A Scent of Jasmine E-Book

Sylvia Nobel

• Herausgeber: WS
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2023

Seitenzahl: 267

Beschreibung

A bitter divorce leaves beautiful Andrea Dusseaux financially strapped and longing to break away from her old life in New York.  She jumps at the chance to move to sunny Phoenix, Arizona to start life over again. She agrees to help her old college friend run her restaurant located in a historic Victorian house.  On her first day, she meets sexy attorney Madison McKee and her vow to avoid a new relationship quickly dissolves. But when she discovers that he represents a developer bent on bulldozing her friend's restaurant her loyalties are torn.  Should she side with her friend or stay and fight for Madison's love or return to New York?

Leseprobe

A SCENT OF

JASMINE

This book is fiction. No resemblance is intended between any character herein or any person, living or dead, any such resemblance is purely coincidental.

Copyright © 1996 by Sylvia Nobel Kensington Publishing edition: April 1997 Nite Owl Books edition : April 2012

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.

If you purchased this book without a cover you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as "unsold and destroyed" to the Publisher and neither the Author nor the Publisher has received any payment for this "stripped book."

Nite Owl Books 2850 E. Camelback Road, Suite #185 Phoenix, Arizona 85016-4311 [phone] FAX [phone] e-mail: [email protected]

ISBN 978-0-9839702-0-0

Cover Design by ATG Productions Christy A. Moeller - Phoenix, Arizona

Chapter One

Fierce Arizona sunlight beat down on Andrea Dusseaux as she stood near the curb staring down at the three bulging suitcases which held the sum total of her worldly possessions.

"Smart move, Andie," she admonished herself aloud, wishing she'd asked the cabdriver for help. "Now what?"

A feeling of awe overcame her as she turned to admire the graceful Victorian architecture of the Sundial House Restaurant, the last place on earth she would have imagined Mo to establish roots. The very words "establish" and "roots" seemed a contradiction when thinking of her adventurous friend.

When she tried to move forward, almost stepping out of her left pump, she gasped in surprise. A chunk of melted tar clung to the heel after she extricated it.

"Damn!" she muttered under her breath, and then looked up as a voice from the tree-lined patio called, "Hi. Are you Andrea?"

The sight of the smiling olive-skinned teenager in white shirt, black slacks and bow tie lightened the feeling of momentary frustration that had knotted her stomach. She answered his smile with one of her own. "That's me."

An easy gait brought him to her side. "I'm Manuel," he volunteered, picking up two of the bags. "Welcome to Sundial House. Maureen's hung up in the kitchen and said for me to take you there."

"Lead the way," she answered, blotting her neck with a handkerchief while wheeling the third suitcase behind her over the bumpy walkway. She hurried ahead of him to hold open the massive wood and stained-glass front door, then followed him inside.

In the narrow, antique-filled foyer, Andrea threaded her way past half a dozen customers waiting beside the highly-polished mahogany staircase, and continued through the dining room where the waiters were putting finishing touches on the white-draped tables. She stepped aside as a young waitress with a tray of bud vases filled with fresh flowers rushed by.

Andrea paused while Manuel backed into one of the swinging doors to allow her entry into the surprisingly modern kitchen—a stark contrast to the old house. As a myriad of delicious smells assailed her, a blast of heat took her breath away. Somewhere in the back, a radio blared.

The wide smile of welcome on Maureen Callaway's familiar round face sent a rush of delight tingling through her.

"Andie! God, am I glad to see you! I'd give you a big hug," she said, wiping her hands on her long white apron, "but I wouldn't want to get anything on that drop-dead suit." The clear hazel eyes appraised her with affection and then fell on the jumble of bags Manuel plumped down beside her.

"What the hell is all this?" Mo inquired, mirth twinkling in her eyes. "I hope they're stuffed full of cash from your divorce settlement."

Andrea gave a wry smile. "I wish." She dropped the luggage strap and placed her hands on her hips. "What happened to the cool April weather you promised me?"

Mo grimaced. "You had to pick the one freaky hot day to make a liar out of me."

"I'll forgive you after I've had an ice cold shower and changed into . . . "

"That's gonna have to wait along with the thousand questions I want to ask you," Mo interrupted, darting a worried look at the clock. "I'm in a real jam today. The lunchtime cook is stuck in Nogales, my hostess called in sick, and you're gonna have to bail me out."

Andrea stared, nonplussed. "Me? How?"

