by Adrianne Lee
“I’m not sure.” What did he care? “Hopefully, an opportunity will present itself.”
He held the mansion door open for her. Nikki wanted nothing more than to head straight upstairs, grab her laptop and collect her e-mail. The sooner she had her information on Theresa, the sooner she could find her father, or her family. The sooner Chris Conrad would be out of her life. Forever.
Olivia stepped out of the shadows of the foyer as though she’d been waiting for them. Nikki reared back.
Chris swore. “Jeeze, Liv, you’ll give someone heart failure.”
Olivia glanced from one to the other, apparently trying to ascertain what had happened between them. Given what had transpired between them in the last two minutes, Nikki figured his sister probably didn’t like what she saw on either of their faces.
Olivia asked, “Is everything okay?”
“Fine.” Nikki assured her.
“Good. Then come along, you two. Lunch is getting cold.”
Looking disinclined, Chris scowled. “I thought it was cold cuts.”
“Mrs. Grissom made clam chowder and fresh bread just for you, Chris. The least you can do is eat it while it’s hot from the kitchen.”
He rolled his eyes. However, as though they were small children being herded to lunch, Chris and Nikki accompanied Olivia to the dining room. Even the delicious-smelling bread didn’t stir Nikki’s, appetite. The thing she hungered to devour was her e-mail
The three guests she’d already met, Diego Sands, Lorah Halliard, and Marti McAllister Wolf, remained seated as Nikki and the Conrads joined them. To her disappointment, Dorothea Miller was not present.
Full bowls of a thick white soup resided at each place setting, and two baskets heaped with steaming bread stood within easy reach of both ends of the table. Despite the mouth-watering aromas, Nikki doubted she could eat a thing.
Chris and Olivia took the chairs at each end of the table, leaving the only other spot to Chris’s left. Her resolve to avoid him was not getting off to a great start. She took the seat, which was directly opposite Diego.
“Good afternoon.” The architect eyed her with reproach. Nikki wondered about it for a second, then realized she must look a mess in her T-shirt and jeans, her hair needing to be combed. She supposed he preferred women to wear dresses and heels. If so, she was bound to be a continuous disappointment to him. Her clothes ran from functional to comfortable.
She concentrated on her food, but felt Diego’s gaze on her. Wishing he’d quit scrutinizing her, Nikki squirmed inside.
She glanced up sharply, her gaze meeting his, as a notion dawned. Was it, perhaps, the puzzle of her he found intriguing? The incidents with Jorge, then Chris, had driven from her mind the questions she wanted to ask this man. She might not need the information hidden in the groundskeeper’s memory...not if Diego had known Theresa.
“Did you two get your errand handled?” Marti asked, curiosity gleaming in her hazel eyes.
“Yes.” Chris’s tone suggested she should change the subject; this one was none of her business. Seeming not to notice or care that he was being rude, he dug into his soup and bread with a renewed fervor.
Olivia’s pale cheeks reddened, and Marti gave Nikki an inquisitive half smile that clearly showed she intended to pursue this issue later.
“Something bad happened,” Lorah stated.
“What?” Chris, about to take a bite of bread, stopped and gaped at the psychic.
Nikki blushed.
Lorah said, “Mark my words, it is only the begin-ning.”
A knot started twisting in Nikki’s belly.
Chris shook his head and grinned lopsidedly. “I really wish you’d stop portending doom and gloom, Lorah. It’s tiresome.”
He returned his attention to his soup, apparently immune to the bristling egos and injured feelings surrounding him. But the uncomfortable silence that followed his outburst was as thick as the chowder.
“Skeptics beware.” Lorah’s throaty voice broke through the heavy quiet like a pickax through ice. “All will be revealed in the séance.”
Chris’s head snapped up, and his narrowed gaze landed hard on his sister. “What séance?”
“Well, er, Christopher.” Olivia’s face waxed as pale as milk. “I was going to tell you later. Privately. But I, well, I guess my little surprise is out of the bag.”
“Is there a problem?” Lorah asked. She was poised to take a nibble of the tiny piece of sourdough bread that she held between her thumb and index finger.
