Teresa Southwick - It Takes Three

He wanted this party for his daughter, and Thea had catered events for both women and men. This man was no different from any other client.

And that was when she recognized the lie.

She liked Scott and that made him different. Which was why she wanted to turn him down flat.

Then she looked head-on into the intensity of his gaze and her stomach did that whole stop, drop and roll thing that had nothing to do with being pregnant.

From another lifetime she remembered falling in love with her husband. The ache inside when they were apart. The sheer giddiness when she saw him. The heart-pounding excitement. The anticipation to be together. Her heart stuttered and her stomach fluttered as it occurred to her that this was very much like what she’d felt long ago.

But that was impossible. She was the caterer, he was the client. And their relationship was—had to be—strictly business.

No matter what sizzled between them.

www.millsandboon.co.uk

I dedicate this book to Valerie Florence Pascale and Emma Maria Pasqualino—two IVF miracles and the inspiration for this story. Thank you, ladies.

lives in Southern California with her hero husband who is more than happy to share with her the male point of view. An avid fan of romance novels, she is delighted to be living out her dream of writing for Silhouette Books.

1 egg—liberally laced with hope

1 sperm—bountiful with unfulfilled promise

Simmer with hormones and put in a warm place

Add 1 seasoned father of two

Sprinkle generously with attraction

(Keep hot, but do not permit to boil)

Combine two cups of conflict

A dollop of determination

Then fold in a liter of love

After nine months, remove promptly. Baby makes three for a happy family.

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Epilogue

“Someone’s been cooking in my kitchen.”

Staring at the beautiful stranger in front of his stove, Scott Matthews figured he’d hit a low point even for him. His life was reduced to a culinary caper of Goldilocks and the Three Bears. Except the woman wasn’t a blonde. She had hair like brown silk, eyes warm as hot cocoa and was not sleeping in his bed.

“Who are you and what are you doing here?” he asked, annoyed that the sleeping-in-his-bed thought sent a shaft of heat through him.

She wielded a spatula like a conductor’s baton. “Who are you?” she demanded.

“I live here.”

“You’re Kendra’s father?”

“Scott Matthews,” he introduced himself.

“But you don’t look old enough to have an eighteen-year-old daughter,” she said, obviously surprised.

“Trust me, I am.”

It’s what happened when a guy thought with the brain south of his belt and had the first of two daughters when he was barely out of his teens.

“So you started your family when you were what? Ten?”

“Not quite.” The compliment about his youthful appearance almost made him miss the fact that she hadn’t yet told him who she was. This was his kitchen and he’d be the one asking the questions.

“Who are you?”

“Thea Bell.”

“Why are you here?”

“Kendra didn’t tell you?” Her confidence slipped and she looked uncomfortable.

What did his daughter have to do with anything? Was this woman using his child as an excuse to meet him? That wasn’t ego talking. His wife had walked out on him thirteen years ago and after his divorce, he’d become fair game—fresh meat on the dating market.

At back-to-school night, there was always a divorced mom trying to get his attention. Or kids on his girls’ sports teams had single mothers who invariably honed in on him. But they were barking up the wrong tree, because he had no interest in a relationship except the one he had with his daughters. After putting in a day’s work at his family-owned construction company and then being both father and mother to the girls, dating didn’t make the to-do list. And with Kendra just about to graduate and go on to college, he could see the light at the end of the parenting tunnel. Please, God, let it not be attached to a speeding locomotive.

He had news for Thea Bell. If her pickup approach was based on the way to a man’s heart being through his stomach, she was dealing with the wrong man. He didn’t care whether a woman could boil water or whip up a meal. He wasn’t desperate for companionship. After his train wreck of a marriage, the single life was simple.

“What was Kendra supposed to tell me?” he asked suspiciously.

“She and I have an appointment to discuss her party.”

The woman in front of him reached into the pocket of her tailored jeans and pulled out a card. He walked over to her and took it. Leaning his back against the refrigerator, he tried to ignore the sweet scent of her perfume as he read the name of her company printed in a no-nonsense font.

“For Whom the Bell Toils?” he said.

“Thea Bell toils for thee.” One corner of her full mouth turned up as she shrugged. “I’m a caterer.”

“Catchy.” He set her card on the island in front of him and folded his arms over his chest as he studied her.

“I met Kendra at a birthday party I did for one of her friends.”

“And?”

She frowned, her expression puzzled. “Did you not tell your daughter she could have a graduation party?”

“I did.”

