Send Me No Flowers (7 page)

“I’ll go out with you on one date. Only I choose where and when. Take it or leave it, Lavery.”

He scowled. “I’ll take it. But our date had better be in this decade. And it better not be at an impotency support group meeting.”

“Don’t worry. I’ve got something better in mind”

“I hope so,” he said softly, moving closer to her until the buttons of his overcoat brushed the zipper of her parka. “Rachel, I want to apologize for ambushing you back on the show. I’d like to make it up to you.”

She didn’t know quite how to react to a gentle, repentant Drew Lavery. “How?”

“Like this,” he said, taking her in his arms before she had a chance to resist. He gently touched his lips to hers, just for an instant, but long enough for her to realize what a dangerous game they played.

“You’re right,” he said huskily, his gaze fixed hungrily on her mouth. “Revenge is sweet.”

Rachel’s cheeks flushed with mortification as she suddenly became aware of the wolf whistles and cheers. Someone in the crowd shouted, “Go for it, Mayor!”

When Drew turned around to wave to his fans, Rachel realized she’d let him go too far. Submitting to that kiss had been a mistake. A big mistake. One she’d have to rectify as soon as possible.

Drew didn’t see it coming until it was too late, when he turned back to Rachel at just the wrong moment.

And got a snowball smack in the face.

“Help has arrived,” Pam said, striding into the living room with a bulging bag in each hand. “The fashion police are here.”

“And none too soon by the looks of it,” Gina said, walking in after her. “You’re not going to wear that on your date with the mayor, are you?”

Rachel looked down at her red sweatshirt and blue denim jeans. “Why not? It’s clean.”

Pam looked at Gina. “I told you she’d do everything possible to sabotage this wonderful opportunity. A date with the sexiest man in Love, and my sister is wearing a sweatshirt she bought at a garage sale five years ago.”

“This is not a real date,” Rachel retorted. “Drew Lavery set me up and now he has to live with the consequences.”

Gina winced. “You’re not going to hit him again, are you?”

Rachel swallowed as she sat down in a wing chair. “I didn’t hit him. Well, all right, I did, but with a snowball. A nice, soft snowball. How was I to know he was a bleeder?”

“You drew blood?” Pam asked in astonishment, setting the bags on the floor. “When? Where? How did this happen?”

Gina plopped down on the sofa. “It happened after the show on Thursday. You can find all the gory details in yesterday’s newspaper under the headline Mayor Assaulted By Therapist.”

“I didn’t assault him,” Rachel insisted. “I threw a snowball at him. Unfortunately he turned at just the wrong moment, so it hit him in the face. Then his nose started to bleed...” She threw her hands up in the air. “It barely bled at all.”

Pam crinkled her brow. “That’s it? That hardly sounds like enough material for a newspaper story. Must have been a slow news day.”

Rachel squirmed in her chair. “Well, that’s not exactly the whole story.” She cleared her throat. “It seems Drew is a little squeamish about blood.”

“He passed out,” Gina announced. “And hit his head on the ice. Somebody called the paramedics and they took him away in the ambulance. The hospital called in a specialist, but after a couple of hours they determined he just had a slight concussion and released him.”

Pam gazed at Rachel with an expression of horror on her face. “You gave him a concussion?”

“Yes, I gave him a concussion,” Rachel exclaimed. “And I already feel awful about it. I didn’t mean to hit him in the face. Or draw blood. It all just sort of...”

“Snowballed?” Gina concluded.

Pam smothered a burst of laughter behind her hand. “Oh, Rach, this is awful. I can’t believe he still wants to go out with you.”

“Me, neither,” Rachel muttered, remembering how awful it felt to see Drew, her victim, stretched out on a gurney in the emergency room, his handsome face so frighteningly pale. He hadn’t even opened his eyes when she’d apologized. But his lips had moved. She’d bent down to hear his weak whisper, hoping for forgiveness.

Instead he’d whispered, “Saturday night at eight.”

Barely conscious and still trying to tell her what to do. Still, Rachel did feel guilty about making him suffer. The least she could do was suffer through one date.

Pam pulled a green dress out of one of the bags. “Lucky for you, I brought the perfect dress to make it up to him. Believe me, this little number will reveal enough skin to make him forget all your violent tendencies.”

“I don’t look good in green,” Rachel said, bending down to relace her white Nikes.

“Then how about my blue cocktail dress,” Gina suggested. “You look dynamite in blue.”

Rachel scowled up at her. “You’re five inches shorter than me and two sizes smaller. I’d need the Jaws of Life to get myself in and out of that dress.”

Gina grinned. “Maybe Drew can help you get out of it.”

“If he’s still not too woozy from the concussion,” Pam added. “Of course, the right motivation may help speed up the healing process. You could be just what the doctor ordered.”

“Hold it right there,” Rachel warned, straightening up before they could go any further. “I’ll say it one more time.
This is not a real date.
I don’t think Drew even
likes
me very much.”

“Then why did he kiss you?” Gina asked.

Pam’s eyes widened. “He kissed you? When? Where? Why didn’t you call and tell me all of this, Rachel? How come I’m out of the loop?”

Rachel really didn’t want to talk about that kiss, but she knew her sister wouldn’t stop badgering her until she knew every last detail. “Because I’m trying to forget the whole ugly incident. And I figured you read about it in the newspaper like everybody else in this city.”

“They reported the kiss in the newspaper story, too?” Pam asked.

Gina nodded. “The reporter hypothesized that the kiss was the motive for the assault. According to all the witnesses, it happened shortly before she nailed him with the snowball.”

“There were witnesses?” Pam asked. “He kissed you in public?”

“Of course there were witnesses,” Rachel exclaimed. “That’s
why
he kissed me. For revenge.”