"Robin!" Mo barked to the chubby, dark-haired girl chopping lettuce on the stainless-steel table nearby. "The oven buzzer! Get those rolls out before they burn!" She puffed out a breath as she returned her gaze to Andrea. "You said you wanted hands-on experience in this business, so you'll get hands-on. I've got reservations up the ying-yang, and guess what? You're my hostess today."

Andrea's stomach plunged in panic. "But . . . but . . . " she stammered. "I don't know what to do! I need some time to . . . "

"Thereisno time," her friend moaned, a pleading look entering her eyes. "Grab the stack of menus off the reception desk before the you-know-what hits the fan. Come on, Andie. You can do it! Just pretend you're hosting one of those fancy parties you're so good at."

Madison McKee shifted his weight and leaned back against the sharp corner of the antique buffet to allow two heavy-set women to jostle past him into the dining room. The aroma of food made his stomach rumble, and he fought down another wave of consternation. Twenty minutes had elapsed since the time they should have been seated.

Ordinarily he would not have been so impatient, but it seemed as if the frazzled blonde hostess had seated everyone in the world except him and his waiting party of six other hungry people. He turned to his grim-faced companions and gave an apologetic shrug. Tension tightened his jaw, and once again he fastened his gaze on the hostess. His secretary could have chosen any number of fine downtown restaurants. Why did she have to choose this one?

He approached her for a second time. "Miss," he said, with forced politeness, "I'm sure we had a reservation for twelve-thirty. It's under the law firm of McKee, Pritchard, Skyler and Dunn."

She laid the stack of menus down abruptly. "I'll check again."

"Or," he suggested, stepping close behind her. "It might be under my name, Madison McKee."

Lightly tapping one foot, he watched her scan the reservation book and heard an obvious sigh of irritation when he leaned over her shoulder to read the names. She seemed flustered, and he thought it curious that her hand shook as her slender fingers traced the list.

Suddenly aware of the warm sensual scent of her perfume, he took a step back and let his eyes trail over her. In spite of his agitation, he found himself admiring her impish upturned nose and flawless complexion. Loose strands from her shoulder-length hair clung to her neck.

"Sorry. There's no such reservation. And as you can see," she said, waving an arm toward the lunch crowd, "I don't have a table for seven right now."

Madison glanced into the teeming dining area. "I can see that. But, that isyourproblem. Mine is to make sure my clients are taken care of, and you're making that difficult. We have an important meeting to get back to."

She said nothing, just stiffened and glanced aside, blinking rapidly, her full pink lips compressing into a thin line.

What was the matter with her? It wasn't as if he was asking for the moon. He was simply asking this woman to do her job. "Look," he sighed, lightly touching her forearm in an attempt to appeal to her sense of reason. "When I asked in the beginning, you said it would be only ten minutes."

"I'm doing the best I can," she said icily, averting her gaze. "I can seat you at two separate tables. Would that do?"

Madison felt his temper rising. "And shout at each other across the room? I think not." Annoyed as he was, his gaze strayed to her full rounded breasts, accentuated by the form-fitting silk blouse.

"What would you like me to do, Sir?" she asked confronting him, with strong emphasis on the 'sir.' "Move someone else?"

Madison drew back in surprise. For the first time, he looked directly into her extraordinary turquoise eyes and saw something there that unnerved him. Inexplicably, he couldn't think of what his next remark was going to be.

Andrea stared at the green flecks gleaming from the depth of his penetrating brown eyes. Who was this arrogant man?I think not?she fumed, recalling his sarcastic words. How dare he address her in such a manner? She resisted the urge to slap the insolence from his face. Instead, she forced a wooden smile. "I'll check on the table."

Determined strides bore her into the dining room as she swallowed back angry tears. Although this imperious man didn't look like him, his conduct unleashed the sense of insecurity and helplessness Bernard had so expertly instilled in her for eight years. It made her blood boil to once again experience the feelings of inadequacy and it reminded her of how she'd permitted Bernard's subtle domination to manipulate and stifle her personality.

Ironically, when this stranger walked in earlier, she'd been impressed by his air of self-assurance and noticed, along with every other female in the room, his exceptionally handsome chiseled features. Broad shoulders strained against the material of a beautifully-tailored gray suit. In an absent-minded gesture, he'd combed his fingers through the mass of wavy chestnut hair. She'd even admired the dimples that underscored his smile when he'd first approached her.

But now, his appeal had faded as his demanding manner eclipsed the positive impression she'd formed earlier.

