Rhys’ hand tightened into a fist. What a filthy lie. It was all he could do to keep his mouth shut and let his lawyer talk for him.
“Mr. Blackwell has done no such thing,” Dan said. “Any of his employees are welcome to speak on Ms. Lundgren’s behalf. The reason they’re not here is that her claim is false.”
Rhys relaxed just a little. Dan was a good lawyer. He was handling things just fine.
“Ms. Lundgren herself spoke with people who felt intimidated by him,” Skinny’s lawyer said.
“Hearsay.” Dan’s voice was sharp. “She again has no evidence to back up her claims. Making further unproven claims doesn’t strengthen her original unproven claim.”
“All right,” the judge said. “Mr. Jackson, do you have any evidence to support your client’s claims?”
“I have her testimony,” Skinny’s lawyer said.
“Mr. Montclair, what about you? Do you have any evidence to support your client’s innocence?”
“We can’t prove a negative, your Honor. If Ms. Lundgren would just provide dates and times when she said these incidents occurred, we could at least determine if Mr. Blackwell was even in the state, but she has refused.”
“Mr. Jackson, why haven’t you given the defendant the details of Ms. Lundgren’s claim, including those dates and times?”
“She doesn’t remember, your Honor.”
“Excuse me?” the judge said.
“She doesn’t remember the dates and times,” Skinny’s lawyer said. “She was under extreme duress at the time and didn’t think to write those things down.”
Rhys kept his face impassive at the ‘extreme duress’ comment. He didn’t want the judge to think he was uncaring. But really–extreme duress? She had a good job and every time he’d seen her she’d been happy and flirtatious.
Not for the first time, he wondered at the idea that Skinny thought he’d ever be interested in her. He supposed she wasn’t unattractive by conventional societal norms. She did have that boyish, skinny body so many women aspired to. He didn’t understand it, himself. Why would he want a woman who didn’t look like a woman? Where were her breasts, her hips, her ass? Why would he want to look at the two sticks she called legs when he could look at legs like Sophia’s instead?
Sophia. He knew that was why he was judging Skinny so harshly. Every time he looked at Skinny, he thought about Sophia. Sophia had the lush curves he liked. When he looked at her he thought about cuddling. She looked warm and soft and comfortable.
Cuddling wasn’t the only thing he thought of.
Dan’s voice brought him back to the present. “Your Honor, my client is innocent until proven guilty. Ms. Lundgren hasn’t provided the slightest shred of evidence. I urge you to dismiss this travesty of justice.”
The judge held up his hand. “I’m not ready to dismiss this case just yet, although I’m very close. As far as I can tell, the choice is between the word of a sweet, innocent girl and that of a titan of industry. But Mr. Jackson, if you want this to go much further, you need to sit down with your client and figure out the dates when she thinks these incidents occurred. If you can’t do that, then I’ll need to dismiss.”
And with that, they were on to the next step–a trial. Just what Rhys and his lawyer had been trying to avoid.
Rhys came home to a house bustling with people–his regular staff and a dozen more brought on just for the party. Janet gave him an update as soon as he walked through the door. He wanted to go see Sophie himself but knew he didn’t need to. Janet had said everything was fine, and he trusted Sophie’s skills and abilities. He just wanted to see her.
He had to admit, at least to himself, he liked Sophie far too much. He’d thought about her off and on through the entire hearing, and that wasn’t the first time. Lately he’d found himself drifting off during business meetings, thinking about her, only coming back to himself when someone asked him a question.
It needed to stop. He wasn’t sure how to stop it.
At the same time, he didn’t want to stop it at all. He wanted to spend more time with her, get to know her even better. He wanted to learn everything about her. And yes, he wanted to take her to bed, rock her world so hard she could never think of another man, then curl up in her warm, soft arms.
Tamara arrived a short half hour after he got home, already dressed to the nines. “What can I do?”
“Dressed like that?” he said. “Not a thing. We don’t want to mess up your dress. Or your hair, or your nails, or—”
She smacked him playfully on the arm. “Uncle Rhys. I could do something. Just not something messy.”
