Breakfast in Bed

chapter 8


BECCA DIDN'T THINK SHE'D NEED ANY EVENING GOWNS when she moved to Brooklyn , so she stored them all right along with her furniture. Now, not only did she have to go to a formal charity benefit with Rich, she had to shop.
"Annabelle, I need help."
"What's wrong?"
"I need to buy an evening gown. I have a thing to go to tomorrow and I just found out about it last night. All my gowns are in storage."
"Ooh." Becca could picture Annabelle settling in for a nice long inquisition. "You met someone?"
Becca groaned. "You could say that."
"Do I know him?"
Oh God, she really didn't want to go there. But she couldn't very well lie. After all, Rich might mention it, but if she did tell Annabelle, she'd have to give her a blow-by-blow of the whole thing. Still, it couldn't be helped.
"I'm going to a charity benefit with Rich because Gina wouldn't, and he needs a date. I'm doing him a favor."
"You're going out with Richie? That's great!"
"Annabelle, stop right there. I'm saving your brother's ass. It's not a date, so you can pull that train of thought right off the tracks." Becca couldn't help but wonder what her late brother Chip would have said about this. Hell, he'd have a field day watching their mother go crazy when she found out Becca was seeing Annabelle's brother. He was probably posthumously laughing his ass off at the irony. Mother couldn't stand Annabelle when she and Chip were together. Now that Annabelle and Mike were married and owned the family estate and the trust due to Mike as firstborn, Becca's mother's extreme dislike of Annabelle had increased exponentially. The thought that Becca was dating another Ronaldi would send Mother over the edge.
"The lady doth protest too much, methinks."
Becca pulled the phone away from her ear and stared at it before remembering she actually had to say something. "Since when do you quote Shakespeare?"
"I've been reading some of Mike's books. You know, that Shakespeare is really great once you get used to all those thees and thous, but don't change the subject. You're going on a date with Richie."
"Technically, yes, but I'm not happy about it. He's in a jam, and I said I'd go with him. It's a pity date."
"You better not let him hear that. Richie never had a hard time getting a date."
"I'm sure. He just has a hard time getting a date that would impress his dean."
"Are you saying his usual girlfriends are bimbos?"
"No. Look, I need a dress. Are you going to help me find one or not?"
"Of course. I never need an excuse to shop. In fact, I have a friend in the garment district who has the most amazing designs. Since you're so tall and skinny, you might just fit into his samples. You can get them for a steal."
"Great. I'm going to need shoes and probably a shawl or cape too. It's getting cold at night."
"No problem. Marcello will fix you up. If he doesn't have what we need, he'll know who does. I'll give him a call and see if we can meet in the morning."
"Okay, thanks."
"Just meet me here at nine, and we'll take the train in together. Oh, and Bec, is Richie okay?"
"Yeah, he's fine. Why?"
"Well, Gina said she told him she was seeing someone else."
Becca couldn't believe Annabelle had gotten into the middle of this. "Did Gina also tell you that she ratted you out?"
"What are you talking about?"
"Gina told him that you introduced her to Mr. Wonderful. Rich hasn't mentioned it, but I don't think you're his favorite person right now. Look, I have to go. He's almost finished with the dishes, and we're supposed to watch a movie."
"What are you watching, James Bond, Mission Impossible, Die Hard, Iron Man , or is he going retro with something like Rambo?"
"I picked out a few chick flicks. I didn't think he'd be here tonight. Not one of them has a gun in it."
"And he agreed to watch them?"
"Of course he did. I'm not planning to tie him to the TV or anything."
"Right. He'll make fun of the movie while you're watching it. He can be so annoying."
Becca smiled. Rich Ronaldi was all that and a bag of chips.

