The Right Twin (Times Two Book 2)

by Laura Marie Altom

  “And I must say,” he teased, snagging her around her waist to pull her in for a kiss that showed all was still good between them, “you’re wearing them especially well.” Judging by her smile, his doubts had been groundless. At least for the moment. “Now, what’re you doing that was so damned urgent you scurried from our closet hideaway?”

  “I was hardly scurrying,” she said. “Just wanting to shower, then surprise you.”

  “So, then, we’re good?”

  “Yeah,” she said with a blinding smile. “We’re better than good. At least we will be once we finish snacking and get to bed.”

  “Bed?” With spiked eyebrows, he said, “Wanton woman.”

  “Let me rephrase that. Once we snack, then hit separate beds.”

  “Ouch.” Crooked index finger to his mouth, he bit. “Sadie Connelly, you’re a heartbreaker.”

  She landed a light smack against his abs. “And you’re incorrigible.”

  SEATED CROSS-LEGGED on Sadie’s rose-colored floral explosion of a four-poster bed, Sarah shoved a cheese cube into her mouth to keep from wanting to press her lips all over Heath’s bare chest.

  Though one of her favorite movies was playing—Animal House, which coincidentally was one of his faves, as well—there wasn’t a whole lot of watching going on.

  They’d talked about everything under the sun. Their passions, pet peeves, political views. And when they’d finished talking, she’d snuggled against him, wanting nothing more than to be with him in every sense of the word. But along with the crushing want came paralyzing guilt. And, again, Sadie’s disapproving face.

  Sarah wished she’d could tell him everything—highlighting the most important parts. Like how she wanted to kiss him and hold him but wasn’t allowed to. Did he think her strange? Prudish? “Shane?”

  “Uh-huh?”

  “Back in the closet, did you think I wasn’t attracted to you?”

  He laughed. “Hon, the way blood was rushing to certain parts of my anatomy, I wasn’t thinking of anything other than keeping you in my arms.”

  “Yeah, but—”

  “Shh.” He silenced her with another kiss. “Not another word. We agreed to take things slow, and I’m okay with that.”

  “Promise?”

  “Sort of.” He winked.

  Exhausted from the day’s adventures, she yawned and then laughed. “Sorry. That was in no way a reflection of how I feel about my company.”

  “Sure. I can tell when a woman’s bored with me. Lucky for you, you won’t be for long.” Tackling her, pinning her to the mattress, he was ruthless in his tickling.

  Laughing so hard that she snorted, she fought back, but she was no match for his superior strength and tickling skills.

  “I can’t wait to get you to my place in St. Louis.”

  “Oh, yeah?” Sitting up on her elbows, she grinned. “What’s so great about it?”

  Fingering strands of her hair, he said, “I’ve got a penthouse with floor-to-ceiling windows and a view of the whole world. One of these days, I want to explore you there—every inch of you. I want to erase every trace of heartache you’ve been through. I want to—”

  “Thank you,” she managed to say past the sudden knot in her throat. “But you’ve already done so much. With you, I have this incredible sense of having been reborn. Like I’ve been granted a cosmic makeover, and this time I’ll get the whole relationship thing right.” She’d get all of that, that is, assuming Shane forgave her lies.

  And if he didn’t?

  The question consumed her with a melancholy terror. How could she have just found this one-in-a-million guy, only to lose him on a technicality?

  Cuddling against him, she was suddenly exhausted. “Shane?”

  “Hmm?”

  “Would you spend the night here? In my room? Just holding me?”

  “It would be my pleasure. Especially since you’ve got to be up fixing me a delicious meal in less than five hours.”

  “Excuse me?” Was he nuts?

  “Hey, you were the one who told me you have to rise with the roosters to start breakfast and prep for lunch and dinner.”

  “Ugh,” she groaned. “See what you’ve done to me?” You’ve got me so mixed up inside, I’ve somehow managed to forget who it is I’m trying to be. Which led her to the inescapable and awful fact that during all the excitement over hiding her nutty nighttime guest chef, Sarah had forgotten to arrange for breakfast help.

