by Marie Carnay
Hillary’s mouth fell open. “He can’t be. Better than your double chocolate? No way.”
Holly grinned. “Maybe not that one. Definitely better than your standard white wedding, though.” She ran the spatula around the edge of the bowl and folded the rest of the batter into the cake pan.
Whenever Holly stressed out or had a dilemma or just a bad day, she baked. Cookies. Brownies. Three-layer cakes. It’s how she’d ended up a dessert chef in LA and shacked up in a crazy guest house in Midnight Cove. She sighed.
“What is it?”
“I don’t know. The house is so over the top. It’s got all these rooms. Formal gardens. It’s even got a spa. Who needs a spa in their own house?”
Hillary almost swooned. “Sounds dreamy.”
“It’s just not what I’m about, you know? I never thought Ian was, either.”
“What about Trent?”
Holly snorted. “What about him?”
“Last I heard he was into high-end security.” Hillary put the eggs back in the fridge and talked over the door. “You know, private bodyguard stuff. I can only imagine what that does to a guy.”
Thank God for fridge doors. Otherwise, her best friend would catch her flaming cheeks. At least she knew where he got those arms. “He looked good. But I don’t know. Something’s off. He barely said a word to me outside and then at Ian’s, he seemed upset. Like I was wrecking his visit. I don’t think he wants me there.”
Hillary palmed her apron-clad hips. “Well that’s not his decision to make, now is it?” She wiped her hands and opened the oven. “You’re Ian’s guest. That place has what? Ten bedrooms? I’m sure Trent can find one to sleep in.”
Holly eased the cake pans into the oven and Hillary shut the door. “That doesn’t mean he’s got to be happy about it.” She frowned and focused on the oven. “He seemed tense. Distracted.”
“Maybe Ian’s got something going on.”
Holly bit her lip. “Maybe.”
Hillary grinned. “One bite of that cake and he’ll forget all about it. Trust me.”
With an eye roll, Holly turned back to the counter. Her best friend had the most unrealistic expectations. “Stop trying to get my hopes up. I don’t stand a chance with either one.”
“Don’t sell yourself short. Or those baking skills. What man can resist chocolate fudge?”
Holly rolled her eyes. “You’re terrible.”
“No, I’m devious. There’s a difference.” Hillary waggled her eyebrows and opened the dishwasher. “You’re still going to help cater the party next week, right?”
Holly groaned. “Do I have to?”
“Yes, you have to. That’s why you’re here, silly. I can’t do all the catering and all the baking for a million weddings. I need your dessert skills. Please? They want puff pastry. You know I hate puff pastry.”
Holly shook her head. “I thought I was just baking. A behind-the-scenes kind of thing.” She grabbed a rag and wiped down the counter while Hillary loaded the dishwasher.
Parties in Midnight Cove were the absolute last thing she wanted to attend. All those snooty rich people looking down their noses at her too-wide hips and round backside. People who cared more about what car they drove and street they lived on than whether their kids were happy.
Hillary clasped her hands in front of her. “Come on, don’t let me down! I need you! Besides, we’ll be in the kitchen with the champagne.”
Holly frowned. She’d opted to avoid the past. “What if Brandon’s there?”
“So what? I need you! If he shows up, you have my permission to kick his ass right in the middle of the dance floor.”
Holly bit back a laugh. “Fine. But if you think I’m wearing some ridiculous catering outfit, you’re crazy.”
“Never! It’s dresses all the way.” Hillary gave her a nudge. “You never know when you might meet Mr. Right.”
“Don’t hold your breath.”
Hillary pursed her lips. “Don’t discount all the men in Midnight Cove just because of him. Not all rich guys are like that asshole.”
Holly sighed. “That’s not what this is about.”
“Well, then there’s no reason not to go.”
“If you say so.”
Hillary’s eye gleamed. “Don’t make me bring out the catering tux.”
“You wouldn’t!”
“Try me!”
Holly’s phone buzzed on the counter and she picked it up. Oh my God.
