He’d love to know what she thought, but now wasn’t the time. “I work with several charities. Annual meetings are in full force as we plan out the following year’s events and fund-raisers.”
“That’s very civic-minded of you but has nothing to do with me.”
“But it could.” He raised his hand to quiet her when she opened her mouth. “I thought you were going to hear me out?”
Her eyes sparked fire. She exhaled in a steady stream. “Fine.”
“I normally host the meetings, which include several dinners that I have catered at my home.”
Her sullen look vanished, to be replaced by an attentive half smile.
“That got your attention.” He rested his hands on his hips to appear casual and calm, which wasn’t how he felt at all. All his senses were tuned to making a good impression.
“Well, now you’re speaking my language.”
He chuckled and a steel band strangled his heart when she smiled. “This can be a busy time, with long lulls in between. In the past I’ve had to book several caterers, and it’s turned into a big headache to keep everything organized.”
“I’ll bet.”
“My part-time cook left about eight months ago and I haven’t found a replacement. Between him and the caterers I hired years prior, everything had always been manageable. But hiring and keeping track of caterers requires time. Time I don’t have. If you stay at my house for the two months this is in full swing, organize menus, cater the dinners, and keep all the events on track, I’ll co-sign a loan for you. It’ll be your loan, your business, and your pay-off.”
“I don’t want a partnership.” She tilted her head to the side, her body stiffening.
“Did I say anything about a partnership? This would be all you.” He rocked on his heels.
“Are you serious?”
“Like a death threat.”
“Sounds like a one-sided deal, with most of the benefit on my side. Why would you do this for me? I’m a stranger.”
“I like you, Jill Adgate. Something about your spunk, determination, and grit rings true with me. Your focus and passion remind me of myself when I took over the family business. Plus, this benefits both of us. You’d be helping me out of a bind, and I’d be helping you get your business started. And you’ll be gaining some great contacts for your business in the process.”
“It’s tempting.”
“Think of it this way, it’ll also buy you time to get your own personal affairs in order. You’d mentioned you were about to lose your apartment. You can live with me for free, save some money, get yourself organized.”
“I’m not destitute, you know.” Her eyes flashed fire a second time.
“I’m sure you’re not.”
“Mel offered me a place to stay. I just didn’t want to be the third wheel.”
Chet ran his hand through his hair. “If it makes you feel better, you can throw in a few cooking lessons so that when our deal is over I’ll survive without takeout or my famous PB and Js.”
Jill stared him steadily in the eyes, then licked her lips. “Can I think about it and get back to you?”
He laughed. “Nope, this offer is one-time only.” He glanced at his watch. “You have sixty seconds.”
“Give me a day. Twenty-four hours.”
“Fifty seconds.” He lifted his wrist and tapped the crystal face of his watch. “Tick, tick, tick.” Excitement swirled through him at the edgy panic in her voice. He held his breath, wondering if he’d win. Would she? Or wouldn’t she?
She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, swiping her palms down the side of her thigh.
“Time’s about up, what’s the verdict?”
“Sixty seconds is hardly time to blink, let alone make such a decision.” The pulse at the base of her throat ticked in quick succession.
“Just think of the contacts you’d make catering for me. Your eight-week investment could change your life.” And mine, too. He breathed in her citrus scent. His groin twitched with anticipation. “Sometimes you just have to jump before the alarm sounds, Jill.”
Her passionate smile—though somewhat shaky—glossed her face. “I’m in.”
She placed her hand in his for the obligatory handshake to seal the deal. An instant spark of awareness trailed across his skin, something he hadn’t experienced in…well, in a year.
Chapter Three
Jill stopped her car in front of the open wrought-iron gate, keeping one foot on the brake and the other on the gas pedal so her car wouldn’t sputter and die. She twisted the wrapper off a peppermint and popped it into her mouth. A slight flutter filled her stomach as she peered out her window to follow the smooth lines of the gate skyward until she confirmed the house numbers running along the upper edge matched the address listed on the card in her hand.
She swirled the candy around her tongue, stalling for time. Was she really going to do this? But his contacts would help start her business. Eight weeks, fifty-six days, time would fly. Then again, living with a man who fired her pulse and sent an aching awareness to the most sensitive spot in her body was a risk she wasn’t sure she should take. Close proximity, heady surroundings, all under one roof. It sounded like a recipe for disaster.
But on the other hand, he was helping her out of a jam by offering her a place to live while she got things in order. And those contacts could mean the difference between success and failure. Ugh, too late to back out now.
She pulled her jalopy into the circular stone drive and gazed out her side window at the imposing two-story brick Tudor.
For a second time, she glanced at the business card between her fingers. She brushed over the embossed lettering, then matched the address to the numbers on the address plate to the left of the double doors.
Even with the candy to act as a lubricant, her throat dried. Yep, this is the place.
She’d never been this close to a mansion before, and she pressed her palm into her stomach. Certifiable insanity, that must be what made her agree to this. For the millionth time, she questioned her choice in accepting Chet’s proposition. How could she back out of this gracefully?
