Читать книгу: «Bachelor By Design: Bachelor By Design / Too Hot For Comfort»

1

CHLOE D’ONOFRIO just didn’t feel at home in prison, despite the fact that several members of her extended family resided there. Still, she faithfully made the rounds each visiting day, bearing gifts and D’Onofrio family gossip.

First she saw Aunt Wanda, serving two to five years for petty larceny. Then Cousin Kit, serving ten months for floating bad checks. Her other cousin, Nora, was in again for violating her probation.

And then there was her mother.

“Did you know I’m up for parole soon?” Eileen D’Onofrio asked, flicking a piece of lint off the sleeve of her bright orange jumpsuit.

“In twenty-one days. That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.” Chloe cleared her throat, then looked at her mother through the Plexiglas partition. She’d rehearsed this speech on the two-hour trip from St. Louis, determined to convince Eileen to go straight once and for all. “You’ll have a much better chance of making parole if you’ve got both a job and a place to stay when you get out.”

“I’m really overqualified for most jobs,” Eileen mused. “And I refuse to work in another laundry.” She frowned down at her chapped hands. “Just look at what that harsh detergent has done to my nails.”

Chloe leaned forward in her chair. “Mother, you can’t be picky this time. And you absolutely cannot work for Uncle Leo again.”

“But he let me set my own hours.”

“You were a courier for his money-laundering operation!”

“He had a wonderful dental plan.”

“You’re going legit this time, Mom.” Chloe set her jaw. “I mean it. Ramon needs you on the outside, and so do I.”

Eileen frowned. “What’s the matter with Ramon?”

Chloe didn’t know where to begin. It seemed her younger brother was always suffering some sort of crisis. “Well, he’s still upset about his broken engagement. I knew it was a mistake for you to fix him up with your cellmate.”

“I thought having a girlfriend might give him some self-confidence. He’s so shy around women.”

“His girlfriend was convicted of attempted murder!”

“But Nanette seems like such a nice girl. And so pretty. By the way, she’s not my cellmate anymore. Her conviction got overturned last month on a technicality. I heard she moved to Florida, so she’s out of his life.”

“Good,” Chloe said. “Because the last thing we need in this family is another felon. Now, I think you should move in with me when you get out of here and I’ll help you find a good, legitimate job.”

“You can’t afford another mouth to feed, honey. Especially when you’re struggling to start a new business.”

“I already got my first big job,” Chloe announced, trying her best to sound nonchalant about it. “So money won’t be a problem.”

“You did!” Eileen’s face lit up. “Oh, Chloe, that’s wonderful. When did this happen?”

“Just yesterday, actually. I picked up Ramon from work at Café Romeo and ran into the owner. She treated me to a cup of coffee and the next thing I know, she’s offering me a job to redecorate the place.”

“Imagine that. Isn’t she some kind of psychic?”

Chloe smiled. “Her name is Madame Sophia, and I believe she’s a former fortune-teller. At the café she reads coffee grounds and predicts romance for her customers.”

Eileen nodded approvingly. “What a great scam. She must be raking in the dough.”

“She’s legit, Mom. At least she believes in what she does. And it must be working, because she’s remodeling the place to make it bigger. That’s why she needs a decorator.”

“So did you ask Madame Sophia to read your coffee grounds?”

“Of course not. You know I don’t believe in that kind of nonsense.”

“My sensible Chloe. I suppose you don’t believe in love, either.”

“Actually, I do. But it’s hard to meet men these days.”

Eileen clucked her tongue. “You’re on the wrong side of twenty-five, dear. It’s time to stop being so picky.”

“I’m not picky,” Chloe countered. “As long as they pass the FBI background check.”

Eileen laughed, but Chloe wasn’t joking. Growing up among the D’Onofrio men had taught her exactly what she didn’t want in a man. They were all handsome, charming, stubborn male chauvinists. And they all had criminal records. Except Ramon, whom she’d managed to keep out of trouble. So far, anyway.

To be fair, Chloe’s deceased father hadn’t had a criminal record, either. But only because the masterful jewel thief had never been caught.

“Maybe I’ll give Café Romeo a try myself,” Eileen said playfully. “After spending the last three years in here, I could use some romance in my life.”