“What? Did something happen?”
Her mouth fell open as she read the text again. Having a small party at the main house. Please come. 8pm. Ian.
She turned the phone and held it out for Hillary to read. Her friend squealed and squeezed her arm. “See! I told you they were interested.”
“He’s just being nice. I’m sure he didn’t want me to come home and see all the people and feel bad. Ian’s just being a good host.”
Hillary shut the dishwasher with a wham. Gone was the playful best friend. She turned to Holly with knitted brows. “Stop being such a downer. If you don’t want to see the opportunities throwing themselves in your face, fine. But I don’t want to hear anymore complaining about how lonely you are back in LA. Ian’s invited you to a party. Make the most of it.”
Holly swallowed. “I guess I could go for a little while.” She glanced at the dessert on the counter. “Everyone likes cake.”
“That’a girl. If we hustle, we can even go shopping for something new to wear.”
* * *
TRENT
“When you said party, this wasn’t what came to mind. What are you thinking?”
Ian leaned back in his desk chair and laced his fingers behind his head. “I’m thinking that it’s Friday night in the Cove. What do I usually do when I’ve got friends in town? I throw a party.”
Trent cracked his knuckles and pushed himself off the guest chair. “You should be lying low. Protecting your business. Not filling the house full of rich party people.”
“They aren’t all rich.” Ian smirked and his chair rocked up and down.
The nerve of him. He just didn’t understand the gravity of the situation. Trent walked over to the wall of windows and looked out at the ocean. He could barely make out the waves washing over the shore in the dusk, but their sound still carried through the open sliding glass door.
If Ian didn’t take the matter seriously, he’d never eliminate it. Trent might as well go home. He shoved his hands in his pockets and watched the waves. The faintest hint of white crashed onto the rocks. A subtle shift of color and the waves receded on the sand. Watching the ocean as night fell was like his job—always searching and trying to find the pattern and the underlying threat.
At last he turned back to Ian. “How can we get to the bottom of this if you’re constantly putting yourself in danger?”
Ian sat up with a sigh. “Contrary to what you may think, I’m not throwing the party to get in your way or fuck up the investigation. I’m playing it safe.”
Trent frowned. Now he just sounded crazy. “How the hell are a gaggle of drunk socialites and pretty boys going to help me?”
Ian stood up and joined Trent at the window. His voice dropped. “We don’t know who it is, right? What if it’s someone on the inside?”
“It probably is.”
“Then I’ve got to act normal. Play it cool. Otherwise, they’ll know we’re onto them.”
Trent dismissed the idea with a shake of his head. “It’s not like what I do’s a big secret. One look at me and they’ll figure it out.”
Ian leaned in. “Not if you’re here for a vacation. If you act like you’re here to blow off some steam and have a good time, then we’ve got a shot at keeping it under wraps.”
It was a terrible idea. How the hell was he supposed to act chill and relaxed while watching a hundred other people mill around Ian’s place and puke in the bushes? It would never work. He frowned as the front gates opened and a string of cars wove their way up the drive. To
o late.
Trent turned to Ian. “You’ll let me know at the first sign of trouble?”
“Of course.”
“For the record, I still think it’s a bad move.”
“Noted.” Ian clapped him on the back and turned to the desk. He picked up his sunglasses and set them on his head. “But now, my friend, it’s time to party.”
Trent nodded and followed Ian to the door. Mingling with the rich and scandalous wasn’t his thing. Not at all. But if it bought him enough time to find the source of Ian’s troubles, it’d be worth it. Even the women.
He swallowed as the door opened and the sound of fake laughter hit his ear. “Remind me why you invite all these people. Half of them are jealous. The other half are overconfident pricks.”
“That’s not true.” Ian paused. “Okay, it’s mostly true. But good people are coming, too. Richard said he’d try to make it back if he can drag Mandy out of Seattle. You can’t deny my sister’s awesome.”
