have a harmonious relationship going forward?
Simple—she couldn’t.
A child grew within her. Ray’s child. Mamó’s great-grandchild. Which meant Lauren had no choice but to go to New York.
She consoled herself with the knowledge that the trip would provide the perfect opportunity to tell him the news of their pending parenthood.
She hated making spur-of-the-moment decisions. She liked to plan, set goals, make lists. Order prevented chaos, allowed her to be prepared, in control. She hadn’t reached that point when it came to the baby. Or Ray.
If she was going to go to New York with him she wanted to lay down some ground rules.
Mind made up, she changed and drove to Ray’s hillside home in Malibu. It took close to an hour. She pulled in to his flagstone driveway and parked. He lived alone except for the middle-aged couple who took care of the house and gardens. Fred and Ethel lived in a small villa on the grounds.
Lauren smirked as always at the couple’s names. They were poignant reminders of home. You didn’t grow up in Palm Springs, rich with old Hollywood history, without being familiar with I Love Lucy.
She rang the doorbell, listened to it echo through the house. Given the size of the place, she gave it a few minutes before ringing again. Ray’s home took up four acres and consisted of five buildings: the four-thousand-square-foot main house, a multi-level garage with a heliport on top, a guest house, a pool house, and the caretakers’ villa. The grounds were terraced and included a tennis/basketball court, a pool, and two spas.
He also had top-of-the-line security with high-end electronic capabilities. Ray loved his gadgets. She didn’t look into the camera above the door, but she knew it was there.
She frowned and glanced at her watch. Maybe he was out. But if that were the case why had she been let in the front gate? Lauren had allowed plenty of time for someone to respond to the bell, which meant he was here and making her wait or he was refusing to acknowledge her.
Now who was the coward?
“What do you want?” His disembodied voice came from no discernible source.
“To talk to you,” she replied, keeping her gaze fixed on the ground. If he wanted to see her face he needed to open the door.
“I believe it was made clear there was nothing further to discuss between the two of us.”
She crossed her arms over her chest. This was why they weren’t compatible—the constant play for power. “I’m not having a conversation through a door.”
“What?” he mocked her. “Am I lacking graciousness as a host?”
“Fine.” She turned on her peep-toed heels. “Forget it.”
All the better for her. No awkward acting required in New York, and she’d made the attempt, so he couldn’t hold her earlier rejection against her.
The door opened at her back and a strong male hand wrapped around her upper arm. “Please come in.” He led her inside to the large, open living room. “I wouldn’t want you to come all this way and not state your business.”
She walked past him and took a seat on an oval suede sofa in rich beige. Shoot, an already difficult discussion had just got harder. Because he looked yummy. He wore the same pants and shirt he’d had on earlier, but he was sexily disheveled, with his sandy hair mussed up, the start of a five o’clock shadow, and bare feet.
When she didn’t answer he dropped into a chair across from her, knees spread, arms braced on muscular thighs.
She swallowed hard.
“No door, Dynamite.” He gave her his full attention. “What do you want? If you’ll remember, I have some packing to do.”
Seeking composure, she straightened her shoulders and crossed her hands over her purse in her lap. “I’ve reconsidered my earlier decision. I’m willing to help you with your grandmother.”
He considered her for a moment, his blue eyes assessing. “What’s it going to cost me?”
Annoyed at the mention of payment, she seared him with a glare.
“By Arrangement is an event-oriented business. We do not get involved in family dynamics. I would be doing this as a favor for a friend.”
Okay, that was stretching it. She’d be doing it to get to know her child’s father better.
“So now we’re friends?” He lifted one brown eyebrow.
She shrugged. She’d like to think they could be friends, but the chemistry between them made the ease of friendship a difficult prospect.
“The point is I’m willing to help. And it’s not going to cost you anything more than a few common courtesies.”
His eyes narrowed. “I knew there’d be something.”
“Just a few ground rules so we don’t get tripped up.”
He sat back. “Such as?”
“Well, to start with I think we need to be as truthful as possible.”
“Agreed.”
“It’ll be less complicated. And I prefer to be as honest as we can.”
“No argument. What’s next?”
“I want separate bedrooms.”
He cocked his head. “It’s my grandmother. I’m pretty sure that’s guaranteed.”
She relaxed a little. So far, so good. “No fostering false hope that our relationship will mature to the next level.”
“‘Mature to the next level?’” he repeated. “Who talks that way?”
“Nice.” Her shoulders went back. “You know what I mean.”
“Don’t get her hopes up that we’ll get married.” He frowned over the words. “You really don’t have to worry about that.”
“I’m not expecting a proposal.” A long-suffering sigh lifted her breasts, drawing his attention downward. How predictable. “I want you to promise you won’t let concern for your grandmother sway you into implying something you can’t deliver. She’ll only be hurt in the long run.”
“You can be assured I’m not going to do anything to hurt Mamó.”
Uh-huh. She believed his love and concern were genuine. But she also knew his penchant for control, and that he had a compulsive need to fix things. She easily saw one emotion feeding into the other.
“The last is no unnecessary touching.”
He threw back his head and laughed. “You’ve got to be kidding. The point is that we’re a couple. How do we portray intimacy without touching?”
She understood his confusion.