Gina crinkled her brow. “Gee, Rach, I’ve become somewhat of an expert at revenge these days, and
kissing
isn’t exactly a weapon of choice.”

“So how does he kiss?” Pam asked.

Rachel bent down to relace her other shoe so they wouldn’t see the flush in her cheeks. “It was a very short kiss. I can’t really describe it.”

“Thumbs-up or thumbs-down?” Gina asked.

Rachel sat up, brushing her hair off her face. “Thumbs...up, I guess. It’s hard to remember after all the excitement with the ambulance and everything.”

Gina and Pam exchanged glances. “So maybe you should refresh your memory tonight,” Pam suggested. “I mean, it’s not every day a woman gets to kiss the mayor.”

“Let’s get real,” Gina said. “It’s not every day a woman gets to kiss a hunk like Drew Lavery.”

Rachel had no intention of kissing that particular hunk again. Especially when his kiss left her reeling. Drew’s brief peck on the lips had affected her more than the long, deep kisses she’d shared with Russell. She didn’t even want to imagine what would happen to her if he really kissed her. Full-fledged, mouth-to-mouth combat. Her stomach flip-flopped just thinking about it.

“Look, Drew may be handsome...” Rachel began.

“And smart and successful,” Gina added.

“And the hottest man to cross your path in years,” Pam declared.

“But his interest in me all boils down to one thing. He sees me as the competition. This boycott issue has become a contest to him. And he’s determined to win, no matter what it takes.”

Gina thoughtfully tapped one finger on her chin. “Let’s see, so far his strategy includes asking you out for a date and kissing you. I wonder what else is on his agenda?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Rachel said firmly. “Because I’m putting a stop to this nonsense. After tonight, Drew will realize I’m not going to change my mind about the boycott. Then he’ll leave me alone.”

“I think you’re underestimating yourself again,” Pam said. “The guy couldn’t even wait until your first date to kiss you.”

“Our
only
date,” Rachel amended. She had no intention of giving him any second chances. She might be solidly behind this boycott, but she wasn’t made of stone. And Drew seemed to know just how to break through her defenses.

Pam shook her head. “This boycott may have brought you together, but I’m willing to bet he’ll be disappointed if it keeps you apart.”

Rachel got up, grabbing her car keys off the credenza. It was almost eight o’clock. Time to give up hope that he was going to call and cancel. “Well, as far as I’m concerned, Drew Lavery will just have to get used to disappointment.”

RACHEL SLOWLY WALKED up the lighted walk that led to the two-story frame house. Boards creaked as she climbed the wooden steps of the wraparound porch, swept clean of snow. This place certainly didn’t look like a typical bachelor pad. It looked like a home straight out of a Norman Rockwell painting; with gingerbread trim around the eaves and leaded glass in the windows. From the street, she’d seen a pair of apple trees in the big backyard, surrounded by a sturdy white picket fence.

Rachel double-checked the address on the scrap of paper in her hand. Maybe she’d written it down wrong or Drew had inverted the numbers when they’d spoken on the phone last night. After all, the man did have a concussion.

She reached into her purse for her cell phone, then hesitated. Calling him from his front porch might seem odd. And if this wasn’t his front porch, she could just go home with the excuse that he’d given her the wrong address.

Buoyed by this optimistic thought, she reached up to knock on the door. Only it swung wide-open at that moment, leaving her fist flailing in thin air.

“Hello, Rachel.”

Her hopes fell as she gazed up into a pair of incredible blue eyes. “Oh. It’s you.”

He braced one hand against the door frame, his mouth crooked up in a half smile. “Try not to sound so disappointed.”

“I’m not disappointed,” she lied, as he ushered her into the house.

“I thought we could have a drink together before our mystery date,” he said, taking her coat and hanging it on an oak hall tree. “Something to take the chill off.”

“Sure,” Rachel said, noting how handsome he looked in a pair of tan Dockers and a light blue oxford shirt. At least he hadn’t made any disparaging comments about her sweatshirt. Although, after all they’d been through together, a few well-aimed insults might make her feel more comfortable.

“I’ll be right back,” he promised as he headed toward the kitchen.

“Take your time,” she called after him.
Take all the time in the world.
Unfortunately she knew he’d be back eventually. She really didn’t want to sit in front of his blazing fireplace, drinking cognac. It seemed too cozy. Too intimate. Especially since she wanted to get this date over with as soon as possible.

Previous experience had taught her the less time she spent with Drew, the better. Especially since their meetings always led to disaster. She shuddered to think what catastrophe lay ahead for them this evening. Maybe she should revise her plans and make their date at the nearest bomb shelter.

Drew returned to the living room holding two steaming mugs. “I hope you like hot apple cider.”

So much for cognac in front of the fire. Maybe she was making too much of this date. Maybe she’d made way too much of that kiss. Maybe neither one meant anything to him.

“Yes, thank you,” she said, as she took the cup out of his hands. Then she looked around his spacious living room, hoping some polite conversation might loosen her up. “This house is so unique. I wasn’t sure I had the right address. It seems like an old spinster lady should live here.”

He smiled. “Don’t let my mother hear you say that. She’s only fifty-five.”

“She lives here?” Rachel asked, noticing for the first time the light, feminine touches around the room. The gingham throw pillows. The scented candles. The blue satin garter belt on the floor in the corner.

“No, but she owns the house. She’s a Realtor and buys gems like these herself when they go on the market. I’m just leasing it from her.”

“Well, you’ve done a great job of decorating,” she said, stirring her cider with a cinnamon stick.

“Thanks, but I don’t deserve all the credit. Sheila did most of it. She’s an interior designer.”

“Sheila?”

“An old girlfriend.” He took a sip of apple cider. “She decorated all the rooms. Even took pictures to use in her portfolio.”