Mary Baxter - The Millionaire Comes Home

A frown marred his face at the same time his loins stirred. Suddenly he fought the urge to grab another antacid, turn and get the hell out of there as fast as his legs could carry him. Yet he didn’t move a muscle. It was as though his thoughts had him welded to the spot.

And that apron. He couldn’t forget about that. He hadn’t been making fun when he’d called attention to it, either. He’d been intrigued. And delighted. How quaint. How uncitified. But again, only someone with Grace’s whimsical beauty and charm could pull it off. The thought of any of his women friends donning an apron was so ludicrous he almost laughed out loud.

For his own peace of mind he wished Grace were married with 2.3 children and sported wrinkles and a little more fat. Instead she had remained thin, but not too thin, because her breasts seemed to fill her knit shirt to his standard of perfection.

Of course, her hair had changed. She now wore it in a short style that was a little edgy, a little messy. However, its color remained intact, the light-brown locks with blond streaks still contrasting sensationally with her dark eyes and luscious thick lashes.

She oozed a natural sexuality that he’d bet she wasn’t even aware of. When he was in the room with her, he found it difficult to breathe. He was sure other men had been affected the same way.

So why had she been content to stagnate here where obviously there were no available men? No wonder she wasn’t married. Suddenly he felt a small pinch of gladness at the thought, which was absurd since he was only passing through.

No matter. After he had walked out of her life the way he had, he was surprised she’d let him in the door. Maybe he’d been just as much a passing fancy for her as she’d been for him. Again it didn’t matter. He had sworn off women, at least those with marriage in mind.

One wife, followed by a nasty divorce, was enough for him.

Yet he realized now more than ever that he’d never forgotten Grace or that night of passion they’d shared. He’d been nuts about her and hadn’t wanted to leave her. He remembered that all too clearly. However, nothing had worked out according to either of their plans.

But that was then and this was now. He was no longer the horny college student who thought he’d die if he couldn’t make her his, thinking he was in love. Lust. That was the emotion that had driven him. Love hadn’t had anything to do with it, or so he’d convinced himself, having felt rotten at the outcome of their relationship.

“Damn,” he muttered, reaching for another antacid.

This time there was no relief for the sour taste in his mouth and in his stomach. All he had to do was walk out of the room, tell Grace he couldn’t stay, and that would be that. His life would be back on track once again, back to Dallas, back to his job.

And back to his nightmares about the plane crash that had brought him sleepless nights and restless days. Why had he been the only one spared that fateful day? He had walked away from the scattered debris and the mangled bodies of his best friend and the pilot.

It had been nearly a year since a malfunction in the engine had sent the small plane to the ground. Would the dark end of that bright spring day haunt him forever?

As if his body had suddenly become detached from his mind, Denton reached for his cell phone and punched in the number of his firm in Dallas.

“See you later, dearie.”

“I’m counting on that,” Grace said, mustering up a sincere smile for Zelma.

Zelma winked, then whispered in a conspiratorial tone,” I’m going to join the old man for a late siesta.”

This time Grace grinned openly. “Works for me.”

Zelma’s attractive features sobered. “You really ought to think about—”

“Don’t you dare say it. Don’t you dare think it.”

“Oops, looks like I stepped in over my head again.”

“Close to it,” Grace countered, though her smile was back intact.

“It’s just that you’re so lovely, it’s a shame—”

“Zelma!”

“I’m gone. I’m gone.”

Once Grace was alone, she took a deep breath. She knew Zelma meant well, that she wanted her to find and experience the kind of love that she and Ed shared. And while Grace appreciated that, she couldn’t let Zelma think for one second that Denton might be the one.

A shiver darted through her. She had no intention of trekking down that rocky road again, though Zelma knew nothing of her and Denton’s past and never would. Even so, she wasn’t about to stand for Zelma’s matchmaking, even if it was from the heart.

Grace glanced at the clock and saw that it was later than usual. But then, snack time had been later. Now, with the exception of Denton, the guests had all exited the garden room after having devoured the snack.

Since he’d returned from the gas station, he hadn’t left his room. Most of the time he’d been on the phone. Because his room was the closest to the living areas, all had heard the sounds of his muffled voice. Although she couldn’t decipher the exact words of his conversation and certainly didn’t try, she had gotten the gist of them, anyway—all hell seemed to have broken loose in his office. No wonder he popped antacids as if they were going out of style.

What a dreadful way of life. Still, that was his choice, and he seemed to thrive on pressure. That was why she expected him to renege on his stay and leave at any time, regardless of his client and regardless of the status of his vehicle. She crossed her fingers that would be the case. Having him underfoot for even one night was not good. Seeing him again had affected her much more than she cared to admit. Her mind’s eye suddenly conjured up the whipcord leanness of his body at the same time her senses smelled the slightly musky odor that was exclusively his.

And when he looked at her in that certain way, her entire body tingled. Stop it! she told herself. Stop adding fuel to an already smoldering fire. Those memories were not welcome. Besides, she could feel the anxiety building inside her, and she couldn’t afford to let that happen. She’d been doing so well. No way was Denton Hardesty going to undermine that.

Suddenly unable to stand her idle hands, Grace scooped up the remains of snack time and almost ran into the kitchen. Keeping her momentum, she grabbed a bowl out of the cabinet, then crossed to the pantry where she latched on to a box of coffee cake mix, rationalizing that something different would be an extra attraction for tomorrow’s breakfast. That way she could get ahead and keep her mind and hands occupied at the same time.

She was stirring the batter as if it was the enemy when she looked up and watched Zelma walk back in. “I thought you were taking a nap.” Grace grinned. “Or something.”

Zelma’s mouth turned down. “Ed’s snoring. What does that tell you?”

Grace’s grin spread. “That you struck out.”

“What’s that you’re whipping up on?” Zelma asked.

“Coffee cake.”

“Ah, more fat for these hips.”

“Pooh. You don’t have an ounce of fat on you.”

“Well, Ed does, but he’s working on it.”

“Think he’ll forgive me for throwing temptation in his wake?”

“He won’t forgive you if you don’t.”

They both chuckled, then Zelma said, “I came to see if you wanted to go dancing with us.”

“Dancing?”

“Yeah, in Austin. We accidentally stumbled on a place that caters to old folks like us. Last week, though, there were several singles that joined in. So how about it?”

“Thanks, but I’ll pass. It’s been a long day.”

Zelma eyed her curiously. “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.”

“Ah, come on and go. It’ll do you good to shake a leg.”