My Phony Valentine Read online

  “You don’t have to believe me, as long as I do.”

  The thing of it was, T.J. thought as she began to rummage through the drawers of the video cabinet in the family room, that she was beginning not to believe herself, either. Not completely, at any rate.

  Since her divorce, she’d gone out a number of times socially, always with friends. Always with the thought of enjoying the evening and the company, but only in the spirit of friendship. She wasn’t out for romance. Not anymore. She was much too busy these days and there were more important things in her life than the search for romance. Megan headed that list.

  But there was something about Christopher MacAffee that cut through all the stories, all the excuses she had sold herself on. An excitement that bubbled up within her just at the very sight of him.

  Damn, but she sounded like some teenager with a budding crush.

  She was going to have to find a way to put a lid on that, she lectured herself sternly. Even if she were inclined to let things happen between them—which she wasn’t—he thought she was Theresa. There was no future in getting close to a man who thought she was her cousin. You couldn’t build a relationship on a lie. And she certainly couldn’t tell him who she was now. If he found out the truth, he’d take his business and his indignant, bruised ego elsewhere. Nobody liked being fooled, least of all a man in a position of power.

  Business was the bottom line here. She had to remember that.

  T.J. sighed as she selected two tapes and pulled them out of the drawer. Talk about painting yourself into a corner.

  “So what are we watching?”

  She jumped, startled at the sound of his voice. The tapes went clattering to the floor. Chagrined, she picked them up quickly.

  She looked like a tax dodger who had just been summoned by the IRS. Christopher crossed to her, puzzled. “Hey, I didn’t mean to sneak up on you. I thought I was supposed to be here.”

  She had to get hold of her nerves. Taking the first step, she smiled up at him. The family room was bathed in sunlight. It gave his complexion a healthy glow. Now that she thought about it, he did look a lot better. The man would definitely be on his way by tomorrow morning.

  Why didn’t that make her happy? Relieved, yes, but not happy. What was the matter with her, anyway?

  “You are and you didn’t,” she assured him, though she doubted he bought the latter. “I was just preoccupied.” The blue shirt he was wearing looked much better on him than Cecilia’s nightshirt had. “I see you found your shirt.”

  He held out an arm, looking at the sleeve. “It’s a better fit.” Christopher lowered his voice, glancing toward the door to see if they were alone. “Just how tall is your housekeeper?”

  “Six-four.”

  He readily believed it. “Sounds more like a bodyguard.”

  “She’s my housekeeper,” T.J. assured him. “Actually, Cecilia’s more of a friend than anything else.”

  Tucking the tapes under her arm, she cleared off the oversize coffee table. She and Megan spent hours playing Candyland and putting simple puzzles together on it. Right now, the table was covered with papers, half-finished coloring books and scattered, chunky crayons.

  Sitting down on the edge of the sofa, Christopher automatically began replacing the crayons into the empty crayon box he found under the table. “Where did you find her?”

  “Christmas card,” she answered absently. Glancing up, she saw that Christopher didn’t understand. “We exchange them each year.” T.J. backtracked further. “She was my gym teacher in high school. She went on to coach a girls’ basketball team at UCI from there.”

  “Now that I believe.” He tucked the lid flap into the crayon box. “How did she make the transition from coach to housekeeper?” It wasn’t the kind of thing that readily came to mind.

  Pleasure filled her voice as she spoke of the older woman. She had always gotten on well with Cecilia, even when their relationship had been teacher and student. “One Christmas, she wrote to fill me in. She’d given up coaching, didn’t really have a place to call home.” Cecilia didn’t believe in owning things or letting things own her. She’d lived in a small trailer park until a developer bought the land out from under her. “I invited her to come stay with me. Then—”

  TJ. almost slipped and said that it was just after she’d given birth to Megan. In her typical no-nonsense fashion, Cecilia had taken over running the household and helping her with Megan. Making life manageable. So much so that TJ. knew she’d be lost without the woman and her friendship.