A pony-tailed waitress excitedly ran up to her waving a check. "They're leaving. Give me a minute to put the tables together and you can bring in that gorgeous hunk and his party."

Andrea breathed a sigh of relief. "You're welcome to him," she muttered under her breath.

She paused to compose herself and, with renewed confidence, returned to the front desk, her mood lightened by the prospect of getting rid of this irritating man. She forced a smile. "Your table is ready, Sir."

"Thank you," he said curtly while gesturing to his companions.

You owe me one, Mo,she thought,for putting me on the spot.She led the way across the noisy room, her confident steps faltering as she imagined his hostile gaze boring into her.

She handed out menus, noting his companions' satisfied expressions as they drew their chairs up to the well-appointed table by the bay window that overlooked the colorful garden.

"Charming," said one of the men reaching for an olive from the iced relish tray as the exuberant waitress approached them with a basket of hot rolls.

"Good things come to those who wait," she announced eagerly. "Welcome to the best table in the house."

Andrea cringed inwardly at the girl's syrupy enthusiasm, and the way she boldly fastened her eyes on Mr. Obnoxious.

"Thank you, Susan," he said, noticing her name tag.

As Andrea moved away, she heard him quip, "It's so comforting to see a friendly face." Seething inside, she fled to the mercifully empty foyer and collapsed on the stool, slipping her tired feet out of the high-heeled pumps. She exhaled a deep sigh. Finally everyone had been seated. The antique clock above her head chimed one. Had it only been two hours? It felt as if she'd been in the trenches for days.

In the momentary lull she caught sight of her distorted reflection in the mahogany-framed mirror, noting with a sense of dismay the limp strands of hair dangling around her flushed face. She'd looked a lot more presentable a few hours ago, she thought with a rueful smile. But the long flight from New York, coupled with heat and stress, left her feeling older than her thirty-one years. In addition, she felt irritated that she'd allowed her composure to be shaken by a complete stranger.

She cast a sideways glance into the dining room and studied the man's refined face again. Hewassomething— at least to look at, but his conduct toward her was inexcusable.

The jangling of the telephone jarred her from her thoughts and she picked up the receiver. A woman at the other end of the line asked for a table at noon the following day. Andrea flipped the page, running her finger down the sheet. She added the woman's reservation to the list and then her hand froze as she noticed the name directly below it. "Oh, no!" she gasped. The name Madison McKee jumped off the page.Party of seven, 12:30.

In a preoccupied voice, she confirmed the woman's reservation and hung up. For several agonizing moments she sat still, one hand pressed to her lips. Why hadn't it occurred to her to look at the next page? Wait a minute! It wasn'therfault. For all she knew the big-shot lawyer's secretary could have goofed and made the reservations for the wrong day. But the most likely scenerio was that the hostess had made the mistake.

Suddenly she felt mortified, remembering how rude and confrontational she'd been to the man, embarrassing him in front of his guests. It was bad enough that he had to wait so long for a table. And what if he was one of Mo's regular customers? Regular or not, she knew she had to do something. She slipped her shoes back on and rose from the stool. She'd better tell Mo.

One peek into the hectic atmosphere of the kitchen canceled that thought. There stood Mo amid the clutter of pots and pans, serving spoon in hand, staring at ten or fifteen unfilled lunch orders, mumbling incoherently to herself.

No, Andrea decided, backing away from the door, she'd have to handle this herself. A nice bottle of wine might serve to pacify them. She would reimburse Mo for the expense if the offer didn't meet with her approval.

Gathering courage, she smoothed the wrinkles from her pristine-white linen skirt, fixed a placid smile on her face and marched to his table. The little speech she'd planned died on her lips when she noticed that Susan was already clearing away the lunch dishes. Oops! Too late for wine. Now what?

"Time to tempt you with our spectacular desserts," Susan said in her cloying voice. "They're so luscious, that once you've tried them, you'll never be happy with anything else," she added with a suggestive wink in Madison McKee's direction.

What a little flirt, Andrea bristled, wondering why she should even care about the girl's behavior.

"Excuse me," she interrupted, taking the cue. "We'd be happy to offer you dessert on the house." She ignored Susan's doubletake and met Madison McKee's questioning look. "It appears that the hostess wrote the reservation on the wrong page," she said apologetically, fully expecting to see a gleam of triumph in the man's eyes. Instead she saw a brief look of concern.

"Thank you for offering," he said in a surprisingly courteous tone, "but we haven't time today. Another occasion perhaps?"

Puzzled by the transformation, Andrea nodded politely. "It will be our pleasure, Mr. McKee."

