Fifty Ways to Be Your Lover
Auteur·e
Connie Bennett
Lectures
16,5K
Chapitres
17
How Did Matt Gallagher Love Her? With fuzzy stuffed animals and catered gourmet dinners… With fantastical origami swans… By having a maid magically appear at her door… By having a fife-and-drum corps serenade her down the street. Kate Franklin Could Only Count the Ways… that she could escape Matt's heroic assault. Her broken heart didn't need mending — especially not by the man who was her archrival! But could Kate really resist the old-fashioned romantic who was behind it all?
Chapter One
“Oh, my God. He’s gorgeous!”
Kate Franklyn heard the soft exclamation and glanced down at her petite blond friend. “Dee, are you at it again?” she asked with mock exasperation. “I can’t take you anywhere.”
“Oh, but it’s worth it this time, I swear! This guy is a definite ten!”
Kate chuckled. Dee Angstrom had elevated the practice of man-watching to an art form. Wherever the two friends went, Dee was constantly on the lookout for handsome men, much to Kate’s chagrin.
In this instance, though, Kate could hardly blame Dee for engaging in her favorite pastime. They were pressed into a corner of a crowded theater lobby, waiting for the box office to clear so they could get their tickets. They had already studied the cast photos on the wall beside them. They had cursed the rainy weather and discussed the day’s problems at the newspaper where they both worked. Until the play began, there wasn’t much else to occupy them.
Normally Kate didn’t pay much attention to Dee’s hunks, but then, Dee rarely gave any man a Perfect Ten. That alone was enough to spark Kate’s curiosity, but before she could turn to judge for herself, Dee grabbed hold of her arm to restrain her. “No, don’t look now. He’s glancing this way.”
Kate did as she had been told and resisted the urge to look. “Who is it?” she asked, thinking that Dee had spotted a movie star. “From the size of this reaction and rapturous look on your face it’s got to be Tom Selleck or Mel Gibson,” she said, though what either of those stars would be doing in one of Los Angeles’s smallest theaters, Kate couldn’t imagine.
“He’s better.”
“What could possibly be better than Tom or Mel?”
“How about a combination of both?”
“Impossible.” Kate shook her head definitively. “Such a man does not exist. At least not on this planet.”
“Yes, he does, and I’m looking directly at him out of the corner of my eye.”
Rather than challenge the convoluted logic of that statement, Kate pressed, “Well, who is it? A movie star? Television?”
Dee shook her head. “No one famous—not yet, anyway. He’s gotta be an actor, though.”
“Deanna, you think every man you meet should be an actor,” she teased, her curiosity abating now that she knew the man wasn’t famous. Like everyone else in Hollywood, Kate was always excited about seeing a celebrity in person. In her capacity as an entertainment critic for the Los Angeles Sentinel, she had met more than her share, but there was still something that never failed to thrill her about stumbling into the path of Sylvester Stallone in a parking lot in Westwood or seeing Michelle Pfeiffer on the escalator at Neiman Marcus.
But unlike Deanna, who made man-watching a full time career, Kate was still in a state of hibernation from having recently ended a relationship that had lasted four years. The painful deterioration of her romance with superstar Dan McBride was still a fresh wound and Kate wasn’t looking for a new involvement.
“But he should be a star,” Deanna was saying. “You should see this guy!”
“How can I? You won’t let me turn around!” Kate said with a laugh as she ran one hand absently through her long, sable-colored hair. It was still a little damp from the rain. “I swear, Dee, you are incorrigible. Are you ever going to stop man-hunting?”
“Not until I catch a good one. Anyway, this one’s not for me. He’s too tall.”
“Speaking for all the women of the world five foot ten and over, Dee, I must remind you that no man is ever too tall.”
The blonde cast an envious glance at her tall, willowy friend. “I meant he’s too tall for me, but he’s perfect for you.”
“You forget, I’m unavailable just now. I’m here to review a play, not shop, and if I were, I wouldn’t do it in a bargain basement like the Players Theater.”
