by Sey, Susan
“Bob hired you to be my new assistant?” he asked.
“I believe the term he used was babysitter. Live in.” Bel gave him a prim little smile that barely played peek-a-boo with those killer dimples. Between them, that butter-soft skin and the creases he’d bet good money she ironed into her jeans every morning, she was a damn pretty picture. But James knew exactly what pictures like her cost—a big, fat diamond solitaire and total obedience to a color-coded calendar.
The diamond he could afford, no problem. But the calendar? He got hives just thinking about it.
“Why?” he asked, cursing the hangover that had his normally glib tongue thick and stupid.
“Why do you need a babysitter? Bob said something about another red card and a morals clause.” She fixed him with a bright, inquisitive gaze that made him feel like the proverbial worm to her early bird.
“I meant why you?” he asked. “And why would you say yes? You seem like a nice enough girl and it’s bound to be a thankless task.”
She gave him a hard look. “Are you planning to give me trouble, Mr. Blake?”
He gave her his best shot at a roguish grin. “Not you personally. But I do have a powerful dislike for schedules. Calendars, too. Systems, methods, rules. Authority of all kinds, really.” He spread his hands. “It’s been a trial all my life.”
“I’m sure.”
“But my brothers? Why, they’re barely housebroken. Why on earth would you want to muck around with the likes of us?”
“It seemed only fair that you give me a job,” she said. “Since you got me fired from my last one.”
“Oh.” James’ head thumped like a disco. He cast around for something charming and apologetic to say but came up empty. If she was keeping score, and she looked like the sort who would, he’d also cost her a groom. Was she going to demand a replacement there as well?
“Wow,” he said finally. “I’m...sorry.”
“Thanks. Listen, do you mind if we continue our little chat in the kitchen?” She jiggled the paper sack in her arms. “I have perishables here.”
“Oh. Right. Sure.” He waved down a short hallway to the swinging door to the kitchen. “Through there.” A change of venue might be a good idea, actually. Maybe just standing next to the coffee pot would put a dent in this vicious and well-deserved headache.
But he wasn’t so hung over that he didn’t enjoy the scent of her—all sunshine and sweet cream butter—as she swished past him. The sight of her pert backside wasn’t lost on him, either. He followed her into the kitchen.
She stopped just inside the doorway, gazed around the enormous space. “This,” she said, “is a fantastic kitchen.”
He blinked at her. “I hate this kitchen. I can’t find anything, and on the off chance I do, I can’t figure out how it works.” He moved around her to poke at an espresso maker the size of a Volkswagen parked on his granite countertop. “Like this. This is a coffee maker.” He frowned. “Isn’t it?”
Bel wrinkled her nose at it. “No. That’s a piece of high-end kitchen art.”
James sighed. “Figures. Drew probably fell in love with the salesgirl.”
“Drew?”
“My baby brother. He’s in charge of the kitchen.”
She slanted him a glance. “He cooks?”
“No. But he’s in charge of the kitchen.”
She crossed to a stainless steel behemoth of a fridge and opened it. “So I see.”
“Hey, the kid loves gadgets. And since practically everything in the kitchen plugs in...” He leaned left and followed her bemused gaze to the contents of his fridge: half a six-pack and a grease-stained pizza box. “Maybe he should stick to updating my Twitter feed.”
“That might not be a bad idea.” She closed the fridge. “What does your other brother do? Decorate?”
“Will? No.” James pulled a long-legged stool from beneath a massive island counter and sank onto it to watch her unload her grocery sack. “He manages my career.”
She paused, a carton of eggs in one hand. “How’s that going for you?”
“He negotiates one hell of a contract,” he said. “Boy plays with money like it’s Monopoly.”
“But overlooks small details like morals clauses that saddle you with a babysitter?”
