“Hello, Miss Colby. Is this the way to your aunt’s house?”
The heat in her body flashed into a raging blaze. “Yes it is, Mr. Williams. Just continue along the drive.”
“Is that your horse?”
“No, Harry belongs to Henry.”
Amusement flickered in his eyes. “Harry and Henry?”
“Harry is short for his show name, ‘Kentucky Heritage.’”
“Of course.”
She captured a strand of hair and hooked it behind an ear. Looking down at Lane from horseback, she could see him better than in the smoky dimness of the bar or by looking up at him at the track. Sunshine emphasized the strong outline of his jaw and the tiny lines near his eyes. He was rich, judging by his Tommy sport shirt and fancy convertible. Rich and commanding. And dangerously sexy.
Yet it was his obvious maturity that took her breath away. This was no mere boy, like many of her friends and classmates, but a man full grown. A man unused to playing silly bar games. No wonder he’d regarded her with disgust. No wonder he laughed at her now.
Indecision shattered her earlier resolve. Who’d she been kidding? In his eyes she was still a kid. A kid with a big dream, but a kid nonetheless.
Placing a trembling hand on the bay’s warm neck, Sarah fought back an odd feeling of embarrassment. In the bright light of day, her dream seemed foolish.
He measured her carefully. “I understand from Amelia we’ll be working closely together for a few weeks.”
Sarah fought to directly return his gaze. “Yes, I’m assisting my aunt this summer with her research. She also wants me to help with the party.”
“I hope my being around won’t put a crimp in your personal research.”
“Personal research?”
“To find Prince Charming.”
Sarah’s throat closed shut. She opened her mouth, but no words came. Lane dismissed her with a grin and a wave of his hand, put his car into gear and sped down the tree-shaded driveway.
She stared after him. Who’d given him the right to make fun of her? Or think of her as a silly school girl?
She dropped the reins, removed her riding gloves and wiped her sweaty palms on her jeans.
Sure, her behavior at the bar had put her at a big disadvantage with him. Most of her teenage years had been spent at a girls’ school, and she’d been a bookworm in college. She didn’t normally act the way she’d behaved at the bar. Intentionally dressing as a seductress had been her means of breaking out of the mold. Of overcoming her shyness.
Maybe she’d been foolish that night, but she’d done nothing criminal. Nothing to deserve his ridicule. Sarah put on her gloves and picked up the reins. She pressed her legs into the horse’s sides, urging him to go on. At a trot, she posted up and down, up and down. Another kind of resolve steeled her nerves.
She had to do something if she was going to survive a little over two weeks with this guy. Prince Charming or not, Mr. Williams needed a big time attitude adjustment.
***
Lane pushed the sleeves of his white chef’s coat up on his forearms. Had he lost his mind? God help him, he must have. He couldn’t concentrate. Normally planning a menu was a breeze. Now his thoughts flew in ten million directions, none focusing on the scratch pad in front of him where he’d made only a few notations.
From the moment he’d stepped into the Carlisle household, he’d seen that Amelia was in way over her head with this party. She may be a successful food critic, but she knew nothing about organizing a big event.
But the complexities of straightening out her Derby party weren’t all that had him stumped. Thoughts of Amelia’s dark-haired niece jumbled his mind.
He’d be here a lot in the short time left before the party. Maybe that wasn’t such a good idea. Even though he was honoring the memory of his mom by agreeing to help Amelia, he’d dismissed Sarah and that one-time kiss too readily.
He rubbed the throb in his temple. The moment he’d seen her riding along the road, her shapely legs clad in form-fitting, denim jodhpurs, he’d realized his mistake. One look at her had shot his altruistic reasoning all to hell.
Now it was too late. He’d given Amelia his word.
Shifting restlessly on the breakfast bar stool, Lane scribbled down a menu item and then crossed it out with a broad pen stroke. So much for his good intentions. He rarely acted on impulse, ever monitoring his morals, never wanting to stray like his skirt-chasing father or give those siblings the wrong idea. No wonder after returning to Kentucky he’d almost been celibate.
