by Ava Miles
He pursed his lips at the challenge in her tone. “I was hoping you and I could eat alone. A working dinner. But since I know you’ll balk, everyone can eat together. It’ll be like a big, happy family.”
Her violet eyes widened uncharacteristically for a moment. “They’re your family, Quinn. Although I find them all lovely.”
He set the drawing down on the edge of his couch, but he left it there, preferring the original to the drawing, and sat down beside her. “Admit it. You like them.”
“J.T. is utterly charming.” She smoothed her hair behind her right ear, making his mouth water. “When he was talking with such passion about the new van Gogh he’d acquired for the museum, I wondered how you two could be related.”
He laughed and kicked his feet out beside her. “You dragged me to every museum in London just because you could.”
Her laughter warmed him, sending away the final tightness in his midsection. “Yes, I did.”
Flirting clearly wasn’t off-limits, thank God. Turning, he looked her directly in the eyes. “You still have that power, you know.”
The rise of her décolletage, as she called it, told him he’d altered her breathing. “I need a break. I’ll see you in fifteen.”
She was halfway across the room when he called, “Strategic retreat?”
When she looked back, her face was as inscrutable as Alice had drawn it. “Sometimes they’re necessary to keep the peace.”
He rose and picked up her drawing. Even with the harshness of the blue pen, Alice had managed to make the lines of her face elegant yet bold. God, she was breathtaking. The hairs on the back of his neck rose suddenly, and he turned slowly around.
Francesca was standing at the foot of the stairs, watching him. She was so still she reminded him of an elegant statue at one of her museums, but there was nothing stony about her expression. Her eyes were full of longing, full of love. He remembered how she’d rubbed his back during their difficult discussion about the skincare line. She’d naturally reached out to him in comfort. Right now, he wanted something else, something primal and equal that would have them both begging for more.
His body tensed in the charged silence. He waited for her to say something. To fly across the room to him. To do something. Then the line of her throat moved, and she was turning and heading up the stairs quickly.
Chapter 10
Indian food!
Not again. Not on the first night of this new assignment. Arthur’s luck couldn’t be that bad.
He detoured to Hargreaves, who was leaving the kitchen with two of the endless plates on the counters, the smell of curry, cumin, and sesame ripe in the air. “You couldn’t give a guy a break, could you?”
The man bowed, but not as stiffly as usual. “When Miss Alice learned we shared a passion for Indian cuisine, her excitement was infectious. I could hardly deny her desire to cook tonight’s meal with me. I have never shared such an enjoyable cooking experience. She joked and laughed and spoke in two or three languages with me. It was…uplifting.”
Arthur was speechless at the man’s brief pause. Hargreaves might be laconic, but he was never unsure of his words. “You really like her, don’t you?”
His smile moved past sardonic to warm. “I imagine that cooking with Alice is what it would have been like if I’d had a granddaughter.”
Good Lord. The girl had turned Hargreaves to mush. And over Indian food, no less. “You need a son or daughter to have a granddaughter, Hargreaves.”
That quizzical brow went up straight away. “I am well aware of that, sir.” Another unusual hesitation followed, but it was clear he hadn’t finished speaking. “But… Is that feeling one you share with your granddaughters?”
“I’ve never made naan with them, so I can’t say.” Then he nudged Hargreaves because the man’s question had been genuine and he didn’t want to tease him too much. “Yes, that feeling of comradery is what I have with Jill and Meredith.”
“Thank you for confirming it, sir.” He gave a grander bow this time. “Please excuse me. The food is ready. You might call the others.”
He didn’t think squawking that dinner was ready would be appreciated, but he fetched everyone. Well, he shouted down the stairs to where Quinn and Francesca were working. He didn’t expect to interrupt anything, but he didn’t want to go in blind and catch them all tangled up. When he led Clara to the table, he realized he had to play his usual role, if only for old time’s sake.
“Does no one like me?” He gestured to the Indian food. “Alice, I thought you and I were getting on swimmingly.”