  She hadn’t even called Helga to see if she’d be back in time to help with lunch. Meaning, unless the Cooking Fairy appeared during the night to land a magical conk on Sarah’s head, the Blueberry Inn’s guests could look forward to the only breakfast food Sarah expertly prepared.

  Pop-Tarts.

  WHEN SADIE’S ALARM pealed at five o’clock Heath was loath to wake her. Never had he seen a woman look sweeter in her sleep. Everything that had gone wrong in his life before seemed to have been erased. As if one amazing night with Sadie had somehow set him free.

  Yet, in reality, he’d never been more aware of his personal demons. All due to the role he’d taken on as a simple favor. A lark he’d not seen as having consequences. Sadie would get her five silver spoons. His brother would keep his prestigious job and at the same time ace his races. The weekend was to have been a win-win situation for everyone involved.

  So what’d happened? Where had he gone wrong?

  Gazing at the angel beside him, looking ethereal in moonlight, he traced his finger along her cheek. “Wake up, Sleeping Beauty.”

  With a groan, she rolled over, taking the down comforter with her.

  “Hey,” he complained, tugging back the covers. “What kind of hostess are you? Freezing out your guests?”

  “You know,” she said, her voice husky and sexy with sleep, “I could turn that around and ask what kind of guest you are, to be in here harassing your hostess at such an ungodly hour.”

  “The pain.” He clutched his chest. “I hate getting shot down before the sun even rises.”

  “Speaking of rising,” she said as she rolled over in bed, “I guess I’d better get with the program.”

  “What’s on the menu?” he asked, hoping it was something really delicious like the blueberry pancakes his brother had told him was a signature dish. “I’m starving. Some wild woman kept me up past my bedtime.”

  “So now it’s all my fault?” she teased, straddling him and tickling his ribs.

  “Damn straight.” Kind of like his latest growing problem, which was caused by having her ride him as if he were her own personal stud. Hands on her hips, he hitched her lower until she sat directly atop his most problematic area. “See what you’ve done?”

  “I did all that?” she asked, her eyebrows innocently raised as she ground against him with an erotic sway of hips that said she not only knew what havoc she was raising but that she was having a good time doing it. “Promise, I didn’t mean to.”

  “The hell you didn’t,” he said with an affectionate growl, reaching for the hem of her thin white tank and stopping just short of slipping his hands up, up, up, until they cupped her full breasts. In his mind, the heat of his palms tempted her nipples to come out and play. If he had the morning his way, he’d make love to her thoroughly, then serve her breakfast in bed, giving her a much-deserved break. “Now you’ll have to be punished.”

  Arching her head back, she closed her eyes and dazzled him with a not nearly sated female smile. “Sounds good to me. Only trouble is I’ve got serious KP duty.”

  “Rats, and here I was hoping to start the morning off with this…” He tipped her forward, whispering plans in her ear that had nothing to do with cooking but plenty to do with satisfying hunger.

  IN THE SUN-FILLED dining room, after he’d surveyed his leaning stack of pancakes, Mr. Standridge tossed his napkin to the table and then said to the woman everyone assumed was a reviewer, “Have you ever eaten anything more abysmal?”

  Gretchen blanched. “It is interesting
.”

  Seeing how Heath was busy gulping iced tea in an attempt to wash down his latest bite of pancake, which had a texture somewhere between concrete and egg yolk, it took him a second to leap to their hostess’s defense. “It’s not that bad.”

  Liar!

  The last thing he’d expected after Sadie had urged him to relax and catch up on his sleep while she fixed breakfast was a culinary disaster. He’d offered to help, but she’d refused. What if, in keeping her up all night, he was the cause of this disgusting glop? Granted, it looked good, but the taste…Yech.

  Leaving him with an even bigger problem than his attraction to her. How would this meal affect the review of the inn? If he was honest, he’d have to acknowledge the unpalatable fare. But the part of him that was fiercely attracted to her told him to let the incident slide.

  Sadie was tired.

  She shouldn’t be expected to cook.

  “Personally,” Mrs. Young said, “this meal strikes me as very odd. Does our Sadie have a split personality when it comes to the kitchen?”

  “Has anyone noticed the bacon?” Mrs. Helsing piped in, plucking a strip from her plate and giving it a wag. “It’s both undercooked and burned.”

