The Man Most Likely Read online

  “Now can we eat the chocolate?” Zephyr asked.

  “Yes. It’s all yours.”

  She selected a truffle and bit into it. Mesmerized, Bryan watched her tongue flick out to capture a stray bit of chocolate on her lip. He looked away, for fear of embarrassing himself. You’d think he’d never seen a woman eat before!

  “Primo chocolate!” Zephyr declared. He grabbed his guitar and began strumming a tune. “Don’t trifle with the truffles that Angela makes. Treat yourself to all the goodies that Angela bakes. Support our local actors, for heaven’s sake! Get your tickets to the party—you know it will be great!”

  The last chords of this chorus still rang in Bryan’s ears when Zephyr pronounced they were done, and Angela began clearing away the bowls and remaining truffles. “Do you want to take these back to the hotel for your coworkers?” she asked. “I can box them up for you.”

  “Thanks. That would be great.” He picked up the bowls of glaze and followed her into a back room that contained two refrigerators, a freezer and four sets of steel shelving filled with bags of sugar, flour and cocoa, boxes of chocolate chips, egg white powder and other ingredients he couldn’t identify.

  “You can put those bowls in the first refrigerator.” She nodded toward a white side-by-side model, then pulled a flattened box off the top of one of the shelving units. With a practiced move, she popped it open and began arranging the truffles inside.

  Bryan leaned against the refrigerator, arms crossed. “This was fun today,” he said. “I enjoyed seeing what you do.”

  “I love my work,” she said. “And I guess it shows.” She laughed. “In more ways than one. But I always say, never trust a skinny cook.”

  “You look great,” he said. He couldn’t believe he’d never noticed her before; now that he knew her, he couldn’t keep his eyes off her.

  Her cheeks turned pink. “Thanks.” She moved past him, into the front room once more.

  “We should go out sometime,” he said.

  She juggled the box of truffles, then carefully set it on the counter and turned to face him. “Go out?”

  “Yeah, you know. On a date.”

  For the first time that day, she looked flustered, but she quickly recovered. “Sure. That would be fun. What do you want to do? Catch a band at LoBar or go for pizza at the Last Steep?”

  Those were the kind of dates he had in his slacker days. Now he wanted to do something classier, more grown-up. “I was thinking I’d take you to dinner at Garlic Mike’s.” The intimate Italian eatery on the outskirts of Gunnison had been voted Most Romantic Restaurant in a local newspaper poll.

  Angela’s eyes widened. “Oh. Well. I don’t know—”

  “How about Friday night?”

  She shook her head. “I have too much to do to get ready for the fund-raiser on Saturday.”

  “Then you choose a night.”

  She turned and began rearranging a display of Chocolate Moose coffee mugs on a nearby shelf. “Maybe now isn’t a good time. I have the play and rehearsals and a lot of work getting ready for the fund-raiser.”

  Was she rejecting him? Deep breath. Time to regroup. He couldn’t remember when a woman had turned him down. In fact, he was pretty sure this was a first.

  He looked around the shop, searching for inspiration. He found it in a poster advertising the upcoming performances of I Hate Hamlet. “What about Sunday night?” he said. “The fund-raiser will be over and the play doesn’t start until the next week.”

  She shook her head. “No. I’d better not.”

  He stood very still, working hard to keep his feelings from showing in his face. She really was turning him down. And why? The two of them got along great. “Is there something in particular about me you don’t like?” he asked stiffly.

  “No!” She whirled to face him, her eyes wide with surprise, her cheeks flushed. “I like you. I really do.”

  He believed her. She was a good actress, but he didn’t think she was faking it now. And he hadn’t imagined the heat between them when their hands had brushed in the bowl of chocolate. “Are you dating someone else?” he asked. That had to be the answer. She probably had some big bruiser of a boyfriend who’d like nothing better than to pound any potential rival.