Becca struggled into the tight, tight black dress. If she'd known she'd attend a benefit wearing a dress she'd swear was at least a size too small, she would have gone without the candy bars and popcorn she'd eaten in the last few days. She took in her reflection in the mirror over her dresser top, blinked, and looked again. She couldn't believe her eyes. She actually had cleavage. Amazing. She ran her hands under her breasts thinking she should wear more halter tops. The dress dipped so low in the back, she was afraid that if it gaped while she sat, everyone would see the crack of her ass, something she wasn't into sharing. Marcello gave her some double sided wardrobe tape, just to be safe, even though he and Annabelle checked and swore it wasn't gaping. Becca fingered the stuff, but the thought of pulling tape off her butt later didn't sound all that appealing.
"Becca, are you ready?"
She checked the time. She still had five minutes. Didn't guys understand that there was more to getting ready than just getting a shower and putting on clothes? Becca ran her hands through her hair, messing it up a little more. It looked pretty good with the little natural curl she had along with some mousse and scrunching. She turned and watched as the beaded ribbon that tied the halter dress at her neck swung back and forth across her naked back like a pendulum, drawing the eye down to the dangerously low waist.
"Almost."
He tapped on the door just as she slid into the silver, jeweled heels and checked her matching evening bag.
She swung the door open. "What?"
Rich stood there with his mouth gaping, and his eyes locked on her chest.
"It's a miracle. I actually have cleavage. Who knew?"
Rich still didn't say anything. He just stared.
Becca took a good long look at him in a tuxedo. "Yeah, well. If you'll stop your shock-induced gawking we can leave." She pushed him aside and walked past, heading to the coat closet.
Rich gave his head a shake, swallowed audibly, and took a deep breath. "You have a shawl or something to cover up with, right?"
"My cape is in the coat closet." She opened the door and pulled it off the hanger.
"You're going to wear your coat inside?"
"No. Why would I?"
"You can't go like that. "
Becca looked down. Her breasts were secure inside the top, then she checked to make sure her butt was covered. "What do you mean?"
"You're half naked."
"I am not." Becca took a hold of the slit skirt and shook it. "I'm wearing yards and yards of fabric."
"Yeah, it's just not covering what it should."
Becca knew the back was a little low, but it was not sleazy looking, and although you could see some cleavage, it wasn't as if she was falling out of the dress. "You better not be saying what I think you're saying."
"I don't think you should wear that. Everyone will see you." Rich mumbled something in Italian she didn't understand.
"Excuse me?" Becca couldn't believe her eyes teared. God, how could this be happening again? It had been years since boys and girls stopped calling her a dog, but one word and all the anger and humiliation cold cocked her. She blinked back tears, and let the anger fill her. Her hands fisted, and the damn fake nails she spent a hundred bucks on bit into her palms.
"Don't you have a jacket or something you can wear over it?"
"I left all my evening wear in Philly. I know this is a news flash, but I wasn't planning to go to any balls."
"Yeah, well. I wasn't planning on you either. Come on." He took her hand and pulled her out the door stopping only to lock it.
"What are we doing?"
"We're going to buy something to cover you up on the way to the dinner."
"Rich, you're being ridiculous."
"No, I'm being smart. I don't want guys following you around all night drooling."
Becca let out an unladylike snort. Her mother would die of embarrassment, not that it mattered. He couldn't wait to cover her up. "Right. You don't need to rub it in Rich. I know what I look like."
"I'm sure you do. Jesus, Becca. Couldn't you tone it down a little bit? I know you're beautiful, but when you do that with your hair and your makeup? Shit. Every guy in that room tonight is going to be picturing you naked. It's not going to look good to my dean if I get into a brawl keeping men away from you."
"What?"
"You heard me. You don't think you could go back to your room and well, you know, come out looking less hot?"
"You're picturing me naked?"
Rich rolled his eyes and said something in Italian. "I've been picturing you naked since the first day I met you. You're a beautiful woman, and I'm a guy."
"You're a perv." A perv who thinks she's beautiful. Could he be serious?
"Maybe, but so is every other red-blooded male."
"This is hardly a J-Lo dress. Everything is covered."
