The Winner Takes It All Page 9

  He placed his hands on either side of her and she was once again trapped.

  “I know.” His voice low and seductive. “But I didn’t grow up privileged.”

  “Does it matter?” Trying to remember to breathe.

  “Yes. You have a different way of looking at things.”

  Needing something to do, she touched the faucet and it changed streams, then she touched it again and it went off. Do not lean back. “Another mark against me.”

  “That just shows what you know.” He leaned in close, his breath warm on the shell of her ear. “Did you come for me last night?”

  She started like she’d been jolted with electric shocks.

  He did not know. He did not know. He did not know. In her best haughty tone, she said, “Don’t be so arrogant.”

  He laughed, and to her extreme disappointment moved away.

  A clatter of dishes sounded behind her. She opened the dishwasher and flicked on the faucet, rinsing away the sticky syrup before she put the plates in the machine.

  The best thing for her to do was stay silent. Clean the kitchen then go on about her day. But she couldn’t, she was too curious about him. Since he had no problem butting into her business she decided that turnabout was fair play. “How’d you do it? Build your company from scratch?”

  The noise of the dishes went silent for a moment before the clanging resumed. “I didn’t have a choice in the matter. Isn’t it all in that file of mine you have?”

  She didn’t bother denying the file or the extent of the research she’d done. They’d already confirmed that yesterday. “It has the mechanics, but not the how. I know what you did. How you started working for your uncle, then went out on your own before branching out into the commercial side of the business. But I don’t know how.”

  He put the dishes down, turned, and propped his back against the counter so he faced her. “Why do you want to know?”

  That was the million-dollar question, now wasn’t it? If she wanted to keep him at arm’s length, asking him to tell her his story wouldn’t accomplish that. But the truth was, she had wondered about it for months, had thought about it late at night. She’d like to believe she needed to understand because it might help her with her own battle.

  But really, she wanted to understand him. How he’d overcome such impossible odds.

  Their gazes locked, and she found herself giving him the truth instead of an evasion. “I’m curious about you. It’s remarkable. What you’ve accomplished—that kind of drive and perseverance—it boggles my mind.”

  He crossed his arms over his wide chest. “You probably have more drive and perseverance than I do.”

  She thought about her own overachiever tendencies. The constant drive for perfection that had run through her veins for as long as she had memories. But her drive had never been about her. It had been about her need for approval. She had plenty of accomplishments but wasn’t accomplished. She’d always worked hard to be the best, but only at the things in which her father wanted her to excel. Her own desires had never factored into the equation.

  It struck her then like a slap in the face.

  For the first time she was trying to do something for herself. To accomplish a lifelong goal and she was failing. Worse, she couldn’t even force herself to get started.

  What was wrong with her?

  Once again she thought of her abandoned laptop and all the research she could be doing to transform into the perfect political candidate. She was so good at it. It was one of her talents. She’d even helped her father’s colleagues on more than one occasion.

  So what was she so reluctant about?

  Maybe she was still recovering from knowledge of what she had to do to accomplish her dream. And that there was no way around it. She’d been perfectly fine with her decision, and whom she needed to climb into bed with, until she’d shown up in Revival.

  Although maybe that was coincidence; after all, the press release happened on the same day.

  She frowned. Had it been only yesterday? It felt like a lifetime ago. All this thinking was making her head hurt when all she wanted to do was go bake with Gracie.

  It was the only thing that seemed clear to her at the moment, so that’s what she was going to do.

  She glanced up from the sink, realizing too late that Shane was studying her. What had they been talking about? Oh yes, drive and perseverance, and his belief that she had any. She shook her head. “You don’t know anything about me.”

  He crossed his arms. “I know you graduated with a near perfect grade point average. I know you’re well respected in the political community.” He gave her a sardonic grin. “Even though you’re on the wrong side.”

  The teasing tone brought surprised laughter to her lips, and she was happy for the diversion from her future. “My side is the only sane, rational one out there.”