Two massive stone chimneys rested on either end of the house, towering into the sky like bookends protecting the spectacular stories of adventure and wealth printed on the walls between them. Steeply pitched, multi-gabled rooflines and decorative half-timber framing drew the eye downward to drink in the beauty of diamond-patterned, multi-paned windows.
Chet appeared through the large wooden doors beneath an extended arch that slanted off the roof, then dipped to the well-manicured lawns. He was dressed in faded jeans and a black T-shirt that smoothed across his chest to show off every sinew of muscle. Her stomach flipped.
Down, girl, he’s off limits.
No way could she date someone she worked with, no matter how enticing. And she didn’t just work with him, she worked for him. She stepped from the car. Though she turned the key off, the engine knocked and sputtered before it groaned, then settled with a soft thump.
“Is it okay to park here?” A new car would be the first thing on her list after she purchased a cargo van for her business.
“Sure, or if you want a stall, pull around the side and down the drive.” He gestured toward the north side of the house, where a small paved slope revealed the long rooftop of what she assumed was a detached garage.
“Does my car embarrass you?” As soon as the words left her mouth and his jaw tightened, she knew how ridiculous she sounded. He recovered quickly, flashing her with a tight smile.
“Hardly. You should’ve seen some of the cars I drove while I put myself through school.”
Yeah, like you’d have car issues. I’m sure driving a year-old BMW compared to a brand-new shiny Porsche was torture.
“Let’s not start off on the wrong foot.” His jaw relaxed and his smile turned dangerous, one that could liquefy bones. “I get the impression you’re trying to pick a fight in hopes we’ll part ways.”
“Am I that easy to read?” Jill tried to chuckle, but the sound that escaped was more like a strangled frog. She cleared her throat. “You’re right. I’m nervous. This all seems so…surreal.”
“Relax.”
Easy for you to say. We’re on your turf.
Later she’d move her metal heap out of view, but she wouldn’t take a stall. She’d hate for her car to leak oil on his, probably immaculate, garage floor.
Chet grabbed the suitcase she gripped. “Come on, I’ll show you around before you check out your room.”
“No butler?”
His chuckle eased the tense muscles bunched along her shoulders.
“Nope, it’s only me. No servants or help besides Gretchen, who comes out to clean once a week, and now you.” He winked at her over his shoulder.
Great, apparently Gretchen hadn’t needed to strike a bargain with her employer requiring her to move in. When Jill accepted this gig, she just assumed all rich people employed maids, butlers, pool boys, and assorted staff that saw to their every need. But no, leave it to her to agree to live with a rich guy who didn’t believe in hired help 24-7. Maybe he was a tyrant? That could be why his last cook left and he hadn’t managed to find a replacement. She swiped her palms down the side of her pants, sending up a silent prayer that she’d survive her time at the mansion on the hill.
Had she gone mad? Accepting an offer to shack up temporarily with a man who scrambled her mind with his kisses until she didn’t know—or care—what she was doing.
You’re doing this for your business. Forget the kiss.
A little more than thirty minutes later, Jill stood in the center of the room Chet assured her was hers. The size was double that of her apartment. Soft, muted shades of lavender reflected bright sunlight off the walls, and pale yellow and purple striped curtains matched the comforter spread across the huge brass bed centered in the room. All very girlish, it fed her not-so-secret addiction to pretty, frilly things.
French doors beside a white brick fireplace opened to a small balcony off the back, with wide stone steps leading poolside. She breathed in the light aroma of lilac from the bushes outside her room. Plush, perfect lawns filled her view.
Chet told her to make herself at home and enjoy the pool as well as the sauna, indoor theater, and billiard room. She pinched the soft skin under her wrist until she flinched, just to make sure this wasn’t a dream.
Several hours later, after unpacking and finishing a solitary dinner, Jill snuggled beneath her comforter. She doubted her ability to sleep, her surroundings too new. Plus, she couldn’t get past the thought that Chet-alicious probably lay in his own bed right above her—his suite of rooms was one floor up, exactly over hers.
Doubt plagued her as she punched her pillow for the umpteenth time, rolling from her side to her back. Bad luck had chased her for the last twelve months, starting with that kiss. How odd that everything was changing for the better—and again it started with Chet. His offer seemed too good to be true. Hopefully he didn’t have an ulterior motive in giving her this opportunity, like a couple of her past bosses had over the last year.
The next morning, Jill slid her fingers along the stainless-steel workspace in the kitchen. The mix of wooden cabinets and professional-grade appliances—including the double-door fridge and eight-burner gas stove with a pot-filler faucet—would be any chef’s dream. If she died in the next five minutes, she’d go happy.
She walked through the archway leading into the foyer. Chet’s voice coming from his office led her down the spacious, artwork-lined hall.
She’d planned to have his breakfast prepared before he’d come down. Not familiar with his schedule yet, she wasn’t sure when he’d wake. Now she knew he was an early riser.
Before her fist connected with the heavy wooden door, his words from the other side stopped her.
“You know I only have two uses for women, and both of them require a bed.”
Her body tightened and she dropped her clenched fist to her side.