Nikki swallowed a nervous laugh at the absurdity of the psychic’s question. A child could have seen they’d pushed Chris’s hot button. Lorah knew she had, too, but she seemed intent on stirring his already whirling temper.
“Only if you think you’re doing this séance here.” Chris’s dark eyes flashed.
“Of course I’m doing it here, dear man. Here is where the ghost walks.”
“The hell she does!” Chris lurched to his feet, all but knocking the chair over. He slammed down his spoon, staining the crisp, white tablecloth. “I won’t have this, Liv.”
“Chris, please.” Olivia flushed to her roots as she tried signaling to him that he was humiliating not only her, but their guests, as well.
He paid no heed. He slapped his napkin onto the chair and stormed out.
“Holy Joe, that man does have a fire raging in him.” Marti observed with a sigh of admiration. She glanced pointedly at Nikki. “The woman who lands him will be in for a life of passionate tangles.”
Whoever that unlucky woman was, she could have him, Nikki thought, still smarting from the aftermath of Chris’s kiss. Passionate tangles, indeed. He was downright unpredictable—like a volcano struggling not to erupt. The idea startled her. How bad was Chris Conrad’s temper?
Just where did he draw the line? Could Chris be as violent as his uncle? Was that the reason he seemed to fight to control his emotions? The thought tightened the knot in her stomach. Made her sick. And sorry for him. But he was not her concern. Would never be her concern.
Olivia apologized to everyone, but most particularly to Lorah Halliard.
“Don’t worry, Olivia, dear. I’m not offended by cynics. Your brother isn’t the only skeptic I’ve encountered here.” The psychic glanced at Diego, then Nikki. “But in time all will realize they should have listened to me.”
Chapter Seven
Nikki left the dining room with her head as full as her stomach and equally as unsettled. She refused to worry about Chris, but he cruised the edges of her thoughts like a mosquito she could hear and not see.
She trudged for the stairs, forcing her mind to the psychic’s warning. Truth or fiction? Lorah had been reticent, refusing to explain the dire-sounding portent. She hadn’t seemed to care that she’d singlehandedly disrupted lunch. In fact, Nikki suspected she was pleased with Chris’s outburst, delighted to have distressed the other diners.
Lorah understood human nature, had an insight into people that few could rival, knew which buttons to push with whom. She wanted all in attendance at her séance and was merely ensuring her audience. Nikki, however, planned to be gone before any table levitating and spiritual contacts took place.
Diego left the dining room as disgusted as Chris, but without the show of temper. Anxious to question him, Nikki nearly followed, then realized Marti would likely tag along. Nikki wanted to speak to Diego alone. So she dawdled over her meal until Marti finally announced she had pages to write.
Nikki gave the mystery writer enough time to reach her room and be safely occupied before making her own excuses and leaving Olivia and Lorah to partake of the delectable-looking strawberry shortcake Mrs. Grissom offered for dessert.
To her disappointment, Diego was not in the parlor or foyer. No one was. She hurried up to the second floor. The whir of a sewing machine came from within the ballroom. Dorothea? She hesitated, then decided she wanted her e-mail more than she wanted a confrontation at the moment. She made it to her room without enc
ountering anyone, collected her laptop and dashed back to the second floor. No e-mail. Disappointment carried her back to her room.
It was a bit early, she told herself, grappling with the alien impatience that seemed to be driving her today. It took a concerted effort to settle down at her desk and start the preliminary work on her book, but she soon became engrossed in describing Wedding House and the portrait, her fingers flying across the keyboard as she processed her initial feelings about this bed and breakfast. She was surprised to discover four hours had passed when she closed the laptop. Surely by now there would be some response to her earlier e-mails.
She went down to the TV room. There was one e-mail. From her editor. Nothing from any of her sources about Theresa Aznar. Nikki blew out a disappointed breath. Damn. She hated the impatience that kept nipping at her. From the beginning she’d known it would take years to find her father. If she found him. A search with few leads couldn’t be rashed. But now that it might be a matter of days, perhaps hours, until she had the information she’d long sought, she was as jittery as an espresso junkie.
