by Adrianne Lee
Damn. If they were alone, how would she distract him long enough to snoop through his files, his personal items, his private rooms upstairs? She wouldn’t. She needed another…a better plan. Maybe if she learned something about him, got him talking about himself. “How long have you been cooking?”
“Since I was a teenager.”
Since he was a teenager? Wow. She hadn’t learned to cook yet.
“So, what champagne would you like to serve?” He snatched the three-ring binder labeled Wines, flopped it open, and began flipping pages of bottle displays.
Livia eyed the vast array of choices and groaned inwardly. The thought of all the decisions to be made rushed throbbing pain into her temples. “What do you suggest?”
He named the most popular champagne. “It’s within your budget and still nice enough to impress the Rayburns’ more…discerning guests.”
“Great. We’ll go with that one.” Livia felt as if a small burden had been lifted with the decision, and she realized if she accepted Mark’s suggestions for each choice still to be checked off his lengthy list, this could be a much easier task than anticipated. “What’s next?”
It didn’t go as smoothly as she’d hoped, but by the end of the next hour they had three pages of possibilities. She sighed. “At least we’ve narrowed it down.”
“I’ll prepare a few of these dishes for you and that should help finalize your decisions.” He tapped the dinner options, then caught her in his golden stare again. “And, since I’m on a two-week trial, we’d best do this sooner than later.”
She couldn’t agree more. She nodded. “Tomorrow night?”
“Good.”
She rose, clutched her tablet to her chest and slowly moved her gaze around the room, taking in the attention someone had paid to every detail, noticing touches she’d skimmed over at first glance. She smiled at Mark. “This really is an enchanting house.”
He seemed pleased with the praise. “Would you like to look around?”
Oh, yes. But not only to admire the restoration. She had to learn the house’s vulnerability. Her best way in without an invitation. “Please.”
“The kitchen’s through here.” He stood, gathered the platter and tea and headed through the swinging door.
Livia hurried after him. As the door swung closed behind her, she was struck immediately by the utilitarian beauty someone had managed to evoke with the use of huge windows, chrome appliances, oak planking and granite countertops. A couple of rooms had been combined into this large space that was three times the size of any normal kitchen and sported two huge sub-zero refrigerators, a restaurant stove and oven and dishwasher, a walk-in freezer, and a pantry as large as a bedroom. “My mother would give her best cutlery to prepare a meal here.”
“It’s a dream for any cook.” He stroked the pristine counter.
“Have you done this restoration yourself?”
He chuckled as though she’d said something funny. “Don’t be fooled by the shape my hands are in. I’m an ace with a spatula, but not with a hammer. Candee’s father was the contractor.”
She nodded, glancing toward the large windows, but could only see her own reflection. “Do you have a private backyard?”
“Sort of.” He turned on a floodlight and stepped outside with her. As in the front, this porch ran the length of the house. It was partially covered, she saw, by a balcony above. There was also a small window farther down the porch that might indicate a bathroom. Mark said, “Mostly it’s a parking lot.”
Livia eyed the backyard with purpose. It was fenced on the side that bordered the road and on the side that butted the nearest neighbor. Straight back was an alleyway and beyond that another yard, another house. The edges of the yard by the fences had high shrubs and two tall fir trees near the alley, which should keep her safe from prying eyes. There was no grass, but gravel ran between the firs and spread wide near the porch for parking. A van had been backed up against the stairs.
She could do this.
Back inside, she started toward the swinging door.
“This way.” Mark gestured in the opposite direction and strode to the far end of the room through a second swinging door. “The house is set up so that you can go from the foyer, into the main rooms, through the kitchen to this area, where you’ll see we display the linen we provide with our services, have a public rest room and another work area. Then you can continue on to the foyer.”
She glanced around the space that she guessed might once have been the original foyer. Built-in oak shelving with glass-fronted doors held masses of tablecloths and napkins in every shade of the rainbow and more…including teal. There was another desk, a copy and fax machine, and more oak file cabinets. At the back, near the kitchen, a closed door sported a small brass sign with Washroom embossed on it, and to her right, a staircase. Her gaze went to the landing above.
