Side Order of Love Page 8

  “Nice,” Torrie said, her eyes sliding up and down Grace.

  Grace flushed before her expression hardened.

  “Your pajamas,” Torrie quickly clarified. “I…” She glanced down at the flowers and brandy that were beginning to slide out of their tenuous hold. Grace reached out and deftly rescued them. “Thanks, Grace. You just saved me from embarrassment.”

  “Not to mention a stained rug. Are these for me?”

  Torrie leaned lazily against the doorframe and tried to act cool. “Actually, I thought I’d make a trail of rose petals from your room to mine and see if you’d follow.”

  “Hmm. I see. And the brandy?”

  “To show you what would be waiting for you at the other end.” Torrie gave her a sly wink, determined to play out the role of seductress that she’d so firmly cast herself in. She would keep trying and Grace would keep saying no, and they’d go around and around in this little dance until maybe, just maybe, Torrie would finally wear Grace down.

  Grace laughed, much to Torrie’s relief. “Oh, no, Torrie Cannon. You’re not getting me into your room, no matter what’s waiting there for me.”

  “How about a drink with me here, then?” Torrie offered shamelessly.

  Grace beckoned her in with a nod and an amused smile. “You don’t give up, do you?”

  “Do you want me to?” Please don’t say yes.

  “C’mon,” said Grace, disappearing for a moment with the flowers and returning with two small glasses. It was not lost on Torrie that she hadn’t said no.

  She poured them a drink and they sat on the sofa, Grace tucking her legs up under her.

  “Actually, Grace,” Torrie said, perfectly serious. “I wanted to thank you for saving my life today.”

  “Saving you from being stranded like a wet dog in that sand bunker hardly qualifies as saving your life.”

  Torrie sipped the brandy and grinned at Grace. “I could have been there for hours while the hole slowly filled up with water. I could have drowned! Think of the nasty headlines that would have made. Pro golfer drowns while celebrity chef looks on. ”

  “You’ve got quite the imagination. You didn’t set the whole thing up on purpose, did you?” Grace teased.

  “Yeah,” Torrie answered, deadpan. “Seeing girlie-girls in wet T-shirts doing chivalrous things is always worth risking my life for.”

  Grace began to blush like a schoolgirl, and Torrie wanted to giggle and kiss her madly. But she apologized half-heartedly instead, watching Grace contemplatively sip her drink. It began to occur to her that maybe she’d gone too far with the wet T-shirt comment as the silence between them grew. She was always pushing the boundaries with Grace it seemed, always trying to elicit a reaction, see where it got her. She couldn’t quite help herself.

  “What makes you think I’m a girlie-girl?” Grace muttered quizzically, looking distinctly insulted.

  “Would you feel better if I called you a little butch?”

  Silence again. A cryptic look from Grace. God. She could be so hard to figure out sometimes. Torrie swallowed against sudden panic. “You’re not straight, are you?” Oh, God, no, not that!

  Grace made her sweat it out for an agonizing minute before she broke out into a slow, self-satisfied grin. “I’ve been with women since I was eighteen.”

  Relief extended all the way down to Torrie’s toes. “Good. I mean, I thought so.”

  “Why, because I kissed your cousin?”

  “Hell, no. Catie would kiss anyone.”

  Grace shifted uncomfortably. “I wouldn’t, you know.”

  “What?”

  “Kiss anyone.” She looked embarrassed and totally ingenuous. “I don’t know what possessed me to kiss her like that at Trish’s cottage. It was stupid. I was just—”

  “Grace. You don’t need to explain anything to me. Especially something that happened six years ago. I know nothing happened between you and Catie.”

  “I don’t mean to imply that I’m some sort of vestal virgin, you know.”

  “I know.” Torrie smiled. Everyone had a past. But she did not feel threatened by anything Grace might have done. And she was no longer jealous of a silly kiss. Well, maybe a little, but only a little. She was secretly pleased that Grace felt the need to explain.

  “So if Connie Sparks is Catie’s aunt, I guess she’s yours too, by extension?”

  “Yeah. Poor Aunt Connie. I’m sure we gave her many conniptions over the years.”