“There’s that.” James propped his cheek on a fist and watched her tuck away groceries. It was nice, watching her. She was so...neat. Efficient. Practical. It was almost hypnotic, the way she moved around his kitchen. With five minutes and no apparent effort, she’d unearthed a sauce pan from a cupboard he’d have sworn didn’t exist and boiled water. She’d hauled coffee beans from her grocery bag, zipped them into a heavenly smelling dust in a grinder (also from her bottomless bag) then performed some miracle involving the water, the beans and a glass contraption (also from the bag.) James was waiting for the loaves and fishes to pop out next when a blessed mug of strong black coffee landed under his nose.
“Wicked, witchy woman,” James said, burying his face in the steam rising from the mug. “You think you can bribe me into good behavior with coffee?”
Bel studied him. “Yes.”
“Damn skippy.” He sighed in satisfaction as the first kick of caffeine hit his poor, battered system. Then she started cracking eggs into a bowl he’d never seen before.
“What are you making?”
She raised a brow over the dripping eggshells in either hand. “Eggs.”
“For me?”
“Yep.” She reached into the fridge for a carton of milk, splashed some into the bowl and started whisking the crap out of the eggs. A pat of butter melted in a pan on the stove, filling the room with the promise of forthcoming sustenance. James nearly wept.
“Wicked, witchy woman,” he said again. “I will not fall in love with you so stop trying.”
Her lips twitched. “I’ll bear it in mind.”
An odd contentment filled him as he watched her expertly flick eggs around the pan. He could get used to this woman right quick. Addicted, actually.
The thought slapped him back to reality. What the hell was he doing? Somewhere between the coffee and the eggs, he’d lost control. She’d focused on him and his needs, and he’d lapped it up like a dog instead of remembering that power came from giving not receiving. So what did Bel West need that had her scrambling eggs for strangers bright and early on a Saturday morning? And how was he going to get the upper hand back by deciding whether or not to give it to her?
“Okay, I can see what I’m getting out of this deal,” he said as she slid a plate full of fluffy eggs under his nose. He forced himself to ignore them for the moment. “But what about you? With your résumé, I’m pretty sure you have other options. Why this? Why us?”
She leaned back against the stove, arms folded over her waist. “I want my old job back.”
“And this will get it for you?”
“Yep.”
“How?”
She gazed at him. “You really need to talk to your agent more often.”
“Okay, setting that aside, why would you even want that job back?”
A wrinkle appeared between those no-nonsense brows of hers. “What do you mean?”
He sipped his coffee, considering the bafflement in her face. “Weddings go south all the time, Bel. Seems to me that if Kate Davis really valued you as an employee, she wouldn’t be so quick to pull the trigger, you know? So I’m forced to conclude that Kate’s maybe not that into you.” Her plump little mouth went tight and James smiled. “Why on earth would you put yourself through what will surely be several weeks of misery just to prove yourself to somebody who doesn’t want you?”
Bel stared at him. “I want my job back,” she said. “It’s none of your business why.”
James shrugged, but tucked away that interesting, hunted expression for future consideration. “Your call,” he said easily. He picked up his fork and laid into the eggs which were, unsurprisingly, incredible. He would have to watch this woman.
�
�So we’re winning you back a bad job,” he said. “How are we going to do that exactly?”
She smiled at him, slick and just a little mean. An unexpected splinter of lust shot into his gut at the sight of that pretty mouth curved with such a sharp wickedness.
“Why don’t you call Bob and find out?”
He frowned at her. At himself. He was generally pretty predictable when it came to women. He loved them all but as a rule preferred the soft, curvy, agreeable types. Now was not the time to develop a weakness for bossy, sharp-edged women with magic grocery sacks and fallen-angel mouths.
“I’ll do that,” he said around a forkful of eggs. God, this woman was dangerous. “After breakfast.”
Will Blake dragged his pounding head and uneasy stomach out of bed and down that ridiculous Gone With The Wind staircase. He smelled eggs—the greasy, salty, buttery kind that cured hangovers like magic—and he was getting his share. Right before he died of a raging headache. At least he’d go a happy man.