Chris Conrad. This was his fault. His presence undermined her, made her want to cut and run, not stick this out to its natural conclusion. Damn it all. She would not be driven from the only place she’d ever been that promised a clue to her family. She closed her laptop and disconnected from the phone outlet. For the first time in her life, waiting was the hardest thing she’d ever done, but nothing worth having, she reminded herself, came easily. And this was everything she’d ever wanted. Everything she would ever need.
Chris would not drive her from it—not one aspect of it. She wouldn’t allow him. She’d keep her distance and survive her visit here with her heart intact.
“I know, Liv, it’s a mess.” Dorothea’s voice issued from the hall. “Both actors’ agents said I called and canceled. I don’t know what’s going on. I swear I didn’t do any such thing.”
“Of course not, but who would have?” Olivia sounded anxious.
“I don’t know. It’s very odd.”
It was strange, Nikki silently agreed. Someone seemed bent on destroying the Conrads’ grand opening. She wondered fleetingly whether or not Chris’s theory about Dorothea and the chisel was wrong. Whether someone else, someone neither of them suspected, had dropped the tool from the library window. The thought raised goose bumps on her limbs.
“The actors aren’t coming, then?” Olivia asked, her voice reedy.
“I managed to straighten it out, and they may make it after all. But meanwhile Tomas made a commitment and can’t be here until next week and Victoria took a commercial and won’t be free until then, either.”
“So, it’s not a total disaster?”
“Yes and no. We can’t hold things up until then. I need someone to fill in for rehearsals, in case they don’t get here. If only I could get Nikki and your brother to play the roles of Luis and Theresa...but they’re both opposed to the idea.”
Nikki froze. She’d wanted some way to get close to Dorothea, hoped an opportunity would present itself, but acting in her distasteful skit? God, she couldn’t believe she was even considering it. But... what if it were the only chance she had? After all, it was probably just a rehearsal or two.
And Chris wouldn’t be involved. He’d never agree to stand in for the actor playing Luis. If anything, he was disgusted by his uncle. Nothing and no one could talk him into taking on the role, even for a few rehearsals. Especially opposite Nikki.
And making Dorothea happy would stop her attempts at sensationalistic publicity. Would keep Nikki safe. Nikki had nothing against promotion, but she wanted Wedding House in her new book, a book about reputable bed and breakfasts, not establishments and proprietors who were hungry for notoriety at any price. So, keeping the scandals controlled suited her purposes as well.
With her mind made up, Nikki gathered her laptop and stepped into the hall. Olivia and Dorothea stood on opposite sides of the gaping ballroom doors. Dorothea faced Nikki. Her brown eyes were bloodshot, either, Nikki guessed, from too much vodka, or too many hours at the sewing machine. “I couldn’t help overhearing you a moment ago. About the actors being delayed?”
Olivia lurched toward her, looking more pale than normal, seeming as much a ghost as the one Lorah claimed haunted this mansion.
Dorothea squinted at Nikki and sighed. “Yes. It’s a disaster.”
Olivia knotted her hands together. “I wanted this launch to be something people would talk about for years to come. Dot and I have worked months and months trying to get everything perfect, but secret forces are against us.”
Nikki didn’t want to, but couldn’t help feeling sorry for Olivia Conrad. The last of her doubts scattered. “I’d be willing to fill in for the actor playing Theresa...until she arrives.”
“Are you serious?” Olivia’s features twitched. “Would you really?”
“Yes. Provided you don’t actually expect me to ‘act.’”
“Of course not. Why, this is wonderful.” Dorothea beamed, perking right up, her little-girl voice as chirpy as a baby bird’s. “Now, Liv, if your brother...”
Olivia shook her head. “Oh, no, Chris won’t.”
“What won’t I?”
He stood at the landing above, looking more handsome than ever. He wore a black dress shirt and black jeans. His ebony hair was swept off his forehead. Nikki’s heart kicked and her throat dried. He resembled a grand matador, invincible and gloriously sexy, poised to face down a ferocious bull. And he was just the man who could do it. She knew the cruelty of his lips, the devastation of his kiss. Thank God she wouldn’t be sucked into his sensuous clutches again.