As Madison watched her turn and move gracefully across the room, her shoulders set straight and proud, his gaze involuntarily slid down to her shapely bottom and then back up to the regal tilt of her head.

His feelings of remorse sharpened.Damn!He should have realized she was the owner. Justified or not, he'd had no business being rude to her, or to anyone for that matter. Was it the heat, or the fifteen-hour days that were getting to him? Probably both, he thought as he hastily paid the bill, deciding he'd best take a moment to apologize to her for his less-than-gracious behavior.

As he and his party headed for the door, he searched the foyer, but she was nowhere to be seen. Pressed for time, he ushered his companions out to the waiting limousine.

During the short ride back to his office, Madison felt annoyed that his thoughts kept returning to the blonde woman, instead of concentrating on the important meeting ahead. For some reason he couldn't explain, he hated to have her think of him as such a lout. He tried to remember his exact words to her. Had he beenthatdifficult? he wondered, remembering the look of anger and defiance reflected in her eyes. No, it had been more than mere annoyance regarding his overbearing manner. There had been something indefinable, almost like a flash of horrified recognition.

A question from one of his companions drew his attention from the puzzle, and by the time they'd entered the building and began the ascent to the twenty-third floor, he'd dismissed the incident from his mind.

The elevator doors gave a soft swoosh as they opened into the walnut-paneled waiting area. Madison waved to Blanche Kittering, the receptionist, who was on the phone, and motioned to her that he was taking his clients to the conference room. Once there, he seated them at the long, oak table and invited them to study the re-zoning information that his secretary had set out.

He excused himself and crossed the expanse of plush green carpeting to the reception desk. "Any messages, Blanche?"

She turned her attention from the word processor and eyed him over the square reading glasses perched low on the bridge of her nose. "Which stack do you want?"

"The smallest one," he teased, returning her mischievous smile. The buxom woman with the blue-black, beehive and exaggerated false lashes had been a fixture in his father's office even before he'd decided to follow Madison McKee, Sr., into law.

Blanche handed him a few notes and thumbed in the direction of his office. "Your father's in there waiting for you."

He raised a brow in surprise. "What's he doing here? I thought he was lost somewhere on the golf course. My mother said she'd hardly seen him for a week."

She shrugged, palming her hands upward. "Who knows? I think he's having trouble adjusting to retired life. After all, he headed up this place for almost forty years and it's only been two months."

"I guess he's forgotten that's why he brought me up here from the Tucson office."

"Humor him," she said with a wry smile.

Madison nodded, then took four long strides to the door of his office and swung it open. His gaze fastened on the vivid contemporary watercolor that had been delivered that morning. The painting served as a nice contrast to the somber, cherrywood floor-to-ceiling bookcases. The only thing out of place now, he noted with amusement, was his father.

Madison McKee Sr. stood in the middle of the room clad in yellow and brown checked golf slacks and a gold pullover. Hunched over a seven iron, he drew his arms back, then moved them forward, giving a graceful swing upward. His eyes followed the flight of the imaginary ball, then he focused his gaze on Madison. "It's so easy to make a great shot here," he said with a rueful grin. "Why the devil can't I do the same on the course?"

Madison laughed and moved to the well-stocked bar in the corner. He extracted a soda from the refrigerator, popped it open and extended it in his father's direction with a questioning look. McKee, Sr. shook his head.

Madison took a sip and crossed to his desk. "I'd love to visit, Dad, but I've got people waiting in the conference room."

"I know, I know," his father said quickly and then stopped to appraise him. "Hey! You've got six more gray hairs than when I saw you last," he teased."Slow down. You're only thirty-four for Christ's sake!"

"Look who's talking. Your twenty-three hour days are legendary." He drummed the desk impatiently as he watched his father take another golf swing, obviously stalling. "Okay, Dad, what's up?"

McKee, Sr. stopped and met his son's eyes squarely. "You're not gonna like this, so don't get your dander up till you hear me out. Agreed?"

"I don't think I want to hear it since you put it that way, but okay."

McKee, Sr. planted himself in the chair in front of the massive desk and stretched out his legs. "I need a onetime favor. Russell and I played golf this morning and

"Damn, you're right. I don't like where this is going."

"You agreed to hear me out," his father said, holding up his hand.

Madison laced his fingers behind his head, and leaned back to stare at the ceiling. "Okay, shoot."

'The deal Russell's got going with these two downtown blocks is in trouble. The law firm he had working on it screwed up and he wants us to take it on."