"It's sexier that way. It only hints at what you've got going on underneath. Every guy is going to be wondering if you're wearing panties."
Becca rolled her eyes.
"Well, are you?"
"That's none of your business."
"I know you're not wearing a bra cause your nipples were poking out before you crossed your arms."
"Fine."
"Fine what?"
"Let's go and get a shawl. I saw a really pretty silver one at Bloomingdales the other day, and it's right on the way."
Rich rocked back on his heels. "So, are you going to, you know, take off whatever it is that's making you look so hot?"
Becca groaned. "If you're making a joke, you can stop. I'm not falling for it."
"I'm dead serious."
"The only thing I did different was my hair and the dress, and there's no way I'm taking the dress off." She turned and walked out the security door.
Rich mumbled something … if she didn't know better she'd sworn he said, "Not yet, you're not. Maybe later."

Rich helped Becca out of her coat and tossed it on the bar of the coat check as he and every other being with a "Y" chromosome watched as she pulled that silver shawl around her. It was holey material—not to be confused with something worn to church. This thing was like fishnet with holes so big he could almost stick his fist through it.
He cursed under his breath. He'd been sporting a semi-hard-on since she opened her damn bedroom door. That dress hugged her like a second skin, and with her hair all messed and sexy it let every man know exactly what she'd look like on a bed beneath him. Her lips were painted and glossy, which drew his eye to them, and he wondered if she tasted as good as she looked.
Becca was busy looking at anything but him. If she continued down this track, they'd never survive this night or make anyone believe they were a couple.
She stepped away. "I'm just going to run to the ladies room and check my lipstick."
Rich grabbed her wrist. "Hold on. One thing first."
"What's that?"
"This." He pulled her toward him, causing her to fall into him, wrapped his arms around her, and kissed her. She wasn't expecting it. Her gasp gave him the opportunity to deepen the kiss. She was stiff in his arms until he licked the inside of her lower lip. She tasted sweet and felt just as hot and amazing against him as he remembered from that morning he'd woken up on top of her.
In her heels, they were eye-to-eye, chest-to-chest, and thigh-to-thigh. Rich didn't have to crane his neck down to kiss her, and feeling her body against his had him counting backwards from one hundred by threes. His hand traveled beneath that useless shawl to the bare skin of her back as he sucked her lower lip into his mouth and nibbled on it, teasing a moan from her. He slowly slid his mouth off hers to her ear. "There, now that we got past that, you can check your lipstick."
"Why did you do that?" She sounded breathless, more curious than upset, and she certainly wasn't jumping out of his arms.
"Because I wanted to, and since we're supposed to be a couple, I figured we'd better look like one. Couples kiss and touch each other."
She looked a little disappointed. "Oh, right, you did it for show."
Rich threaded his fingers through her hair and tilted her head back to look into her eyes. "I wanted to kiss you, but I wouldn't have if we weren't acting like a couple. Especially since you don't want anything to do with me, right?"
"Right." She stepped away and wrapped her new shawl around her, trying to hide her physical response to him. She didn't succeed. He buttoned the middle button of his tuxedo, needing to do the same as he watched her walk away. He was almost sure she wasn't wearing panties.
Rich turned and saw Dean Stewart and Emily just a few feet away. They waved and made their way over to him. Emily smiled and gave him an air-kiss, something that he'd never gotten used to. Everyone he knew outside academia kissed each other—men, women, it didn't matter—but then Italians were big on kissing. They also kissed both cheeks, and there was no pretending about it. When Italians kissed, it was a real kiss. Rich shook Dean Stewart's hand. "Mrs. Stewart, you look beautiful." Rich was glad he didn't have to lie. She was a very beautiful woman. He figured she was in her late forties but looked more like mid-to-late thirties.
"Always the charmer. I must say, Professor, you're looking quite dashing yourself, even with the lipstick on your mouth. I don't think coral is your color though."
Rich groaned and reached for his handkerchief.