  “No.” She turned away and began wiping down the hot chocolate machine. “I just…I have too much else going on right now to start dating anyone,” she said. “It’s so hard juggling everything. I have to be at the theater practically every night, and the shop takes up all my time during the days. I guess that’s life in a tourist town during the busy season.”

  There was more to her reluctance to go out with him than a lack of time, he was sure. “Maybe later, then,” he said, doing his best to sound unaffected by her rejection, though inside he was crushed. And confused—both by her reluctance and by his own attraction to a woman who was nothing like any other woman he’d wanted to spend time with. He was a guy who always dated the hottest girl in any crowd. Angela wasn’t that kind of girl—though for some reason she certainly raised his temperature. He couldn’t figure it out, but he wanted her to at least give him a chance to try.

  She flashed one of her dazzling smiles. “Maybe. Thanks for being understanding.”

  That was him. Mr. Understanding. Not. “I’d better get back to the hotel,” he said.

  She nodded. “Thanks. I’ll see you Saturday.”

  “Saturday?”

  “At the fund-raiser. Or will you be there?”

  “I’ll be there.” He rushed out the door before she could say more, into a world of swirling snow. A spring storm was bringing fresh powder to the slopes and a clean, white topping to the dirty piles of snow lining the streets. He thought of the white chocolate glaze Angela had used for the truffles and the sensuous feel of their fingers entwined in the chocolate. He couldn’t say he’d ever experienced anything like that with any other woman.

  He straightened his shoulders and strode down the street. Angela had turned him down once, but he wasn’t the kind of man who gave up that easily. He hadn’t let others’ criticism keep him from pursuing his dreams, and he wouldn’t let Angela’s reluctance stop him from pursuing her. For his own peace of mind, he needed to figure out what it was about Angela that drew him to her. If she wanted to play hard to get, she’d find out he wasn’t a man who liked to take no for an answer.

  Chapter Four

  Bryan wasn’t the type to suffer from nerves, but the night of the theater fund-raiser, he had to struggle to keep from constantly fidgeting with his tie and smoothing his hair. He wanted everything to go smoothly to prove to Mr. Phelps that he was capable of handling more responsibility. Some of Bryan’s friends would be attending this event also. He wanted them to see him as competent and successful in his new role.

  So far, so good. Everything was in place, the tables draped in white cloths, each with a centerpiece of glittering comedy and tragedy masks. The tables for refreshments and silent-auction items were set up, the DJ had everything he needed to provide music for dancing, and the PA system was working. There was even a coat check for the guests. The gift certificate with the hotel’s own contribution—a weekend’s stay—was already in the hands of the woman who was in charge of the silent auction.

  Judging from the turnout, the fund-raiser was going to be a big success. He searched for Angela, but couldn’t find her. Maybe she was already on the dance floor, in the arms of some theater type. His stomach clenched tighter at the thought. Why had he ever assumed a woman like Angela would be unattached? She was sexy, fun and successful; she probably had all kinds of men trailing after her.

  “Everything all right?”

  Bryan suppressed a grimace and turned to greet his boss. “Carl. I didn’t expect to see you here.”

  The manager tugged at the collar of his dark suit. “My wife and I decided we should make an appearance, try to be more involved with the community.” He looked out over the ballroom. “I’m here if you need anything.”

 
“I have it all under control.”

  “You made sure the theater group understands the occupancy limits of the fire code?” Phelps asked.

  “We discussed all that when the contract was signed,” Bryan said. “They agreed to limit ticket sales.”

  “And they understood they are not to park in the section of the garage reserved for hotel guests?”

  “I explained we had ample parking for visitors near the garage elevators.”

  “And about the catering—”

  “Everything is under control,” Bryan said again. Why was Carl giving him such a hard time? Didn’t the man trust him?

  Obviously, no. Bryan clenched his jaw. Welcome to the world of middle management, he thought. Nothing he hadn’t expected, and something he had to put up with in order to realize his dreams. That didn’t stop the scrutiny from irritating him, however.