His chuckle drew her in and she leaned closer. “A romp between the sheets for sure.” Faint footsteps paced the floor. “Now that I have a woman chef, I have three uses.”
Silence followed, and Jill assumed whoever was on the other end of the line spoke.
“Damn straight, bro. At least she’s decent looking and I can expect something more for dinner than a drive-thru meal or my famous peanut butter and jelly bachelor’s special.” His laughter closed around her chest.
She forgot to breathe. She knew she shouldn’t be listening but couldn’t pull herself away.
“A gentleman never kisses and tells.”
How dare he talk about women like that, and how dare he throw her into the mix. Her mother always said eavesdroppers never heard anything good.
She was tempted to walk out the door and never look back. Or burn his toast and dump coffee grounds in his morning cup of joe. But she’d be an idiot to jeopardize this opportunity.
Heat flared across her cheeks, and she banged her fist against the door with more force than intended.
The door swung open, and he met her gaze, full of spunk and humor. He raised one finger in the universal gesture to give him a second. He looked amazing with the morning light shining through the window behind him—all tan, tall, and Greek-godlike. She shoved her attraction down. Now wasn’t the time to go soft in the head or the heart.
“Hey, got a few things to settle up here before I leave. I’ll call you from the office.” He ended the call with a press of a button and took her by the elbow to steer her toward the kitchen.
Jill held herself in check, refusing to tug her elbow from his grip, even though escaping his touch was her first thought.
“Sleep well?”
“Perfect.” She pinched out her response, pushing aside the fluttering in her belly when his thumb caressed the skin above her elbow. From the corner of her eye she saw him glance at her with creased brows.
“Good.”
Jill could tell herself all day, backward and forward, up and down that she only had to hold back her comments for eight weeks. She could suffer through his egotistical, arrogant, so over-the-top male ’tude, if it meant building her catering business. But she knew she was a liar. So mad she could spit fire-coated nails, she couldn’t hold back. “Do you always have such a negative view of women?”
He stopped, pulling her to a halt beside him.
“What are you talking about?”
“Your office door was closed, but it isn’t soundproof.” She tugged her elbow from his grip, trying hard to ignore the sensation left behind from the pressure of his fingers.
“Didn’t your mother ever warn you about eavesdropping?”
“As a matter of fact, she did, but it’s too late to ignore what I heard.”
He placed his palm at the small of her back, moving her forward. “I’m late, Jill. We’ll discuss what you think you overheard tonight. If it makes you feel better.”
She sidestepped his touch, sucking in a breath of air, preparing for battle as they headed into the kitchen. Huge mistake. The scent of him filled her lungs, a heady mixture of sandalwood and something earthy, sensual—Chet. Images of them lip-locked in the Creations kitchen pierced through the shield around her heart.
“I left a charge card on the counter for you. Feel free to use it for groceries and whatever you need in the kitchen. You also have access to any of the cars in the lower garage to use while grocery shopping, or whatever.”
If she were a different kind of person—the kind he’d originally thought her to be—she’d use his charge card all right, but it wouldn’t be for kitchen accessories or groceries.
Chet strode across the room. He opened a cabinet door to reveal a touch-screen monitor on a small desk. A color-coded calendar filled the screen. “This is my monthly planner. It syncs directly to my phone so it’s up to the minute. Everything’s recorded: the nights I have dinner parties scheduled with charity coordinators, clients, or if I
won’t be home at all.” He flipped to another screen with a list of names she assumed were his guests scheduled for each dinner, complete with likes, dislikes, and food allergies. “I do have a dinner coming up with a vegetarian client. Is that a problem?”
“Not at all.” She regained her composure. Working her way to his side, she glanced over his arm to scan the information filling the screen.
“Anyway, go through the calendar and work out your schedule. I don’t expect you to cook Sundays, so come and go as you please.” He reached inside a cabinet by the garage entrance and wrapped his fist around a set of keys attached to a hook inside. “See you tonight.” The door clicked closed behind him.
Jill sagged against the counter. Chet Castle was a stranger. The conversation she overheard slammed that fact home. Yet she’d taken less than sixty seconds to agree to move in with him and become his personal caterer, all so he’d co-sign a loan. Was she crazy?
This didn’t make sense. From what she’d heard, he didn’t hold much respect for women, yet he wanted to help her, a virtual stranger, realize her dream of opening her own business? What was he getting out of this deal besides some professionally cooked meals for his guests and his own personal table of good eats? Or is he expecting more?
Jill prepared a steaming mug of peppermint tea to quell her jittery nerves, took inventory of the kitchen, and made a list of items needed. He may wobble her knees, but someone—a woman preferably—should teach him a lesson in respect.
Chapter Four
At eight o’clock that evening, Chet strolled from the dining area into the kitchen. “I noticed you set the table. I normally eat in the kitchen when I’m not entertaining guests.”
With a quick smile in his direction, Jill couldn’t decide if the uncontrolled fury of her heartbeat was because Chet smelled fresh and looked mouthwatering, or because she anticipated his reaction over tonight’s meal. She opted for the second. “Oh, I just assumed now that you had a chef, you’d want all the bells and whistles.”
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