“That’s a wonderful idea,” Chloe exclaimed, willing to show enthusiasm for anything that would keep her mother out of trouble. And out of jail. “As soon as you’re free we’ll go shopping. We’ll buy you a whole new wardrobe.”

“I need a perm, too,” Eileen said, fingering her faded brown hair. “And maybe a color touch-up.”

“We’ll shoot the works.” Thanks to Madame Sophia, Chloe would have enough money to give her mother a fresh new start. The coffeehouse owner might be a little flaky, but her job offer couldn’t have come at a better time. Madame Sophia hadn’t even asked for any references. All she’d required of Chloe was to sign on the dotted line.

And, oddly enough, to drink one cup of Café Romeo’s special blend of Jamaican almond coffee.

“DON’T SAY I didn’t warn you.”

Trace Callahan looked up from the sheet of plywood he was measuring to scowl at his little brother. Only Noah wasn’t so little anymore. He’d just turned twenty-six, and at six-three, stood an inch taller than his two older brothers. “Warn me? You’ve been predicting catastrophes ever since I told you Aunt Sophie confiscated our coffee grounds. Don’t you think you might be just a little paranoid?”

Noah Callahan snorted. “That’s the same thing Jake said. And looked what happened to him.”

“Jake’s not dead, he’s engaged.”

“Is there a difference?”

Trace shook his head in disgust, then pulled a stubby pencil out of his shirt pocket. He began marking off measurements on the wood, refusing to let this ridiculous conversation slow his progress on the expansion of Café Romeo. A common wall separated the coffeehouse from the now-defunct pizza parlor next door. He’d gutted the pizza parlor and stripped the oppressive red-and-black flocked wallpaper off the walls.

After spending several weeks remodeling the interior, he felt the place was finally beginning to come together. Just yesterday he’d cut the wide archway in the common wall that connected it to Café Romeo. He’d tacked an oilcloth over the opening to contain the dust, but he could still smell the fragrant aroma of fresh-ground coffee and hear the low murmurs of Aunt Sophie’s customers.

He stuck the pencil back in his shirt pocket, then glanced at his brother. Noah might have more brawn than Trace, but obviously not as much brain. He was also an inveterate playboy. “Look, Noah, you’ve got to get over this marriage phobia of yours. It isn’t healthy.”

“And I suppose your plan to have women audition for a chance to be your wife is what you call healthy?”

“Definitely. I’m planning to marry for keeps. As soon as I find the one who fits all my requirements.”

Noah visibly shuddered. “Well, I’m going while the going is good.”

“Going where?”

“Cleveland, Ohio. I arranged a job transfer there as soon as I found out Aunt Sophie had gotten her hands on our coffee grounds. I don’t want to take any chances.”

“Don’t you think moving out of state is a little extreme?”

Noah folded his arms across his chest. “You tell me. Our big brother recently proposed to a woman he’s known less than a month. This is the same man who had a bumper sticker on his car that read Marriage is for Morons. And Aunt Sophie made it happen.” Noah leaned toward him and lowered his voice. “Be afraid, Trace. Be very afraid.”

“I like Nina,” Trace said in defense of his future sister-in-law. He bent down and picked up the four-foot level off the floor.

“I like her too. But that doesn’t change the fact that one of Aunt Sophie’s crazy romantic predictions actually came true. And I’m not sticking around to be victim number three.”

“Number three? Who’s victim number two?”

“Just take a look in the mirror, pal,” Noah said as he headed for the archway. “You’re bride bait, and Aunt Sophie’s all set to reel one in for you. As soon as Jake and Nina tie the knot, I’m outta here.”

Trace watched his brother disappear behind the oilcloth. Noah was actually running scared. And for what? Some illogical fear that Aunt Sophie could make him fall in love with a woman against his will?

Trace wasn’t about to let that happen. He’d be getting married all right, but to a woman of his own choosing. A woman who fit the exact blueprint of the future he wanted to build. And he’d told his aunt that already, in no uncertain terms. She’d taken the news well. He frowned down at the level in his hand. Maybe a little too well. Maybe he should have another talk with her, just in case….

As if she were truly psychic, Sophie Callahan appeared at that moment, bustling through the makeshift oilcloth door with Café Romeo’s most inefficient waiter in tow.

