Read Online Catering to the Italian Playboy by Tamelia Tumlin - Free Book Online Page B

bachelors on the planet, the press wouldn’t be so infatuated with you, and our son wouldn’t have to be exploited for the next big buck.” Max flinched. Did she have to sound so accusing? He felt like a heel as it was and it wasn’t like he wanted a damn henchman on his tail every time he turned around either, but that’s how things worked in his circles. He’d learned to deal with it. He did understand her anxiety, but he sure as hell wasn’t getting married to get the press off his back. “I’m afraid they’ll have to stay infatuated. I don’t believe in marriage and I have no intention of tying the knot. Ever.”
    Max’s chest tightened. He wasn’t any good at long-term relationships, and marriage was about as long-term as you could get. Damn. He’d be lucky if he fumbled his way through this fatherhood thing without sending the child into therapy for life. No way was he going to try to tackle marriage too. He had to draw the line somewhere.

 
     
    ** SIX **
     
    Sophie chopped the carrots with venom. How dare he suggest she had proposed marriage? To him of all people!
    Playboy Putz of the Millennium.
    As if.
    Did he really think she wanted to marry a man who’d had more women in his lifetime than Alex had had diapers?
    Hmmph! Not on your life, buster. Sophie chopped harder. The sound of metal hitting the cutting board rivaled the beat of a dysfunctional rock band.
    “Who’s winning?”
    Sophie stopped chopping, knife in hand, and looked up blankly. “What?”
    “The war you’ve waged with that salad.” Felicity nodded toward the sliced and diced vegetables piled in front of Sophie. “You seem to be on a seek-and-destroy mission. I just wanted to know who was winning?”
    “Not me apparently,” Sophie muttered, raking the vegetables into the large salad bowl. 
    “Does your sudden enlistment in the vegetable army have something to do with a certain tall, dark and scrumptious Italian whose party we’re catering tonight?” Felicity arched a knowing brow as she sprinkled cheese on top of the green bean casserole.
    “What makes you say that?”
    “Well, it could have something to do with the new meaning you’ve put on finely chopped vegetables,” Felicity said dryly. “It’s a salad, Soph. Not puree.”
    “I’m sure there will be a bunch of old codgers with false teeth at the party tonight. I want to make sure they can chew the salad. They need their fiber you know.” Her defense didn’t hold much water, but Sophie raised her chin a notch anyway then ripped off a piece of saran wrap and covered the salad bowl. She crossed the room and placed it in the fridge.
    “Ri-ight!” Felicity snickered as she slid a casserole into the oversized oven. “So what really gives? You’ve had a bee in your bonnet all week. What did McSexy do this time?”
    Sophie expelled a sigh. “Nothing really. Actually, he’s been pretty great. He’s come by to see Alex three times this week.”
    “Does Alex know Max is his father yet?” Felicity pulled off her oven mitt and plopped onto a stool at the counter. 
    “No. We’re giving him some time to get used to Max first.”
    “So what’s the problem?”
    What was the problem indeed? Sophie didn’t know exactly. She wasn’t entirely sure if she was outraged because he thought she had been proposing or if it had more to do with the fact he’d turned her non-existent proposal down flat.
    “I don’t suppose there is one.” Sophie bit her lip.
    “Tell that to the carrot’s family.” Felicity nodded toward the limp remains of carrot skins and pureed bell peppers on the counter in front of Sophie.
    Sophie’s lips twitched. “I suppose I was a little rough with the vegetables.”
    “I’ll say.” Felicity returned her grin. “Looks to me like you’ve got it bad, girlfriend.”
    “Got what bad?”
    “Whatever it is you’ve got for McSexy.”
    Sophie’s eyes widened. “I don’t have anything for Mc– for Max. He’s Alex’s father, that’s