  Grace shook her head lightly. “I’m sure she loved every minute of it. She seems like a wonderful woman.”

  “She is,” Torrie said reverently. “You’ve met her?”

  “Yes.” Grace sipped her drink, casting a quick glance at a stack of books on a nearby table. “Crap. The menu. We keep forgetting.”

  Ah, yes, that damned menu that Torrie could care less about right now. But anything for an excuse to lengthen their time together.

  “Have you any ideas?” Grace prodded.

  Now there was an opening for a come-on, maybe even an intentional one on Grace’s part, Torrie thought hopefully, but she resisted the bait. “Not really. My mother had a few, but damned if I can remember any of them. How about something with meat and potatoes?” Torrie cringed, remembering Catie comparing a straight marriage to meat and potatoes. “Or fish?” she offered slyly.

  Grace strode to the table and picked up a piece of paper. She reached for a pair of half-moon reading glasses that Torrie thought looked incredibly adorable on her. Everything about Grace struck her as adorable, which was new for Torrie. Women were either hot or they were not, and Grace certainly made the temperature needle skyrocket. But adorable? She hadn’t thought anything adorable since her childhood teddy bear.

  “What do you say to chicken cacciatore, grilled salmon marinated in a creamy lemon dill sauce, rosemary and garlic roast potatoes, a vegetable mélange and a garden salad with vinaigrette?”

  Talk about food had never made Torrie want to kiss a woman, but it did now. “That sounds incredible!”

  Grace tossed her glasses onto the table. “Ooh, and the best part is dessert.” Her eyes flashed with excitement, and it was easy to see that food was her passion.

  “Now you’re talking.” Torrie settled back on the sofa, her legs apart, and tried to expunge the very real fantasy of Grace leaping onto her lap and happily settling there, her arms naturally slipping around Torrie’s neck. “Go on,” she rasped, her voice deserting her, the vision of Grace as her lover, of Grace capitulating, firmly entrenching itself.

  “That fourth hole we nearly drowned on today inspired me.” Grace leaned against the table, arms crossed over her chest, and grinned with enthusiasm. She couldn’t possibly have a clue what Torrie’s mind was fixed on.

  Torrie extracted herself from thoughts of Grace lying beneath her, of Grace reaching up to her with her mouth. “What? Mud pie? Some kind of sponge cake drowning in sauce?”

  Grace winked. “I’ll just have to make it a surprise.”

  Torrie finished her drink. It was later than she thought, and Grace was yawning now. She wanted to stay and talk, get to know Grace better, to thrust and parry with her some more. But it was only Tuesday night and she had the rest of the week and into the weekend to get Grace into her bed. The chase, she reminded herself, or at least the chase with this woman, was to be savored. She stood and let Grace walk her to the door.

  “I guess I’m going to be awfully busy the next few days getting ready for Sunday’s dinner.” Grace almost sounded like she was apologizing, for which Torrie was ridiculously grateful.

  “If there’s anything you need…”

  “Thanks.”

  Hand on the doorknob, Torrie turned around, suddenly uncharacteristically contrite. Guilt and shame tugged at her for the way she was treating this highly accomplished woman. “Grace…” She was embarrassed for once, and it was a feeling she never thought would apply to her, at least not where women were concerned. She was a wealthy, professional athlete who
was above recrimination…wasn’t she? She’d always been excused before. And yet, here she was, in another woman’s room, feeling like a spoiled, rude little shit. You’re taking it too far, Torrie, acting like an immature, infatuated asshole. She just didn’t quite know how not to act like a jerk around Grace. She liked Grace. A lot. But she was like a bad little kid constantly acting up in front of the teacher, even when she knew it was going to result in a crack across the knuckles.

  “Yes, Torrie?”

  Torrie mentally stumbled. Grace was a classy woman. She deserved better than what she was getting from Torrie. “I… I’m not normally quite this…” Fuck, why does this woman make me feel like I can’t even form a coherent sentence?

  Grace leaned patiently against the wall, looking slightly amused. “Like what?”

  Torrie took a deep breath. “Like such a predatory, rude, selfish, sex-crazed idiot.”

