The Groom's Revenge

“Good. The rest is easy.”

The sun set and the evening cooled. He taught She practiced. He smiled at her contagious enthusiasm. She squeezed his arm when she found her flower shop listed in the on-line yellow pages. He was careful not to touch her, then a lock of hair fell over her shoulder and rested temptingly on her breast, rising and falling with her can’t-sit-still excitement, but at the same time curtaining her face.

She stayed focused on the screen as she searched page after page of florists. After a few minutes he used just his fingertips to pull her hair back from her face. Softer than silk, he thought. He wondered what it would feel like against his chest—

Awareness sizzled through Mollie as his fingers grazed her shoulder blade. She turned toward him. His palm skimmed her arm. If his goal was to seduce her, he’d accomplished it She tingled head to toe, partly from his touch, partly from his nearness, partly from the soapy scent that lingered on his skin, better than any spicy aftershave.

He pulled his hand back. Dam. She’d done something to ruin the mood. She lifted her brows in question.

“Your hair was in your face.”

“Was it?” She tossed her head, feeling the familiar weight shift then settle against her back. His eyes darkened. He was attracted to her. But the women he usually dated were so different. So sophisticated.

She waited for him to say something, all the while feeling his body close to hers—not touching, but near enough to transfer heat Conscious of how his gaze lowered to her mouth, she leaned toward him the slightest bit, willing to take advantage of the moment if he would only take the hint. Willing to test her theory that reality couldn’t be as wonderful as her dreams. Her lips parted.

“This is a good place to stop for the night,” he said, pushing his chair back and standing. “We can continue tomorrow, if you’d like.”

She grabbed the papers stacked next to the computer and straightened them. “Um, sure. I’ll provide dinner.”

“I don’t mind bringing it.”

“You must be sick of restaurant food. I’m a decent cook, I promise.”

“Okay. Good night, Mollie.”

She grabbed his hand. “I need you—” she almost laughed at the panic in his eyes “—to show me how to shut down the computer.” Could it be that he wasn’t as sophisticated as she’d thought? That women scared him a little? The intriguing thought settled in her mind. Was that why his media interviews came across as all business? Because his confidence didn’t extend to personal relationships?

No. He couldn’t have risen to the position of CEO if he was socially inept.

So was it her that threw him off stride? The possibility that she might in any way intimidate him stunned her. Maybe no one had ever treated him like an ordinary human before. He’d been placed on a pedestal when he was twenty and his computer operating system debuted. Fame and fortune had soon followed. Yet he seemed so alone...which was probably an illusion, or some wild imaginings on her part.

“You have to let go of my hand to turn off the program,” he said quietly to her.

He talked her through the steps, writing them down so she could do it again without him.

When the hum of machinery stopped, she turned to him. “Thank you.”

“Not as daunting as you thought, was it?”

“Not so far, but you’re also a patient teacher. Wait’ll we get to spreadsheets. I hate them even on paper. Math was always my least favorite subject.”

“The worst that can happen is that you lose the information and have to reenter it. Be fearless.”

Fearless. She would like to be fearless with him. She’d like to kiss him, really kiss him, to know how that spectacular body felt pressed against hers. She wasn’t brave enough to make the first move, though, no matter how many Cosmo articles she’d read giving women permission to be the aggressors.

However, the man was either dense or not attracted, because he headed down the stairs. She followed to lock the door, but their good-nights were brief and cordial. She trekked back up the stairs.

Needing to unwind, Mollie relaxed in a bubble bath. Normally in bed by ten and up by six, she was still awake at midnight, like the night before. Finally she gave up, turned on the computer and waited for it to open.

The e-mail icon was lit. She stared at it for almost half a minute, trying to remember what to do. Finally she clicked on it, A new screen appeared, identifying mail awaiting her from GKMcGuire, the subject left blank. She clicked it open and read the message.

“I wanted to be your first. G.”

Mollie felt her face heat. Her first e-mail, she assumed he meant. Either that or he had peeked into her birthday box before she hid it in her dresser.

She was trying to decide what to do when the mail icon flashed again.

From GKMcGuire: “I know you just got my message. An you going to write me back? G.”

How did he know? What trick was there to knowing that And the most important question—how could she answer him’ He’d told her how, but she hadn’t practiced or written it down

No sooner had she asked herself the question than the icor lit up.

From GKMcGuire: “Hit the Reply button, type in your mes sage, then hit Send. G.”

Mollie grinned, hit Reply, then typed: “Thank you for being so gentle. M.” Send.

She waited. The icon flashed almost instantly.

From GKMcGuire: “Was it good for you? G.”

She laughed as she clicked on Reply: “I’m still all aquiver M.” She waited a little longer for his next response.

From GKMcGuire: “I hope you remember me fondly. Good night. G.”

From MollieS: “We never forget our first. Good night and thank you. M.”

Gray shut down his computer, shutting down the temptation of her words at the same tune. He had sunk to innuendo with her, displaying all the maturity of a teenager. Except that he hadn’t done that even as a teenager. And she had responded ii kind—

Irritated with himself, he slipped into bed, turned out the ligh and tucked his hands behind his head.

Knowing her past, he’d expected to find a bitter young woman. Mollie Shaw was anything but bitter. She’d accepted him into her life as if he belonged, had made him feel at home faster than anyone ever had, yet she didn’t seem to want any thing from him except a kiss—and that, he figured, was the wine doing the asking.

Her vulnerability reminded him of his life before Stuart For tune had destroyed it. Memories of those carefree days surfaced too frequently now. He couldn’t get those days back, but he could make up for the loss. And he could get Mollie the fisca base she needed.

Muttering a curse, he switched on the light, tossed the sheet aside and crossed the room to where he’d draped his jeans over a chair. He dug into a pocket, coming up with a Popsicle stick, stained red, like her lips had been. Red and cold.

He returned to bed, jammed pillows behind his back and turned the stick over and over in his hands. He could barely remember snatching it out of her trash can when he’d tossed the empty wine bottle away. He’d acted on a whim, as she had when she’d kissed him.

That memory drifted in. Red and cold. And cherry sweet. Her cheeks had flushed afterward.

In his experience, kissing led to sex. Given their potential partnership, he couldn’t sleep with Mollie, therefore he couldn’t kiss her. It was that simple—unlike the woman herself, who was becoming more and more complicated.

He tapped the stick to his mouth, then tossed it on the nightstand, annoyed. Obsession was beyond his experience. It had been a long time since he’d wanted something he couldn’t have.

But she made him laugh. And she comforted without knowing it. Even better, she was as fiery as her red hair. In bed, too? he wondered.

And what would she say if she knew he was wondering about that?