Читать книгу Blackhawk Desires: Blackhawk's Betrayal - Barbara McCauley - Страница 11

It seemed as if everywhere he turned, Sam saw an expectant mother. In the lobby. On the elevator. At the pool. An hour ago he’d seen two of them, walking together into the hotel spa. Then there was Christine, Adagio’s manager, three of the women in Housekeeping and two of the desk clerks. Was it some kind of cosmic joke being played on him, or had he just suddenly become excruciatingly aware of their presence?

Scrubbing a hand over his face, he leaned back in his desk chair and stared at the report on his monitor. He’d been staring at the same page, at the same figures, for the past half hour. The way his day was going, he might finish this simple accounting statement around one or two in the morning.

But why should today go any better than last night?

It frustrated—and irritated—the hell out of him he couldn’t get Kiera out of his mind. Or the burning question: was she pregnant?

It had taken a will of iron today not to seek her out and force the issue. If she’d thought she was pregnant, it might explain why she’d been so secretive since she got here, especially if she was running away from the father of her child. She’d told him she wasn’t married, so the father would most likely be a boyfriend. He remembered the black eye she’d had when she’d first arrived, and his hands tightened on the arms of his chair.

Five minutes, Sam thought, narrowing his eyes. That’s all the time he’d need with the guy. Hell, that would be taking it slowly. He could mess the jerk up big-time in under two without breaking a sweat.

He shook his head and sighed. Something just didn’t jive here. Not that he knew anything at all about pregnant women. He didn’t know a damn thing.

He couldn’t put his finger on it, but he had a feeling that what he was seeing, what she’d let him see, was all wrong.

Or was that just what he wanted to think?

He swore, then rose and walked to the window in his office, stared down at the crowded pool. It was late afternoon, a popular time for guests to swim and stretch out on the lounge chairs. There had to be at least thirty people down there. Kids splashing, old men in shorts with white legs and socks sitting under umbrellas. Gorgeous women sunbathing in bikinis. And where did his eyes end up?

On a pregnant woman.

Dammit!

He turned and started to pace. Kiera was just as attracted to him as he was to her, there was no question about that. She’d been just as wild for him as he’d been for her. God, he could still taste her, still feel her body pressed against his.

He dragged both hands through his hair and linked them behind his head. What the hell was she hiding from him? he wondered. Or, more likely, who? Why wouldn’t she tell him anything? And why wouldn’t she let him help?

She was driving him crazy.

I don’t want this complication, he told himself. I like my life just the way it is.

So why couldn’t he stop thinking about her? Why couldn’t he stop worrying if she was all right, if she needed anything?

If the test was positive …

He continued to pace. In spite of his lack of knowledge regarding “female stuff,” he just couldn’t believe she was pregnant. Kiera hadn’t missed a beat since she’d been hired at Adagios. She worked as hard, if not harder, than any other server on staff. Weren’t pregnant women supposed to throw up a lot, turn green and sleep all the time?

Shoot, Clair was acting more like she was pregnant than Kiera, he thought. Just yesterday she’d fallen asleep in the middle of a presentation by that publicist for the Cattlemen’s Association, and she’d had that bug she hadn’t been able to shake—

He stopped, furrowed his brow.

Clair?

Where the hell had that thought come from?

Clair had been acting strangely the past two days. He’d assumed because she’d suspected something had happened between him and Kiera.

But what if he’d had it all wrong, and she’d been distracted for another reason? Lord knew nothing had been as it seemed since Kiera had shown up. Why should this be any different?

Why indeed?

He squared his shoulders and set his back teeth. Enough already. He wanted answers.

And he wanted them now.

“Imbecile!” A loud clash of pots and pans followed Chef Phillipe’s ringing insult. “This is repulsive. Mon dieu, I would not feed this slop to the pigs, let alone people.”

A plate of grilled salmon in her hand, Kiera listened to Chef Phillipe berate Robert, Adagio’s sous-chef. Phillipe was on his usual daily rampage and poor Robert was his most recent victim.

“This is what I think of your so-called food.” Phillipe picked up the pan and turned it over, spilling the sauce onto the floor. For good measure, he then tossed the pan on the floor, as well. “You are a disgrace to chefs everywhere.”

Red-faced, Robert glanced from the mess to Phillipe. “But I did what you—”

“Silence!” Phillipe bellowed. “Your brain is like a petite pea. Who taught you to cook? The man who cleans out your plumbing pipes?”