Now he was paying for it in the worst way. Maybe a good romp in the hay would cure his problems.
“You’ve stayed late. What are you doing?”
Jarred out of his mental butt kicking, Lane swiveled to see Sarah standing just inside the doorway to Amelia’s kitchen.
She looked so different from the sexy siren at the smoky bar. At least she wasn’t exposing any flesh that overtly tempted him. Thankfully, her navy shirt had a button-down collar and long sleeves. She wore khaki trousers, tight ones, yes, but they covered all of her shapely legs. Her hair, pulled back from her face and captured by a ribbon, emphasized her wide eyes—and luscious lips.
Lane straightened his shoulders and clung to all the self-restraint he possessed. God help him, he was he thinking about seducing Amelia’s niece.
“Good evening to you too, Miss Colby.” He hoped his tone of voice and the imperious look he gave her would scare her off.
No such luck.
She walked toward him. “You didn’t answer my question.”
An unfamiliar coil tightened in the pit of his stomach. “Actually I’m trying to come up with the menu for the party, and I was about to make coffee. Would you like some?”
“Sure.”
Now that was a convenient excuse. He stepped off the stool and slid around the counter to the other side. Even separated from her, he still felt hot under his suddenly too tight coat.
He heard her climb on the stool right before he turned on the coffee grinder. The harsh rattling sound grated on his nerves. And so did the small sigh that escaped Sarah’s lips when the grinder stopped. Every muscle in his body tightened, but he ignored the inner tension as he scooped the fresh grounds into the basket of the coffee maker.
“May I ask you a question?”
Lane flipped the “on” switch and pivoted slowly.
She thrust her fisted hands under the counter out of his line of vision. His jaw hard, he raised a questioning eyebrow, giving her the go-ahead.
She swallowed. “I was wondering why you’re wearing that white coat?”
Glancing at his chef’s coat, he shrugged. “Habit when in a kitchen.”
“I was also wondering why you fixed supper tonight,” she blurted out.
“My wedding gift to the Carlisles.”
“You didn’t have to, you know.”
“But I wanted to.”
“Oh.”
“It may surprise you that I enjoy cooking.”
“Well, duh, you were a chef.” She rolled her eyes.
“And what do you do with your time, Miss Colby, when you aren’t here at ‘This Side of Heaven’?” he asked in a very formal tone.
She lifted her chin. “I’m planning to get my Ph.D. in medieval history after I finish helping Amelia this summer. I already have my master’s.”
“But not your M.R.S.?”
“You’re making fun of me.”
“You’re very transparent, you know.”
“Why shouldn’t I be? I know what I want. Marriage and children.”
The pleasant aroma of coffee began to fill the kitchen. “You should be congratulated on your honesty. Most women play silly games in attempting to trap a man.”
“Like kissing guys at a bar?” She dipped her lashes demurely.
Now she was flirting with him. “That was only for research—or so you said.”
She leaned forward and placed her hands on the counter. “Thank you for
not telling Amelia about it.”
“Why should I? You’re over eighteen.” Thank goodness she wasn’t his responsibility.
Lane opened several cabinet doors before discovering the cups. He lifted two from the shelf and poured coffee into them.
“Here, I put vanilla flavoring in the coffee. I hope you like it.”
“Mm,” Sarah murmured. “My favorite.”
His fingertips grazed hers as he handed the cup across the countertop. He fought the intense stab of heat knifing through his body. She appeared stunned by the brief contact.
Watch it, Williams. She’ll get to you.
He cleared his throat. “How did Amelia like the sea bass?”
Sarah cocked her head as if curious about his change of subject. “She said it was ‘to-die-for.’ When Amelia says that, you know you’ve done a good job.”
He sipped his coffee, watching her. “What did you think?”
“The tepénade enhanced the flavor of the fish, but not enough to overwhelm it.”
Lane was impressed. Sarah hadn’t spent time assisting Amelia for nothing.
“What’s in the paste?” She tasted her coffee.