  Dimples formed around Grace’s rather victorious smile, as if she’d been waiting the whole time for Torrie’s admission. “You’re not?”

  Torrie shook her head lamely.

  “You have quite a way with words, you know.”

  “So I’ve been told.”

  Grace’s smile faded. She paused a few beats, never taking her eyes off Torrie.“Believe it or not, Torrie, I find you very charming. And fun. And your honesty is damn refreshing. Frankly, I’ve had my fill of pretenses and…” Grace’s voice trailed off and her eyes looked unmistakably sad. “Lies.”

  Torrie swallowed and croaked like a boy whose voice was changing. “Then you don’t think I’m a total horse’s ass?”

  “No. And you needn’t have given me this little speech, you know. I already had you pegged as more bark than bite.” She raised a teasing eyebrow, and arousal, like a bolt of electricity, shot all the way down Torrie’s legs.

  “Just be careful not to throw down the gauntlet,” Torrie whispered before walking out.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Grace dumped another cup of sugar into the vat of chocolate cake batter and watched it swirl and disappear into the dark folds. She felt much like the batter—at the whim of the mechanical whisk, surrendering to it, folding into itself. There were quiet moments, like this, when she thought of Aly and felt the loss of something that had become so familiar—something she’d come to rely on and to make part of her existence—even if she hadn’t been particularly happy or fulfilled. Aly had been habit-forming, and breaking a habit that wasn’t good for you didn’t necessarily mean it was easy. Grace was like a kite, its string cut—still there, but without direction.

  Memories blurred and skidded through her mind, many of them good ones. Peeling onions together in Aly’s apartment for an impromptu dinner, their eyes watering like crazy, reading to one another over breakfast from competing newspapers, playing footsies under the table, snuggling together in the soft sheets that would later be wrinkled and damp from lovemaking.

  Were those little moments really the sum of their three years together? Because that’s all they really were, just moments, Grace thought sadly. It’s not like they’d ever shared dreams together, embarked on joint projects, planned vacations together, split the bills, shopped for groceries, opened a joint bank account, accompanied one another to family dinners. Surely those things were the true building blocks of a relationship. What they’d had was pathetic. Like chasing a shadow and never catching it.

  “Is this the secret dessert you’re working on?”

  Grace jumped. She hadn’t heard Torrie come up behind her, having long ago tuned out the constant background noise of the large hotel kitchen. Doors swinging open, a dropped utensil, the scraping of bowls, the whirring of appliances, murmured or even boisterous conversations, orders being yelled out. Grace was so used to it all that it hardly registered.

  “Sorry, did I startle you?”

  Grace, mercifully wrenched from her self-pity, smiled over her shoulder. “No, I’m fine.”

  Torrie reached around and stuck a finger in the giant bowl. She popped it into her mouth before Grace could swat it away. “Mmmm, yum! I love cake batter. It is a cake you’re making, right?”

  Grace kept quiet, wanting to keep Torrie guessing, and stuck her own finger in for a quick taste. There was definitely enough sugar, but it needed another splash of vanilla, and a healthy dash of her secret ingredient—rose water.“Could be, Torrie. Or maybe I’m making three hundred mini cupcakes.”

  “Hmm, you’re really not going to tell me, are you?”

  Grace switched the machine off. “Nope.”

  “But I was with you when you got inspired. Doesn’t that count for something?”

  “Umm, let me think. No.”

  Torrie gave her a pout, and Grace stepped backward at the rush of sudden desire to kiss those full, down-turned lips. Her eyes fixed on Torrie’s mouth and she had to blink to clear her thoughts. She hadn’t wanted to kiss a woman other than Aly in years, and it shocked her a little. Jesus, don’t tell me I’m actually starting to fall for her act. Pull-ease!

  “You sure know how to hurt a girl’s feelings. Can I bribe you?”