Exactly what did she think there was to do that wasn’t messy? “How ‘bout you check out all the rooms and make sure they look the way you want them to? And then you could go check on the food.” Safer that way. Safer for him to stay far, far from tempting Sophia.
“Okay!” Tamara flounced off to look at all of the decorations.
Rhys hoped she wouldn’t get underfoot.
An hour later, two minutes before the first guest, Rhys’ brother Garrett, Tamara’s father, arrived. He looked liked he’d rolled off a transatlantic flight, thrown on some fresh clothes and come straight here. Which, Rhys knew, was exactly what had happened.
“Good of you to show,” Rhys said.
“Don’t be like that,” Garrett said. “I got here. That’s gotta be worth something.”
Garrett had been too young when he’d had Tamara. Young and stupid. He’d grown older but Rhys wasn’t so sure he’d gotten any smarter. Case in point–Garrett should have been the one throwing the party at his own house. Instead, Garrett had been away when the reception hall had burned down and hadn’t made a single move to solve the problem. If Rhys hadn’t stepped in, Tamara wouldn’t have had a party at all.
Poor kid.
“You’re right. Good job for showing. Now do your best to not screw things up. Tamara deserves a good party. And she’s dying to see you. So be nice to her.”
Garrett’s face hardened. “You’re a real bastard, Rhys.”
“If you were a better father, I wouldn’t have to be.”
“Daddy!” Tamara catapulted down the wide curving staircase and into her father’s arms.
As Garrett hugged her, Rhys met his eyes. “Remember what I said,” Rhys said.
Two hours and three hundred teenagers later, Tamara gyrated around the makeshift dance floor in Rhys’ backyard to some tunes the deejay was playing. Rhys had never heard the song before, but then he hadn’t heard most of the songs the guy played. The kids seemed to like them, though. And that was all that mattered.
Rhys had made his obligatory rounds. He’d talked to the few parents who had arrived to help chaperone and with the friends of Tamara’s he knew. Now he stood on the back deck and watched. If he snuck into the kitchen right about now, would anyone notice?
Not likely. The kids were all preoccupied with each other, the handful of parents were watching the kids, and all the staff were focused on their jobs. Not a one of them cared about what he was doing. Perfect.
A few minutes later he walked into the kitchen through the backdoor, the same door he’d used just a couple of weeks earlier when he’d stumbled upon Sophie for the first time. This time, the spacious kitchen had four cooks hurrying around it. On the far side, Sophie stood with her back to him, working on something he couldn’t see.
He ambled to her side, stopping a couple of feet away and leaning against the counter. He hoped she’d spot him without him startling her.
Sure enough, she glanced at him then back at her work. She appeared to be wrapping something in little pieces of bacon and putting the resulting bite-sized bits on a cookie sheet. “How’s the party going?” she said.
“Remarkably well.” Considering he’d never thrown a party for teenagers before. “No one’s drunk, nothing’s broken and the cops haven’t shown up yet. A complete success.”
“So far.”
He moved a step closer to her.
“Are you being pessimistic?”
“There are an awful lot of kids out there. If they decide to revolt, we’ll be overrun.”
Rhys laughed. “I don’t think revolt is on their minds right now. However, it’s time. You owe me a dance.”
Sophie’s hands stilled as her head shot up. “I’m too busy right now.”
“Doesn’t matter.” He stepped closer and put his hand on her back.
She looked behind her at the other cooks. “I’m not going to dance here in front of everybody.”
“No problem. There’s a pantry, isn’t there? Just back there?” If she thought for a second she was going to worm her way out of this, she was mistaken. He’d been dreaming about this dance for two days. It might be a bad idea–scratch that, it was definitely a bad idea–but no way in hell was he giving it up.
“I can’t just stop in the middle.” She resumed wrapping her thing-a-ma-bobs.
Rhys leaned closer to whisper in her ear. “One dance, Sophie. You promised.” He didn’t move away until she put down the pieces of food.