“Trace, the place looks absolutely wonderful.” Sophie wore a hot-pink caftan and matching turban. Several gold bangle bracelets adorned each arm, making her sound like a wind chime whenever she moved.

Trace looked around the barren room. All the old booths had been ripped out, as well as the red shag carpet, leaving the old, worn floorboards bare. Plaster hung in chunks from the ceiling. Wires dangled from the newly installed drywall.

“There’s still a lot of work left to do. Especially if you want to open this new section in three weeks. I could hire some extra help….”

“That won’t be necessary,” Sophie interjected. “I’ve got the perfect man for the job.”

“Who?”

“Me.” Ramon D’Onofrio stepped forward, his shoulder-length brown hair pulled back into a neat ponytail. He stuck his chin out and folded his arms across his narrow chest.

Trace swallowed a groan. Not Ramon. Anyone but Ramon.

“Don’t you already have a job?”

Ramon turned to Sophie. “I told you he hated me. Didn’t I tell you? I spill one cup of coffee on him and he holds a grudge forever.”

“I’m sure that’s not true,” Sophie said. “Is it, Trace?”

Actually, it was damn close to the truth. That coffee Ramon had dumped in his lap had come perilously close to doing permanent damage. Ramon was obviously as dangerous as the rest of the infamous D’Onofrio family. Trace shuddered to think of the havoc Ramon could wreak with a nail gun. “Look, it’s nothing personal. I just prefer to work with people who actually have some experience.”

“I made a birdhouse in seventh-grade shop class,” Ramon said, widening his puppy brown eyes. “And I’m always doing little repairs around the house.”

“Hammer something for him,” Sophie said, handing Ramon the sledgehammer on the floor.

Trace took a cautious step back. “That’s really not…”

Too late. Ramon took a swing at one of the braces Trace had just installed to reinforce the unstable west wall. Wood splintered as the brace split in two at the impact. The wall creaked ominously and pieces of plaster rained onto the floor.

“There’s more where that came from,” Ramon said proudly.

Trace didn’t doubt it for a moment. “I really can’t afford you.”

“No problem,” Aunt Sophie chimed, picking a chunk of plaster out of her titian hair. “I’ll pay Ramon’s wages. He needs a sabbatical from waiting tables, but I don’t want to lose him.”

“I just can’t take the stress anymore,” Ramon explained, his voice quivering. “The menu is so complicated and some of the customers can be so rude. You dribble a little coffee on them and they start screaming about lawsuits and third-degree burns.”

Sophie wrapped one arm around the waiter’s narrow shoulders. “I thought working with his hands would be soothing.”

Maybe for Ramon, but not for Trace. “How about a vacation instead? You could lie around on a beach somewhere and soak up the sun.”

“Sand gives me a rash.” Ramon swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his scrawny neck. “For once in my life, I’d just like to be good at something. Just give me a chance.”

Aunt Sophie leaned toward her nephew and lowered her voice. “Please, Trace. For me.”

Damn. Now she had him. He’d give his right arm for Sophie if she wanted it. All the Callahan boys owed her for giving up her own career in the carnival to take care of them after their mother had abandoned them.

But Trace owed her even more.

That’s why he’d agreed to remodel the addition to Café Romeo at cost. Even though his services as a freelance contractor normally brought in three times as much money.

And why he would agree to take on Ramon as an apprentice. Which might actually cost him his right arm. Not to mention a leg and numerous fingers.

“Anything for you, Aunt Sophie,” Trace said, leaning over to kiss her cheek.

Her green eyes widened. “Anything?”

“Almost anything,” he amended, before he found himself saddled with a blind date on top of everything else.

“But, Trace, I’ve found the perfect girl for you….”

He held up one hand. “Forget it. We’ve already talked about this. Besides, I already have a date tonight with Kimberly.”

Aunt Sophie wrinkled her nose. “I’ve never liked Kimberly. She’s too…”

“Sweet? Nice? Giving?”

“Exactly. She’ll kill you with kindness. Or boredom. Or both. You need a woman who will challenge you. Who will add some excitement and unpredictability in your life.”

