52

Rafe laughed. “Okay, okay, you’re the best secretary in the entire universe.” “Yes, I am,” she agreed with no hint of false modesty. “You know, though,

these expenses for moving every piece of paper in your office from New York to Wyoming are adding up. Ever thought of just staying there and transferring all the files? A moving van might be cheaper in the long run. And I hear Wyoming is great for skiing in the winter.”

“I don’t ski. Why would I want to stay in Wyoming?” “Because of a certain chef.”

“Who owns a restaurant in New York,” he reminded her, vaguely disgruntled by the suggestion that he might be stuck in Wyoming forever if he wanted to be with Cara. “She’ll be back, Lydia. So will I.”

“Whatever you say, boss.”

Rafe seriously doubted that, but he hung up, grateful to have gotten the woman’s docile cooperation just this once, even if it had been feigned.

He leaned back in his chair and stared out the window. Summer was winding down. The observation startled him. He’d been here way too long, if he could tell just from glancing outside that the seasons were changing. The slant of the sun was different, the intensity of the heat had lessened. He opened his appointment book, looked at a calendar and realized he’d been here for over two months, from the end of June to the beginning of September. Moreover, he hadn’t gone completely stir crazy. Far from it.

He looked at that pile of contracts sitting on his desk, weighed those against the chance to catch a glimpse of Cara and stood up. To soothe his guilty conscience, he stuffed several contracts in his briefcase and headed for Tony’s. If there wasn’t a law against working away from New York, then there certainly wasn’t one preventing him from working at a restaurant table. Half the lawyers he knew conducted their business over lunch. Of course, most of them were with their clients or an opposing counsel.

The only companion he was hoping for was Cara.

Cara was so exhausted from her overnight work-a-thon she could barely see straight and the lunch hours were just getting started. Fortunately, most weekdays Tony’s was fairly slow at midday. A few people came in for pizza, a few for his stromboli or meatball sandwiches, but the real rush didn’t start till evening. The prospect of sneaking back to the hotel for a nap was the only thing keeping her going.

She was sitting at the island which doubled as a chopping block, her chin resting in her hands, her eyes half-closed when Peggy came in to announce that Rafe was in the dining room.

“He wants to see you, if you’re not too busy,” she told Cara. “Since there’s not another paying customer in the place yet, I told him you’d be right out.”

For a moment Cara’s heart leaped at the prospect of seeing Rafe, but during the long night when she’d been baking cannoli shells and preparing tiramisu for today’s dessert specials, she’d spent a lot of time thinking about their relationship. She’d managed to convince herself it was doomed.

When she got back to New York—if she went back to New York—she was

going to be faced with long hours and an uphill struggle to get Café Tuscany back into the black. She already knew that Rafe had been a workaholic. Neither of them would have ten seconds to spare once they resumed their old routines.

Relationships required nurturing. In the distant past that had been something at which she had excelled. In recent years she hadn’t had time for it, not until she’d come back to Wyoming and inadvertently found her priorities shifting back to the way they had once been. Despite the turmoil of recent weeks, her life felt more balanced now. She could actually envision a time when she might be perfectly contented to work right here, alongside Tony, surrounded by the people who meant the most to her—her family and friends. When she tried to add Rafe to that image, she couldn’t.

She glanced up and realized Peggy was regarding her with puzzlement. “What?”

“If I had a guy who looked like him waiting for me, I wouldn’t be sitting in here with such a glum expression,” Peggy said.

“You’re absolutely right,” Cara said, forcing a smile and heading for the dining room. Hiding in the kitchen was no way to deal with this. She needed to tell Rafe about the conclusion she’d reached. Surely he wouldn’t be all that unhappy if she suggested that he go back to New York.

Unfortunately, Rafe looked as if he was here to stay, she noted as she spotted him sitting at a table beside a window, papers spread out around him. He seemed perfectly content with his office away from home. She walked over to join him.

“If you’re going to set up an office in here, I’ll have to charge you rent,” she said.

Rafe’s gaze shot up, instantly filling with so much heat it almost took her breath away. Why had she ever left the man’s room the night before? If this thing between them was destined to end, why wasn’t she taking advantage of every single second it lasted?

“You look beat,” he said, worry crowding out the desire in his expression. “Just what every woman wants to hear. You need to work on your technique

for flattery,” she retorted.

“Your beauty is a given. You still look tired.”

She grinned at that. “Better. But I’d suggest you keep practicing or you’ll never get the girl.”

A smile tugged at his lips. “I thought I already had the girl.” Her pulse did a little bump at that. “Oh, really?”

“Do I?”

She pulled out a chair and sat down. “Maybe,” she said thoughtfully. “For the time being. In fact, we ought to talk about that.”

“Uh-oh,” he said. “You’ve had too much time to think overnight, haven’t you?”

“I didn’t spend it all on you,” she said testily. “But when you did happen to cross my mind, it occurred to me that this is crazy.”

“What’s crazy?” he asked.

“This,” she said, gesturing from him to herself and back. “You and me.” “Why is it crazy? You’re the one who insisted on taking it to a whole new

level. I’m just starting to get used to the idea. In fact, I’m just about convinced you’re a genius.”

“I don’t think you’re supposed to have to get used to the idea of caring about somebody. It’s supposed to just happen.”

“Not to me.”

A tight note in his voice suggested he was admitting something to her that he rarely admitted, perhaps even to himself.

“You said something like that last night, but I can’t believe it. You’ve never cared about someone?” she asked, unable to hide her incredulity. “Never?”

“Not really.”

“What about your mother?”

“I told you, we maintain a polite distance.”

Cara found the response appalling, but because of his forbidding expression, she let it go. “But you have been involved with a lot of women, right?”

“I’ve dated. I wouldn’t say I’ve been ‘involved’ with any of them.” He regarded her defensively. “Do we have to talk about this?”

“I think we do. Rafe, where do you see this going?” “I don’t know.” His gaze locked with hers. “Do you?”

Cara sighed. “No,” she said, then waved off the response as if to erase it.

The truth was she had thought of little else all night long and she had vowed not ten minutes ago to be honest with him about her conclusions. “I take that back. If I’m being totally honest, I don’t see it going anywhere. Not in the long term, at any rate.”

His jaw tightened. “I see. May I ask why?”

She leaned forward. “Look, you and I didn’t get off on the best foot at the beginning. You thought I was a criminal, for heaven’s sake. Because of my past

—no, just on general principle—I resented that like crazy. But there was this undeniable physical attraction between us even then. It was probably heightened because there was nothing we could do about it under the circumstances.”

“But we did do something about it,” he pointed out. “We made love.” “We had sex,” she insisted. “And it was great. Fabulous, in fact.”

“Glad to hear we were on the same page about that, at least,” he retorted.

She refused to be intimidated by his sarcasm. “You asked me why I thought it wouldn’t work. I’m trying to tell you.”