  “Good. That’s good to hear.” Carl waited, as if expecting Bryan to say more. But Bryan had already learned that the less said, the less Carl could find to object to.

  Bryan spotted Angela over by the refreshment table. “I’d better speak with Ms. Krizova,” he said. Without waiting for a reply, he started across the room.

  Glad of the chance to talk with Angela, he approached the table where she was arranging trays of truffles. “Hello, Angela,” he said. “You look great.”

  She looked up, her smile radiant. “Thank you, Bryan.” Her dark hair was gathered into a loose chignon at the nape of her neck, drawing attention to the fine bones of her face and the long column of her neck. The low neckline of her wine-red velvet dress revealed a distracting hint of cleavage. Bryan forced himself to keep his gaze on her eyes, which were definitely worth looking at, their green depths accented by artful makeup.

  “Is there something you needed?” she asked.

  He realized he’d been staring—again—and forced his gaze away. “I wanted to make sure you had everything you needed,” he said.

  “Yes. Everything looks wonderful.” She looked around the room, at the women in sparkling dresses and pantsuits, the men in less vibrant but just as formal suits. They milled around the food or swayed on the dance floor to classic rock and pop tunes. “I think all the guests are having a good time,” she said.

  “What about you?” he asked. “Are you getting a chance to enjoy yourself?”

  “Of course. It’s always fun seeing friends. And everyone’s raving about my chocolates.” She leaned forward to fill in an empty spot on one of the trays.

  “These truffles are to die for!” Casey, wearing an electric blue minidress with silver spangles, selected a white chocolate truffle from a tray and bit into it.

  “Thanks,” Angela said. “I love your dress.”

  Casey shrugged. “My mom was only too happy to send it to me when I told her I needed something for a fancy social event. I told her to pull something from my closet back home. I figured this was a chance to get more use out of the stuff I wore to all those charity dinners and political fund-raisers in Chicago.” Casey, who worked for the local Chamber of Commerce, fit into Crested Butte’s laid-back scene so well that Bryan had forgotten that before moving to town she had been a reluctant socialite in the Windy City.

  “The trick was coordinating my outfit with hers.” Max appeared behind his wife, stroking an electric blue bow tie with silver spangles. It stood out against his starched white shirt and plain dark suit. “Did you know you can buy anything on the Internet?”

  “Don’t let Zephyr see that tie or he’ll want one,” Bryan said.

  “I already promised to give it to him when I’m done,” Max said.

  “I saw you two on Zephyr’s show earlier this week,” Casey said. “You looked like you were having a good time.”

  “Yeah, it was a lot of fun,” Bryan said, watching Angela’s face to gauge her assessment.

  “It was,” Angela agreed. “Though I don’t think I have to worry about losing my candy-making gig to Zephyr or Bryan.”

  “Hey, everybody here at work said the truffles I made were great,” Bryan said.

  “People at work will eat anything,” Max said. “Leftover Halloween candy, stale pretzels—you name it. If it shows up in the employee break room and it’s free, it’ll get eaten.”

  “Stale pretzels and Angela’s awesome truffles don’t even belong in the same sentence.” Casey selected another candy from the tray. “Even if Bryan helped put them together, I know the chocolate was all Angela and she’s the expert.”

  “This next set of songs is for everyone who’s requested I slow things down a little,” the DJ announced. “So cuddle up, all you lovebirds.”

  “Can I tear you away from the chocolate long enough to dance?” Max asked his wife.

  “I could be persuaded.” She gave him a coy look, then slipped her hand into his and allowed him to lead her onto the dance floor.

  Bryan turned to Angela. “Would you like to dance?”

  “I should probably stay and watch the chocolates,” she said.

  “You don’t strike me as a woman who wants to spend all evening behind a table watching over sweets,” he said. “Don’t you get enough of that at work?”

  He read the hesitation in her expression. “Come on,” he urged. “Just one dance. I promise I won’t bite.”

  She laughed. “All right. One dance.”