“That’s exactly what I don’t need,” Trace countered. He had his future drawn out as neatly as a set of blueprints. And he knew the exact specifications he required in a wife. He’d even made a checklist to use for rating potential candidates. He wouldn’t be caught choosing the wrong woman like his father had, then suffering for it later.

“Don’t be so stubborn,” Aunt Sophie admonished. “I just happened to do a reading of Kimberly’s coffee grounds, and believe me, that woman is completely wrong for you. Now if you’d just let me match you up with—”

Trace placed his hand over her mouth and slowly shook her head. “Quit while you’re ahead, Aunt Sophie. Jake and Nina are happy and in love, and you’re the one who brought them together. Why not just concentrate on their wedding? It’s only a few weeks away.”

Aunt Sophie removed his hand, her eyes glittering with excitement. “We could make it a double wedding! Jake and Nina, and you and…”

“Kimberly,” Trace interjected. “Or Heidi, or Evonne. Those are the top three in the running to become Mrs. Trace Callahan. But there’s no way I’ll be ready to tie the knot in six weeks. I don’t want to rush into anything.”

Aunt Sophie arched one orange-tinted eyebrow. “Spoken like a man who hasn’t met the right woman yet.”

Trace couldn’t argue with her. Not because he agreed, but because Ramon had started up the power saw and the noise made it impossible to think, much less speak. He turned to catch sight of the saw flailing wildly in Ramon’s hands. “Put that thing down before you hurt someone!”

Too late.

LATER THAT EVENING, Trace sat at his dining-room table knowing he had a decision to make. Kimberly sat opposite him, poised and perfect. Her perfection had actually begun to irritate him a little, but that could just be a side effect of his pain medication.

“How was your dessert?” Kimberly asked, after taking a sip of her wine. She was dressed in a pearl-gray silk suit and a pristine white blouse buttoned up to the neck. Her makeup was just right, not too heavy and not too light. Her long blond hair fell like a silk curtain over her shoulders.

“Fine,” he replied, putting down his spoon.

“Blancmange is my favorite.” She flashed him a wide smile.

Blancmange. A fancy name for vanilla pudding. That was the problem. Everything with Kimberly was just so…vanilla. Trace sat back in his chair, more irritated with himself than her. She fit all his specifications, so what exactly was his problem?

He mentally ticked off his checklist for the perfect wife. She should be attractive, but not too pretty. Adept in the kitchen, as well as a neat housekeeper. A good conversationalist, but not argumentative.

Kimberly was all of these things, yet he’d almost fallen asleep over the soup course. Maybe he was just tired. It had been a rather trying day. He flexed his right foot, which was propped up on a chair, and winced slightly at the movement.

“Does it hurt?” she asked, staring down at the bulky gauze bandage on his big toe.

“The numbness is starting to wear off,” Trace replied, trying to ignore the throbbing ache in his big toe.

She shook her head as she set her spoon down and pushed her empty bowl away. “I never realized how dangerous your occupation was before. You’re lucky you only needed four stitches.”

“Five,” he corrected, shifting his foot slightly. “And I would have needed a lot more than that if I hadn’t been wearing my leather work boots.”

She smiled at him. Her Carol Brady smile that was beginning to set his teeth on edge. Funny how it had never bothered him before. But then, he hadn’t considered the possibility of looking at the smile every day across the breakfast table for the next fifty years.

Until now.

“You really should be more careful.” She meticulously brushed a few crumbs off the white linen tablecloth and into her hand. “At least your aunt was there to call the ambulance.”

“The ambulance wasn’t for me, it was for Ramon. He had a panic attack after he dropped the saw on my foot and started hyperventilating.”

“Oh, dear,” she murmured. But Trace got the feeling she wasn’t really listening. Her total attention was now focused on scraping the dried pink wax drips off the crystal candleholder.

So maybe she wasn’t all that exciting. He wasn’t looking for that in a wife. He wasn’t necessarily looking for love, either, he reminded himself. Affection, compatibility, and hopefully passion, but not love. At least not the heart-pounding, soul-searing love that had turned his older brother inside out.

Trace wanted order in his life. Stability. A family. He wanted…vanilla. Which meant he must want Kimberly. He’d probably get used to her smile. And the way her nose twitched when she chewed. All married couples had to make some adjustments, didn’t they? It was possible she might even find one or two things about him that irritated her.