After a few swipes, Mrs. Stewart smiled. "There you go. Not a trace of either the lipstick or the woman who bestowed it."
Rich liked Emily. He grinned and pointed toward the ladies room. "Becca will be out in a second."
She laced her arm through her husband's. "Ah, Becca. Craig couldn't remember her name."
"Rebecca Larsen." Rich looked up and grinned when he spotted Becca walking toward him. She didn't so much walk as glide. Wearing those killer heels, she stood a full head taller than Emily and a few inches taller than the dean. Her eyes widened a little when she noticed Rich had company. She pasted on a smile, lifted her chin in that regal way she had, and stopped beside him. He put his arm around her. "Becca, I'd like you to meet Dean Craig Stewart and his wife, Emily."
Becca took a deep breath and jumped in. She'd attended countless affairs similar to this, which was why she hated them so much. "So nice to meet you." She'd grown up unsuccessfully avoiding her weekly cotillion classes, which taught her important skills like which fork to use, how to make small talk, and get through hours of conversation without ever saying anything. She'd mastered the foxtrot, waltz, mambo, and merengue, and how to avoid social faux pas. If only her mother could see Becca now. She'd be so impressed.
Emily could have passed for any one of Becca's mother's friends except her smile was warm, genuine, and not Botoxed. "I've been dying to meet you, Becca. I've known Rich since he was one of Craig's doctoral candidates. I've always wondered what kind of woman would finally capture his attention. You must be happy to have him living in the same city."
"Yes. It's been wonderful having him so close by."
Rich laughed at something the dean said and turned his attention back to her and Emily. "Can I get you ladies a drink?"
He took their orders. Becca saw the gleam of inquisition in Emily's eyes. She was waiting for the men to leave so she could get all the goods on her relationship with Rich. Becca had no idea what she should say. They really should have discussed it, but Becca couldn't blame Rich. She hadn't been the most available person since the fire. Obviously, Rich thought she was mad about it, and she'd done nothing to correct him. If she had, he would have asked what was wrong, and she was really in no mood to tell him that when she saw the fire engine outside their place, she'd lost it because for some unknown reason, she was beginning to maybe fall for him a teeny, tiny bit, possibly.
Becca smiled at Emily, wishing Rich would hurry up with those drinks. "So, Mrs. Stewart—"
Emily waved her hand. "Becca, no need for such formality. Please, call me Emily."
"Okay, thank you. I was just wondering what you do."
Emily laughed. "That's funny. I was wondering the same about you."
Good, something Becca felt comfortable discussing. "I'm an artist."
"Oh, what's your favorite medium?"
"Sculpture mostly, though I really enjoy oils, too. I do that mostly for myself though. Right now, I'm working on marketing my work to the galleries in New York ."
"Really? Have I seen your work?"
"Not here. I have some in several galleries in Philadelphia . That's where I was working until recently."
"I'd love to see your portfolio. I'm in charge of a local arts council and could introduce you around if you'd like."
"Yes, that would be great." Becca couldn't believe it. "The same arts council holding this benefit?"
"Didn't Rich tell you?"
"No. I'll be sure to kill him later when we get home."
"Home? I know it's none of my business, but I wasn't aware you two were living together."
"It's just temporary until I have my new place remodeled."
Rich and Craig chose that moment to appear, and Rich handed Becca her drink before interrupting, "Unless I can talk her out of it. I really love having her around."
Emily gave Rich an approving look. "I see. I wish you all the luck in your quest. I was surprised when Becca told me she's an artist."
Rich shrugged. "Really? I thought I mentioned it. Her work is incredible. That's another thing I'll miss if she leaves. Not nearly as much as much as I'll miss her though." He pulled Becca back against him. "I don't know about you, but I think art adds so much life to a home."
"I agree. I hope you'll invite Craig and me over so I can see some of Becca's work. It's so hard to judge sculpture by photos, don't you think?"
