Christine Rimmer - The Bravos - Family Ties - The Bravo Family Way / Married in Haste / From Here to Paternity

Once they’d ordered and the waiter left them alone, Fletcher wanted to know more about her childhood and about the shows she’d been in while she’d worked her way through college.

She shook her head. “Uh-uh. Your turn.”

He tried to put her off. “I know all about my life. I want to hear about yours.”

But she wasn’t letting him push her around. She repeated, “Your turn.”

He gave in and told her that he’d been born in Dallas. “My mother was working the graveyard shift at the Pancake Palace. Blake Bravo came in for a cheese omelet with sausage and a short stack on the side. For her, it was love at first sight.”

“And for Blake?”

“No way to say. He was gone in the morning and she never saw him again—not until about thirty years later, when she opened her morning newspaper and saw his picture under the headline Notorious Bravo Dies for the Second Time.”

“Your mom raised you on her own?”

“For the first ten years she did. Then she met my stepdad. They married and we moved to Ocean City. My stepdad serviced vending machines, had his own little business—still has it and does all right at it, too. They have two daughters, my half sisters, Cathy and Anna-Marie. Cathy’s at NYU and Anna-Marie is a senior in high school.” His expression had softened.

“You’re crazy about your sisters.” That pleased her.

“Yes, I am.” He said it with real enthusiasm. “Cathy’s studying microbiology. And Anna-Marie says she wants to be a writer—at least right now. She’s at that age where it’s always something new.”

“I wish I had sisters. Or brothers. I’m not picky. Family counts, you know?” Her hand rested on the snowy tablecloth.

He laid his over it. “I know.”

She felt the warmth of his skin against hers and she wanted to …

No. Uh-uh. Not going there.

Carefully she pulled her hand away.

As they were leaving the restaurant, they stopped off at a corner table and Fletcher introduced her to his half-brother Aaron and to Aaron’s wife Celia, who was also Aaron’s personal assistant.

Celia, who had a cute heart-shaped face and red hair, was pregnant. Very pregnant. She looked as if she’d swallowed a watermelon, as if she would have that baby right then and there, over lunch. She confided, “Our oldest, Davey, is just three. He’ll be attending your school.” She put her hand on her huge stomach. “And so will this one, when the time comes.” Her hazel eyes twinkled. “I’m so glad you decided to bring KinderWay here.”

“I’m pretty excited about it myself,” Cleo said.

At her side Fletcher laughed—a low, knowing laugh that played along her nerve endings. “To hear her talk now, you’d never guess how hard I had to work to convince her she needed to do this.”

Aaron held out a hand. “Welcome to the Bravo Group family.”

Cleo took it and they shook. She met Aaron’s blue eyes and wondered what he might be thinking. Like the Bravo standing beside her, it was hard to figure out what could be going through his mind.

Fletcher put a hand—so lightly—at the small of her back. “Okay, we’ll let you two enjoy your lunch in peace.” Cleo went where he guided her, stunningly aware of the press of his palm against the base of her spine.

They took the elevator to the office tower. As they stepped into the car, Cleo eased away from him. She turned and backed against the brass railing that ran along the mirrored elevator walls.

They looked at each other, neither of them speaking. She found herself achingly aware of how small the space was, how with only a step or two she would be in his arms.

Crazy. Ridiculous. She was not, under any circumstances, going to end up in Fletcher Bravo’s arms.

She shifted her gaze and she was looking at her own reflection in the mirrored wall behind him. Did she look as guilty as she felt?

Before she could decide if she did or not, the elevator whooshed to a stop and the doors parted.

Marla had a manila envelope all ready for her. Cleo took it with a smile. “Thanks.”

From behind her Fletcher said, “I’ll see you to your car.”

No way, she thought, as she turned to him. She made a joke of her refusal. “You don’t want to do that. You saw the way I pull out of parking spaces. I might actually run over you this time.”

“I’ll take my chances.”

Danny had said it that night last week: He’s after you .

And he was. He still was: his hand on hers at the table; his palm settling so possessively at the small of her back as they left the restaurant …

Subtle, knowing touches. What a man does to draw a woman in. Nothing obvious. Nothing blatant. Making it so very easy to pretend it isn’t happening …

But it was happening. And she had to stop denying, stop pretending it wasn’t.

Guilt tightened her stomach as she remembered how she’d assured Danny that she wasn’t interested.

Liar , she silently accused herself. She was interested. She just didn’t want to be—no. Wrong, damn it.

She wasn’t going to be. She was stopping this slow and oh-so-clever seduction, stopping it right here and now.

She drew herself up. “No,” she said firmly. “I enjoyed the lunch. Thank you.”

He held her gaze for a second too long. She felt the heat zipping back and forth, arcing between them. And then he said silkily, “No need for thanks. I’m pleased that we’re going to be working together.”

Cleo saw her lawyer the next morning. The lawyer said everything looked good, so she took the signed papers back to Impresario that day. She made a point of not calling first, which meant she ended up handing the envelope over to Marla, who promised to see that Fletcher got it right away.

That duty discharged, Cleo returned to her office at KinderWay and started making lists, getting her priorities in order for all the work that lay ahead.

Fletcher called at three. “You should have told me you were stopping by.”

“No reason for that.” She spoke much too briskly. “I only dropped off the contract.”

He was silent. But not for long. “You’ll need keys to the facility. Did you want to conduct your interviews there?”

Her face felt hot. She laid her hand against her cheek. Blushing. Definitely. This was so absurd.

“Cleo?”

She realized she hadn’t answered him. What was the question?

Oh, yeah. About the interviews …

“Well, I thought I could hold the interviews here. I’ve got everything set up and operating. And my current staff will be available to help me.”

“Makes sense.”

“I will need those keys, though. I’ve got office equipment to purchase. And supplies. And furniture—tables and chairs, all that. I’ll need to be able to get in and out of the facility.”

He said, “I’ll have the keys waiting for you. Check the concierge desk at the hotel. Just show them ID.”

“Hotel Impresario, you mean?”

“That’s right.”

He’d have them waiting….

He wasn’t offering lunch, wasn’t inventing excuses for them to get together. Apparently he’d gotten her message loud and clear: keep away.

Good. He was the wrong kind of guy for her and she was glad he’d realized the two of them weren’t going anywhere.

He said, his tone all business, “Since you signed the contract without asking for any changes, I’m taking it that you agree to the opening day we proposed. You’ll be ready to open the doors on February fourteenth?”

The fourteenth was two and a half weeks away. It was also Valentine’s Day, as luck would have it. For some reason, that struck Cleo as terribly ironic.

“I’ll do my best,” she told him. “It’s cutting it pretty tight.”