Now he was in his element. “Sun-dried tomatoes, red onion, fresh basil, parsley, garlic, red wine vinegar, olive oil, and of course, black olives.”
“Oh, no wonder it was delicious.”
He couldn’t help but smile in triumph.
Sarah seemed to notice. “What’s so funny?”
“Just a personal joke.”
“Tell me.” She set down her cup and leaned forward again, this time relaxed.
“When Amelia wrote the review that cost me my job in New York, she’d ordered sea bass.”
“I get it.” She sat back and grinned. “Tonight you were showing her you know how to cook.”
He liked she could appreciate his humor. His small moment of revenge. “Yes, I wanted to prove to her that her visit to my restaurant in New York was just a fluke.”
Sarah’s lips curved into a beautiful, artless smile. Lane grasped his cup as if it could prevent him from being completely blown way. At that instant, with her open gaze resting on him, with her lips parted in a smile, he regretted once more acceding to Amelia’s plea. This woman was trouble, pure and simple.
As he looked at Sarah, and his insides turned to liquid and his breath caught in his throat, he knew this woman could very well be his downfall.
He had no intention of ever marrying or raising children. And that was the only thing lovely Sarah had on her mind.
Lane forced the smile from his lips and replaced it with his best executive chef sneer. He must shore up his defenses if he was to make it through the coming few weeks. The only way he knew how was to treat her as he would treat a new line cook or busboy.
He straightened to his six foot two inch height and lowered his evil-eye on her.
“I bet Mrs. Carlisle wouldn’t appreciate our laughing behind her back,” he said in his most overbearing tone.
“We’re not harming anyone.”
“If you’ll excuse me, I need to make preparations for tomorrow before I leave.” He picked up his pad of paper and coldly turned his back on her.
All was quiet a moment. “Sure,” she said in a faltering whisper.
Lane heard her stool scrape on the hardwood. He heard her hesitant steps cross the kitchen floor. Then the door banged shut.
His chest constricted. Slowly he pivoted. The kitchen seemed empty without Sarah. He deeply regretted hurting her feelings. Yet somehow he must protect himself from Amelia’s innocent, but desirable niece.
CHAPTER FOUR
“Politicians,” Amelia crushed the newspaper with a noisy huff. “You can’t trust any of them, no matter what party.”
Sarah sipped her morning coffee and rolled her eyes at Amelia being Amelia. Her aunt never lacked an opinion.
Henry reached across the breakfast table to pat his wife’s adorned hand. “Now dear, don’t get all worked up.”
Amelia snatched back her hand. “I’m not getting worked up. It’s just that every single one of them is a lily-livered coward. They don’t stand for anything!”
“That’s how they get re-elected,” Henry said with a wise nod. “Plus, the electorate is apathetic.”
Sarah eyed her family with a fond look, truly amazed how her aunt and uncle bickered back and forth with good-natured ease. They had such an intimate relationship. The kind of intimacy that really counted—emotional intimacy.
Sarah’s slender fingers curled tightly around her coffee cup. What was this deep longing for permanence? For security and connection? All the years with her father flitted through her memory in a blur of motel rooms, friendships lost and promises broken. The transience of her early life had left her with a void, a hollowness that Aunt Amelia’s love and boarding school education never quite filled.
Sarah sighed and took a sip of coffee. Slowly she lifted her gaze to connect with Lane William’s piercing stare.
He entered the room, military erect, his broad shoulders stiff, his arrogant chin high. Unable to draw her gaze from his wide, generous mouth, Sarah recalled the gut-deep thrill of his kiss. An arousing sensation seeped through her and started her heart beating double-time.
Although that night at the bar seemed like a dream, her acute recollection of his demanding kiss was not, and a confusing heat warmed her cheeks.
Amelia glanced up. “There you are! Come and join us for breakfast.”
Sarah’s heart contracted. Lane crossed the dining room and sat next to her, hardly giving her a glance.
“You stayed late last night,” Henry said.
“Yes, and I accomplished a lot. I made changes to your cook’s party menu.”
