do with getting him elected to office or polishing the image of Carlton Industries around the globe. Melanie was to be the key player in Destiny’s latest skirmish to marry him off.
Well, he didn’t have to take the bait. He could keep his hormones under control and his hands to himself. No problem. At least, as long as Melanie stopped looking at him with those big, vulnerable brown eyes. Those eyes made him want to give her whatever she wanted, made him want to take whatever he wanted.
Yep, those eyes were trouble. Too bad she wasn’t one of those sophisticated women who wore sunglasses night and day as part of their fashion statement. Then he might have a shot at sticking to his resolve.
As it was, he was probably doomed.
Chapter Three
T hough he’d stopped scowling after his second glass of wine, Richard didn’t seem as if he was being won over, Melanie concluded reluctantly. He was being civil, not friendly. And he definitely wasn’t leaving her much of an opening to start pitching her PR plan. Drastic measures were called for. Destiny had seemed certain that food was the answer, so Melanie had added a touch of her own to the meal.
“I stopped and picked up ice cream for the pie,” she told him, hoping she’d guessed right that a man who loved cherry pie would prefer it à la mode.
He actually smiled for the first time—a totally unguarded reaction, for once. Just as Melanie had remembered, the effect was devastating. The smile made his blue eyes sparkle and emphasized that there really were laugh lines at the corners. It also eased the tension in his square jaw.
“Acting against Destiny’s warnings, no doubt,” he said. “She probably has the cardiologist on standby as it is.”
Melanie grinned back at him. “I have his name and number in my purse,” she joked, then added more truthfully, “along with cooking instructions and directions to this place. Destiny left very little to chance.”
He seemed uncertain whether to take her seriously. “Not that I would put it past her, but she didn’t actually give you the name of a doctor, did she?”
Melanie laughed. “Okay, no, but she does seem to be concerned that your particular nutritional habits combined with your workaholic tendencies will land you in an early grave. Do you ever relax?”
“Sure,” he said at once. “I’m here, aren’t I?”
Melanie gestured toward the computer that he’d been glancing at longingly ever since her arrival. “Unless you’re on there doing your Christmas shopping, I don’t think this qualifies.”
He regarded her with a vaguely puzzled expression. “When is Christmas?”
“Less than three weeks.”
He nodded, then reached for the pocket computer he’d tossed on the counter earlier, and made a note.
“Reminding your secretary to get your shopping done?” she asked him.
He looked only slightly chagrined at having been caught. “Winifred’s better at it than I am,” he said, not sounding the least bit defensive. “She has more time, too. I give her a few extra hours off to do her shopping, along with mine.”
Melanie nodded. “A successful man always knows how to delegate. Do you give her a budget? Suggestions? Does she tell you what’s in the packages, so you’re not as surprised as the recipients on Christmas morning? I’ve always wondered how that worked.”
He took the question seriously. “Most of the time she puts little sticky labels on the wrapped boxes so I can add my own gift card. She seems to think my handwriting ought to be on there.” His eyes glinted with sudden amusement. “Occasionally, though, she likes to go for the shock value, especially with my brothers. Last year I gave my brother Mack—”
“The former Washington football hero,” Melanie recalled.
“Exactly, and one of the city’s most sought after bachelors.” He grinned. “My secretary bought him a rather large, shapely, inflatable female. I’m pretty sure Destiny had a hand in that one. She’d
Well, he didn’t have to take the bait. He could keep his hormones under control and his hands to himself. No problem. At least, as long as Melanie stopped looking at him with those big, vulnerable brown eyes. Those eyes made him want to give her whatever she wanted, made him want to take whatever he wanted.
Yep, those eyes were trouble. Too bad she wasn’t one of those sophisticated women who wore sunglasses night and day as part of their fashion statement. Then he might have a shot at sticking to his resolve.
As it was, he was probably doomed.
Chapter Three
T hough he’d stopped scowling after his second glass of wine, Richard didn’t seem as if he was being won over, Melanie concluded reluctantly. He was being civil, not friendly. And he definitely wasn’t leaving her much of an opening to start pitching her PR plan. Drastic measures were called for. Destiny had seemed certain that food was the answer, so Melanie had added a touch of her own to the meal.
“I stopped and picked up ice cream for the pie,” she told him, hoping she’d guessed right that a man who loved cherry pie would prefer it à la mode.
He actually smiled for the first time—a totally unguarded reaction, for once. Just as Melanie had remembered, the effect was devastating. The smile made his blue eyes sparkle and emphasized that there really were laugh lines at the corners. It also eased the tension in his square jaw.
“Acting against Destiny’s warnings, no doubt,” he said. “She probably has the cardiologist on standby as it is.”
Melanie grinned back at him. “I have his name and number in my purse,” she joked, then added more truthfully, “along with cooking instructions and directions to this place. Destiny left very little to chance.”
He seemed uncertain whether to take her seriously. “Not that I would put it past her, but she didn’t actually give you the name of a doctor, did she?”
Melanie laughed. “Okay, no, but she does seem to be concerned that your particular nutritional habits combined with your workaholic tendencies will land you in an early grave. Do you ever relax?”
“Sure,” he said at once. “I’m here, aren’t I?”
Melanie gestured toward the computer that he’d been glancing at longingly ever since her arrival. “Unless you’re on there doing your Christmas shopping, I don’t think this qualifies.”
He regarded her with a vaguely puzzled expression. “When is Christmas?”
“Less than three weeks.”
He nodded, then reached for the pocket computer he’d tossed on the counter earlier, and made a note.
“Reminding your secretary to get your shopping done?” she asked him.
He looked only slightly chagrined at having been caught. “Winifred’s better at it than I am,” he said, not sounding the least bit defensive. “She has more time, too. I give her a few extra hours off to do her shopping, along with mine.”
Melanie nodded. “A successful man always knows how to delegate. Do you give her a budget? Suggestions? Does she tell you what’s in the packages, so you’re not as surprised as the recipients on Christmas morning? I’ve always wondered how that worked.”
He took the question seriously. “Most of the time she puts little sticky labels on the wrapped boxes so I can add my own gift card. She seems to think my handwriting ought to be on there.” His eyes glinted with sudden amusement. “Occasionally, though, she likes to go for the shock value, especially with my brothers. Last year I gave my brother Mack—”
“The former Washington football hero,” Melanie recalled.
“Exactly, and one of the city’s most sought after bachelors.” He grinned. “My secretary bought him a rather large, shapely, inflatable female. I’m pretty sure Destiny had a hand in that one. She’d
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