  ANGELA ALLOWED BRYAN to take her hand and lead her to the dance floor. While time didn’t actually stop or a hush fall over the crowd, a few heads did turn in their direction, and she knew that by Monday morning word would be out that the two of them had been seen dancing close.

  Very close. His hand rested comfortably at the small of her back, allowing no room for space between them. The front of his suit coat brushed against her breasts, and even with all the layers of clothing between them, it felt intimate.

  Right—somehow.

  “I can’t believe you’ve lived here three years and the two of us never met before,” he said, gold flecks glinting in his brown eyes as his gaze met hers.

  “I guess we just travel in different circles,” she said. “I haven’t spent much time in clubs or at parties. And I don’t snowboard.” Did that sound dull to him? Maybe she was dull, though she preferred to think of it as settled.

  “Still, you’d think we would have run into each other before now,” he said.

  “Maybe we did and you didn’t notice me.” It wouldn’t be the first time a man had looked right past her, to focus on a prettier—and yes, thinner—woman.

  “No, I would have remembered you.” He emphasized the words with a squeeze and an intense look that sent a tingling sensation clear to her toes.

  She’d have remembered him, too. He was exactly the kind of man she always noticed—with dark hair and eyes, an expressive face and an outgoing personality.

  Leading man material, she’d dubbed the type, long before she met Troy and was caught up in his spell.

  “How are rehearsals going?” he asked.

  “Typical chaos two weeks before we open,” she said, glad to move the conversation to what felt like less emotionally dangerous territory. “Nobody can remember their lines, some of the costumes and sets aren’t finished, and we’re all sure we have a disaster on our hands.”

  “How are you going to open on time?”

  “It will all come together. It always does. It’s part of the magic of theater. There are even people who believe that the worse things are right before the opening, the better the show will be.”

  “Do you believe that?”

  She considered the question a moment. “There’s something to be said for getting all the disasters out of the way before a paying audience shows up,” she said.

  “I wonder if that would work in other areas of life?” he mused.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Say you had a big job interview. The week before, you could have a rehearsal interview. You’d get all the foot-in-mouth verbal mistakes, spilled coffee and mismatched socks out
of the way ahead of the real thing.”

  “That might work,” she said, smiling. “Maybe you should start a new business offering that service.”

  “Or how about a rehearsal date?” he continued. “Get all the bad hair and disastrous conversational tangents and awkward silences out of your system and guarantee a good time on the real date.”

  She laughed. “Have you really had dates that were that bad?” she asked.

  “A few.” The music ended and they pulled apart. She sensed he was as reluctant to leave her as she was to move away from him. “Mostly they were my fault. Usually when I tried to date women who were too classy for me.”

  She let her gaze linger on his broad shoulders, neatly trimmed hair and tailored suit. “I can’t picture any woman being too classy for you,” she said.

  “You should have seen me a few years ago.”

  A few years ago, she’d been an emotional wreck, her heart and her self-esteem trampled. It had taken a long time to put herself back together. A few weeks ago, she would have said she was doing great; nothing could faze her. One smile from Bryan, one brush from his hand, and she’d realized how weak she still was. She doubted she was strong enough to face all the possibilities—even the bad ones—of pursuing her attraction to him.

  They returned to the refreshment table and lingered around the punch bowl, the conversation momentarily stalled, but neither eager to move away. Angela wanted to ask him more about his time in Crested Butte before she’d known him, but feared this would only lead to questions she didn’t care to answer about her own past.

  “Bryan! I’ve been looking all over for you.”

  They both turned toward the voice, which belonged to a leggy blonde in skintight leather pants and a fur-collared sweater that hugged her large breasts, tiny waist and slim hips. Ignoring Angela, the blonde put a hand on Bryan’s arm and leaned close. “Dance with me,” she said. “Then I’ll let you buy me a drink at the bar and you can tell me where you’ve been hiding.”

  Bryan frowned and glanced at Angela, who pretended interest in the punch. “Rhiannon, do you know Angela Krizova?” he asked.