Well, full, at least. Will couldn’t quite remember the last time he’d have classified himself as happy.
He shoved at the kitchen door, held it propped open with a foot while he steadied himself on the doorframe and squinted into the brutal light. James was already there but Drew wasn’t. Good thing, Will thought. Drew ate like a Hoover.
James looked up, then hunched over his plate and started shoveling eggs into his mouth. “Nuh-uh,” he said around the food. “Mine.”
Will tsked. “That’s not the Blake family way,” he said, advancing on his brother. “What do we always say?”
“We don’t say anything,” James mumbled and washed down an ambitious mouthful of eggs with a slug from the mug at his elbow. Coffee? Will sniffed. Yes, indeed. There was coffee, too. Hallelujah.
“Family first,” Will told him. “What we have, we share.”
James curled a protective arm around the plate and gripped his fork like a weapon. “I will defend these eggs with my life.”
Will shifted his gaze to the mug. “How about that coffee?”
James glanced at it, momentarily distracted, and Will leapt. God, his head. But he was going to have those eggs.
Bel rose from her squat next to the produce drawer of James’ fridge just in time to see one of his brothers take him in a flying headlock and drag him off his stool. They disappeared behind the island counter, locked in pitched battle over...what? Bel leaned over the counter for a better look. Possession of the fork? She checked the drawer. There were at least half a dozen others right here. She shook her head and reached for the egg carton.
She was beating more eggs into a milky froth when the third Blake brother strolled into the kitchen. Where James and the first brother were both fair and wiry, this one was tall and lanky with hair like ground nutmeg. He gave her a sweet smile and stepped over his brothers like he did it every morning. He probably did.
He paused only briefly to snap a phone-photo of the melee at his feet, then seated himself at the island counter.
“If there’s any chance you’d part with some of whatever’s in that bowl, I can almost guarantee I’m going to propose marriage,” he said, eyes still on the phone, typing with his thumbs.
Bel grinned at him. “I’m not in the market for a fiancé, thanks. But you can have the eggs.”
He finished whatever he was typing and set aside the phone to co-opt James’ abandoned coffee. He tasted it and that sweet smile bloomed again across a long, angular face that was more charming than handsome. “I think I love you,” he said. “Who are you?”
Bel slid a plate of eggs across the counter with a fresh fork and said, “Propose first, ask questions later, is that it?”
He sampled the eggs and his eyes lit up. “Forget it. I don’t even need to know your name. We’re heading to Vegas just as soon as I’m done eating.”
The scuffling behind the island counter paused. “Damn it, Will, Drew’s getting round two of the eggs.”
“Round two?” Will popped up beyond the counter like a prairie dog, just his head, and he scanned the room until his gaze landed on Bel. “Who are you?”
Drew shook his head. “No, son, see the first question is always can I have some of that? And that’s why I’m eating while you’re rolling around on the floor with your own brother like the pervert you are.” He helped himself to a leisurely sip of coffee. “I tweeted a photo, by the way.”
James staggered to his feet in triumphant possession of the fork. He plopped onto a stool beside Drew and resumed eating as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. Bel was afraid that perhaps nothing had. He gave Drew a black look and stole his coffee back.
Drew gave him that same sweet smile he’d used on Bel and said, “You were busy.”
James grunted and shifted the mug to his other hand, the one farthest from his younger brother.
Will hadn’t moved. He hadn’t shifted his gaze from Bel and those hard pale eyes weighed like stones on her. “James?” he said. “Introduce your friend.”
“That tone’s not going to get you any breakfast,” Drew told him. No kidding, Bel thought.
“That’s Bel,” James said, concentrating on emptying his plate with maximum efficiency. “Bob sent her. She’s our new nanny. Live in.”
Drew made a happy noise.
“Apparently, she and Bob have cooked something up that will get her back in front of the Kate Every Day cameras while rehabilitating my sadly tarnished public image.”