Mark saw the direction of her glance and turned cool eyes on her as though he’d read her mind. “My private area is off-limits to customers.”
“Of course.” A tingle of anticipation rippled through Livia as she pulled her gaze, but not her mind, from the stairs. Yes, that was where she’d find the information she sought. He was too protective for it not to be there. She had to get up there.
And she would.
They returned to the foyer and as he reached for her jacket, Livia said, “May I use your bathroom before I take off?”
“Sure. You know where it is.”
She hurried into the Washroom, a delight of oak detail and Victorian touches. She hit the faucets on the free-standing sink, then dashed to the window above the toilet. There was no screen. She opened the latch and raised the sash slightly, gratified to discover it overlooked the porch as she’d hoped, and it was large enough for her to climb through.
She eased down the sash, leaving the window unlocked. A grin spread across her face. While Mark and his partners served the chamber of commerce lunch tomorrow, Livia would be here. Snooping to her heart’s content.
LIVIA WATCHED the teal-and-cream Cupid’s Catering van drive off, but instead of rushing out of her car, she sat rooted, held in place by the second thoughts she’d been suffering all night and all morning. She’d been glib about snooping to her heart’s content. For as much as she wanted—no, needed—to find out everything she could about Mark Everett, she was not a sneak by nature. In a house with eight siblings, privacy had been a valued commodity. One she respected. Revered even. She recalled the violation she’d felt when her brothers had stolen her diary and read it, then teased her at the dinner table about having a crush on Cassidy Parker, the whole family chuckling at her comparing him to a brown-haired puppy she adored, the twins chanting, “Lassie Cassie, Lassie Cassie.” She’d been all of eight years old and yet the pain remained fresh.
She gnawed her bottom lip. What she planned wasn’t only immoral, it was a crime. A felony. Breaking and entering. If she was caught, she’d be arrested. Thrown in jail. Reese and his family would be humiliated. The whole Kingston clan would be humiliated—as humiliated as she’d been that long-ago night.
But if she didn’t do this, she would be dead in twenty-five days.
Livia shuddered. Breaking her options down to the basest level, humiliation or death, cleared her mind. She had no choice. She exited the car. The weather had gone damp and chilly, a winter storm expected by early evening. Beneath the fear gripping her senses, she caught the scent of rain in the air, felt the chill through her spandex clothing.
She wore workout clothes—the grass-green outfit that Sookie said made her look ill—figuring the color would blend in with the surrounding shrubbery as she stole to the house, that the give of the fabric would facilitate squirming through a window. But the spandex offered no protection against the damp chill. She hugged herself, then slapped at her crossed arms, her gloves making a soft wop-wop sound that seemed as loud as gunshot cracks to her sensitive ears.
This time of day, neighborhood businesses enjoyed moderate act
ivity, customers and clients, buyers and browsers coming and going. Livia batted at her arms again, hopping from foot to foot, waiting for a car to pass, then crossed to the other side of the street. To most, she likely appeared to be a jogger. She doubted anyone would give her a second glance…as long as she acted like one. She sprinted into the alley behind Mark’s house, arms pumping, legs scissoring as if she were out for a brisk aerobic run.
As she neared the fence, she slowed, took another glance around, alert for vigilant neighbors. Not all of these old houses had been converted to commercial enterprises. Some of the original residents refused to sell and move. As near as she could tell, no one peered out any of the windows on either side of Cupid’s Catering.
Livia gathered a bracing breath and stepped onto Mark’s property. The roar of an approaching vehicle on the road beside the fence jolted her. She scrambled to the closest of the two pine trees and pressed herself against the trunk, trying to make herself small. Invisible. The prickly bark bit through the spandex, jabbing her flesh, scarring the fabric. She held her breath, swallowing a groan of discomfort.