  Grace shook her head, crossing her arms over her chest to keep distance between them. For the first time, she was wary of being so close to Torrie. She was both bothered and intrigued by the physical reaction Torrie’s presence now stirred in her. It was like all her senses were suddenly becoming keenly sharp around Torrie, like she was stepping from a room that was black and white into one full of vibrant colors. It scared the hell out of her. She didn’t even know when it had started. Was it moments ago? Yesterday on the rainy course? Last night in my hotel room? But it had started, the way dawn could sneak up when you still thought it was night.

  “How about I threaten it out of you?”

  “Ahh, so you’re going to beat me with your one good arm, is that it?”

  Torrie’s laugh was devilish. “I never said I was going to threaten you with physical harm.” She dipped her finger into the batter again, and her eyes were provocative, challenging Grace. Her tongue swirled slowly and seductively around her finger. Her meaning couldn’t be more clear if she’d hit Grace over the head with one of the frying pans hanging overhead.

  Grace backed up another step, her breath heavy in her chest. Sweat prickled under her arms. Oh, God. This flirting was getting way too intense, affecting her too much, making her hot. Maybe it was because Aly was gradually receding from her every day, like the tide inching out. Or maybe it was just her body’s way of rejecting celibacy. Grace just knew that her body was beginning to react powerfully to Torrie, and more than that, she was beginning to feel an affection for her. And she didn’t want to. I can’t feel something for her right now, for any woman. Please, no!

  Torrie tensed a little, looking worried. “Is everything okay, Grace?”

  “Torrie, I—” I want you to leave me alone. Except I don’t, because I’m lonely as hell, and you’re sweet and young and beautiful, and you make me feel alive and desirable again. “I, I just can’t be—”

  “Look,” Torrie interrupted, looking crestfallen but trying to cover it with a cavalier shrug and a cool smile. “I should probably get back out on the course. See how things are going.”

  Torrie was halfway across the kitchen before she gave Grace a quick wave good-bye.

  It wasn’t hard keeping her self-imposed distance from Torrie. Grace didn’t see her the rest of that day or the following day. Her duties kept her incredibly busy, for which she was grateful. Two nights now she’d dropped into bed just before midnight, exhausted. Every plan, right down to the place settings, had been mapped out, circulated, discussed and rehearsed with the staff. The massive amount of food had all been purchased, tasks assigned. There’d been some problems too—a freezer on the blink, a chef who’d come down with the flu. It was just two days before Sunday’s big event and things were coming together, with James arriving tomorrow morning and Trish right behind him. The three were to meet later Saturday with corporate sponsors and Tour official
s. They had even scheduled a local radio show.

  For now, there was still work to be done. There was a numbers discrepancy for Sunday’s dinner between the hotel and the tournament director. Having just sorted out what felt like her hundredth little problem in the clubhouse, Grace lingered near the eighteenth hole and watched the golfers within chipping distance of the green. They looked so calm, well-groomed, focused and professional. They made their shots with a precision that looked easy. They’d slump a little when they missed and give a quick fist pump when they made it. There was always a cheerful wave to the crowd afterward.

  Grace had never been a big fan of golf. She’d played the game enough times to realize how difficult it was, but she had never developed a taste for it. She knew how Torrie must feel about it though, if it was anything like her own passion for food and its preparation. She’d picked up a golf magazine in the clubhouse. There were pictures of Torrie in it, where she alternately looked intense, driven, ecstatic, joyful, disappointed or aggravated. But always passionate. Sexy too. Grace had traced a finger around Torrie’s image in one of the photos, admiring her strong physique, her handsome features, her triumphant smile. She’d stuck the magazine in her briefcase, not really sure why she wanted to keep it, just that she did. Maybe it was because, even though she didn’t want to think about Torrie Cannon right now, she might one day. Perhaps when her heart thawed. Or maybe when she just needed a flattering memory to lift her spirits, like during her upcoming fortieth birthday. It wasn’t such a bad thing that a young, good-looking, independently wealthy young woman found her sexually attractive. It was exhilarating, actually, and Torrie could so easily trip Grace’s sexual responders—if she were to let her. But I won’t because I have everything under control.

  Grace drove her power cart along the paved path in the direction of the hotel. At the practice green, she noticed Torrie at the same time Torrie saw her. Her cheeks burned as though Torrie might somehow know she’d been studying pictures of her.