The wall clock chimed eight times. Just get it over with, Trace told himself, tired of these annoying second thoughts. “Kimberly,” he began.

She looked up from the candleholder. “Yes, Trace?”

The words stuck in his throat. He cleared it, then took a deep breath. “I’d like to talk about our future.”

She leaned forward, daintily folding her hands together on the table. “Oh, I’m so glad. I’ve been wanting to talk about it for a while now, but I didn’t know how to bring it up.”

Some of Trace’s anxiety lessened. That was another thing he liked about Kimberly. She wasn’t pushy or demanding. She always waited for him to take the initiative.

“You go first,” he said graciously, wanting time to compose a proper marriage proposal.

She gave him an affectionate smile. “I never knew how I wanted to spend my life until I met you. Then we started dating three months ago, and everything became clear.” She sighed wistfully. “The first time we kissed I knew for sure.”

Trace wished he could say the same. Unfortunately, their first kiss had created more doubts in him than desire. “You did?”

She nodded. “That’s when I knew I wanted to spend the rest of my life in a convent.”

He blinked. “What?”

“I’m going to become a nun,” she said, her voice quivering with happiness.

“A nun?” he choked out.

She dabbed at her watery eyes with a paper napkin. “I’ve already applied to begin my novitiate at St. Mary’s. I just wanted one last chance to say goodbye, Trace, and to thank you.”

Thank him? He frowned at his sore toe as her words echoed in his head. He’d kissed her and she’d decided to become a nun. Not exactly a glowing endorsement for his sexual prowess. “A nun,” he murmured, still rocked by her announcement.

“Are you surprised?”

“You could say that.” He looked up at her. “How long have you been thinking about becoming a…nun?”

“Since I was a little girl.” She steepled her fingers together and leaned toward him, looking more animated than he’d ever seen her. “But I didn’t want to rush into anything, so I decided to have one last fling just to be sure.”

A fling. He’d been ready to propose to this woman, and she’d considered him a fling! He shook his head, wondering where he’d gone wrong. In all the time he’d spent sizing up Kimberly as wife material, it had never occurred to him that she might not be interested. He stifled a snort. Not interested? She was about to take a vow of chastity!

“So sorry to eat and run.”

He looked up, surprised to see Kimberly standing up and donning her jacket. “You’re leaving?”

“We nuns don’t like to keep late hours.” She headed toward the front door, then paused to blow him a kiss over her shoulder. “I had a wonderful time tonight, Trace. Thank you for dinner.”

“Thank you for cooking it,” he said blankly. Then he pushed out his chair.

“No, don’t get up,” she said, holding one hand in the air. “I can see myself out. Besides, you and your toe need to rest.”

He slumped back down in his chair as she waved goodbye and sailed out the door. A few moments later he heard the roar of a car engine and the squeal of tires. Sister Kimberly had a lead foot. He vaguely wondered if nuns got speeding tickets.

Then his gaze fell on the soiled plates neatly stacked at one end of the table. Too late he realized that Kimberly wasn’t so perfect, after all. She’d left without doing the dishes.

He leaned his head back and closed his eyes. He couldn’t do dishes with a sore toe. Maybe he should just throw them away. He’d never really liked that daisy pattern, anyway. Too girly. He’d picked them up cheap at a local thrift store when money had been tight. Now he could afford more masculine dishes. Maybe something with cars on it.

While he pondered if he should buy glasses to match, the doorbell rang.

“It’s open,” he called, lifting his head and opening his eyes, but not bothering to get up. No reason to aggravate his toe any more than necessary. Maybe it was Kimberly, back to tell him it was all a big joke.

But he didn’t laugh when the sultry brunette walked into the room. She wore a short red silk suit that outlined a luscious hourglass figure. The kind of body a man could sink his hands into. With a conscious effort, he lifted his gaze from her full, round breasts to look at her face. He noticed her big brown eyes first, fringed with thick, dark lashes, then her pert nose and full, red lips.

This woman was no nun.

So who was she? And what was she doing in his condo? He swallowed as a curious mixture of apprehension and lust rose up inside of him. But before he could ask her anything, she placed both hands on the table and leaned toward him, unwittingly displaying her generous cleavage. Then she spoke.

“You’re just the man I’ve been looking for.”