Kiera winced. While she was grateful that Phillipe’s anger hadn’t been turned on her for once, she couldn’t help but feel sorry for the young man. He was fresh out of culinary school and from what she’d seen, quite talented, though still unsure of himself. Kiera figured any confidence that Robert had would quickly be beaten out of him by Phillipe.

Stay out of it, she told herself. Just turn around and walk away.

“Must I do everything myself?” Phillipe towered menacingly over Robert, who was visibly shaking. “You are incompetent.”

She clamped her teeth together and turned away. Haven’t you got enough problems of your own? This is your last order of the day. Just keep walking …

“You will never be a chef,” Phillipe continued. “You are not even fit to serve the food that I prepare.”

Unable to help herself, Kiera glanced over her shoulder, saw Robert’s eyes welling up.

Oh, hell.

She sucked in a breath, let a heartbeat pass, then dropped the plate in her hand. Well, more like threw the plate, she supposed. It landed with a loud, satisfying shatter.

Phillipe spun around, his eyes bulging with fury.

“Sorry,” she said innocently. “It slipped.”

Launching into his native language, Phillipe rounded on her, his fists clenched. Kiera spoke, and understood, enough French to know that his insults were as vile as they were insulting. The man was an ass, and she knew she should probably back away—or at least be afraid—but anger overrode her good sense.

And the expression on poor Robert’s face—a mix of horror and relief—was enough to make her stand her ground.

If there was one thing Trey had taught her, Kiera thought, it was how to drop a man—any size—to the floor. When Phillipe strode toward her, she waited for the man to even lift a finger. Almost hoped that he would. With all the frustration that had been building in her since she’d left Stone Ridge Ranch, she was certain her knee would pack quite a wallop.

When Phillipe moved into her space, she tightened her leg—

“What the hell is going on here?”

Kiera froze at the sound of Sam’s voice behind her. Dammit! Would this man forever be sneaking up on her?

Still, she didn’t turn, didn’t take her eyes off Phillipe, who looked as if he was about to pop a blood vessel in that thick neck of his.

“What is wrong?” His chest heaving, Phillipe glared at Sam. “I will tell you what is wrong. I am surrounded by complete idiots.”

From the corner of her eye, Kiera watched Sam’s jaw tighten. He glanced at Robert and the mess at his feet, then the plate she’d dropped. When he lifted his gaze back to her, she saw the controlled anger there. Her spine stiffened. Believe whatever you want, she thought. He’d already tried and convicted her yesterday when he’d seen the pregnancy test. What possible difference could it make to add one more crime to her long list of offenses?

“He is a buffoon.” Phillipe pointed a sausage-thick finger at Robert, then narrowed his beady eyes at Kiera. “And she is a clumsy, insolent—”

“That’s enough.”

The chef puffed up his chest. “You cannot expect me to work with such dim-witted, abruti—”

“I said, that’s enough.”

Stunned at the steel-edged tone in Sam’s voice, Phillipe clamped his mouth shut and gave an indignant tug at the hem of his shirt. “I will return in fifteen minutes. I expect them both to be gone.”

Phillipe turned on his heels and stomped out of the kitchen. Sam turned his gaze to the trembling sous-chef. “Robert, go over to catering and help Andrew with the anniversary party in the ballroom.”

“I’m not fired?” Robert asked incredulously.

“You’re not fired.” A muscle jumped in Sam’s clenched jaw. “Just don’t let Phillipe see you until I straighten this out.”

“Yes, sir.” Robert hesitated, then cast an anxious glance at Kiera. She smiled reassuringly at him. He smiled back weakly and hurried out of the kitchen.

When Sam turned his dark gaze on her, Kiera pressed her lips firmly together. She refused to make excuses or apologize. “I dropped a plate.”

“Did you?” He looked down at the broken china and food, then back at her. “Come with me.”

Her heart sank. Damn you! she wanted to scream. How could he have kissed her like he had—twice!—and suddenly treat her with such cold disregard? Did he even care what had happened here?

Did he care about her?

Apparently not.

“What about my customer’s order?” Kiera glanced at the salmon she’d intentionally dropped on the floor, then thought about the sweet, white-haired woman who’d ordered it. “I can’t just leave.”

“I’ll have a menu and apology sent over and comp the meal.”

“It took her twenty minutes to decide on the salmon.” Kiera knew she was goading him, she was beyond caring. “I doubt that will make her happy.”

“Fine.” He could have ground glass between his clenched jaw. “I’ll comp a meal for two and if she’s a guest here, I’ll comp her room, too. Will that make her happy?”