“Snob.”
“No...” Kate corrected her lightly, “just not interested.”
“Well, you should be.” As though dangling a bone in front of a ravenous dog, Dee began a tantalizing description. “Black hair with a sexy beard and moustache cut real close—you know, like Richard Chamberlain’s when he did King Solomon’s Mines.”
“Find Richard Chamberlain for me and I’ll be glad to look.”
“Cute little dimples when he smiles,” Dee continued, pointedly ignoring the interruption. “Great eyes that have got to be blue...broad shoulders...”
“What scent of cologne is he wearing?”
“Don’t get cute, Kate, you’re gonna flip when you see this guy.”
“Okay, okay.” She sighed with resignation as she checked her watch. They still had more than five minutes to curtain time. “Is the coast clear yet? When do I get to see Tall, Dark and Handsome?”
“Just a minute....” Dee paused until her quarry turned his head, then she gave the signal. “All right...now. Across the room in the opposite corner.”
Casually Kate turned as though idly scanning the room. It didn’t take any guesswork to figure out which man was the subject of Deanna’s instant infatuation. To say that he was handsome was an understatement. Even gorgeous didn’t come close. The man was just too stunning for words.
Nearly a full head taller than anyone around him, the dark-haired stranger stuck out like a sore thumb. Dee had drawn a very accurate picture of him physically, but what she had failed to mention was the magnetic confidence that fairly oozed from him. He seemed at ease and comfortable, a pleasant half smile on his face that bespoke his interest in everything going on around him, even though he seemed to be alone.
His date’s in the powder room, Kate guessed. A man like this certainly didn’t go anywhere without a beautiful woman on his arm.
Probably because Deanna had given this Adonis such a big buildup, Kate violated the first rule of man-watching her friend had taught her: Never focus on the subject too long when looking directly at him. As though sensing her stare, Tall, Dark and Handsome turned toward her. Their eyes met and held, his gaze pinning Kate like a butterfly to a board and setting off a flurry of flapping the likes of which her stomach had never felt before.
An intake of breath hitched in Kate’s chest for a fraction of a second, but she attributed it to embarrassment for having been caught looking. Rather than admit her chagrin, she managed a polite, bemused smile that acknowledged her guilt without being a come-on. He returned the smile wholeheartedly, and Kate realized that Dee was right. His eyes had to be blue...Paul Newman sky-blue with a devilish twinkle.
Amused at her own thoughts, Kate allowed the moment to pass and looked casually away, breaking the contact. She turned back to Deanna and made an exaggerated effort to look normal. “You were right, he’s gorgeous.”
“Oh, how romantic.” Dee sighed melodramatically. “That smile when he looked at you! The way your faces both lit up—I could feel the electricity pulsing across the room.”
Kate laughed, probably a little louder than Deanna’s performance deserved because she was certain that Tall, Dark and Handsome was still looking at her—a thought that made her suddenly feel very much alive. Still, she chided, “You’ve been reading too many romances. Smoldering glances across a crowded room and love at first sight don’t exist.”
“You mean your pulse isn’t racing and your lips aren’t trembling in anticipation?” Dee asked with mock innocence.
“My pulse is fine and my lips are as steady as a rock, thank you.”
“Uh-huh.... I guess that’s why your eyes are sparkling and you’re more animated than I’ve seen you in ages. Take it from me, kid, even old Dandy Dan never made you light up like you did when that hunk looked at you.”
Kate smiled, grateful that she had finally reached the point that hearing Dan’s name no longer felt like a blow to her midsection. She still wasn’t able to watch his movies or see a picture of him without resentment and regret flooding over her like a tidal wave, but after six months, speaking Dan McBride’s name was no longer forbidden in Kate’s presence.
In fact, she was finally able to joke about him to an extent, and she grinned wickedly. “Let’s leave Dandy Dan out of this, okay? Have you forgotten that he’s become the man every woman in America wants to be tucked in with at night?”
“That’s right. And from what I hear, he’s systematically ‘tucking’ his way through the population.”