  “The rest is history.” She held up the two tapes for his inspection. “Mr. Duck Goes to the City.” She turned one, then the other. “Or Crickets in My Bed. Take your pick.”

  Christopher looked at her to see if she was serious. She was. She was really going to show him cartoons. Someone else might have tried to impress him with a vast collection of the latest videotapes, or rushed to cull his favor by renting something a little more provocative. He rather liked the fact that she was being herself. And that “self’ was someone who was apparently guileless and sure enough of herself to be herself.

  “Which one does Megan like?”

  He won points by bringing Megan into the decision. “Mr. Duck.” T.J. looked at the lime green cover on the tape. “She’s seen it umpteen times.”

  He had trouble watching anything all the way through once, much less more. “And she doesn’t get tired of it?”

  T.J. thought he was kidding, then realized that he was serious. “You know, for someone in the toy business, you don’t know very much about children. I think psychiatrists call it reinforcement. Familiar things give children a sense of security. All I know is that Megan likes to see things over and over again until she knows exactly what’s coming.”

  She’d obviously taken the time to understand the little girl. As he saw it, that took an inordinate amount of patience as well as love. Something else that hadn’t been in the report. “Megan’s very fortunate to have you for an aunt.”

  She wished he’d stop complimenting her. She felt like such a fraud. T.J. lifted a careless shoulder. “Yeah, well, Megan is a pretty terrific little girl. I hope to have one like her someday,” she added for good measure.

  The party girl making domestic noises. He found that rather appealing. It made him stop and think about his own situation. Chronologically, he was more than ready to settle down. So far, though, he hadn’t found the right woman....

  Christopher realized he was staring at her and looked away.

  Megan came tumbling into the room, chasing a mechanical poodle and laughing. He immediately became aware that the woman beside him lit up like a Christmas tree.

  “Speak of the devil.” T.J. held up the tape. “Look what I have for you, Meggie.”

  “Missy Duck!” Megan crowed. She wrapped her hands around the videotape.

  “Why don’t you put it into the machine and we’ll all watch it?” T.J. suggested.

  Megan whirled around on one sneakered heel and made a beeline for the machine nestled beneath a wide-screen television set.

  Christopher had visions of the little girl jamming the tape into the VCR. “Do you think you should let her handle that?”

  T.J. grinned, watching Megan. Shaking the tape out of its cover, her daughter popped it into the slot. “She knows how to operate the VCR. At least how to hit the play button.”

  He leaned back on the sofa, making room for her. Jasmine again, he thought as she sat down beside him. Christopher filled his lungs with the sweet scent.

  “We have something in common, then. You would have had me worried if you’d said she knows how to get rid of the flashing twelve. That would have put her one up on me.”

  TJ. laughed. It was the same sparkling sound he’d heard earlier, when he had gone searching for the source. And it had the same effect on him now as it had then. More so. It reeled him in, a fish caught on a silver hook. Something within his gut tightened even as a warmth flowered all through him.
<
br />   TJ. turned to look at him. The laughter died on her lips as her eyes met his. The cartoon theme song droning on in the background faded. There was nothing but silence in the room. Silence, except for the frantic beating of her heart, which had somehow managed to slip all the way up to her ears.

  There was nothing else to do except give in to this incredible pull. If he explored it, maybe it would go away.

  “I don’t think I’m infectious anymore,” Christopher said softly, his fingers slipping around her cheek, cupping her neck.

  Her eyes couldn’t leave his. “Oh, I wouldn’t say that,” she whispered through lips that were barely moving.

  5

  HE COULD SAY that he didn’t know what came over him. That he was still a little disoriented by the virus. Any one of a number of excuses would have sufficed. But they would have all been lies.

  Christopher knew exactly what came over him. She had. Theresa, with her laughter and her wit, with her warmth and her caring ways. It exuded from her without her having to say a word.