"Us? Dad!" He banged his fist on the desk. "Russell Stanton and I haven't sat in the same room in four years."

"Things haven't been that good between him and me either since you and Victoria broke up. But we talked about that."

"Oh? Has he finally mellowed?"

"He's willing to let bygones be bygones if you'll do this. He needs the best man for the job and he knows that's you. Here's the situation." He got up and paced back and forth. "The re-zoning application is almost complete and all the lot owners have agreed to sell except one. This stubborn lady's got the two prime pieces he needs."

Madison met his father's gaze. "Tell him to dig a little deeper into his pockets."

"He did that already. Offered her nearly twice what the property's worth and it's still no go."

"Dad, everyone has a price."

"Not this woman. They even threatened to cut off her access to parking on the adjoining lot and she still wouldn't budge. Russell needs the right person to handle this."

"And I'm it?"

"Hey! I didn't send you to Harvard for nothing, and how many men your age do you know are running a firm this size?" he asked, gesturing around the room.

"I'm flattered," he said, recognizing his father's manipulative tactics. "I'll look into it."

"What's there to look into? Be smart here. I don't have to tell you how much money is involved." He leaned in close. "And there's an added bonus. You get a chance to redeem yourself with Russell."

Madison studied the old man's angular face. Four years was a long time for best friends to be estranged, and he'd felt enough guilt over his part in it "Okay, but I don't care what Russell thinks of me. This is foryou,Dad."

McKee, Sr. beamed and put out his hand. They shook solemnly and then the older man snatched up the phone and dialed, obviously pleased with himself as he waited.

"Russ? This is McKee," he said, giving Madison a bold wink. "It's settled. You've got your boy!" His eyes gleamed in triumph as he slammed down the receiver.

"Dad, I really have to run. Have them send the files to me." He picked up a pen. "Who's the holdout?"

"The owner of the Sundial House. All you have to do now is charm the pants off Maureen Callaway.

Chapter Two

Thankful that the lunch ordeal was now behind her, Andrea leaned wearily against the wall in Maureen's office and rubbed the blister on her heel.

"My feet will never recover, I'm sure," she said, catching Mo's amused glance from across the room where she lay sprawled on an old plaid sofa, her emerald gauze skirt overflowing onto the floor.

"It's your own fault. You shouldn't try to do hard labor in five-inch heels."

"I could happily choke you for putting me on the spot like that."

Maureen giggled. "Face it, kiddo. Your days of living like Rapunzel in your gilt-edged ivory tower are gone. Welcome to the real world."

"Where do you think I've been for the last year?" Andrea replied, all traces of humor gone from her speech.

"Sorry. I shouldn't have said that." She rolled off the couch, ran to Andrea and flung her arms around her. "It's just that . . . well . . . Why didn't you tell me you were going through such hell?"

Andrea patted Mo's shoulder affectionately. "And what would you have done if I had? Broken into the castle and rescued me? You had your own problems. Christopher was small, you'd just bought this place . . . "

"Oh, Andie. If I could just get my hands on that slick bastard for two minutes . . . "

"He's history. My old life is history. Once I'm through learning the catering business from you, I can go back and kiss that job good-bye too."

"Is selling cosmetics that bad?"

"It's not the cosmetics, it's having to put up with my boss."

"You never told me about that."

"Later," Andrea said, massaging the back of her neck. "I'm hot, I have jet lag and I'm too tired to think right now."

"Let's go home so you can freshen up." She moved to the cluttered desk, leafed through some papers, then stopped and grimaced with pain.

"What's wrong?"

Mo shook her head. "Nothing. Just a headache. It's probably because I've been working so much these last couple of weeks." She yanked open a drawer. "Where the hell is that electric bill?" she grumbled to herself, then slammed the drawer shut and slumped into a sigh. "Thank God Rosie'll be back from vacation tomorrow. I told you about her, didn't I? The retired school teacher I hired last year to manage the restaurant?" Before Andrea could answer, Mo threw her hands up. "Why am I rambling on like this?" She slapped the desk and stood. "We need to get you a shower and a nap. Manuel can help you over to the house with the bags. While you're doing that, I'll run and get Christopher from school."

"I haven't seen that little devil since he was two," she said, following Mo to the door. "Do you think he'll remember me after three years?"

"Has it been that long?" Mo stopped and laid a hand on Andrea's arm. "Thanks for sending me the plane fare to bring him back to meet you. I sure couldn't have afforded the expense at the time." She shot a glance at her watch. "Whoops! Gotta go."

