“No, you’re out of your ever-loving mind. Isn’t it her father’s company—”
“Now wait a minute.” Instinctively, he rushed to Lucy’s defense. “You don’t know the whole story.”
Just then, Lucy appeared in the doorway, dressed in his shirt, her hair disheveled, and stretched lazily. “Do I smell cinnamon rolls?”
She hadn’t noticed the others yet and sent Jake a sleepy smile that would have melted a lesser man.
“Oh boy.” Birdie sat back in her seat. “Houston, we have a problem.”
“Why, Mom?”
Lucinda turned, stared wide-eyed at mother and son. “Oh my gosh. Oh, Jake, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know you had company.” She tugged at the shirt’s hem.
“No, that’s okay.” He took a deep breath, determined to erase the fantasy of Lucy’s long legs wrapped… Hell, now was as good a time as any. “Birdie, meet my fiancée, Lucinda Darling.”
Chapter Seven
Uneasy, Jake waited. Where was that glib lawyer’s tongue when he needed it? He rubbed suddenly damp hands on the legs of his jeans.
Caught totally unaware, his sister, the chatterbox, remained silent. Like one of those stupid dolls people stuck on their dashboards, her head bobbled back and forth between him and his fiancée, her long, dark hair swinging over her shoulders with the movement.
Lucy, lips parted, that unbelievably hot body barely covered, stood frozen. This new turn of events seemed to have supplanted and outpaced the strain of her father’s earlier phone call.
Even the perpetual motion machine that was his nephew stalled out as he raised expectant baby blues to him, the pirate hat slipping dangerously backward.
Jake licked his lips. Jeez, get it together. Say something.
His sister recovered first and snapped out of her trance. “Lucinda Darling. For real. Here in my brother’s house. Oh. My. God!”
Once again capable of speech, she looked at him. “I thought she was engaged.” She turned smoke-gray eyes, so similar to their father’s, to Lucinda. “I thought you were engaged. Getting married. The news—Saturday—your gown—”
Oh, shoot. Jake’s stomach did a quick loop-de-loop, making him glad he hadn’t eaten anything more than the cinnamon bun. He wasn’t ready for this. Wasn’t ready to answer questions. He’d concocted all this on the fly, and the whole idea had as many holes in it as a sieve.
Everybody knew Lucy had been engaged. Had run away from her wedding. So how could he expect anyone to believe the two of them were engaged? The freakin’ boulder she wore was still the one the jerk had put on her finger.
He’d passed the bar exam, been trained in logistics and how to plan a courtroom offensive, but apparently none of that had carried over into his personal life. What a train wreck.
Of course, Birdie, always the romantic, would have lapped up the runaway bride story. She’d probably watched the clip of Lucy fleeing her wedding ten times on AOL or YouTube.
Everybody in town would have seen it. Everybody in the country. In the whole world! No way was he gonna be able to pull this off. He couldn’t see a way to come up with a logical explanation that anyone would buy. Time to spill the beans.
He opened his mouth to tell his sister the truth, but Lucy stepped in, those full, luscious lips forming the words that would either damn or save him.
“You’re right, Birdie.” She shrugged, the too-big shirt sliding off one perfect, porcelain shoulder, and sent him a smile that sizzled to his core.
Thank God he hadn’t answered the door in his boxers. His sister would be in no doubt of just how badly he wanted this woman who stood, seemingly so relaxed, in his kitchen. But he knew better. He’d thrown a knuckleball at Lucy, and she had to be as off-kilter as he was. As unprepared for this early-morning visitor.
They still had so much to talk about before taking this engagement public.
Too late for that, though, wasn’t it? No locking the proverbial barn door now. The horse was out. Once Birdie caught wind of something…
“Donald and I… Well, we seemed to be the perfect match. We had a lot in common. Then I met Jake.” Her smile turned shy. “And I realized what love really was. Despite all the ramifications, when it came right down to it, I couldn’t go through with my marriage to Donald. Your brother and I—”
She held out her hand, and he kicked his sorry ass into gear and crossed the kitchen to take it. Lucy met Birdie’s gaze full-on. “Your brother and I were meant to be together.”
Her hand in his was tiny, fragile. Her acting skills—thank you, God—were huge. Prodigious. And even though he found himself mentally applauding her, another part of his brain urged him to remember this moment. Remember always her ability to convince, to manipulate with those eyes, that mouth. That intelligence.