Jack replied, smiling.
“If I ate it as much as I’d like to eat it, I’d weigh a ton.”
His gaze drifted over her from head to toe, apparently finding nothing wanting. “So you limit yourself,” Jack guessed.
Tingling everywhere his eyes had touched, Caroline affirmed her self-imposed sacrifice. “To one treat a week.”
Jack’s eyes lit up. “I could live with one kiss a week.”
The warmth inside her built. Caroline wrinkled her nose. “I couldn’t.”
The playful moment turned heated again and Caroline could have sworn Jack was thinking about kissing her again. She was not surprised. She was suddenly fantasizing about the same thing.
“Why not?” he quipped.
Blushing fiercely, she tipped her head up. “Because indulging in one kiss a week with you would lead to wanting more than one kiss.”
He wrapped his arms around her shoulders. “Also good to know,” Jack interrupted with a mischievous grin.
She placed her hand on his chest “And I’m not interested in starting anything with a person I’m not suited to be with long-term.”
Jack studied her. “What makes you think we’re not compatible?”
Caroline stepped back. He’d given her no choice. She had to be extremely direct. “I’m in the business of making dreams come true.” Their eyes met and held for another breath-stealing moment. “And unless you’ve changed your mind about Patrice marrying Dutch, you’re now in the business of thwarting them.”
“I’VE NOTICED,” Patrice Gaines said the next morning when Caroline showed up promptly at eight-thirty, still reeling from the ill-advised kiss she had shared with Jack Gaines the previous evening, “that you don’t wear perfume.”
Telling herself it was definitely going to be possible to stay away from the ruggedly handsome businessman while planning his mother’s wedding, Caroline smiled self-consciously. She forced herself to concentrate on the conversation at hand. “That must seem like heresy to a woman like you, who built her fortune on perfume.”
Patrice gently acknowledged this was so. “May I ask why you don’t wear any?”
A little embarrassed by the oversight, given the company she was keeping, Caroline shrugged. “I guess I’ve never found a fragrance that really suits me. They always seem too heavy, or too young, or too musky … too something.”
Patrice smiled. “Whereas I don’t feel fully dressed unless I have a fragrance on.”
Caroline opened up her briefcase. “I’ve noticed you wear different scents.”
Patrice brought a thermal carafe of coffee to the breakfast table. “For different moods.”
Caroline set up her laptop computer. “It must be nice to be able to create your own colognes.”
Patrice went back to the cupboard to get mugs. “I could do it for you, as a thank-you, for working us in on such short notice.”
Caroline laid the sample invitations and the accompanying price list on the table. “I didn’t know you still created individual perfume formulas.”
Patrice returned with cream and sugar. “I can’t for financial gain. It’s in the contract I signed with Couture Perfume. But I can do it for fun,” she continued enthusiastically, “and I’d really like to try.”
Caroline dipped her head in silent thanks. “I’d be honored.”
Patrice settled opposite her. “So when do you want to start?”
Caroline accepted the mug of hot coffee. “Start?”
Patrice stirred a spoonful of sugar into her coffee. “We’re going to have to sit down and go through the various fragrance families. Although I must warn you—once we find the exact right scent, and you begin wearing it, you will have men falling in love with you constantly.”
“It’s true.” Dutch walked in to join them. He wrapped his arm around Patrice’s shoulders. “I’ve seen it happen.”
Caroline studied the handsome older couple. “Is that how the two of you fell in love?”
Patrice and Dutch tensed almost imperceptibly. They turned to each other, looked into each other’s eyes in silent understanding. Confirming, Caroline thought, Jack’s suspicion that something other than the expected was behind this union. But that didn’t mean it was wrong. Companionship and compatibility were wonderful reasons to get married, too, especially when the bride and groom were old enough to have experienced life and know what really counted. “It’s complicated,” Patrice said finally.
“And astoundingly wonderful and generous and right.” Dutch pulled Patrice toward him for a quick kiss on her brow.
The two fell silent, still gazing tenderly and meaningfully at one another.
There was love there, Caroline surmised, just not the head-over-heels kind younger brides and grooms typically exhibited.
From the doorway, a throat cleared. Jack stood there in a blue oxford cloth shirt and khaki slacks. It was clear from the expression on his face that he had heard everything. And was no more reassured that this was indeed an advisable union than he had been before.
Jack looked at his mother. “Maddie said you needed to see me before I took her to school this morning.”
Patrice informed him casually, “I’m not going to be able to go with Caroline to view those two ranches, where our wedding could be held, so I’m going to need you to do it for me.”
Jack looked simultaneously stunned and put out. Caroline couldn’t say she blamed him. This was short notice.
Jack frowned. “Can’t you go another time?”
“Caroline says we need to have the time and place locked in before we do anything else, and since I assumed you’d want to have a say as well as read the contract …”
Dutch glanced at his watch, then leaned in and lightly touched Patrice’s arm. “I’ve got to make a call,” he murmured. Patrice nodded agreeably while Dutch slipped out.
Jack continued to look at his mother with very little patience. “I’ve got a business to run,” he reminded her.
“And I completely forgot I promised Maddie’s teacher I would help out at her school this morning.”
“Can’t Dutch go?”
Patrice held her ground. “You’re the one who has to okay the financial terms, dear.”
Jack slowly let out his breath, his love for his mother as evident as his exasperation. Lips thinning, he said, “I’ll just call the office and let them know I won’t be in.”
JACK WAS HALFWAY through the study doors when he heard Dutch’s voice and realized Dutch was just outside the window, talking on his cell phone.
“May I speak to Maryellen? I understand. Just tell her it’s Dutch. I’ll meet her at the apartment, usual time. And please remind her of the need for privacy. I don’t want anyone to know…. Thank you.” Dutch ended the call.
Maryellen? Jack thought, stunned. What apartment? Why did Dutch and Maryellen need privacy? What was so secret? Was Dutch having an affair with this woman? And if so, what was he supposed to do about it? It wasn’t as if he could—or would even want—to say anything to his mother without first knowing exactly what the situation was.
Feeling more conflicted than ever, Jack shut the doors, then dialed the private investigator who did the background checks for his company. He explained to Laura Tillman what was going on.
“It’s too late for me to get someone out there right now,” she said.
“Maybe