  “Shh…” Mrs. Young said. “Everyone quiet. She’s coming.”

  “I couldn’t care less,” Mrs. Standridge said. “We paid a pretty penny for this weekend and…”

  “She’s trying awfully hard,” Heath said in a hushed tone. Maybe the widow’s warning had been a false alarm, but nonetheless he didn’t want Sadie to overhear the less-than-flattering conversation—especially since it must be in large part due to him. “We should give her a break. Or, for that matter, maybe we could all pitch in and cook a little something. I do some mean scrambled eggs. Mrs. Young? I’ll bet you’ve cooked a few biscuits in your day.”

  “That I have.”

  “Are you listening to yourself?” Mrs. Helsing hissed. “We’ve all paid good money to be pampered. Have meals cooked for us. And here you sit, proposing we cook for ourselves?”

  Heath’s stomach sank.

  The woman was hard to take, but she was right.

  His suggestion of storming the kitchen to prepare their own meal was ludicrous. If Hale had been seated in his place, he’d ream out poor Sadie, whereas Heath longed to jump to her defense.

  Trouble was, the only reason he was even at the Blueberry Inn this weekend was because he was playing a role crucial to his brother’s professional survival. Hale was depending on him. And what had Heath done? Gone and fallen for the very woman he’d promised to impartially critique. But was it fair to trash her cooking when he was to blame?

  “In, uh, passing yesterday,” he said, “I learned Sadie’s been short-staffed the entire weekend. As such, I’m thinking we can’t really expect her to keep up her customary perfectionist’s routine.”

  “What I think,” the widow said, “is that you’ve taken a fancy to our Sadie.”

  “That would explain your leaping to her defense,” Mrs. Helsing added.

  Both Standridges nodded their heads.

  Mr. Helsing was back at work on his pancakes.

  Gretchen focused on the fruit salad, which was fairly harmless.

  Heath raked his fingers through his hair, wishing himself anywhere on the planet other than this room with this particular set of overindulged busybodies.

  “Anyone still hungry?” Sadie asked, bursting in on the scene carrying a tray loaded with turnovers and cinnamon rolls, a bright smile lighting her olive eyes.

  “Never stopped being hungry,” Mr. Standridge grumbled, lunging for one of the tray’s treats. He took a swift bite, chewed, then shocked them all by actually smiling in apparent satisfaction.

  Following his lead, the Helsings helped themselves, as did Mrs. Young. Heath took one, too, but—dammit—from the first delicious bite, he knew full well Sadie had unfortunately had nothing to do with this latest addition to their meal.

  Chapter Eleven

  “Good?” Sadie asked in respect to Heath’s latest bite, looking every bit the proper innkeeper in her starched khakis, white blouse and frilly pink apron. She wore her long hair pulled neatly back, with a minimum of makeup. In short, she looked fresh, beautiful and completely in charge of her world.

  Only, he knew she wasn’t, because he prepared identical-tasting refrigerated rolls for himself at least a couple Sunday mornings each month. As she had the night before, over the cookies, once again Sadie was lying. Sure, she was short-staffed, meaning she might not have had any choice but to resort to store-bought baked goods. But enough was enough. Surely the woman had backup support she could call upon?

  While he brooded, and the bamboozled guests oohed and aahed over their sweet pastries, Sadie retreated to the kitchen all smiles.

  Pleased another near crisis had been averted?

  Heath wished he could say the same.

  With everything in him, he wanted to trust Sadie. Believe the only reason she was turning out such forgettable fare was because the woman she falsely believed to be a reviewer had distracted her or made her nervous. Better yet, believe she was exhausted from being up most of the night with him. But was that the real cause? Could Hale have somehow been wrong in his belief that Sadie was a master chef? How? Even the Zodor’s executive editors thought Sadie to be a gourmet goddess. How could so many people be wrong? Hell, if Heath didn’t know better, he’d swear he wasn’t even dealing with the same person.

  With satisfied guests wandering off to their rooms, the garden or the game room, media room or library, Heath couldn’t stop himself from moseying into the kitchen.

  “Need help?” he asked.

  She stood at the sink, washing heirloom china by hand. “Thanks, but I’ve about got it handled. Plus, Coco should be here any minute. What I don’t finish, she can tackle.”

