Page 43 of Sit, Stay, Love


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“I do? It would?” That would be a splendid start on his agenda.

“Sure. With that example of doggie devotion going on in the backyard — most dogs don’t do much aboutitexcepteverysixmonthsorso,butthosetwo are star-crossed lovers reborn. They’ll cuddle and smooch twenty-four hours a day if they can. It can give a person ideas, you know?”

“Oh, yes,” Van said fervently. “I know.”

Mary blatantly eyed the zipper on his pants and the set of the cloth around it. “Yes, I see you do.”

Heclearedhisthroat,swallowingacurse.Hispants had to stay zipped until he’d taken care of agenda items one and two.

“Look, Van, I’ll admit I want to go to bed with you, if we can work things out, but I want you in my book too, and that’s not open for negotiation anymore. I helped with the Great Husband Hunt. You owe me.”“But it didn’t work.”

“Nobody ever said it had to.”

He resisted arguing. Other things came first.

She linked her arm through his elbow to pull him to his feet and march him back toward her door.

“We will take care of your ‘need to talk’ sometime soon,”sheadded,“butwewilltalkaboutwhatIwant to talk about first. Which is the book, or at least juicy details about your employee takeover that I can use in the book. And we’re going where I want to go to havethattalk.Whichistheplacewhereyouhadyour famous meeting with the union boss that made the whole thing possible. Nobody has found out a single thing about it, which is probably why it’s famous around here.”

Van groaned. “Awww, Mary. That’s where all the guys at work hang out. I mean, the guys where I’m working on not working anymore. The beer is cheap, and they can put their feet up on the tables.”

“And burp at the decibel level of a jackhammer?”

Van had never thought about that, but, yeah, she was right. “If we have to go out, I want soft music. White tablecloths and champagne. Chocolate-dipped strawberries.”

“Oh, wow. Talk about foreplay!”

“Well, yeah, maybe that’s what I had in mind. And when we get back — ”

“You wanted to talk, remember?”

When, oh when would he learn to keep his mouth shut?

Chapter Seventeen

On the Trail ofTrust

M

ARY TOLD VAN SHEwas driving his Jag to The Grog andGrill.VantoldMarynooneelseeverdrove his Jag anywhere.

She wasn’t surprised, and she didn’t mind too much. He’d told her no, and no one could say no endlessly. She’d save her one-less-no for when it really mattered.

Besides, it gave her a rare chance to survey her hometown with the concentration of a passenger. Toronado was a glorious place to live, the only place she knew where you could put on your turn signal and another driver would let you into the lane.

Van did surprise her, though, when he dropped her at the door of the restaurant/bar and went off to park the car. She loved the classic courtesy of the stop at the door, for all her feminist sensibilities giving her a rough time about it. She never expected a man to open a door for her, either, but she enjoyed a secret thrill when it happened. She’d just never admit it to anyone except herself.

The place he’d taken her to was her choice, not his. Mary sent a grateful thought winging in Cyn’s general direction. She’d let Mary in on a secret: confuse and befuddle Van enough, and you always got your way.

Waiting inside the door for Van to join her gave her a chance to inhale the atmosphere of the place as an outsider looking in.

The Grog and Grill probably hadn’t changed much since the meeting that changed the world at Van Deventer Ventures. This was the sort of neighborhood bar and diner where it would be sacrilege to sand away even one of the drink rings on the ancient varnish of the heavy, old, indestructible oak tables.

The wait also gave her a chance to steel herself for the test to come, the one she and her mother had worked out.

If he was as worthy of falling in like with as she thought, maybe that would help smother the uncontrollable falling in love part. The two were different things,afterall.Ifhewasworthyoffallinginlikewith, he’d at least start to see her for who she was. Trust, from him for her, that’s what it boiled down to. Then, when he left, she’d at least know he had valued the real her.

She didn’t expect the impossible. She wasn’t looking for proof he’d never leave her. She did want to see the kind of belief from him that would make a good relationship out of bed and in for as long as it lasted. She wanted to see him recognizing her as a person of depth and integrity as well as the sexiest little number he’d ever taken to bed. She wanted something real, something to warm herself with after.

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