“Yes, ladies and gentlemen,” Kate intoned in a quiet radio-announcer voice, “this is H&R Block with Reason Number Fourteen why Kate Franklyn dumped Dan McBride.”
Dee smiled with admiration. “Have I told you lately that I’m proud of you, kiddo? It’s so good to see you able to talk about that drunken Irish gigolo without that horrible look of pain in your eyes.”
“Time heals all wounds. Or so they say.”
“Now, if you’d only start dating again—”
“Oh, no, please!” Kate begged plaintively. “Not this again. I should have known you had an ulterior motive when you started all that flattery.”
“No ulterior motive, Kate, just a friendly desire to see you get yourself back into circulation.”
“When I’m ready, I will,” she promised. “But not yet. Dan was my whole life for four years, and before he became a star I was never happier. I poured everything I had into making that relationship work, and I’ve got to recharge my batteries before I can afford to expend any energy on another man.”
“You’re just gun-shy.”
“You bet your life I am. Listen, when a revolver explodes in your face, you learn to be a little more cautious about loading it the next time.”
“Honey, I’m not suggesting you pull the trigger yet.” Dee smiled slyly. “Just...fondle it a little. Get the feel of it again. No matter what you think, Dan McBride never was right for you, even before he went off the deep end with all that superstar business. Why don’t you give Jack the Jock a try?”
Kate was mortified. Jack the Jock was the not-so-affectionate nickname Dee and her colleagues in advertising had given to one particularly obnoxious sports reporter who thought he was God’s gift to women. “Are you kidding? Dee, the man has eight hands and more muscles than a seafood restaurant—and most of them are in his head!”
“Oh, come on, he’s not that bad.”
“Have you stood close to him lately? He wears a cologne called Locker Room. I’m not going to date someone who smells like dirty gym socks and thinks a theater is just a place to eat popcorn and watch Jean-Claude Van Damme movies.”
“Those are only excuses and you know it.”
“The man is not my type and I wouldn’t date him even if I was ready, which I’m not, so could we drop it, please? The play will be starting in a few minutes.”
“Okay. We can discuss this later—” Kate’s razor-sharp glare stopped Dee in midsentence “—or maybe not.”
Kate smiled. “Good choice. Now come on, let’s get our tickets.” She started across the room but couldn’t resist one last covert glance toward Tall, Dark and Handsome’s corner. He was still there, and he was still looking.
It was everything Kate could do to squelch the jolt of satisfaction that shot through her.
* * *
WILLPOWER HAD NEVER BEEN Matt Gallagher’s strong suit, so he didn’t even bother trying to take his eyes off the gorgeous brunette. She was just too stunning for words, and Matt liked the idea of being stunned. It had been a long time since a woman had knocked his socks off, and this one also got his shoes, his trousers and was doing interesting things to his Fruit of the Loom briefs.
Since moving to Los Angeles, Matt had discovered that the city contained more beautiful women per square inch than anywhere else in the world, but this one put the others to shame. She had shoulder-length sable hair that was tousled and windblown from her bout with the rain. Her features were elegant, even classic, with high cheekbones, a perfect patrician nose, soft, full lips and an oval face framed by her lustrous, silky hair. Her body was tall and willowy, and she moved with a natural grace that added an aura of elegance.
Her face and form were what one expected to see on a magazine cover or movie screen, yet here she was in the Players Theater doing her damnedest to pretend that she wasn’t as aware of Matt as he was of her. That suggested a hint of shyness he found intriguing.
He had to meet her. He had to have a name to put to that gorgeous face—and a phone number wouldn’t hurt, either.
Matt caught the covert glance she threw in his direction as she and her petite blond friend moved toward the box office, and he smiled. Yep. Phone number. Definitely.
He checked his watch. It was time to take his seat, but he still had a little leeway for a reconnaissance mission, so instead of circumventing the line at the box office, he moved toward it. He wouldn’t be able to sleep tonight if he didn’t at least find out what color those fabulous almond-shaped eyes were.
