind of evil genius plot.”

“That's exactly what I'm wondering.”

“I promise it's not. I'm really engaged. Mama's happy. She's willing to overlook the fact that Donna's a non-­Catholic unwed mother. Dad isn't. Big surprise.”

“Are you in love with her?”

“You know how I feel about that sort of thing.”

“Mike.” Even over the phone from Chicago, Joey's soft reproach made Mike wince. “Are you really going to let your experience with Angela taint the rest of your life?”

“It is what it is, Joey.” Could he help it if Angela had ripped up his heart and left nothing but shredded scraps behind? “Anyway, Donna's about as different from Angela as a girl could be. You'd like her. She's a little spitfire.”

“So you like her.”

“Of course I like her. She's funny and sort of . . . quirky and fearless. Loyal.”

“Loyal,” repeated Joey thoughtfully. “So, not the kind of girl who would ditch you because you changed careers.”

“Not likely.” Not the Donna who had stood up for her friend when no one else had. He tried to imagine Angela climbing up on a bar to defend a friend's reputation—­or for any reason—­and failed. Then again, Angela didn't drink. Angela was cool, serene, polished. He'd loved her hopelessly ever since he'd sat behind her in second grade and spent the entire school year staring at her long dark braid. He'd been stunned when she let him take her to a dance in seventh grade. Even more shocked when she'd accepted his worshipful proposal when they were nineteen.

In the end, she'd slipped through his grasp, the disdain in her dark eyes gutting him like a trout.

“If she makes you forget about Angela, she has my stamp of approval,” Joey said.

“This has nothing to do with what I felt for Angela. That's in a category all its own. This is different. It's the right thing. I made a mess of things for her, and it's my responsibility to fix it. This way she can get her son back, and she really loves him.”