The Makeover Takeover. Sandra Paul
well enough when she awoke to straighten the apartment. Once that chore was finished, she took a long hot shower then donned a comfortable sweat suit and slippers to lounge around in.
Feeling clean and cozy, she wandered into the kitchen and made herself a cup of tea, sipping it as she stared out the kitchen window. Dusk had already fallen, and lights from nearby houses gleamed through the barren trees and darkness. The view blurred as steam condensed on her glasses. Slipping them off, Lauren laid them on the counter, then realized the window was hazy, too.
She set down her cup. Leaning forward, she reached out to draw a Christmas tree in the mist. The freezing cold pane burned then numbed her fingertip. Outside, snowflakes pelted against the glass in a brief, desperate flurry. But inside her apartment she was warm and safe…and alone.
Her hand dropped. Lauren stared at her drawing as it slowly disappeared into the mist again. She liked being alone, she told herself. She was used to it. Even as a child, she’d been something of an introvert—my little dreamer, her mother used to call her. She’d always felt more content with her books, her own thoughts and daydreams, than hanging out with a crowd.
Of course, she hadn’t been completely alone then; she’d had her mother. Most people had at least some family—parents, siblings, even an aunt or an uncle or two. Or they were married by her age. Sharon Davies in accounting was only a year older, and she’d recently married a handsome widower. Jennifer Holder was near her age, and she’d recently tied the knot, too, and already had a baby. Most of the other single women at work at least had a lover. She had no one.
But just because a person was alone didn’t mean that they were lonely, she reminded herself. She straightened her shoulders and picked up her cup. Take Rafe, for instance. Like her, he’d lost both parents, although he’d lost them much, much younger than she had. Rafe wasn’t married either—and he liked it that way. Not that anyone could ever call him an introvert. He enjoyed women—lots of women.
She sipped her tea, the taste warm and bitter on her tongue, as she wondered who he’d be taking out that night. She’d never met the other two women he was currently dating. Still, judging by Nancy—and from the women he’d dated in the past—Lauren had a pretty fair idea of what they must be like.
For one thing, they were probably older than she was. Rafe preferred dating women who were near his own age of thirty-two, or even a little older. Most likely they’d be wealthy, and she had no doubt at all that, again like Nancy, they’d be beautiful. Not pretty or cute, but striking, with the polished, sleek appearance of women who had unlimited time and money to spend enhancing their looks.
What would it feel like, Lauren mused, to look like that? To know that when you entered a room, men’s heads turned? She sighed, turning on the tap to clean out her cup. She couldn’t even imagine it. Men just never responded to her that way. Most of the men she knew treated her like a pal, a buddy, a little sister. Or even a generic mixture of all three. The way Rafe did.
No, Rafe wasn’t aware of her as a woman at all. She rinsed the cup slowly, letting the warm water flow over her cold fingers. So how could she have thought—even for a second—that he was asking her to sleep with him? Wincing in remembered embarrassment, she turned off the tap and set the cup on the drainer. Still, there was no sense worrying about it, she decided in an effort to comfort herself as she dried off her hands. She was sure he’d forgotten all about the incident—forgotten all about her—as soon as he got back to the office. Probably before he’d even reached his car.
She threw the towel down on the counter. So what if he had? And why was she thinking about him anyway? Probably he hadn’t gone on a date at all, but had headed to the gym. Rafe was always up for a game of racquetball to release some of his energy.
Feeling restless herself suddenly, she headed into the living area. This room was her favorite all year round, but she especially liked it during the holidays since it looked so very Christmasy. Forest-green rugs were scattered on the gleaming hardwood floors, and she’d positioned her overstuffed burgundy couches to face each other in front of the small hearth, where a fire burned cheerily. She walked over to one of the couches. Pushing aside the teddy bear reposing in her favorite spot, she sat down and picked up her knitting.
She realized she’d left her glasses in the kitchen. Oh, well. She could see well enough to work. She began knitting, determined to get over the faint depression that had been plaguing her lately, the soft click and glide of the silver needles providing a familiar accompaniment to her thoughts. She needed to quit thinking about Rafe—about work—so much, and get her mind on other things, she decided. Things she enjoyed. Like reading. And knitting. She smiled wryly. Although making a sweater for her boss probably wasn’t the best way to get him out of her mind. Especially since Rafe wouldn’t like it if he knew how much work she’d put into it.
Rafe didn’t like getting gifts, especially anything he considered too personal. Still, Lauren had decided to make him the sweater anyway. She’d made him a scarf last year, and he’d been okay with that. Besides, she enjoyed knitting and had no idea what else to get him for a Christmas gift.
So she’d indulged herself by choosing a merino lamb’s wool in a deep, rich chocolate color to match his eyes. And she’d selected a fisherman stitch to challenge her skill. She held the garment up to judge her progress, pleased to notice that she only had a few inches left to complete. She should have it done in plenty of time for Christmas. He didn’t have to know she’d made it, how many months it had taken her, she decided. Nor how expensive the yarn had been. She would just let him assume she’d bought it somewhere, and—
The doorbell chimed, interrupting her thoughts. Jay! she thought immediately, setting her work aside. Her neighbor had gotten in the habit of stopping by in the evenings to chat for a while, and Lauren enjoyed the visits, too. It made the long winter evenings pass more quickly.
Delighted at the prospect of company, Lauren opened the door with a smile of welcome on her face, shivering a little as the cold air rushed into the warm room.
Her smile slowly faded, and she pushed the door almost closed again, sheltering behind it. A man was standing on her unlit landing. His face was in profile, his shoulders braced against the sleet as he glanced back at something behind him. For a moment, she didn’t recognize him.
But then he turned, and the light from the room behind her slanted across the hard angles of his face and lit up his intent eyes.
Lauren’s heart skipped a beat, then picked up again at a faster pace. What was he doing here? He looked…menacing somehow. But that was probably because of his evening beard. The dark stubble shaded his lean cheeks and chin, making him look like a gangster from an old black-and-white movie. The effect was heightened by his wet hair, which he’d slicked back off his forehead with a careless hand. Snowflakes glistened in the thick dark strands, and on the shoulders of his black overcoat.
For once his dark eyes looked serious—angry almost. But why would that be? Had something gone wrong at work?
“Rafe?” she said uncertainly.
Chapter Four
“Yeah, it’s me.” She looked surprised to see him, Rafe noticed. He could understand that. He was pretty surprised himself that he’d ended up on her doorstep this evening.
He stared down at her as she stood half-hidden by the door, her slight figure silhouetted by the light behind her. All day he’d told himself he wasn’t going to come over here again—that he wasn’t going to ask her a damn thing. Because even after seeing those baby bottles on her list, he still didn’t believe Lauren was the woman Kane sought. That she’d deliberately get pregnant like that.
But then he’d realized that maybe it hadn’t been deliberate. What if some guy—like this Jay character—had taken advantage of her? Gotten her into trouble? What if she’d accidentally gotten pregnant that way?
The more he’d thought about it, the more the evidence had added up. She’d been sick this morning—and had admitted she’d been ill all week. She’d also