Trent let a smile slip through. “I won’t deny it. She’s great. But the rest of them? One of these days you should tell them all to get lost.”
Ian slowed as they neared the main entry. “If I weren’t brought up in the restaurant business, maybe I’d agree. But when you run the hottest bar in town, you’ve got to keep up appearances. It’s part of the business.”
“Do you really need the bar anymore? Hasn’t the shipping business been a lot better to you?”
Ian nodded. “Yeah, but if I lose it all, then I’ve got to fall back on something.” He strode out into the lobby and the sea of people parted. He threw up his hands and Trent couldn’t help but shake his head. He’d never understand how Ian could put on a show for the sake of his business.
Money didn’t seem worth it. Not when it came with so much baggage.
He knew he should play the part. Mingle. Flirt. But after seeing Holly that morning and the mess with Ian…he couldn’t. Not until he’d had a stiff drink and a stern internal talking-to.
Trent inhaled and plastered on a half-ass smile as he pushed his way through the crowd. He eased past a blonde with more jewelry than dress and slipped into the kitchen. Thank God. Silence.
And a woman. Hello. The black dress hugged dangerous curves. Ample hips, nipped-in waist. Black heels that showcased bare legs. Light brown hair curling down her back. The complete opposite of most of the women he met in Midnight Cove and sexy as hell.
He cleared his throat and she turned around. Whoa. “Holiday, hey. I…I didn’t expect to see you here.” She nibbled at her lower lip and he winced. “Sorry, it’s Holly now. I forgot.”
“It’s okay.” An oversized chocolate cake sat next to her on the counter and she glanced at it before focusing on the floor.
“Don’t tell me you baked Ian a cake.”
She hid a smile. “Okay. I won’t.”
Trent laughed. “You didn’t have to, that’s all. I’m sure he’s got the party catered out the wazoo.” From the look of the kitchen—already brimming with empty champagne bottles and opened jars of caviar—that was a yes.
Holly tucked a lock of hair behind her ear and Trent’s jaw ticked. Damn, nerves made her beautiful. The way she fidgeted with her hair, twirling it around her finger like she used to. How her eyes darted up to meet his and then away just as fast.
“I thought it’d be…when he texted…”
“Ian doesn’t really do anything small anymore. I guess it’s all part of the business.”
“I see.” She glanced at the cake again. “Do you want some cake?”
Trent smiled. “I’d love some. Thanks.” He watched as she rummaged through the drawers and cabinets for a knife and plate. It was so strange to see her again—and to have lust hit him smack in the chest every time she glanced his way.
He’d had a crush as a teenager, but they were kids. It was nothing compared to the pull of the attraction he felt now. She might have been a tomboy all those years ago, but she was a knockout in that black dress. One he wanted to get to know a whole hell of a lot better.
Ian wanted him to relax? Act like he was on vacation? Fine. He’d do it standing next to Holly. Hell, he’d get as close as she’d let him. At least until the party ended and he could go back to work.
* * *
HOLLY
Oh my God. Why am I here? Holly eased the knife through the cake and glanced around at all the party debris. From the way the cars filled the driveway and the empty bottles covered the counter, this wasn’t a small get-together. It was a house party, Midnight Cove style.
She should have known what it’d be like. A small party for a billionaire wasn’t a handful of friends, a chick flick, and cheap wine. It was over the top and showy and everything she wasn’t. Everything she never wanted.
With a flick of her wrist, she plated a hefty slice of the cake. The chocolate fudge filling oozed onto the plate and she handed it to Trent with a fork.
He smiled and took a bite before his eyes rolled back and a groan slipped from his lips. “Oh, Holly. This is good. Damn good. No wonder you’re a chef.”
She tucked a curl behind her ear. “I’m just a dessert chef, that’s all.”
“A talented one, too. I can see why Hillary wants your help.”
“Really?”
“Mm-hmm.” Trent shoved forkfuls of cake in his mouth as Holly watched. The man could eat, that was for sure. From the look of his muscles beneath that T-shirt and the washboard abs she’d glimpsed earlier at the pool, he worked it all off, too. And then some.