The car passed without turning into the alley. She eased away from the tree and exhaled in relief…until her gaze swept the back of the house. In the daylight, she could see the same attention to detail had been paid to the outside restoration as to the inside. It was an impressive house, and at the moment, a foreboding one. The windows seemed like large black eyes, flat, lifeless; the eyes of a sleeping monster.
A monster she was about to awaken?
She swallowed hard over the ridiculous thought and made herself move. Her hands were starting to sweat inside her gloves, her skin no longer felt chilled. Adrenaline had her blood zinging, her nerves alive, but she knew that once the rush vanished, so would this spurt of energy.
Thank goodness she didn’t have to return to work. She’d told Jane, her boss at the gym, that she was having a root canal and Jane had insisted she take off for the rest of the day.
Livia climbed to the porch, so nervous she hopped up the stairs two at once, the hourglass bumping her chest, reminding her of the urgency, the necessity. In and out. She had to get in and out. At the most, she probably had two hours. She glanced at her watch. One hour and forty-five minutes now. Time was wasting.
She scurried to the bathroom window. It was higher than she’d realized looking out last night, the sill coming just below her shoulders. She needed to stand on something to hoist herself inside. She glanced around, spotted a grouping of patio chairs and individual folding tables. She decided one of the tables would do and propped it in place.
It was solid plastic and sturdy enough to hold her weight, but as she balanced gingerly on it, it occurred to her that Mark or one of his partners could have discovered the unlocked window and locked it. Her stomach dipped. She reached up, pressed her gloved palms to the glass and shoved upward on the sash. The window didn’t move.
“No, no, no.” She grunted with new effort, and this time the window eased open. She glanced over her shoulder once more, then stood stock-still, listening for any unexpected noises inside the house. Nothing. With the agility that made her one of Jane’s best aerobic instructors, Livia lifted one leg onto the sill, then pulled herself up by the window frame and slid in the other leg. She arched her back and inched downward, feeling the unseeable area below her with the tip of her shoe.
She heard the splash at the same time she felt the water closing over her foot. The toilet. Damn. Obviously a man had used it last. The seat was up. Groaning, she flicked the lid closed with her dry foot, then settled her full weight on it, fighting the slippery slide of her sole.
Hunched over, she stepped to the floor, one foot raised, and grabbed the hand towel from the brass ring. She dried her foot and the floor. At least the water hadn’t penetrated the leather. But it had turned the towel and her shoe blue. Great. She closed the window and rolled the towel into a ball. A laundry room hadn’t been on the tour last night, but with all that linen in the storage shelves and what they had to use in the kitchen, there must be one. Unless…they used a laundry service. She huffed out a breath. That’s probably what they did. But Mark lived here. There might be a washer and dryer somewhere.
She crept to the door, put her ear to the wood and listened hard. She heard nothing and eased the door open inch by inch. The hourglass seemed to thump, urging her to hurry. Hurry. She stepped into the area with the linen and staircase and froze. Music wafted through the house. A radio or CD playing somewhere. Livia’s heart rate rose. Was someone in the house? She stayed perfectly still, straining to hear any other noises, something that would announce another’s presence.
Nothing. She sneaked to the door that led into the kitchen and cracked it just enough to see through. No one. She felt the tension ease from her shoulders. Her folks always left a radio on when they weren’t home. It wasn’t a farfetched idea that Mark and his crew had done the same, or even left it on by mistake. She had to get upstairs and then get out of here.
She raced to the stairs before she lost her nerve. She climbed quickly, her heart hammering in her chest. The scrape of a chair against planked floor resounded from somewhere in the house and halted her ascent halfway up. Dear God, someone was here. Coming this way. Livia glanced up, then down. She couldn’t make it back to the bathroom. The only place to hide was in Mark’s private quarters. She scrambled to the landing and reached for his door.
Oh, please don’t let it be locked.