  “Clearly somebody’s been watching too much news.” He grinned, scooting closer to her. “Don’t drink the Kool-Aid, Ce-ce.”

  She put her hands on her hips. “Um, excuse me, but the only one crazy here is you.”

  He ran a finger down her arm and goose bumps broke out over her skin. “Before we get into a big political debate, tell me: Did you pick the party because that’s what you believe, or because that’s what the senator is?”

  At the mention of her father some of her enjoyment dimmed. “I’m my own woman.”

  Those green eyes of his met hers. “Are you?”

  The question was a direct hit and she jerked away, turning back to the dishes. “Yes.”

  He grabbed her wrist and the sponge fell from her grasp. “I’m sorry.”

  She shrugged. He’d touched a nerve she had no intention of talking about, so she shifted the topic back to him. “You didn’t answer my question.”

  He released his hold and crossed his arms. “Hell, I’m not sure I know.”

  She flicked off the faucet again and dried her hands on a dish towel. “What do you mean, you don’t know?”

  He dragged a hand through his hair. “It wasn’t a plan. I barely graduated high school. For the most part I was a fuck-up, but when my dad died . . .” His jaw hardened and a muscle jumped in his cheek. “When he died, everything was a mess. My mom was a wreck. Maddie was on the verge of death. My dad had a pile of bills. Maybe those would have been manageable, but the insurance ran out. There was the cost of the funeral. Hospital bills that just kept coming. Catholic school tuition. The list went on and on. James and Evan were school; what could they do? Somebody had to pick up the pieces and make sure we didn’t lose the little that we had left.” He shrugged as if it was no big deal. “I just did what had to be done.”

  She closed the dishwasher and looked at him. “I think that’s bullshit.”

  His head jerked. “Excuse me?”

  “It’s bullshit, although I believe that’s what you tell yourself.”

  “What in the hell do you know about it?” His voice raised several decibels.

  The gruffness didn’t scare her. “People don’t build multimillion-dollar companies by chance. And they sure as hell don’t just”—she made air quotes—“happen.”

  He dragged a hand through his hair again. “It’s not bullshit, that’s how it started.”

  “And?”

  He peered at her with those intense, catlike eyes of his. “It’s not all that exciting, but if you want to know, you have to give me something in return.”

  “What’s that?” Excitement played tug-of-war with trepidation.

  He gave her a slow, sinful smile and trepidation won as her belly dropped. “Tell me if you came last night.”

  A hot flush crawled unbidden up her neck. She turned to the counter and wiped down a water spot. “On that note, I should be getting to Gracie’s.”

  “Chicken.”

  Absolutely.

  Chapter Eight

  Two hours later she stood over one of Gracie’s industrial-size mixers and frowned. “Are you sure you want me to do t
his?”

  Gracie planted her hands on her apron-covered hips. “Did you or did you not help your grandma make the best oatmeal raisin cookies in the world?”

  “I was six!” Cecilia said indignantly. Somehow, over the past several hours, they’d fallen into the pattern established in their youth when they’d been summer best friends: affection mixed with antagonism.

  She’d forgotten. How wonderful Gracie was. How fun and real. And now, standing in her kitchen¸ she missed it and wished she could go back and make sure their friendship didn’t drift away.

  Gracie dismissed her with a wave. “It’s like riding a bike.”

  “We weren’t selling those cookies,” Cecilia insisted, holding a recipe card in her hand that seemed more daunting than the Declaration of Independence. “You’re making this for a customer. What if I screw it up?”

  Gracie threw her hands up in the air. “Well, obviously my whole business will die a miserable death.” She clucked her tongue. “Duh, get over yourself. It’s pound cake for the school bake sale. I’m not asking you to create a four-tier wedding cake with sculptures made out of modeling chocolate and fondant.”

  “But—”

  Gracie shot up a hand. “You’re throwing stuff in a bowl, mixing it up and pouring the batter into loaf pans. It’s not rocket science.”