“Fine. Just let me wash my hands.”
A couple of minutes later he followed her into the pantry. The room was a little cramped for dancing, but that suited him just fine. He didn’t want anything elaborate. He just wanted to hold her close and rock to the music.
“I can barely hear the song,” she said as she turned toward him.
Rhys snagged her around the waist and pulled her close, their bodies brushing against each other. “I think it’s still ringing in my ears.”
“It’s not a slow dance. We don’t have to...”
He pulled her a little closer, placing his head so close to hers their cheeks almost touched. “Not enough room in here to do anything else.” She wouldn’t talk him out of it. Having her in his arms felt like heaven.
He could hear her breathing. He slid his arms up her back to hold her more fully. She smelled like spices from the kitchen.
“I think the song’s over,” she whispered.
“No, it’s not.” He really didn’t give a damn if it was. He pulled her just a little tighter and felt her body flush against his. He was getting hard, and now she could feel it too, and he didn’t care.
“Rhys—”
She was going to pull away. He knew it. And before she did that, there was one thing–he just had to– He kissed her, holding her hard against him so she wouldn’t push him away.
Except she didn’t. Sophie kissed him back, her arms tightening around him.
Rhys groaned in her mouth, one hand sliding down her body to cup that gorgeous butt of hers. This is what he’d wanted—her, in his arms, wanting him back. This is what he’d needed.
One of her arms snuck around his back to hold him even tighter against her. Her other hand tangled in his hair.
“Sophie...” he murmured against her lips.
Chapter 10
Sophie couldn’t think. She could only feel. Her skin burned and a heaviness settled between her legs. Why had she ever held back? Where was the harm?
Rhys pushed her against the back wall, making a rack of shelves full of cans shake precariously.
“Careful,” she breathed.
“Careful,” he echoed, cupping her cheek so gently she almost didn’t feel his fingers against her skin. “We could find a bed.”
Sophie took a deep breath. She wanted that more than anything. But in that instant, clarity returned. At least a little bit. “I have to finish the party. I have hors d’oeuvres to cook.”
“Damn. I don’t suppose you’d forget about that.”
“Ha. No.”
Someone started yelling in the kitchen. “Uncle Rhys! Uncle Rhys!”
Rhys cleared his throat. “Stay right here. I’ll be right back.” He stepped out of the pantry.
Stay here? What for? Sophie followed him into the kitchen.
Tamara Blackwell flung herself at Rhys. “Thank you so much for my party. It’s awesome!”
Sophie couldn’t quite decipher what she was seeing. Was Rhys such a close family friend that Tamara would hug him? But...she’d called him uncle. How could he be her uncle?
Rhys’ eyes caught hers over Tamara’s shoulder. She couldn’t read his expression. It almost looked like fear, but that was ridiculous.
Was ‘uncle’ an endearment rather than something literal? She could hear her blood rushing in her ears as Tamara gushed to Rhys about the party. And why was Tamara thanking Rhys? Wasn’t it Mr. Blackwell who had thrown the party?
A sick feeling settled in Sophie’s stomach. She had to ask Rhys about all this. And no matter what answer he gave her, she had the feeling nothing would ever be the same.
Tamara gave Rhys one more kiss on the cheek then waltzed out of the kitchen.
Rhys turned to Sophie, trying to smile but not quite making it. “One more dance before you go back to work?”
“Who are you really?”
He stepped toward her. “It doesn’t matter.”
“She called you ‘uncle.’ Why would she do that?”
“She’s just a kid.” He put his hands on her hips.
Sophie stepped away. “Just be straight with me.”
Rhys threaded his fingers through his hair. He took a step backward, turning away from her.
Her stomach clenched. “Tell me,” Sophie said.
His jaw tightened, and he looked her straight in the eye. “I’m William Rhys Blackwell.”
Sophie swallowed, tasting bile. She’d done it again. Fallen for the master of the house. What a fool.
“Sophie.” He stepped toward her, his hands out.