“I’m sure it will.” Delighted that something good was going to come of this debacle, Kiera gave a satisfied nod. “You sure you don’t want me to finish up my shift, because it’s almost over and—”

“No, Kiera, I don’t want you to finish up your shift. One of the other servers can cover your station. Now come with me.”

He turned and slammed through the kitchen’s double doors. On the other side, the entire lunch staff scattered like a herd of frightened deer.

Kiera yanked her apron off and threw it on a counter. He wanted to talk to her? Fine.

She’d talk all right.

Pushing through the doors, she grabbed her purse out of the employee closet. After she told Sam Prescott exactly what she thought of him, it was pretty much a done deal she’d get canned. The last thing she wanted was to have to come back here and deal with the you-poor-thing-you-didn’t-deserve-it condolences. Strangely enough, even Tyler was looking at her with sympathy.

She caught up with Sam after he’d paused long enough to give instructions to Christine, then followed him through the restaurant.

He didn’t say one word to her.

In the elevator, she stared straight ahead, refused to even glance at Sam, determined to hold her tongue until they were in the privacy of his office. She’d been holding in too much for too long. She was ready—past ready—to let it out. No doubt she’d regret it later, but she’d simply deal with that when the time came.

Tension crackled in the tiny space, and the overhead music sounded like a muted roar. When the doors slid quietly open, Sam strode purposefully into the hallway without giving her so much as a glance. Part of his intimidation method, she figured, stalking after him. She kept her gaze lasered to the back of his head, every step heightening her already strained emotions.

He stopped outside an unmarked office, slid a card-key into the door and opened it, then stepped aside. Head high, she marched in. When she heard the door close behind her, she dropped her purse onto an armchair and whirled on him.

“Chef Phillipe is a bully,” she said furiously. “He insults every member of the staff and refuses to acknowledge any mistake on his part, though let me tell you, he makes plenty.”

Arms folded, Sam simply stared at her.

A tiny little voice told her to put a sock in it, but she squashed the voice like a bug. She was on a roll and had no intention of slowing down.

“The man hasn’t a creative bone in his body,” she ranted on. “Everyone knows he’s hanging on the skill and reputation of your last chef. Everyone but you, obviously, or you wouldn’t put up with his arrogant nonsense.”

Sam lifted an eyebrow. “Is that so?”

“Yes, that’s so.” She slammed her hands onto her hips and moved closer. “Robert is a wonderful sous-chef and he has tremendous potential. He just needs a little guidance, which he’ll never get from Phillipe. You know why?”

“I have the feeling you’re going to tell me,” Sam said evenly.

“Yes, I am going to tell you.” Why not? she thought. She’d already cooked her goose, why not serve it on a platter while she was at it? “Because any sign of talent threatens him so he beats it down. Because he knows he lacks the je ne sais quoi that a truly great chef is born with. And because, sooner or later, he knows that he’ll be found out, and when he is he’ll be flipping burgers and slinging hash in a coffee shop somewhere.”

Lord, but she was riled.

Sam watched Kiera throw her arms out in exasperation. Her cheeks were flushed and sparks flew from her eyes like tiny blue bolts of lightning. He was certain he’d never met anyone like this woman before. She absolutely fascinated him.

She absolutely dazzled him.

“I don’t know why I’m trying to explain this to you.

You wouldn’t understand working in a kitchen, what it means, what it takes.” She spun on her heels and flounced away. “And why should you believe anything I say, anyway? You’re too busy making assumptions and passing judgments.”

“Kiera—”

“You’re management, I’m just a waitress. What the hell do I know?”

“Kiera—”

“I’m done talking. So what are you waiting for? Fire me already.” She whirled around and faced him. “Never mind. I’ll make your job easy. I quit.”

“Kiera,” he said patiently. “I believe you.”

That stopped her. “What?”

“I said, I believe you.”

“You do?”

“Yes.”

Still unsure, she tilted her head. “Which part?”

Sam folded his arms and sighed. “Chef Phillipe is a bully riding on the previous chef’s coattails,” he repeated her words. “He hasn’t a creative bone in his body and Robert is a good sous-chef. I already knew all that.”

“You did?”

“Yes, I did.”

She frowned. “So then why did you let me go on like that?”

Grinning, he leaned back against the door. “I was enjoying the show.”

Her frown darkened, then she suddenly went still and scanned around the room, confused. “This isn’t your office.”

He was wondering how long it would take her to notice. “No, this is not my office.”