“I didn’t know that you didn’t like Indian food, Arthur,” Alice said, pausing as she set Hargreaves’ famous naan bread on the table.
He jerked his thumb at Clara and Hargreaves, the co-conspirators. “They did.”
Clara had the gall to laugh, but he supposed that’s why he loved her. Hargreaves gave as close to a smirk as his manners allowed him.
“I’d be happy to make you something else, Arthur.” Alice bit her lip. “Some pan-roasted chicken and green beans maybe?”
Clara pulled Alice down into the chair next to her. “Nonsense. He eats what’s on the table. His bark about Indian food is all bite.”
“Goldarn it, woman, that’s not the phrase. It’s ‘his bark is worse than his bite.’”
She patted his hand. “That’s what I said, dear.”
He picked up his whiskey. At least he had a good drink. “She mixes her phrases up all the time. Francesca, may I assume you like Indian food? Quinn, from that silly grin on your face, I have my answer.”
Of course, Quinn had a silly grin because Clara had orchestrated the seating to place him next to Francesca. Personally, Arthur would have seated them across from each other. That way they could make eyes at each other, although to be fair, they were doing a pretty good job of that anyway. He wondered how they’d gotten through their workday. The air between them smoldered, as if they were a five-alarm fire.
“I love it, Arthur,” Quinn’s lady said, “but you should have what pleases you. Really, Alice would be happy to fix you something.”
“Not on your life,” Clara said, “but it’s a sweet offer. His bluster about Indian food is an ongoing joke in the family. You should have seen him when he had Indian food in Kenya. He was inconsolable. Weren’t you, dear?”
Two could play this game, and he rubbed his foot against her calf, letting her know it. “I cried into Hargreaves’ naan all night under the starry sky.”
Quinn laughed and reached for the bread, tearing off a piece and dipping it into the plum sauce between him and Francesca. “I didn’t know about this joke. I like it.”
“I’ll bet,” Arthur said, watching with glee as Quinn extended the bread to Francesca.
“Your favorite,” he added with a heated gleam in his eyes.
She leveled him an impressive glare, what Arthur would call a set down. “I can feed myself, thank you.”
He whistled. “I was only trying to be a gentleman.”
“I’ll bet,” she said dryly. “Hargreaves, your naan is truly heavenly. Equal to the best I’ve had anywhere, from London to Delhi.”
“Thank you, Miss,” he said, looking a bit stiff at the far end of the table.
Alice had suggested she and Hargreaves could eat at the kitchen table, but Clara had talked her into eating with the family. Which had induced Hargreaves to do the same. Personally, Arthur liked having Hargreaves at the table. It made him feel weird to have the man cook for him and then eat alone. Arthur couldn’t care less about butler etiquette. Hargreaves had become family, after all. Not that he’d ever allow it to be acknowledged out loud.
“It’s good to have you at the table, Hargreaves,” he said, picking up a piece of naan and biting into it. “The bread isn’t half bad. Of course, it’s not Margie’s famous cinnamon rolls.”
“Of course not, sir,” the man said without blinking. “It’s naan.”
Alice and Francesca laughed. Qui
nn’s shoulders were shaking.
Clara ran her foot up his calf this time, her blue eyes twinkling with mirth. Oh, she was so going to get it tonight, the little minx.
“Your butter chicken is delicious, Alice,” Clara said, making a humming noise after taking a bite. “How did you learn to cook?”
“Cooking was my way of traveling, I suppose. When I was in high school, I became friends with a few exchange students. We had them over for dinner a few times, but my mother, being a smart woman, realized they might miss their own food. One day, she offered her kitchen to them, and that was it. I learned by helping them, and it kinda stuck. I love trying out new dishes. Heck, I even thought about becoming a chef, but I loved business, hospitality, and travel more, which is why I love working for Francesca.”
“We’re both lucky,” the elegant woman said with a smile as warm as Hargreaves’.
“It’s so wonderful to have someone like Hargreaves around,” Alice continued. “He enjoys it as much as I do, and he has so much experience.”
