Kylie Brant: An Irresistible Man

“Yeah,” he said softly, “that’s what I thought.” He pushed away from the wall and walked toward her. “You said you loved me,” he reminded her. “That day in Connor’s office. Did you mean it?” His hands grasped her elbows, and drew her slowly, inexorably closer to him.

Her pulse quickened with a tiny flicker of hope. “I wouldn’t have said it otherwise,” she affirmed unsteadily. Tipping her head back to look up into his face, she continued bravely, “I hadn’t exactly picked that time to tell you. It just sort of slipped out.”

“That’s okay,” he reassured her. “I’ll give you another chance. As a matter of fact, I’m going to give you lots of chances to repeat that again. Because I love you, too, Maddy. And since I’m kind of an old-fashioned guy I want to do this right.” He dropped to one knee quickly, pulling her with him to settle her on the other. Her hands clasped around his neck. “How do you feel about being married to a detective-slash-restaurant owner?”

The feeling of impending doom that had enveloped her for the past few days was lifting, and Madeline felt almost giddy at the change. “Restaurant owner?” she repeated, pretending to be mystified. “Whatever do you mean?”

He nipped her earlobe. “Brat. I know you must have found out about my partnership with Dan Chambers during the investigation.”

“Was it supposed to be a secret?”

“Not exactly. Although I figured I could do without a bunch of cops asking me to do my impression of Julia Child at district headquarters.”

She chuckled, picturing it. “Well, I think I can handle being married to a detective with your hidden talents. Your secret is safe with me. As a matter of fact, I’m even willing to hand over all the cooking duties to you.”

He smiled that wicked, sinful smile of his and whispered suggestively, “Oh, I think you’ll discover that cooking is just one of my many hidden talents.”

She laughed again and then gasped when his teeth found the delicate cord at her throat.

“How’s Maddy Martinez sound to you?” he asked.

She smiled. “Like a mixed drink.”

“You’ll get used to it,” he assured her, pressing a necklace of kisses at her throat. “And about those kids I was talking about in the hallway the first time I came to see you? I was exaggerating. Five will be plenty for me.”

She caught his face in her hands and brought it up to meet hers. “Okay, Martinez,” she whispered. “Let’s negotiate.”

Cruz and Connor sat on the McLains’ minuscule patio, sipping contentedly from their beers.

“How much longer do you think it will be before Maddy and Michele get back from shopping?” Connor inquired lazily, lifting his bottle to squint through its colored glass at the sun.

Cruz lifted one arm to check his watch. “They’ve only been gone six hours. Knowing my mother, they’ll be back in another three hours or so.”

Connor chuckled. “I feel kind of sorry for Maddy, you siccing your family on her like that. She probably didn’t know what hit her.”

Cruz grinned. “She’ll make me pay, that’s for sure. Her idea of shopping for a wedding dress is a few planned fittings in a carefully selected shop, not being dragged through every store in the Philadelphia area.”

“Michele doesn’t especially like to power-shop, either. Although she has been taking me through a lot of stores looking at nursery furniture lately.”

His aggrieved tone didn’t fool his friend. Ever since he’d learned of Michele’s pregnancy Connor had been every inch the proud father. Michele had laughingly confided to Cruz that Connor’s spending on their shopping sprees was threatening any chance of starting a college fund for Baby McLain. Already the nursery was full of stuffed animals, sports equipment and ballet shoes.

“So, tell me.” Connor interrupted his thoughts. “How long before you and Maddy join Michele and me in parental bliss?”

Cruz raised his eyebrows. “Slow down, buddy. Let us get married first. And then let us enjoy our honeymoon. And then,” he added, his tone growing wicked, “give us a chance to enjoy each other.”

“Ah, the blush of true love,” gibed Connor. “I’d recognize it anywhere. Tell me, how is it that a fantastic woman like Madeline Casey wound up with a bum like you?”

“I don’t know,” Cruz retorted, “it must be something in the Philadelphia water. After all, Michele ended up with you.”

Connor raised his beer bottle high, and Cruz followed. “Well, here’s to the tap water of Philadelphia, and to the Philly women who love us so.” Bottles clinked and they each drank. A moment later the front door slammed. Not getting up, Cruz and Connor looked at each other quizzically. A moment later Madeline was on the patio, stalking toward her fiancé.

“Cruz Martinez,” she purred lethally, “I am going to kill you.”

Despite her dangerous tone, the two men laughed. Cruz put down his beer and pulled her down on top of him. Once he had her on his lap, he nuzzled her neck. “Did you find a dress, honey?”

Not fooled by his innocent tone, she retorted, “Oh, yes. As a matter of fact, we found three hundred sixty-one dresses, but your mom only made me try on two hundred of them. And just when I would think things couldn’t get any worse, your sisters would pull out another one.” She buried her face against his shoulder. “I’ll tell you, guys, that’s my idea of hell. Standing practically naked in a dressing room with a lady with pins in her mouth and ice-cold hands, and your sisters slinging me more gowns to try on throughout eternity.”

Their laughter wasn’t the least bit sympathetic.

“Michele was the one who masterminded our escape. She pretended to have contractions.”

The humor abruptly left Connor’s face. “Contractions?” he croaked. He literally sprang from his chair and sprinted into the house to find his wife, ignoring the explanation Madeline tried to call after him.

“Sounds like you had a fun-filled day with that horrible family, the Martinezes.”

“Oh, they were sweet,” Madeline said with a sigh, “but my feet ache. My shoulder hurts from my purse, and I think I have pinpricks all over me.”

Cruz slipped off her shoes and rubbed the arches of her feet. “Better?” he crooned.

“Mmm.” She sighed again. “Just tell me that I never have to do this again.”

“You never have to do this again,” he repeated obediently. Alter a second he added, “Until, of course, it’s time to shop for your trousseau.” He laughed at her moan.

“You’ll pay for putting me through this today, Martinez. Big time.”

“Oh, yeah?” he asked, interest alight in his eyes. “What sort of time are we talking here?”

She rubbed noses with him. “For a crime like this? I’ll have to throw the book at you. I’m thinking eighty, ninety years, at least.”

“With you?”

Her lips met his. “Definitely with me.”

“Then I say-” his lips moved against hers as he spoke “-go ahead and book me, Maddy.”