Andrea grinned and shook her head as Mo bolted out the door. What a character, she thought. Even though they'd come from similar privileged backgrounds, their lives had been vastly different. Her own had been sheltered, while Mo wouldn't have thought twice about hitching a ride with a stranger, or camping out on the beach. But getting pregnant with Christopher seemed to have tamed her, and five years ago she'd veered out of the fast lane and planted deep roots here.

Manuel stuck his head in the door. "Ready to go?"

Andrea nodded and followed him outside into the stifling heat. After arriving at the small white cottage next door, she took one look around the dilapidated interior and concluded that most of the money Mo had inherited from her father had gone into the restaurant.

Later that afternoon, refreshed after a bath and a nap, and dressed in comfortable jeans and a T-shirt, she accompanied Mo back to the restaurant as soon as the babysitter arrived.

"So, how do you like my grand home?" Mo asked as they walked out.

Andrea caught the facetious tone. "It's very . . . um . . . quaint."

"Is that another word for junky?"

"I didn't say that, but it looks like it could use a little TLC."

"I had plans to fix it up, but all the money disappeared into that grand old lady," she said, gesturing to Sundial House. "You have no idea what was involved in renovating it—new plumbing, new wiring, a new roof . . . you name it."

"You've done a great job with it, Mo. And I love that pale yellow trim you added. It looks so perfect with the brick."

"Yeah," she agreed, smiling through a look of dismay. "And just when everything is finally taking shape, I can't enjoy it because those vultures are trying to get their greedy hooks into the place."

Andrea struggled to keep up with Mo, her renewed energy flagging in the oppressive heat. "What are you talking about?"

"Remember that high-powered developer who was trying to buy me out? Well, he still is. He can offer me ten million bucks, but I ain't selling."

"For God's sake, Mo! For ten million you could buyanotherplace, a yacht, and maybe have something left over for a handful of tokens for the New York City subway."

Mo fluffed her dark curls in a gesture of impatience. "Let's stop talking about it before I get another headache."

Inside the restaurant, the waiters were setting up the dining room for the evening patrons. Rose linen tablecloths replaced the white, and burgundy napkins pleated into the shape of a fan crowned the long-stemmed wine glasses. Candles flickered on the tables.

Although the kitchen activity was at its peak, the dinner crew appeared to have everything under control. Andrea observed with awe as Mo presided over the fast-paced preparations. She wondered how she would ever absorb the myriad of details involved in the business.

Lee, the nighttime hostess, stuck her head in the kitchen door. "Mo, can you come to the lobby for a second?"

Following her friend into the foyer, Andrea's mouth sagged open at the sight of the breathtaking exotic flowers almost obscuring the young woman delivering them.

"Holy guacamole! Who died?" Mo exclaimed.

"These are for Maureen Callaway," came a small voice from behind the massive arrangement. "Where do you want 'em?"

Mo pointed to the desk. The young woman set the vase down with a grateful sigh and extended a clipboard for her signature.

"Lee," she said, scribbling on the paper, "give this lady a nice tip. I'd say she earned at least five bucks for lugging this jungle in here."

Andrea sidled up beside Mo and gave her a nudge. "Well, well. I thought you said Christopher was the onlyman in your life these days."

"Shhhh," Mo hissed, smacking her away and ripping open the tiny white envelope. She pulled out the card and drew back, looking puzzled.

"What does it say?" Andrea asked.

Mo scratched her head. "It says,That ornery twin brother of mine ought to be horsewhipped for treating you so badly this afternoon. I look forward to introducing you to the nicer side of the family.It's signed, Madison McKee. Who the hell is Madison McKee?"

Andrea's stomach jumped. "Oh!" she gasped. "That's the guy from lunch. I think they're for me."

Mo shrieked with laughter and pounded her head with the heel of one hand. "You haven't been in town twelve hours, and already you've got some guy chasing after you. What in the world did you do to deserve it?"

"I meant to tell you, but I didn't get around to it."

Mo's eyes twinkled with mischief. "Let's get back to the kitchen and you can give me the whole scoop."

Andrea cast one last look at the magnificent bouquet and followed Mo, aware that her heart was beating rapidly.

* * *

Madison swiveled around in his chair and watched the evening sun transform the glass high-rises into mirrors of gold. He glanced at his watch. Stephanie's plane from Tucson should be landing just about now. Normally, he looked forward to the vivacious brunette's visit, but today, for some strange reason, he wished he could cancel their dinner date.