Awareness crackled and the bustle of the dining room faded away. Her breasts swelled with each rapidly increasing breath. If he stepped so much as an inch closer, their bodies would brush, tempt, ignite. Her pupils widened with arousal, pushing through the sparkling green. Once he’d dreamed of draping her in emeralds to accent her eyes and making love to her naked other than the jewels. As a man who prided himself on reaching every goal he set for himself, leaving loose ends grated. But there wasn’t going to be a positive outcome with Sarah. Only frustration piled on top of more frustration.
This was the very reason he’d stayed away from the Tennis Club and away from Sarah. He didn’t need the distraction of an unresolved attraction dogging him,
especially not now when he was so close to finally having his revenge on Ronald Worth.
Hauling his eyes off her, he snagged his suit coat from the back of his chair. “I’ll need a to-go box for my lunch. How about you just have them pack up the daily special for both Chase and me? I’m not picky, but I am now in a hurry.”
“Happy to accommodate that request.” She smiled tightly.
“And put a lid on my tea,” he couldn’t resist taunting. “You’ll have to pardon me if I’m suspicious of open containers around you.”
“You’re lucky I didn’t pick the coffee,” she said softly between gritted teeth.
He blinked back his surprise at the level of her anger, all because he hadn’t been able to leave well enough alone. Including that one last urge to call her Kitten. Apparently that had crossed a line for her. While he knew she still stirred up a helluva fire in him, seeing that he ignited such a strong reaction in her as well gave him pause.
A hand on his shoulder startled him. He glanced back to see his stepbrother. Chase Larson didn’t even bother hiding his surprise about the whole tea-soaked situation.
Anger faded from Sarah and a pink blush stole up her face as if she’d only just realized the magnitude of the scene she’d caused. Without a word, she spun away, sidling past the wary manager. She whipped her apron off and thrust her way through the double doors leading to the kitchen.
“Chase,” Rafe said, pulling his eyes from the swinging doors and back to his stepbrother, “we’re going to have to put the rest of our luncheon meeting on hold. As you can see, I need to change clothes.”
Chase Larson was not only his stepbrother, but also handled Rafe’s personal finances and some of his business dealings. They’d become stepbrothers when Rafe’s dad married Chase’s mom fourteen years ago. They hadn’t spent any time living in the same house, but they shared a healthy rivalry that had helped propel them both out of poverty.
His stepbrother pulled his suit jacket from the back of the chair and shrugged it on again. “What the hell happened to you? Did you drop your drink or what?”
“Something like that.” His eyes gravitated to the kitchen doors again where Sarah had disappeared seconds earlier.
He wasn’t normally a man who wasted time on regrets, instead opting to charge forward and tackle the future. But right now, he couldn’t ignore a whopping big regret—that he’d never slept with Sarah Richards.
The next day, Sarah folded and refolded a towel in her kitchen while her grandmother sat serenely shaping ground beef into patties to be frozen. Individual patties for lonely meals. Her grandmother and parents invited her to their homes often, or came over to hers like tonight, but nothing could replace the daily companionship of the husband she’d lost.
Tonight, she and Grandma Kat had eaten salads and discussed last-minute details for her grandmother’s upcoming sixty-fifth birthday bash this weekend. Yet still Kathleen didn’t leave, offering to help with small household chores. Normally, Sarah would have insisted she was fine, but after the day she’d experienced, facing her empty house seemed tougher than normal.
Silently, she worked alongside her grandmother, trying not to think about her lunch shift at the Vista del Mar Beach and Tennis Club. The manager had given her the afternoon off to cool down. She’d been an employee there long enough that she wouldn’t get fired—unless Rafe flat-out requested it.
She didn’t think he would be that vindictive and he had laughed.
Damn him.
She slammed the towel into the laundry basket, wrecking her stack. “I can’t believe he’s just going to dismantle the factory, put hundreds of people out of work.”
Grandma Kat folded plastic wrap over a perfect circle of hamburger. “I assume you mean Rafe Cameron.”
“Who else?” She kicked the wicker hamper to the side. “Even my parents will be out of a job after working at that plant their whole adult lives. Grandma Kat, doesn’t this inflame you? Aren’t you pissed? You worked for Ronald Worth for forty years. Aren’t you hurt to see the place torn apart? Lives destroyed?”
With her parents so close to retirement age, they were too old to start new careers. They’d given up so much for that factory, working long hours and double shifts just to keep a roof over her head. Thank God she’d had Grandma Kat to look after her or she would have been very alone growing up.
“Of course I am upset, dear.” She stacked the dozen individually wrapped burgers into a Tupperware container and sealed the lid. “I know the faces and names and histories of all the longtime employees. Thinking of them being out of a job not only makes me mad, it breaks my heart.”
Sarah had thought her heart couldn’t be sliced any deeper than when Rafe moved away after high school graduation, leaving her behind. And then she’d pieced her life together, marrying, creating the home with Quentin that she’d always wanted. Only to have her spirit crushed all over again by multiple miscarriages and then her husband’s death.
Truly, she would have thought the calluses on her emotions would leave her immune to pain now. She was wrong.
Tears burned her eyes, blurring her perfect little kitchen. She sagged back against the Formica tabletop she’d loved for its fifties appeal. So much hope had gone into this space. Quentin had repainted the vintage cabinets and wainscoting white while she’d sewn bright chintz curtains and a sink skirt, painting the four chairs bright accent colors.
“I can’t believe this is actually happening.” Sarah scrubbed her wrist under her eyes, ever aware of her grandmother’s perceptive gaze. “I know Rafe blames Worth Industries for his mother’s death, but to hang on to that for all these years? That’s quite a grudge, especially when there’s no proof.”
Her grandmother stood up and walked to the ancient refrigerator. She tucked the container full of patties into the freezer. “Heaven knows he was torn up when Hannah died.”
When Rafe’s dad had decided to remarry near the end of their senior year, Sarah had been hopeful that he was coming to grips with losing his mother. And recently when she’d heard about the charity he’d created in honor of his mother, she’d thought finally Rafe would find some peace. Hannah’s Hope, based in Vista del Mar, was a literacy charity that paired financially disadvantaged individuals with mentors.
Was it really just a promo gig to divert attention from his grudge against Worth Industries or a true testament to making peace with the past? “Do you really think particulates from the factory caused Hannah Cameron’s COPD?”
“I honestly don’t know who or what to blame for Hannah’s tragic death.” Kathleen Richards eased back into her chair, slowly, the hint of arthritis the only sign she was slowing down. “Factory safety standards were so different back when she worked there over thirty years ago. And she died nearly sixteen years after she was fired. So it’s tough to tell.”
“And what about Mom and Dad?” Her parents had worked at the plant for their entire adult lives.
“I do know that Ronald Worth has adhered to safety standards. Were those standards lax? Possibly,” she conceded.