  Why had Cecilia thought this was a good idea? She could be shopping at an outlet mall! She chewed her bottom lip and glanced nervously at the recipe card again. “Don’t you have any more non-baking stuff for me to do?”

  “No, you cruised through all that like you were the Energizer Bunny.” Gracie scowled at her, but her cornflower-blue eyes sparkled. “Did anyone tell you that you’re annoyingly organized and efficient?”

  Cecilia huffed. “Yes, but they’re normally more appreciative.”

  The blond woman pointed to the mixer. “The pound cake.”

  “I’m sure there’s something else. Do you need help with your books?”

  Gracie laughed. “Maybe tomorrow, but today I need to make pound cakes. If you do that, I can focus on my cupcakes for little Lucy Tompkins’s birthday party. You don’t want her to go without treats, do you?”

  “No. But Gracie, you don’t understand, my stove still has the sticker on.”

  “You’ll be fine. I’m sure you’re exaggerating.”

  “No, I’m not. I never cook. Like ever.”

  “How do you eat?” Gracie asked, momentarily distracted from their argument.

  “I live in Chicago. I can get takeout twenty-four hours a day,” Cecilia said.

  Gracie wrinkled her nose. “That’s disgusting. I hate you.”

  “What did I do now?”

  “How can you be so thin and eat takeout all the time? I’d be six hundred pounds.”

  Okay, that was the third time Gracie had made a comment about her weight. Something was going on here. Gracie was a confident woman and her body was drool-worthy, albeit more voluptuous than today’s standards. But still, the other woman had to know men practically fainted at the sight of her. So why was she having an issue? Cecilia said cautiously, “I have a high metabolism. And, well, between you and me, I’ve been having a rough time lately and it’s affected my appetite.”

  She blinked. Now why had she gone and confessed that? She was notoriously tight-lipped. Back in Chicago she hadn’t admitted to anyone she was having a bad time. She didn’t trust any of them enough to tell them.

  Wasn’t that sad? That the only people she called friends she didn’t trust? Last week she’d had lunch with Stephanie Williams, a woman she’d known since first grade, and she hadn’t hinted at her troubles. Worse, it hadn’t even occurred to her.

  Shouldn’t she have one person in this world to call a true friend? One person she could confess her secrets to?

  Her mom knew what she had to do in order to help secure her candidacy, but she didn’t approve. It would be nice if she had a girlfriend like Gracie who’d tell her she was crazy.

  She squared her shoulders. What was happening to her? Why was she suddenly concerned with things she’d never cared about before? She didn’t care about confidants. Or how her mom liked Maddie better than her. Never thought about how she wasn’t close to her brother.

  So why now?

  Gracie tilted her head to the side. “Is that why you’re ignoring your phone?”

  Her cell had rung numerous times over the course of the morning, and when Gracie asked if she needed to get the call she’d breezily said no and ignored it. There were only three types of calls she received: something needed to be fixed, her father wanted to hound her about her mother, or Miles Fletcher wanted to discuss strategy for their impending arrangement.

  All of which she wanted to ignore. She contemplated diverting but instead decided to answer honestly. “Yeah, that’s why.”

  The corners of Gracie’s mouth dipped. “Do you want to talk about it?”

  Yes! The word screamed through her but Cecilia stuffed it back down. Gracie might have been a dear childhood friend, but she was a virtual stranger now. She couldn’t pour out the truth, but she could lighten some of the burden she carried inside. Gracie was safe. “It’s just . . . I don’t know. Everything is messed up right now. I’m being pulled in a lot of directions and it’s like I can’t hear myself think.”

  Gracie nodded. “I’m sorry.”

  Now that the dam had broken, Cecilia couldn’t seem to shut up. She crossed her arms and hugged herself tight. “I got in a fight with my father. Which is silly, because I’m a grown woman, but”—she bit the inside of her cheek—“I care. I don’t want to, but I do. And there’s . . . other things . . .”