  There was no recourse for him but to kiss her. It seemed his destiny, a destiny he readily embraced without wondering what the hell was going on in his mind. All he knew was that somewhere it was written that at this time, this place, Christopher MacAffee, scion of MacAffee Toys, was to kiss Theresa Cochran, president of C & C Advertising.

  He would have bet his soul on it.

  As soon as his lips touched hers, there was an inexplicable rush whirling through him, around him. Christopher felt he was being drawn into a vortex and there wasn’t a single thing he could do about it.

  And he wasn’t all that sure that he wanted to.

  The organizer within him, the man who was determined to make logical sense of everything, struggled to make sense out of this. Logic seemed to be out of order here. At the very least, it was taking a holiday.

  This was just a kiss. Nothing more. He had to remember that. So what if he heard a rushing noise in his head and his body had suddenly ignited with a bittersweet agony he was in no position to do anything about? It was just a kiss. And if he felt unsteady, that was because of the virus, or the bug, or whatever the hell he’d come down with. It wasn’t because of the kiss.

  It couldn’t be.

  But it was.

  Swallowing a groan, he deepened the kiss, determined not to be the only one bowled over here. His mouth played along hers, a concert pianist suddenly inspired to write a concerto.

  TJ. didn’t remember grabbing on to Christopher’s arms to hang on, but she must have. Because she was. Hanging on for dear life. As if she were afraid that if she let go, she would be sucked under. Or blown away.

  She was anyway.

  Her fingers curled around the material of his sleeves, clutching.

  This couldn’t be happening. The thought desperately telegraphed itself through what was left of her mind. She refused to feel like this, as if she were hurtling down a steep mountainside atop those silly fiberglass sticks her cousin loved strapping onto her feet. But she was, hurtling fast and hard. Her breath was completely snatched away and her lungs were bursting for air.

  This had to be what navigating without ski poles was like. She didn’t like it.

  It was far too exhilarating to be safe.

  Christopher wanted to gather her into his arms, to feel her, to explore her until he knew his way around every inch of her body like a blind man touching a familiar, treasured object. He tried to remember when he’d last felt like this, and couldn’t.

  Because he hadn’t. He’d never felt like this before. It would have scared him if he’d thought about it, but thinking had been the first thing to go.

  “Mama kiss.”

  The childish voice, filled with glee, penetrated their consciousness simultaneously. The unexpected spontaneous combustion had made them both forget that they weren’t alone.

  They remembered now.

  Reluctantly, Christopher drew his lips away from hers. He blinked as he held T.J. at arm’s length, then looked at the small figure that was standing beside them, openly staring.

  “Did she just call you Mama?” he asked, bewildered.

  Oh, boy. Be cool, T.J., be cool. Think, for heaven’s sake.

  No easy feat when her brain felt like a scrambled egg on a hot skillet. She mustered a smile, then ran her hand along the little girl’s arm affectionately.

  “Maybe.” T.J. looked at Christopher. “TJ. and I look a lot alike.” Her explanation met with a cocked brow. “More than likely, though,” she went on as her brain began to defog, “Megan was just saying that she’s seen her mother kiss like this.” Thank goodness Megan didn’t speak in complete sentences yet.

  “Not,” Christopher assured her, “like this.” She had a one-two punch that had sent him reeling—and wanting more. It was a good thing that the child had interrupted when she had. He needed a breather to figure out just what had happened here. And what he wanted to happen in the future. “I’m beginning to understand why you have men lined up six deep on both sides of the continent.”

  “Yeah, well...” It took effort to sound nonchalant, but somehow, T.J. managed. “I think they’re attracted to the business as much as to me.”

  She’d nearly said Theresa instead of “me.” It was her personal theory that at least some of the men who flocked around Theresa were only after what being connected to the Cochran name could do for them. But it was all right because Theresa knew exactly who was after what. And in as much as she was after fun and nothing more, it all worked out for her.

