Читать книгу Twice the Temptation - Cara Summers - Страница 11

Thursday evening—the day before Singles Weekend

“HERE YOU GO.” A young bartender whose name tag identified him as Grant set a beer down in front of Mac.

“Thanks.” Mac guessed Grant to be in his early twenties and he had a tendency to talk in bullets. “Are you always this busy?”

Grant grinned. “August. Height of the season. The restaurant closes at 10:00 p.m. Guests only have two choices.” Grant held his hands out, palms upward imitating a scale. “Here or their rooms.”

“From the looks of it, there are very few in their rooms.”

“Just the way we like it,” Grant said.

Mac glanced around the nearly fully occupied room. The U-shaped bar with its richly detailed mahogany panels and brass trim filled the center of the room. In a corner, a grand piano sat on a small raised stage surrounded by a dance floor. Windows lined one wall and, during the day, the ocean could be seen in the distance.

Grant pulled down two wineglasses from an overhead rack and used a practiced eye to fill them evenly. “Some of the guests are early arrivals for our Singles Weekend. Are you staying for it?”

“Yes.” And he’d dithered over that decision as much as he had over selecting which venue to use for Reese Brightman’s show.

It wasn’t just because he might have some responsibility for the threatening notes she’d been receiving. Or the fact that he had a vested professional interest in keeping her safe. Or even that he had yet to approach her about using Haworth House for background shots in her TV series.

All of those reasons were valid ones for staying on at Haworth House. But Mac knew that his decision had also been influenced by what he’d read on that damn parchment paper. And by the feelings Reese Brightman could trigger in him.

Otherwise, why would he be sitting here, waiting, on the off chance that she’d come into the bar? He’d purposely chosen a seat at one end of the counter, between the drink pick-up station and a richly foliaged plant that offered a clear view of the archway to the lobby. If she did make an appearance, he’d see her.

He was glancing in that direction when Charles Dutoit entered the room and scanned the tables, obviously looking for someone. The woman he’d been having lunch with earlier? Mac glanced around, but he didn’t see her.

Or was Dutoit looking for Reese? The thought had Mac frowning. The man certainly seemed to have some history with her. Was the L.A. chef here for the Singles Weekend? Mac’s frown deepened.

After a moment, Dutoit whirled and exited into the lobby.

“It’s the first Singles Weekend we’ve ever held,” Grant said as he efficiently loaded a tray with drinks. “Very exciting. Lots of events to encourage mixing, like hiking and a volleyball tournament on the beach.”

Grant leaned closer to Mac. “And tomorrow night we have a very special event scheduled here. Guests are going to be able to draw fantasies from our resident ghost’s fantasy box.”

“So I’ve heard. What can you tell me about this box?”

“Long story. Very romantic. Think Romeo and Juliet, West Side Story.”

“Star-crossed lovers,” Mac said.

“You got it.” Then he winked at Mac. “According to the local gossip, Hattie Haworth and Samuel Jenkins might have been star crossed, but they made the most of their time together. They created this box of fantasies. They’re all written on parchment paper. Not that I’ve seen any. But they’re supposed to be quite … stimulating.”

Mac had to agree with that. What he’d seen on the parchment Reese had dropped in the lobby had kept his erection hard all day. Try as he might, he couldn’t seem to shake the fantasy of becoming Reese Brightman’s boy toy.

Why else hadn’t he approached her already and introduced himself? Because once she knew who he was and why he’d come to the island, everything between them would become complicated. For both of them. She’d know he was Mac Davies, the waffling producer of her TV show who wanted to tinker with the concept one last time.

And any chance for the fantasy might well be lost.

Disgusted with himself, Mac picked up his glass and took a long swallow of beer. She was making him nuts. She’d interfered with his ability to think clearly from the first instant he’d seen her on that TV screen, and now she’d clearly sent him over the edge.