“Indeed, Miss Bailey. Today’s preparations were most enjoyable. I look forward to our next adventure.” The old coot continued to beam that warm smile. Yes, Hargreaves was having a granddaughter moment for sure.
“Hargreaves and I are going to also take a San Francisco breadmaking class besides the chocolate one. Isn’t that right?” Alice elbowed Hargreaves, who cleared his throat but smiled. “It’s going to be so awesome. Sourdough and this kind of magical bread from the area called Dutch crunch.”
What kind of name was that? “I hope I won’t break my teeth on that Dutch one. Sounds dangerous.”
“Oh, don’t worry, Arthur, your teeth will be totally safe.” Alice served herself some chai tea, then topped off Hargreaves’ cup and extended the carafe to Francesca, who declined, picking up her white wine.
Everyone was settling in nicely together, but Arthur could feel Quinn chomping at the bit. Who could blame him? In his shoes, Arthur wouldn’t give a fig about small talk—he’d want to be alone with Clara.
Arthur waited until the end of the meal to gesture to the windows. “The moon is out. How about we take a walk along the beach? Clara’s always telling me that people in Europe walk after their meal.” God, he hoped the sea air wouldn’t be too cold, but he’d suck it up as a matchmaker.
“Like you don’t know how Europe works,” she muttered, but the idea took hold of her and she pepped up. “A walk sounds wonderful. Come on.”
Standing, she took Alice’s arm gently, and the young woman rose with her, biting back a smile. Yeah, Miss Bailey knew what was up.
“I could walk. Francesca?”
She checked her watch, Arthur noted. “Surely you aren’t planning on working more,” he said. “It’s after eight. Quinn isn’t that much of a task master, is he?”
Her smile was downright captivating when she looked her fill at Arthur’s nephew, who turned in his chair, practically radiating sex.
God, Arthur didn’t need to see that.
“What say you?” he asked in a voice Arthur also didn’t need to hear. “Am I so terrible?”
“Too soon to tell,” she said, standing up and saving Arthur from bad dreams. “I’m happy to join the walk.”
“Come on, you dear man!” Clara took his arm as if she could haul him out of his chair.
“Careful, sweetheart. This is special merchandise.” He waggled his brows at her.
“Oh, you blab like no one else, but I love you.” Her quick kiss had him patting her on the fanny. “Take my arm. Alice, if you’d take Hargreaves’. He’s not the spring chicken he used to be.”
“How kind of you to say so, Madam,” he said, but he extended his arm grandly to Alice, who took it. “Miss Alice, it would be a pleasure.”
“That leaves you two,” Arthur said, sending Francesca a sly wink. “Quinn used to be cross-eyed as a child and sometimes still stumbles. We fear for his life when he walks alone.”
Alice chortled. “That’s a good one. Cross-eyed, huh?”
Arthur had to bite the inside of his cheek when Quinn capitulated and crossed his eyes in the most playful exhibit Arthur had ever seen from the man. My God, Quinn had an inner clown. What next? Miming? After Hargreaves’ unusual display of emotion tonight and now this, Arthur wouldn’t be surprised if lightning struck.
“I actually have a bracelet to call an emergency service in case I fall down,” Quinn said seriously. “My brothers and sisters gave it to me one Christmas.”
“They did?” Clara asked. “Oh, you poor boy. No wonder you stay in your office all the time.”
Leave it to Clara to believe it. Arthur could tell her it was a joke later.
“Being that you’re a danger to yourself, I suppose I could take your arm.” Francesca batted her eyes at him playfully. “You really need to find that bracelet, though. I’d love to see it.”
He pulled her to him, and the dance between them turned as hot as an Argentine tango. “I’ll tear apart my drawers later looking for it. Care to help?”
“You’re competent enough.” She threaded her arm through Quinn’s, maintaining a distance used back when waltzes were illegal. “Shall we?”