She took in the living room area of the large suite and the kitchen. “This is your … ah, where you …”

“Live,” he finished for her.

She glanced back at him. “I don’t understand.”

“I wanted privacy.” He saw her breath catch when he pushed away from the door.

She shifted awkwardly. “I hardly think dragging me out of the kitchen in front of the entire staff is private.”

“Would you have come up here with me if I’d told you where we were going?”

“I—no.”

The beat she’d waited to answer was just long enough to make his pulse jump. She wouldn’t have said no, and they both knew it.

Yet still, he could see the inner war waging in her eyes: stand her ground or bolt. She was already running away from something or someone in her life. He had no intention of letting her run away from him.

Not anymore.

But she didn’t bolt, just stood still, kept her gaze level as he closed the distance between them until he was less than an arm’s reach away.

“You’re not pregnant.”

She jerked her head up. “What?”

“You’re not pregnant. You bought that test for someone else.”

“And why would I do that?”

She was on guard now. He’d come to recognize the look in her eyes when he approached a subject she clearly did not want to talk about. “Because Clair asked you to.”

“She told you that?”

He shook his head. “She didn’t tell me anything. It’s more of an uneducated guess. You just confirmed it.”

Her eyes narrowed sharply. “You tricked me.”

“I didn’t trick you,” he stated. “I’m simply trying to understand why Clair would ask someone she’s just met to buy a pregnancy test for her.”

“I really don’t see where that’s any concern of yours.”

“Fine.” He shrugged and started to turn. “I’ll just go ask her myself.”

“No!”

Sam turned back, watched her chew on the inside of her lip while she struggled with the proverbial rock and hard place situation.

“She had all the signs,” Kiera said finally. “I just sort of suggested she might be pregnant. She hadn’t considered the possibility until I asked her how far along she was.”

He raised a questioning eyebrow. “And she asked you to buy a pregnancy test for her?”

“If she’d bought it herself, how long do you think it would take for the entire town to find out?”

“Probably not even long enough for the stick to turn blue.”

“Exactly.”

“So did it?”

She started to say something, then quickly pressed her lips together.

He grinned. “Now that was trying to trick you.”

“Whether she is or she isn’t, and who she wants to tell when, is Clair’s decision,” Kiera said primly. “And I’d appreciate you not mentioning this conversation to her.”

“Geez, I don’t know.” He shook his head doubtfully. “This is pretty big news. It just might innocently slip out, you know, when I’m distracted or caught up in work.”

“Sam, please,” she said anxiously and reached out. “Don’t joke about this. Clair trusted me to keep this quiet.”

He glanced down at the hand she’d laid on his arm, wondered how the hell such a simple, innocent touch could make his blood rush. “I think I can manage to refrain from spreading gossip and rumors.”

Relief washed over her face, then she quickly pulled her hand from his arm and stepped back. “I—I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to imply you would be anything but discreet. Obviously, you’ve already proven that you are.”

He knew she was talking about herself now, not Clair. “I’ve also proven I jump to conclusions.”

Linking her hands together, she glanced down at the floor. “If I had been, I mean, if I were pregnant, would you have, would it …”

When her voice trailed off, he moved closer, lowered his voice. “Would it have mattered?”

She lifted her head. “Yes.”

“You don’t know?” he asked quietly.

She shook her head. “The only thing I know is that I’m attracted to you, and I think you’re attracted to me.”

Attracted? He let the word roll around his brain for a moment. It seemed like such a mild description for what he felt toward her. Other words came to his mind … need, desperate, insane.

He lifted his hand and cupped her chin in his palm, felt her tremble at his touch. “I have three rules I live by,” he said softly, watched her eyes slowly close when he ran his thumb over her soft cheek. “Three rules I promised myself I’d always keep.”

Her eyelids fluttered open, and she met his gaze.

“Rule number one.” He traced her mouth with the pad of his thumb. “Don’t date employees.”

“Rule number two.” He cut her off when she opened her mouth. “Hotel policies apply to the entire staff.”

“Sam—”

“Rule number three.” He placed his index finger on her lips. “Don’t get emotionally involved with an employee.”

When she parted her lips, heat slammed into his gut. “I’ve known you less than two weeks,” he said, “and I’ve already broken every damn one.”

“You know,” she whispered, “since I’m no longer an employee, those rules don’t really apply anymore, do they?”

“No, I suppose they don’t,” he said, then grabbed hold of her shoulders and dragged her mouth to his.