  He nodded before hefting himself up to sit on one of the empty steel counters.

  “I don’t think the health department would like seeing you up there. Although maybe later, after my current guests leave and my new ones have yet to arrive…” She winked.

  He glanced over his shoulder. “Mmm, I like where that thought’s leading. Aside from the inspector bit. Please tell me you’re not expecting one soon?”

  “Nope. Just my reviewer in there.” Apparently in a playful mood, blissfully unaware of just how upset her guests had been over the awful pancakes, she pitched a dishcloth his way. It landed on the nonslip tile floor a good five feet from his comfortable perch.

  “Missed,” he taunted.

  “Hmm…” Drying the last plate with a fresh cloth and then wiping her hands, she said, “Seems to me back in grade school there was a rhyme to that effect. Something to the tune of Missed me, missed me, now you’ve gotta kiss me.”

  “That could be arranged.” Hopping down from the counter, he snatched the rag.

  “You wish.” With a flirty smile and a flip of her ponytail, she sashayed out the back door into brilliant spring sun.

  “You’re a tease, huh?” He followed her, wishing he had the willpower to go straight to his room to work on the write-up of the inn’s disastrous breakfast.

  “Maybe…” She tilted her face back, drinking in the sun, and said, “Have you ever seen such a gorgeous day?”

  From where he stood, it wasn’t the day that commanded his attention. More like her formfitting white blouse and hip-hugging khakis, which were doing little to stop his memory from running wild with images still fresh from their intimate night. In the soft morning light, her complexion was flawless, save for a smattering of freckles across her nose—to him, more asset than flaw. And then there were those eyes.

  Then something, maybe the scent of fresh-watered mint growing in the garden, reminded him of his brother, who was forever chewing mint gum. Heath preferred Juicy Fruit. Kind of the way he preferred juicy-looking women, fully rounded and lush like the dream girl who was worshipping the sun before him.

  Trouble was, Heath was here to do a jo
b and not find a girl. Hell, in his wildest dreams—for the foreseeable future, at least—he’d have never imagined himself looking for anything other than a one-night stand. But with Sadie there was a kinship he couldn’t resist.

  “You know how you’re all the time asking to help?” she said.

  “Why do I have the feeling all that asking was a mistake?”

  “Oh, now,” she sassed, landing an elbow to his ribs. “Where’s your sense of adventure?”

  “Depends. Are we talking about more dishes?”

  “SEE?” SARAH ASKED Heath an hour later at the farmers’ market set up around the town’s square. “Is this so bad?” One glance at the man who was laden with paper sacks bearing zucchini and tomatoes and berries and she burst out laughing. “Stupid question, huh?”

  “I’ve had worse days—spent digging ditches.”

  “Do that often, do you?” In the dappled shade of a red maple, she paused before a fresh flower stand. The only blooms she recognized were daisies, but the rest were pretty and fragrant and would be perfect for that afternoon’s table settings. Even better, maybe for once she’d actually look as if she knew what she was doing. The more she was with this man, the more she wanted to not only please him but impress him with her innkeeping prowess.

  Fat chance, seeing how the closest she’d ever come to flower arranging was picking all their neighbor’s tulips on Mother’s Day when she and her sister were ten, and her sister had shown her up by giving their mom a perfect heart-shaped clay ashtray. Didn’t matter that their mom didn’t smoke. The thing had been gorgeous—just like everything Sadie touched. Like her perfect decorating and cooking and her relationship with Trevor. Sarah adored her sister, but just once she would’ve liked to have a smattering of those domestic skills and luck with men for herself.

  “Me? Dig ditches?” Heath said with a deadpan expression. “Every chance I get. How else do you think I got these guns?” Setting his bags on a bench, he pulled back his short-sleeved red polo, brandishing a bicep that she remembered all too well.

  “Impressive,” she said with a whistle, wishing her true feelings didn’t mirror the first word out of her mouth. The man was delicious. Both bare-chested and in clothes. Now, if she could serve him up for dinner—say, back at her St. Louis condo, along with a couple of restaurant-takeout steaks…That was her true definition of fine cuisine.