The Trouble With Angels Page 0,59

of hers that made Maureen feel as if she'd suddenly lost a hundred points off her intelligence quotient.

"Take her into the kitchen, girls," Thom advised.

The party of four traipsed into the kitchen, and Maureen swore she'd seldom seen a bigger mess. It looked as if whoever was cooking had required every pot and kettle in the house. Tomato sauce was splattered across the stove top and the wall. Lettuce leaves trailed from the table to the refrigerator.

"What happened in here?" Maureen cried. Her instincts were to push up her sleeves and clean the mess before it got worse.

"I don't think this was such a good idea, Dad," Paula muttered.

"Take her back into the living room," Karen advised Thom, "and leave the rest to us."

Maureen felt as if she were trapped in a London fog. "What's going on here?"

"I believe what you just saw was our dinner," Thom explained.

He led her into the living room and sat her down. A bottle of wine was cooling in a bucket of ice, something Maureen had missed seeing earlier. Thom went to work removing the stubborn cork and pouring them each a generous glass.

"I hate to appear so dense," Maureen whispered, "but exactly what's happening?"

Thom smiled, and faced with the potency of his appeal, Maureen forced herself to look away. "The girls insisted on preparing us a romantic dinner," he explained. "They've taken care of everything themselves."

No sooner had he finished than Michael Bolton's low, sultry voice crooned over the stereo. From the corner of her eye, Maureen saw the two twelve-year-olds sticking their heads out from the kitchen door, studying Maureen and Thom. They appeared to be waiting for something to happen.

"We want you to talk and hold hands and whatever it is people do when they fall in love," Paula instructed. She help up a wooden spoon caked in red sauce. "Dinner will be ready in about..." She turned around, apparently needing Karen to supply the answer. "Twenty-two minutes," she informed them.

Maureen grew decidedly uncomfortable. She sipped her wine, and it seemed to go straight to her head.

"Don't look so worried," Thom said, leaning back and relaxing. "The girls just wanted to have some fun, and when I told them they could cook dinner, they concocted the idea of creating a romantic interlude for the two of us."

"Psst, Dad," Paula said from the kitchen doorway. "You're supposed to ask Maureen to dance now."

"I keep forgetting my cue," he whispered. Standing, he offered her his hand. "Shall we?"

"I...I'm not very good at this sort of thing."

"I'm not, either," he assured her.

Maureen decided she couldn't very well disappoint the girls, since they were looking on eagerly. She placed her hand in Thom's and stood. It amazed her how easily she slipped into his arms. It was as if she'd been doing it for half her life. As if this were exactly where she belonged. As if this were where she intended to stay for a very long time.

Thom pressed his cheek to hers. "This isn't so bad now, is it?"

"No," she admitted. She dared not close her eyes. Dared not allow herself to feel comfortable in a man's arms again. Rarely had she felt more awkward. She moved as if she had two left feet, as though dancing required far more talent than she possessed.

"Relax," Thom advised.

"I'm trying," she muttered. Her life was too good to tamper with now, she reminded herself. She'd need a team of psychologists to explain why she would willing allow herself to be drawn into a second relationship. She refused to relinquish her freedom, refused to hand her heart to someone else who had the power to destroy her.

Thom's hold on her tightened perceptively. "Block out your ex-husband from your mind," he whispered close to her ear. "When I'm holding you, I'd prefer it if you thought about me."

Maureen felt a panic attack approaching. "This isn't going to work."

"Yes, it is," he said gently but insistently. "Close your eyes."

"I can't."

"Why not?"

"If I do - " She bit off the rest of what she was going to say when Thom's lips found her neck. Shivers of awareness scooted down her arms.

She could feel his smile against her cool skin. "That's better," he murmured seductively, "much better."

Almost against her will, Maureen's eyes drifted closed. Her head nestled closer to his, and any pretense of dancing became exactly that.

"He's going to kiss her now." Maureen recognized her daughter's voice.

"No, he isn't," Thom said in a stage whisper. "Not when he's got an