Chapter Six
SECRET SAUCE
Take One Snoop
Add One Liar
Get: An Old Family Recipe
No matter how hard he tried, Mark Everett couldn’t wrench Livia Kingston from his mind. He’d spent the night tossing and turning, her cherubic face filling the space behind his closed, sleepless eyelids, his body aching with a long unfulfilled need that she had stirred with a vengeance. The need he understood. The woman he did not.
How could she be engaged to a jerk like Reese? Could she actually be in love? Maybe it was the Rayburn money. Or the prestige the Rayburn name offered. Was she a gold digger? A social climber? Somehow he could not put either of those together with the woman he’d seen gleefully playing soccer with a little boy.
On so many levels, she puzzled him, but most of all, he didn’t understand that spooky moment of connection he’d felt with her. It had been more than an awareness, more than attraction, more than long-denied lust.
By dawn he’d concluded Livia Kingston was a distraction he could not afford. He had to remember that and not allow her to steer him from his course. He was too close to grasping the prize.
Wind sent a spume of rain against the windshield of the van. His grip tightened on the steering wheel, his patience thinning at the caution of drivers ahead of him. God, you’d think slick, wet streets were a rarity in western Washington. He cursed. His patience as thin as crepe. He had to get back to the house and start the dishes he’d planned to tempt Ms. Kingston with tonight and send Candee back to the hall to help Nanette serve the chamber members dessert, and handle the cleanup and packing up afterward.
But he had another destination first and if he didn’t get there within the next couple of minutes… Damn. It took all of his restraint to keep from slamming his foot on the gas pedal and making a bad situation worse. But the urge to do exactly that didn’t ease until he pulled across from the front of the building where Josh attended kindergarten class and saw the children spilling out.
A flash of red caught his eye—Josh’s jacket. Mark’s heart gave a kick. The boy’s sandy hair stuck up in the exact spot on his forehead as Wendy’s had. God, he looked so much like her. And he was getting so tall. So quickly. His throat tightened with regret and the anger that seemed always to simmer beneath the surface. He’d missed two years of his son’s life. Years he could not retrieve.
A wet gust of wind struck the boy and his jacket flapped open like a cape, plastering his T-shirt to his ribs. Mark eyed him with a father’s ke
en assessment and felt a new rage. Though he was getting taller, Josh seemed too thin. Was no one paying the least attention to his diet? His appetite? Was he ill? If he wasn’t, the way the rain soaked through his clothes, he would be.
He fought the impulse to jump from the van and to race to zip up the boy’s jacket. Fought it hard. He had no right to know anything or to do anything about his son. Yet. It was a choice Mark had made. For good cause. He had to find what he was after. Irrefutable proof. Before he thrust himself back into his child’s life. He could not, would not, risk putting that kid through any extra pain.
But oh, God, this hurt, this ache to hold Josh, to stroke back his cowlick, to tuck him into bed at night, to play ball with him, to listen to his endless chatter, his endless questions.
The boy caught sight of a long black car, and his small hand went up in the air as he ran toward it like a miniature business man flagging down a cab. A pint-size Reese in the making. Mark growled. The limousine driver held the back door open, and Josh scrambled inside. Mark choked on resentment. Where was Livia Kingston? Why wasn’t she picking up the boy today? Or Reese? Or Sookie? Someone besides a damned paid servant? He cursed, his fist slamming the steering wheel. This was no existence for a kid.
Mark could barely swallow the frustration jamming his throat, the utter helplessness as he had to sit there and watch the long black car drive off. “Soon. Soon, Josh.”
He started the van and headed home, more determined than ever to please Livia Kingston the only way he knew, by seducing her with food.
He would cater her wedding.
By the time he arrived home the day had gone as dark as his mood, the storm raging like his emotions. He backed the van up to the stairs outside the kitchen and locked it. Once he’d been a trusting soul, the kind of guy who left his keys in his car. No more. Caution and precaution were his mantras these days. Struggling to set aside his frustrations about Josh and not caring that the rain soaked through his clothing, he studied the back of the house as he climbed the porch.