  T.J. knew she could never lead the kind of life Theresa did. Theresa was all bright reds and splashy colors. TJ. was subtle, muted blues. She was a nester and had been right from the beginning. She’d never cared for parties that lasted into dawn, or for being seen on the right arm. She liked quiet, intimate dinners and the love of one man, not the admiration of a squadron.

  Which was why her breakup had hurt so badly. When she had exchanged vows with Peter, she had meant forever. Peter, on the other hand, had obviously meant to the end of the month. That was how long it had taken him before he’d found someone else to dally with. Someone to break his vows with.

  “Really?” Christopher couldn’t see how any man in his right mind would have wanted her for any other reason than because she was a beautiful, sensuous woman who was capable of heating a man’s blood at ten paces. “Why do you put up with it?”

  She gave him Theresa’s stock answer. “Because I’m not taken in by it. I’m just out to have fun.” T.J. needed backup. She patted the place beside her on the sofa. “Come here, Cupcake.” T.J. looked at Megan. “Come sit up here.”

  Christopher noted that she placed the little girl between them.

  Just as well, he thought. He didn’t believe in mixing business with pleasure. Which was why, he supposed, there was very little pleasure in his life lately. The last couple of years it had seemed consumed by business.

  Maybe, he mused, looking at Theresa, it was time that stopped.

  Megan wiggled into a comfortable position on the sofa, then flashed a killer smile at him that was very reminiscent of her aunt’s. Like a queen, she pointed her finger at the screen and ordered him to watch by loudly announcing, “Missy Duck.”

  “Mr. Duck,” he corrected automatically.

  Megan nodded, her brown curls bouncing around her head like coiled springs being shaken out of a bag. “Missy Duck.”

  Laughing to himself, Christopher gave up the language lesson and settled back to watch.

  Much to his amazement, he discovered that he liked cartoons. At least the one Theresa had selected for them to watch.

  Bright blue credits soon rolled up against a blazing white background, accompanied by the song Mr. Duck always sang to himself when times got rough for him. Was the cartoon over already?

  Christopher glanced at his watch in disbelief. He’d been sitting here for almost ninety minutes. Time seemed to have just flown by.

  Curious, T.J. had looked ove
r Megan’s head several times to see if Christopher was actually watching. Each time she was surprised and pleased to see that he was. She didn’t exactly know why she got a kick out of that, but she did.

  “So, what did you think?” Pointing the remote at the VCR, she pushed the stop button. The credits abruptly disappeared, to be replaced with a black-and-white rerun of a popular late-sixties sitcom. It was about cousins who looked enough alike to be twins. T.J. quickly hit the power button and the set faded into darkness.

  Christopher looked at Megan. She had sat stockstill for the entire movie, mesmerized as if she had never seen it before. But now she was all unharnessed energy. She dove toward the VCR to reclaim the tape. Obviously something her aunt had taught her, he thought.

  He smiled at the question. “Kind of like a morality play with feathers.”

  The description tickled her. “It’s never too early to instill basic decent principles in kids.”

  “I certainly can’t argue with that.”

  Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Megan slip the tape back into its box. Leaving it on the floor, the little girl began to play with the castle she’d abandoned earlier. T.J. shifted in her seat, facing Christopher. She tucked one leg under her. It was time to mix in a little business.

  “I like the fact that MacAffee Toys doesn’t go in for flooding the market with action figures associated with blood-and-guts video games.” It was gratifying, in this time when the dollar was the bottom line, to find a company with such integrity.

  It had never occurred to Christopher to conduct business any other way. He was a great believer in tradition.

  Christopher’s mouth curved when he thought of the alternative. “I’d have several generations of ancestors spinning around in their graves if I did that.”

  She leaned her elbow against the sofa and propped her hand against her head, studying him. There was more to it than that.

  “You don’t strike me as a man who would be all that worried about nocturnal visitations from reprimanding ghosts.” He was the type to do what he wanted. That he wanted to maintain a tradition brought up his personal stock with her.