“So how’d Ian get so rich?”
Trent coughed on a bite of cake and thwacked his chest. “Excuse me?”
“Ian. How’d he end up—” She waved her hand around. “Like this?”
“Shipping.”
“I see. And what about you? Are you a billionaire now, too?”
Trent’s lips twitched. “I do all right.”
“In what?”
“Maritime security.”
Holly raised an eyebrow and waited.
“I keep shipments safe. Owners, too.”
“So you’re a bodyguard.”
Trent wrinkled his nose and ate the last bite of cake. “Maybe.”
“Does Ian need protection?”
“I don’t want to talk about business.”
She leaned against the counter. “You don’t?”
“No. Let’s talk about you.” He set the plate down and eased closer.
“Why?” She glanced down at her black dress and shook her head. “I’m boring.”
“No. You’re beautiful and sexy and you baked one damn good cake.”
Holly sucked in a breath and clamped her lips together. He did not just call me sexy. “The chocolate’s going to your brain.”
“Other parts, too.”
She snapped her head up and Trent grinned. Oh my God. Is he hitting on me? He can’t be.
Trent slid closer until she could see the flecks of gold in his brown eyes and the scar on the side of his temple from all those years ago. She reached up and traced the jagged white line with her finger.
“Do you remember that day? We were jumping the tide pools after school.”
“You fell.”
She smiled. “You caught me.”
He reached out and grabbed her wrist and her heart skipped a beat. He turned the soft flesh of her inner arm toward him and kissed her skin. She wondered if he could feel the rapid beat of her heart.
As he lifted his head, the door burst open.
“There you are! Trent, quit hogging that gorgeous woman all to yourself.” Ian strode up in gray wool slacks and a white button-down. His hair was pulled back low and tight and he looked every bit the businessman. The shipping mogul.
Holly tried to smile. “I thought you said it was a small party.”
“It is. I only invited half the neighborhood. Come on, I want to show you off.” He looped his arm through hers and before she could say a thing, Holly was leaving the kitchen and Trent and their almo
st…kiss.
She turned back as the door swung open in time to see Trent turn away with a frown.
CHAPTER FOUR
IAN
“JUST ONE FOOT in front of the other. There you go.” Ian held the tipsy woman by the waist, escorting her to the open front door and waiting cab.
“But it’s sooooo early, Ian.” She sagged against him and Ian shook his head.
“It’s time to go Chelsea. Time to go.” He angled them both out the front door and toppled her into the backseat. Finally. He turned back to the house as taillights glowed down the drive.
Ian shut the door behind him and leaned on the burled wood. “Remind me why I throw these again?”
He could hear the tension in Trent’s voice. “Because you’re an attention whore.”
“Right.” Ian pushed himself off the door and ran his hand over his hair to smooth it back. “Did Holly leave?”
Trent faltered. “She should have. We can’t be partying like this, Ian. We need to be working.”
“I thought that’s what you were doing? Checking on everyone here and investigating potential threats.”
Trent huffed. “It’s not as easy as it sounds.”
“And why is that?”
Trent’s lips thinned into a line.
“You mean because Holly’s here.”
“Partially.”
Ian didn’t know what to think. He’d never fought with Trent over a woman. It used to be the age difference—with five years on Trent, the situation never came up when they were younger. But now? Would Holly really come between them?
He ran his tongue over his lower lip and stared at his friend. They’d drifted apart when Ian went to college. Trent had gone military and turned into the good guy. Ian had moved into restaurants and bars. Then shipping. It was only when a competitor recommended Trent’s services that they’d reconnected.
In the years since? Sure, they’d gone out together. Hit the clubs. Bars. They’d never argued. Not once. Ian tucked a lock of hair behind his ear. “How interested are you?’
Trent shrugged, but the tension in his shoulders didn’t ease. “It doesn’t matter. It’s bad timing.”