“Then why are you acting as if I’m a cat burglar who’s just broken into your home to steal the fine jewelry?”

“I have no fine jewelry.”

“You also didn’t answer my question,” she pointed out.

“I told her if she wanted a party she could be responsible for the details.”

“She is being responsible for them. She’s talking to a catering professional.”

“When I said details, I meant buying burgers and buns at the grocery store. Not hiring someone to take care of the burgers and buns.”

He hadn’t seen her from the back, but he suspected Thea Bell had some fine buns of her own, because what he could see of her front was pretty fine. The silky white blouse tucked into her tailored jeans accentuated her breasts and a slender waist that flared into the delicate curves of her hips. He might not date much, but he still knew she was the kind of woman who would make any man instantly aware of her.

He drew in a deep breath to control the spike of his pulse. “Didn’t you wonder about dealing with a teenager? Or where her parents were?”

“It’s not unusual. Many parents work. They’re busy and give their teenagers a lot of responsibility, especially when the teen is hosting the party. Not unlike what you said to Kendra about handling everything.”

She was sharp. Using his own words against him. “How do I know you’re a reputable caterer?”

“I have a list of references. You can check with the Better Business Bureau and the Santa Clarita Chamber of Commerce. If a complaint has been registered with either agency, I’ll eat my spatula.” She glanced at it, then back at him. “Your spatula.”

It took several moments before he realized he was staring at her mouth. Her lips were plump and pink and… And giving them enough notice to attach adjectives really whipped up his irritation.

“Where is my daughter?”

“You say that as if you think I’ve done something with her.”

“Have you?”

“Of course not,” she denied. “She went up to her room to find a picture to show me, something for the party’s theme.”

“Graduation isn’t enough?”

“She had something in mind. For the table decorations.”

“She needs decorations?”

“Technically? No.” She sighed. “But it’s a touch that adds an air of festivity to any gathering. It isn’t just about food, it’s about ambience. When guests walk in, you want them in a party mood. Decorations do that.”

“And have you discussed with my daughter how much this is going to cost? And who’s paying for it?”

“Not yet. I can’t estimate until firm decisions are made about food, decorations and the number of guests.”

“I see, so—”

Scott heard the unmistakable sound of his daughter galumphing down the stairs. A five-point-eight on the Richter scale, he estimated.

When Kendra entered the kitchen, she stopped so fast her sneakers squeaked on the tile floor. “Dad. What are you doing here?”

“I live here.”

His dark-haired, blue-eyed daughter glanced from him to Thea and then back again. As much as he wished he could chalk this up to a blond moment, her hair was the wrong shade and she had guilt written all over her.

Kendra moved closer to Thea. His daughter took after him in the height department. She was tall, nearly five feet ten, and made the other woman look even smaller by comparison. “I just meant, you’re home early. How come?”

“I’m meeting a real estate agent here to get a market evaluation of the house.”

The teen speared him with a narrow-eyed gaze. “Define ‘market evaluation,’ Dad.”

He should have channeled Kendra’s question back to how she planned to get away with hiring a caterer when she hadn’t cleared it with him. His lapse was directly due to the distraction of Thea Bell. When a man came home and found a beautiful woman in his kitchen, it tended to throw him off. Especially a man like himself, who was more comfortable with the tool belt and nail gun set. But he’d opened his mouth and now had to figure out what to do with the foot he’d inserted.

“The agent is coming to see the place and figure out how much it’s worth on today’s market. You know her. It’s Joyce Rivers, Bernie’s wife.”

“I know Joyce,” Thea chimed in. “We met at a Santa Clarita professional women’s group. She’s great.”

“Why do you need Joyce to tell you how much the house is worth?” Kendra asked, refusing to be distracted.

His youngest child had been a handful since she’d turned twelve. Why should now be any different? Her older sister was an easygoing rule-follower who hadn’t prepared him for Kendra’s episodes of rebellion. But Kendra was going off to college soon and he wouldn’t need this big house. That’s why he’d arranged for Joyce to do the market evaluation and the best time for both of them happened to be when Kendra was in school. Speaking of which…

“Why aren’t you in school?” he demanded.

“I told you last night,” she said, sighing in exasperation as she rolled her eyes. “Today is a half-day schedule because the teachers had an end-of-quarter grading day.”

“Oh. Yeah.” He didn’t remember her saying a word about it.

“As usual, you weren’t listening.” She put her hands on her hips. “You’re going to sell the house, aren’t you?”

Scott didn’t want to have this conversation at all, let alone in front of a total stranger. “Can we talk about this later?”