Before he had taken two steps, though, a booming voice brought him and everyone else in the lobby to a halt.
“Signorina Franklyn! Mia bellissima, signorina!”
The absurdly phony Italian accent filled the room, and Matt swiveled around to find a portly gentleman who was surrounded by an entourage that resembled a small army. The effusive little man rushed toward Matt’s sable-haired goddess as though she were a fire in desperate need of extinguishing. In his right hand he waved an unlit cigarette, held in the European manner with the filter outermost, and his left he extended to her, nearly upsetting the delicate balance of the calf-length overcoat draped across his shoulders.
Matt glanced at his goddess and felt an automatic rush of sympathy. She looked as though she wished the ground would open up and swallow her whole, but when that didn’t happen she plastered on a polite, reserved smile. Hesitantly she extended her hand, and endured the trial of having the phony Italian kiss it a bit too fervently.
Matt felt simultaneous surges of envy and dislike for the cartoonish gigolo. He edged closer to hear their conversation.
“Signor DeAngelo. It’s a pleasure to see you again,” the goddess said in a hushed voice.
If she was hoping the “Italian” would take the hint and lower his volume a decibel or two, she had to be disappointed because the subtlety was obviously lost on him.
“Signorina Franklyn, the pleasure is mine,” he bellowed, glancing around, indicating to his entourage that he wanted them to gather closer. “My friends one and all, you musta meet this delightful lady. Signorina Katerina Franklyn. She is here to review my humble production for the mighty Los Angeles Sentinel, but her beauty alone gracing our theater is all the reward thata we need.”
Right on cue the entourage burst into applause and every patron in the lobby swiveled around to look at the embarrassed Ms. Franklyn. She accepted the smattering of applause with a wan smile and a gracious nod.
“Thank you for your kind words, signor, but you’d best be careful or I will suspect you’re trying to influence my review with flattery.”
Oh, boy, Matt thought, his spirits sinking so low that he barely heard the rest of the couple’s conversation. The “Italian” was the director of the play, and he was giving Matt’s goddess an absurd line of garbage about levels of Freudian meaning in his production of Noel Coward’s frothy comedy Blithe Spirit. Under other circumstances, Matt would have been listening—and laughing. But not just now. He had a name to go with his goddess’s incredible face: she was Kate Franklyn, the theater critic.
Obtaining her phone number was pretty pointless now, and entertaining fantasies about what was underneath her elegant facade would be nothing but an exercise in frustration. Once she heard his name, Matt wouldn’t have a prayer of getting to know her. He’d been down this road before and knew exactly what to expect. Damn!
Swallowing his disappointment, he cast one last, longing, regretful glance at his goddess, then continued toward the theater, staying close to the wall to skirt DeAngelo’s entourage.
“Oh, Signorina Franklyn, I cana see that you, like many others, have long been deluded,” he heard the director saying. “Buta knowing how fair you are, I feel much reassured that you willa keep an open mind about my produzione.”
Before the critic could respond, a vapid-looking woman on DeAngelo’s right tugged his arm, pulling his attention away, and Kate Franklyn bent toward her blond friend.
“I’ll keep an open mind if he’ll keep an open front door.”
Matt heard the whisper just as he passed behind her, and he couldn’t help but chuckle. She heard him, of course, and straightened guiltily, whirling around so abruptly that it set her off-balance. She bumped into Matt, and in reflex, he took hold of her arms to steady her as her startled gaze met his. Her eyes—an astonishing shade of violet—widened in recognition, and she blushed.
An honest-to-God blush! Matt hadn’t seen one in ages. The color it added to her face only made her more entrancing, and Matt felt an overpowering surge of desire twisting and curling in his stomach. It lurched lower, startling him with its intensity, and suddenly Matt realized that it didn’t matter who Kate Franklyn was. It didn’t matter who he was, either. He was going to do whatever it took to get to know this woman.
Even if it meant telling a little white lie or two...or three.