They put on jackets and left the house via the patio doors to the left of the dining room. There was a bite in the air, but it was pleasantly salty and crisp. Arthur had never lived by the sea, but he could feel the call of it. The waves crashing in the distance were primal and comforting. Nature knew what it was doing even if humans didn’t sometimes.
Alice and Hargreaves were happily chatting away ahead of them on the moonlit beach. Quinn and Francesca lingered behind, silent yet still a powerful presence.
“You did good with this walk tonight, dear,” Clara murmured, resting her head against his shoulder. “I’ve never seen Hargreaves so happy.”
“Except with you,” Arthur reminded her.
“No, it’s different with me. I suppose it always will be. But the way he acts with Alice… I never thought to ask him if he regretted not having a family of his own, if he felt the lack like I did.” She tightened her grip on his arm.
Her pain over not having children had been hard on her, but she’d been filling her heart with these Merriam children and the young people in the village they worked with in Kenya. Had Hargreaves wished for children? If so, he was glad the man had found someone to help fill that void.
“It’s beyond dear,” Clara said, sniffing a little.
“Do I need to be worried about you falling for Hargreaves finally, my dear, now that he’s gone mushy?”
She socked him gently like he knew she would, making him laugh, startling a night-feeding seagull.
“How about our other couple?” Clara looked over her shoulder with as much finesse as an elephant in an elevator. “They’re obviously attracted to each other, but they’ve got a ways to go. Quinn’s willingness to act silly around her is a good sign, I think.”
“How so?”
“It shows he doesn’t feel the need to be so serious all the time with her. He can let his guard down.” Clara stopped and cupped his face. “Like I can do with you.”
“Just don’t cross your eyes at me,” he said, which only made her do so.
He laughed. “Now, I’ll have to buy you that bracelet.”
“No, you have to kiss me to make them uncross.”
She leaned her chin up and he did as she asked.
“There. All better.”
“Now, how about we head back to the house and you can kiss me some more?” Her blue eyes caught the moonlight. “I think we’ve done enough to bring these two together for one night. The rest is up to them.”
When it came to love, you could lead two people to each other, but what came next was always up to them.
Chapter 11
Quinn had plans for Francesca on their first Sunday off.
Alice and Hargreaves had just left for the chocolate making class, and he knew an opening when he saw one.
In six days, they�
�d gone through the entire oil and gas portfolio, plugging holes and trimming operations and expenses right and left with a scalpel. The profit projections from the changes eased his blood pressure some, but they still had plenty to do.
The only lingering uneasiness was the continued news from China about this virus and its effect on oil prices. The market was running a bit scared, but he and Francesca still believed the market would level out, and Trevor, whom he’d talked to mid-week, had said the same. Still, the news was disturbing: China had quarantined sixty million people. What did that even look like? It was crazy, and he and his aunt and uncle had discussed it over breakfast this morning with growing alarm. Francesca hadn’t joined them, unfortunately, likely sending a message that she planned to have a Quinn-free day.
Not on her life.
Her door was closed, which was also a message, but he knocked anyway. It took her so long to come to the door, he’d started to wonder if she would.
She was wearing casual cream pants and an asymmetrical black cashmere wrap over a low-cut shirt. Her style had always turned him on, and he cautioned himself to be patient. They’d settled into a pattern over the last week, ending each evening with a walk, arm in arm, strolling along the beach without saying anything. They’d always been able to be silent together, to savor each other’s company without the need for constant conversation, and there was solace in remembering that. In experiencing it again.
But it was so hard to come back to the house after one of those walks and part ways with her. Just like he struggled not to greet her with a kiss every morning. Every day he was reminded about all the things he loved about her…and was introduced to new things to love too, like the sensual enjoyment she displayed drinking a blue tea Alice had discovered for her in Paris. He hadn’t known tea could be blue, but he had to admit it wasn’t bad. More importantly, she’d shared it with him, further strengthening the bond growing between them. Back in London, they’d always savored introducing each other to new things. He’d taken to Saville Row suits because of her, and she’d fallen in love with pinot noirs from California.