“Don’t. I told you I didn’t want a relationship. I asked you, over and over, who you were. And you lied to me.” She put her hand up. “Just don’t.”
“Soph—”
She brushed past him. “I have a job to do.” And that goodness that job didn’t require much thought at this point. All the planning was done. For now she just had to cook. And she could do that with her eyes closed. She returned to her spot at the counter and picked up where she’d left off.
Rhys sidled up next to her, almost touching her but not quite. His heat enveloped her. “Listen. I didn’t mean anything by it at first. I didn’t even mean for you not to know who I was. Then when you told me about that last place you worked, I knew if I told you who I am you’d get all stiff and formal with me and I couldn’t stand that.” He touched her elbow.
Sophie jerked away.
“Just like you’re being now. Don’t hate me, Soph.”
“You lied to me.” Her voice was so soft she could barely hear it, but she didn’t want anyone else in the kitchen to hear her. “You knew if you were honest I’d never fall into bed with you.” And she’d been about to. If Tamara hadn’t come into the kitchen, Sophie would have slept with Rhys just as soon as the party was over.
“It’s not like that. I’m not just trying to get some tail. I really like you.”
Did her heart have to clench when he said that? She’d told him how important it was to her to not end up in a relationship. He knew the last person she’d want to get involved in was him. And so he lied. He lied.
“Cookies.” She nearly spit the word. “Cookies and mac and cheese. I should have known.”
Rhys traced his finger down her cheek. “Maybe you didn’t want to know any more than I wanted to tell you.”
Her stomach burning, Sophie pushed his hand away. “It doesn’t matter. I know now and anything we—” She paused, her mind stuttering over the kiss in the pantry. “It’s over.”
“It didn’t even get started.”
“All the better.”
He edged closer. She had to move her arm so she didn’t elbow him.
“Just because things didn’t work out in your last relationship doesn’t mean things couldn’t work out with us.”
He couldn’t be serious. “You’re my boss. If things don’t work out between us, I’ll have to find a new job. I don’t want to find a new j
ob. So we’re not going to go any farther with this.” Thank goodness she hadn’t slept with him.
Rhys didn’t move for a very long minute. She paused in her food preparation but didn’t look at him. “That’s really what you want?” he said in a low voice.
Her stomach burned again. What she wanted? What she wanted was for Rhys to be who he’d pretended to be–a lowly worker like her, someone she could fall in love with. But he wasn’t, and he couldn’t be. And she didn’t want to lose another job over some misguided idea that some man might love her someday. So was it what she wanted? “Yes.”
“All right, then.” His voice sounded a little hoarse. “I’ll leave you alone.”
As he walked away, it felt like he took all the warmth in the kitchen with him.
Chapter 11
Every time one of the kitchen doors opened, Sophie jumped. So far, Rhys hadn’t visited since she’d told him she wanted nothing to do with him but she knew he could show up any minute. Avoiding him should have been easy, but she didn’t trust him to keep to his part of the mansion.
The door from the hall opened and Sophie twisted to see who it was. Just Raymond. She turned back to the sink, cleaning the last of her utensils.
“Mr. Blackwell would like some cookies.” Raymond walked over to her. “He specifically said he wanted ‘a lot, not just two.’”
He hadn’t asked for cookies since their break up or whatever it was. She’d been wondering if that had merely been an excuse he used to visit the kitchen. Apparently not.
Sophie reached for the container of cookies. “How many would ‘a lot’ be? More than three?”
Raymond chuffed. “I’ve seen him eat ten in a row. Give him eight. If he doesn’t eat them all, I’ll bring them back.”
She placed them neatly on a plate. “He’ll eat them.”
As Raymond carried the plate out of the kitchen, Sophie almost wished Rhys had come to get them himself. She missed him. As much as she’d tried not to, she’d started to fall for him. But how could she care about someone who lied to her like that?
That made it harder to miss him, because the betrayal and the guilt over being duped got mixed in with everything else.
Crazy About Curves: 10 Luscious Reads Page 83