Rich took a sip of his drink and nodded. "Definitely. We'll have to have you over for dinner soon. As soon as Becca gets settled. She just moved in a few weeks ago."
Craig smiled. "Yes, we'd like that. Then maybe you can make your family lasagna you told me about. From the way you spoke about it, I assume you cook. I love real Italian cuisine."
Becca gave Rich a sideways glance. She noticed Rich didn't refute the dean's assumption. "He told you about his family's lasagna, did he?"
Craig shrugged. "Rich just said that since you've been so busy with the remodel of your studio space, he's been taking care of all the cleaning and cooking. It sounds as if you've got yourself quite a helpmate."
Becca took a sip of her drink and tried not to spit it out. She covered her laugh with a cough and cleared her throat. "Yes. He's one of a kind, isn't he?"
Rich pulled her tighter against him. "Come on, Becca. I promised you a dance. What do you say we check out the dance floor before we find our table?" He nodded to the Stewarts, and before she had time to reply, pulled her away.
Becca humphed. "Thanks for giving me a choice."
Rich kept her moving, weaving through people, saying excuse me, and nodding to those he knew. "Thanks for the glowing recommendation. One of a kind? What the hell is that supposed to mean?" He reached the dance floor, pulled her into his arms, and held her close as he swayed to "Enchantment," a slow Corrine Bailey Ray song.
"One of a kind is not necessarily a bad thing. It's not as if I ratted you out. I just didn't lie."
"I didn't lie either. I have been doing all the cooking and cleaning—just not cooking lasagna."
"What's up with you talking about my work?" She had no choice but to wrap her arms around his neck.
"I've seen the few pieces you have in your bedroom."
His hand trailed over her back so gently in contrast to his words, though his voice deepened when he mentioned her bedroom. "You have? What have you been doing? Searching my room when I'm not home?" She drew her head back to look at his eyes, inadvertently pressing her pelvis to his. She tried to give herself a little breathing room, but he wasn't allowing it. Further exasperated, she smiled a hard smile. "I don't know why I'm surprised. You went through my laundry. And if that wasn't bad enough, you torched it."
"Am I ever going to live that down?"
"Apparently not. Nor will you live down the fact that you just invited your boss and his wife for a gourmet dinner and gallery showing. Rich, all my best work is in storage."
Rich's hand lightly trailed from her neck down her spine to her lower back. It was mesmerizing. "Is that all that's bothering you? We'll go down there together and pick up whatever you want to show her. No big deal."
"What about you making lasagna?"
"I'll either get my mother or my aunt to make some, or you can hit up Aunt Rose for the recipe. Didn't you say she wants to show you how to make it?"
"Hold on. You said I'm too busy to do any of the housework or cooking. Now you expect me to clean up after you and your big mouth?"
"I was just trying to show him I'm a settled down, homebody kind of guy. Besides, you're the one who said we were living together. You don't want Emily to think you'd live with someone like me, do you?"
He dipped her, and when she tightened her hold on his neck, he smirked. Damn him. "Don't look at me like that and expect me to melt or anything. I'm immune to you."
"That's a shame because I'm not immune to you." He pressed close against her and proved his point. "Why did you think I wanted to cover you up?"
"I thought … never mind. It doesn't matter." Becca stared at his slightly crooked bow tie, praying he'd change the subject.
Rich tipped her chin up so she couldn't avoid his eyes. "What did you think?"
"Let's just say I went through a few awkward teenage years and was teased mercilessly. When you told me to cover up—"
"Christ, Becca. I'm sorry. But you gotta know that it's hard enough being around you when you're in those baggy clothes you wear. When you look like this, well, it's painful. You take my breath away."
"Great, Rich. You say things like that, and I can't stay mad at you."
"Good. What do you say we spend some time making up?"
Before she could answer, he kissed her. Just a soft sweet kiss that made her toes curl. When he started singing "Fly Me to the Moon" in her ear, she melted. He certainly didn't play fair.