Olivia gazed up at her brother with pure adoration and swallowed hard. “Nikki just agreed to play Theresa in our skit, until the actress arrives. Dorothea and I hoped you’d fill in for Tomas, the actor who’ll be playing Uncle Luis. It’s most likely only for a few rehearsale.”
Chris’s dark eyes landed on Nikki. His brows arched in surprise as if to say, “Have you lost your mind?” She lifted her chin and cast him a defiant smile.
“Will you, Christopher?” Olivia twisted her hands tighter. “For my sake.”
Nikki knew she was wasting her time. He would pass. He was as determined as she to keep a distance between them.
He tilted his head and gazed at his sister. The hard expression he’d given Nikki and Dorothea softened. Despite the hurt he’d handed her, despite her ill feelings toward him, Nikki was touched by the love he had for his sister, by the respect and kindness he made readily available to Olivia.
How could a man who loved his sister like this be so insensitive to the feelings of other women?
Or was he? She recalled thinking Chris was controlling his emotions, corralling his feelings like a herd of unruly calves. Occasionally one or another broke free, giving a glimpse of the real man inside the attractive package, but always Chris captured the maverick emotion and roped it in. Why? It was almost as though his own emotions frightened him.
Nikki nearly laughed at the absurdity of her thoughts.
“Okay,” Chris said. “I’ll do it”
Nikki jerked toward him. Her eyes flared open, and she sucked in a sharp breath. What? What! Fury heated her cheeks and she struggled to keep from shouting at him.
“Thank you, Chris.” Olivia hugged herself.
“Oh, this will be excellent.” Dorothea chirped anew at Olivia. “We’re going to have our success, Liv.”
She spun toward Nikki and Chris. “We’ll have to have some costume fittings. Just in case. There are two dress rehearsals. How about later tonight?”
Nikki was still choking over Chris’s agreeing to play Luis. Somehow she managed to say, “Fine.”
“Not me.” Chris clambered down the remaining stairs. “I’ll be out all night.”
He brushed past Nikki, trailing mind-numbing aftershave in his wake as he hastened down the stairs and outside. Nikki excused herself and started up the stairs, carrying her
laptop pressed to her thundering heart From outside she caught the rumble of a powerful sports car engine. Through the library window she watched Chris depart in a Jaguar convertible as sleek as his hair. As black as his heart.
Fuming, Nikki returned to her room. She replaced the laptop on the desk and began shuffling through the papers in her file, thinking to occupy herself again with her book. A bright yellow sheet caught her eye. She pulled it free. The anonymous note.
“The answers you seek can be found in Wedding House.”
Her throat tightened. She’d assumed this note was about her father, but now she doubted it had anything to do with him. Who had sent this? What answers had they meant for her to find? Something about Theresa? She paced the length of the room. Yes. It had to be. Perhaps Diego Sands could solve this mystery. Perhaps he’d sent the note.
She decided it was past time they talked. He wasn’t in his room. Or anywhere else in the house. Damn. Maybe she should search the grounds. She stalked to the front door. Then stopped cold. What if she ran into Jorge? Her stomach knotted. She retreated up the stairs. Somehow she’d waylay Diego at dinner and arrange for a private chat.
But it was not to be. Diego had apparently left after lunch to meet friends in town, Olivia informed her at dinner. He wasn’t expected back until late. Just like Chris, Nikki thought, frustrated, her anger at Chris finding new life. No, she would not think about that infuriating man, would not wonder where he’d gone looking so determined to forget about her.
But when her mind wasn’t on Chris, it was on the anonymous note, on the possible motives each of the diners might have had for wanting her to discover her relationship to Theresa.
By the end of the meal the only conclusion she’d reached was that she couldn’t trust any of these people, or anything they said. She was the first to leave the table. She headed straight to the ballroom. Dorothea had gone home, but would be returning any minute for the fittings, and Nikki wanted some time alone to gather herself for the ordeal ahead.