  Pure panic zinged through her as she thought about the article that, thankfully, nobody in Revival had read. It was only a matter of time before someone found out.

  Before Shane found out. And then there’d be hell to pay. He would hate her. That much was certain. She wasn’t ready for him to hate her again.

  Even though she knew it was inevitable.

  She should tell the truth. She was being selfish. And wrong. But still, she avoided it. If she didn’t speak of it she could pretend it wasn’t real. She needed to pretend.

  She cleared her throat. “Things that would take all day to talk about and we have work to do.”

  Gracie sighed, walked over to her and gave her a big hug.

  The gesture startled her. It had been a long time since anyone had shown her any kind of affection. Well, if she didn’t count her entirely uncharacteristic behavior with Shane last night. But that hadn’t been affection. That had been sex. Chemistry and heat.

  Her eyes teared and she squeezed the other woman back. “Thank you. I must have needed that.”

  Gracie stood back and smiled. “You’re not the hard-ass you pretend to be, are you?”

  “Today, I guess I’m not.”

  Gracie checked the clock. “Are you going to make those pound cakes or not?”

  Cecilia skimmed down the recipe card, more complicated than the original version that called for a pound of each ingredient. She’d graduated at the top of her class. She could do this. “Okay.”

  Gracie beamed. “Fantastic! And tonight, after our fittings with the bride from hell, we’re going out.”

  “We are?”

  “Yep, we’re going to Big Red’s, home of the two-step and drinks the size of your head.” Gracie rubbed her palms together in glee. “You and I are going to get drunk.”

  But she didn’t get drunk. She was the designated driver.

  As quickly as the rejection materialized, she dismissed it. Why not? Didn’t she deserve a break? She grabbed a sack of flour. “Deal.”

  Cecilia bounded through the back door, yanking Shane away from his last e-mail.

  Wasn’t this his lucky day. She was the first one home.

  They were alone. And damned if he wasn’t going to take full advantage.

  Might as well, since he hadn’t gotten jack shit done.

  He
had a serious case of lust that would not quit.

  About an hour ago, he’d moved from the office to the kitchen so she’d have less chance to evade him. He wanted another taste of her and wasn’t in the mood to be dissuaded.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked with her customary demanding tone.

  She looked considerably more rumpled than when she’d left. Her top and pants were dusted with flour. Caramel-colored strands had fallen from her neat ponytail to hang haphazardly around her face. Her cheeks were flushed and she’d lost that gaunt, haunted look she’d been sporting.

  He scrubbed a hand over his jaw. “I figured you’d try to sneak in through the back way, so I set up shop here.”

  “I was not sneaking!” She planted her hands on her hips. “Why are you waiting for me?”

  One of the things he liked best about her was that he could tell her the flat-out truth. There was no sugarcoating with Cecilia. With most women he’d always been careful to not get too assertive or bossy. He didn’t have that problem with Cecilia. He could be as bold as he wanted and she just took it in stride. He gave her a slow once-over. “Because we’re in a houseful of people that’s getting fuller by the minute, and I have to take my opportunities to get you alone when I can.”

  Her chin tilted with a hint of defiance, but he could swear he detected the tiniest hint of a smile on that lush mouth of hers. “Being alone is not a good idea.”

  “I think it’s a very good idea.”

  “Don’t you think this is getting a little out of control?”

  “Hell yes,” he said, standing and eating up the floor to get to her.

  Her eyes widened and she sucked in a breath. “Shane.”

  He curled a hand around her neck. “I’m not in the mood to play.”

  “Wait,” she said, putting her hands on his chest, but instead of pushing him away she curled her fingers into the cotton.

  It was all the invitation he needed. He covered her mouth with his before she could say another word.

  All the lust that had been pounding through him all day roared to the surface, making him more than a little demanding. More than a little possessive.