The Third Kiss

She jerked her chin. “I don’t have time to stand around discussing the weather or anything else. Now either say what it is you came to say or you’ll have to excuse me.” To emphasize her point she checked her watch. “I have another appointment.”

“Believe me, I didn’t come here to discuss the weather.” His heated gaze told her exactly what he was thinking about. It wasn’t storm fronts or the local heat wave. But it did make her hot and bothered.

“What then, Mr. Cutter?”

“Matt.”

Her mouth pinched at the corners. She didn’t need to think of him as Matt or in any other personal way. “Mr. Cutter, you’re going to make me late.”

“Of course.” He hooked his thumbs in his belt loops, making her gaze drop to the faded line of his zipper. She had lost her mind! Then he rocked back on his heels. “I apologize for any inconvenience in your schedule. If you want I could call and—”

“I don’t want you to call. Now, please…”

He gave a sharp nod, making the brim of his Stetson dip, then rise. “I’ll cut to the chase. How would you like to get married?”

She felt as though a bucket of ice-cold water had been tossed at her. “What?”

“Well, not really married. Engaged. Temporarily.”

Her jaw dropped, and she snapped her mouth closed. “Are you nuts?”

“Probably.”

Stunned, she gave a shake of her head to clear the cobwebs from her brain. Maybe she’d heard him wrong. But she didn’t think so. “I don’t have time for this nonsense.” She started walking to her car. “Goodbye, Mr. Cutter.”

“Wait!” He fell into step with her. “Hear me out.”

“I don’t think so.”

“It’s for a good cause.”

She laughed, unable to believe the strange turn of events or even her own hearing. Had Matt Cutter, the Matt Cutter, just proposed to her? In an offhanded, casual way? “I’ll bet. Your cause, right, Mr. Cutter? Or were you planning on donating a million to the orphanage here?”

“If that’s what will make you agree, then I’ll arrange it.”

She stumbled to a stop. “You’re serious?”

“As a stock market crash.” He flicked the brim of his hat with his forefinger.

She felt a magnetic pull toward him, as if he were slowly reeling her in, closer, closer, closer…Until he could take a bite…or nip…or nuzzle. Her skin tightened with awareness and a raw need that she had rarely, if ever, felt. What would Peggy or her mother say if they’d heard Matt’s proposal? Grab him and never let go!

What was happening here? It felt like a fairy tale or a dream or some wild fantasy. But it wasn’t hers. Maybe her mother’s. Or Peggy’s.

But she couldn’t seem to back away from Matt. She couldn’t give the logical answer that had lodged in her throat. She could only stare up at him, feeling awestruck, dumbfounded, baffled.

She noted the serious look in his eyes, the stern set of his jaw, his generous lower lip that made her want to rise up on tiptoe and kiss him. The heat must have addled her brain.

“You’re going to be late for your appointment, Doc.”

She blinked and shook herself. “Uh, yeah…yes.” She realized then that she’d reached her no-nonsense gray Ford. She fumbled with the keys, then remembered she’d left the windows down to alleviate the stifling heat. Opening the door, she slid into the sticky, hot seat. “But—”

He closed the door and rested his hands along the base of the open window. Leaning down, he gave her a grin that made her stomach turn completely over. “Think about it. I’ll be in touch.”

Chapter Three

I’ll be in touch. That’s all Brooke seemed capable of contemplating the rest of the day. Specifically, Matt’s touch. And he hadn’t even touched her!

Oh, yes, he had. When they’d first met. She could still feel the way her stomach had curled into a ball of longing when he’d caressed her foot. He hadn’t caressed it, she argued to herself. He’d simply measured it.

Yeah, right!

“Did you decide?” Felicia Watson Holbrook Roberts Evans, minus or plus a few other surnames, sipped her white wine.

Jarred out of her musings, Brooke stared at her mother. Decide what? To marry Matt Cutter? It was absurd! Ludicrous! She couldn’t even believe she was dwelling on his proposal. Obviously he had some warped agenda. Or had lost his mind. Maybe he needed therapy instead of a bride. She’d never met a man who didn’t need psychotherapy. Either way, she was staying clear of him.

“Brooke?”

“Hmm?”

“Dinner.” Felicia tapped her pale-pink, manicured nails on the leather bound menu. “Did you decide what you’re having?”

How about Matt Cutter? Good grief! Her mother’s and Peggy’s attitudes had finally worn off on her.

“You’ve been reading that menu for what seems like hours.”

She hadn’t read one appetizer or even peered at the desserts. “What are you having, Mother?”

“The halibut.”

“Sounds fine to me.” Especially since she wasn’t hungry.

After they’d ordered, Felicia clasped her hands and gave her daughter one of those looks. “What are you doing this Friday?”

She asked the question in a casual manner that Brooke knew was never offhanded. There was always purpose behind every word or deed.

Felicia had obviously decided to get down to business. Her business. Her agenda. Just as Brooke had known she would. It was always just a matter of time before her mother launched into her latest matchmaking scheme.

“Working probably.” She let her gaze drift around the posh restaurant, noticing the glittering diamonds and understated but elegant clothes of the patrons. It made her think of the children at the orphanage, and she wondered what they were having for dinner tonight. Monday night—frankfurters and beans, cherry Jell-O and chips. “I’ve got a stack of files that need updating.”

A small frown creased the bridge between her mother’s carefully plucked, brushed and styled eyebrows. It had taken thousands of dollars from ex-husband number four to remove any and all wrinkles daring to appear on her mother’s face. But Felicia had never been one to worry about money. With each husband, she’d moved up the social ladder. Her latest acquisition was worth millions, which translated into a huge mansion, a Mercedes and all the diamonds and jewels her mother could want. Face-lifts, too.

“You’ll simply have to put it off.”

Here we go! “Who is it this time, Mother?”

“A charming man I met at a little lingerie boutique.”

“Which one?” Brooke asked.