“Ah.” Will gave Bel an assessing up-and-down. “You bit on that, huh?”
James paused mid-bite and said, “You do?”
Will gave his brother a terse summary of the same plan Bob had outlined for Bel a few hours ago. James pushed back from his now-empty plate and listened in silence, sipping thoughtfully at his coffee.
“You have to admit,” Drew said around a mouthful of eggs. “We could use some minding.” He chewed contentedly. “I, for one, intend to write Bob a nice thank you note. You should, too. The minute you get home.”
Will and James turned twin frowns on Drew.
“Get home?” James said.
“From what?” Will said.
Drew held out his hand for James’ coffee. James sighed and handed it over. Drew took his time about the first sip then said, “From the underpants party.”
Bel stared. “The what?”
“Some underpants company gives James bushels of money to wear their tighty whiteys,” Drew told her. “They’re having a big thing tonight. James is supposed to make an appearance.”
James looked a question at Will who thought for a moment then nodded. “Contractual obligation,” he said. Bel wondered if he had the wording of each individual contract in his head, available for consultation.
Drew grinned at him. “Bummer for you.”
“Oh well. At least I won’t be lonely.” James smiled, slow and satisfied. “Because you know what we say here in the Blake house.”
Drew and Will went still.
“Family first, gentlemen.” James surveyed them solemnly. “Family first.”
“What we have, we share,” Will said as if reciting from memory. He shot a pointed glance at the coffee mug in Drew’s hand.
“Your fight is our fight.” Drew sighed and handed it over.
“Which means that if I have to wear a tux—” James laid a hand over his heart like he was preparing to pledge allegiance. Bel suspected he was.
“—so the hell do we,” Will finished grimly. He tossed back the coffee like a shot of whiskey.
She stared at the three of them, bemused. When she was a kid, she’d wished for a sibling with all her heart. She realized now that she hadn’t had the faintest idea what she’d been wishing for.
“This is a black tie event?” she asked.
Drew and James looked at Will who consulted his apparently photographic memory and said, “Yep.”
“Do you even own tuxes?” she asked.
“What do you take us for, animals?” Ja
mes sniffed. “Of course we own tuxes.” He paused. “We just don’t know where they are exactly.”
“Which is why we have a nanny now. To take care of these things for us.” Will smiled at her but it had a nasty, sharp edge.
Bel folded her arms. “I apprenticed under Kate Davis for three years,” she said. “You think getting the three of you showered, sober and appropriately dressed by nightfall is going to sweat me? Please.” She pointed the spatula at Will. “All the same, no eggs for you. I don’t care for your tone.”
Drew smiled at her with delight. “I’m serious about Vegas, Bel. Say the word.”
Will gave him a disgusted look. “You proposed already?”
James gazed at her consideringly. “You’re meaner than you look,” he said, as if the discovery caused him significant personal pain.
“Thanks.” She dumped the pan into the sink.
“I didn’t mean it as a compliment.” He frowned. “I don’t think.”
“Oh, no, you don’t.” Drew shook his head. “I saw her first. I already proposed.”
“You propose to everybody,” James said absently, his eyes intense and watchful on Bel. An odd lightness jumped in her stomach. Wow. When this man paid attention, he paid attention. She didn’t know if she was flattered or disturbed.
Not that it mattered. James Blake was her job and as such had no business flattering or disturbing her. She’d do well to remember that.
“If you boys aren’t showered in the next half hour, I’m not making lunch,” she said.
James nodded slowly. “Meaner than you look,” he said again. But he headed for the door and his brothers fell in behind.
CHAPTER SEVEN
The sun was just beginning to set as James nosed his black SUV into the lane of traffic leading up to the hotel. After a dozen years of folding himself into European cars the size of carry-on luggage, he derived a deep satisfaction from being the tallest, widest thing on the road. Even if all it got him was a nice view of the grid-lock between his seat and the red carpet. At least he could kick back and wait it out in relative comfort.