Amelia handed a platter of eggs and bacon across the table. “Breakfast?”
“No thank you, I’ve already eaten.” He unfolded a piece of paper, giving it to her. “You may want to review this.”
“That was quick.”
“We don’t have much time.” Lane sat back in his chair.
Only her aunt’s tapping fingernails broke the ensuing silence. The drumming sound, as well as the casual aloofness of the man beside her, unnerved Sarah. What was the matter with him anyway? Why had he banished her in such a cavalier manner last night? There had been little hint of his perplexing arrogance until he dismissed her like a recalcitrant school child.
Sarah shot him an irritated look. Well, this guy had a lot to learn if he thought she’d take that kind of treatment without comment. At least he could be civil.
Amelia looked up from the menu with a grin. “I don’t see sea bass.”
“I thought traditional Kentucky fare might fit more with the Derby theme.” Lane sat a little straighter and his eyes lit with unspoken humor.
Sarah’s vexation boiled just below the surface. Her already warm cheeks burned with new ire. She wanted to be part of the intimate understanding Amelia had already seemed to establish with Lane. She felt left out, somehow. A fifth wheel.
Shifting a gaze from Lane to Sarah, Amelia murmured, “You prepare sea bass well, but I quite agree with your assessment of the menu.”
“Then it’s settled,” Lane said, acknowledging both Amelia and Henry with a nod. “I’ll arrange for one of my sous chefs to help with the preparation.”
Henry pulled off his glasses and polished them with a cloth napkin. “Remember, we want to reimburse you for any expense.”
Lane declined, shaking his head. “The chef is in my employ. I’ll cover it.”
“That’s generous of you,” Henry acknowledged.
“Is your assistant capable of doing all the cooking for the party?” Amelia wanted to know.
He nodded. “For two hundred guests? He should have sufficient time, and I’ll help when I can.”
Lane leaned forward. “The rest of the arrangements may be more of a problem. Catering services in the area are usually spoken for a year in advance. Your personal cook seemed to have forgotten
several important items in her planning. We’ll just have to order what we need from out of town. It will be costly.”
“Spare no expense,” Henry said. “Because of Amelia’s reputation in the culinary world, it’s important this party be a success.”
“Then it’s agreed.” Lane stood. “Now I’ve got to get busy. I’ll call my St. Louis manager and see what he can do for us. If he can’t help, I have connections in Cincinnati and Atlanta.”
Amelia beamed. “I knew you were the man for this job.”
Lane paused at the door. His intense gaze riveted Sarah. She gulped a quick breath and glared back at him.
His blue eyes flashed. She remembered his kiss and her troubling response. Averting her gaze, Sarah refused to reveal the confusing notions in her head. When she looked back, he was gone.
“Ladies, I’ll leave you to your coffee.” Henry rose from the table too. “I have a busy morning ahead with my stockbroker.”
Amelia cocked her head to the side and presented her cheek for his kiss. “Don’t lose too much money.”
“No chance of that, my darling. I’m ruthless on Wall Street.”
Sarah caught the glimmer in his eyes and her aunt’s returning smile. She couldn’t imagine Henry being ruthless anywhere. Repressing a sigh, Sarah continued to sit quietly and savor her coffee.
“Penny for your thoughts.”
Jerking her attention back to her aunt, Sarah smiled at a quick remembrance. As a lonely, grieving schoolgirl, Sarah had often opened up to Amelia’s gentle prodding.
Now she peered at her aunt over the rim of her cup. “I’m just putting off work.”
“Not thinking about our guest are you?”
“Who? Lane? Oh, no,” she answered swiftly.
“Methinks thou dost protest too much.”
Sarah replaced the cup on the saucer, her cheeks warming again.
Amelia leaned forward. “I’d be disappointed if you weren’t.”
“If I were,” Sarah hedged, “it wouldn’t do me much good. Lane has made it perfectly clear at our first meeting that he’s not interested in any kind of relationship.”
A Man of her Own Page 4