All day he’d lingered in the background trying to decide what to do. And he was still dithering over it. The last thing he should be considering was pursuing some kind of crazy fantasy with Reese Brightman. She didn’t just attract him on a physical level. She had the ability to push his emotional buttons, also. Case in point—the bitter, coppery taste he got in his mouth whenever he thought of someone else becoming her boy toy.

He was lifting his glass for another swallow when he felt her. The sharp tug in his gut and the way each of his senses sharpened had him glancing up. As she moved toward his end of the bar, she was flanked by two men. He recognized Avery Cooper. The other man, tall and sandy-haired, wore a badge and a gun strapped to his belt.

So they weren’t taking the black rose lightly. But it wasn’t relief he felt as Reese and the two men slid into a booth almost directly to his right. The foliage of the plant partly obstructed his view, but he saw it as she sat down—just the edge of that piece of parchment sticking out of the pocket of her jeans.

First the words echoed inside of his head: You will explore all the sensual delights of having your own boy toy. Then the image filled his mind. They were in bed together. Candles flickered in the background, flowers scented the air, but his attention was on her face, watching her eyes darken, hearing her breath hitch, seeing how her expression changed as he touched her, slowly, thoroughly.

What might it be like to be Reese Brightman’s boy toy? To focus all his being on simply giving her pleasure? And making her his own.

“Can I get you another beer?”

Grant’s words seemed to come from a distance, and when they finally penetrated the sensual fog that engulfed him, Mac found that his hands were locked on the edge of the bar.

He wanted Reese Brightman with a possessiveness that he’d never felt for any other woman. And the intensity of his desire had been building to a flashpoint ever since he’d first met her.

“Sure,” he said to the bartender. But it wasn’t a cold beer that he needed. It was a cold shower.

“OPEN A BOTTLE OF OUR NEW Pinot Gris for Ms. Brightman,” Avery told the hovering waitress. “Sheriff Kirby and I will have the house draft.”

As soon the young woman hurried off, Reese said, “You didn’t have to come all the way up here, Nate. Your deputy, Tim, took my statement earlier.” She shifted her gaze to Avery. “You shouldn’t have called him.”

Avery reached over to pat her hand. “I honored your wishes and I didn’t call your sisters … yet. Someone is going to a lot of trouble to threaten you. The sooner we put a stop to it, the better.”

Avery was right, she thought. Ever since the flower and the note had arrived, he’d tried to distract her with the last minute details of the Singles Weekend. He’d proposed that she end the festivities on Sunday afternoon with a cooking demonstration. And she’d slipped right back into her old M.O., using her work to escape from her problems.

She watched Nate pull out a notebook and flip it open. The flowers and the notes weren’t going to go away. Neither was Mr. Blue Eyes. She was going to have to deal with both problems, soon.

She’d caught glimpses of Blue Eyes off and on all day long and each time, his effect on her senses seemed to grow stronger, more urgent.

That moment in the courtyard when her eyes had locked on his, the heat rushing through her system had wiped out everything—all of her worries, all the stress she’d been under the past few months. She’d even forgotten all about the black roses and the notes.

If he could do that just by looking at her … what could he do if he touched her? What might it be like if he kissed her? If she kissed him back?

But each time her thoughts drifted in that direction, panic would bubble up. Could he be the man Hattie had chosen for her fantasy? Was Blue Eyes destined to become her boy toy? And what did she want to do about that?

Those were the questions that Avery hadn’t been fully successful in distracting her from.

And if she was going to take charge of her life, she needed those answers…. A little thrill moved through her at the idea.

“Reese?”

Gathering her thoughts, Reese saw that Nate had his pencil poised. First things first. Mentally, she squared her shoulders. “Go ahead. Ask me anything.”

“According to Tim, the first note just said, ‘Congratulations'?”

“Yes. I didn’t see it as a threat.”

Avery’s brows shot up. “My darling girl, even with your convent school background, you must have thought a black rose was a bit ominous.”

“I put it out of my mind.” And buried my head in the sand, as usual.

“The second note and flower arrived a week later. This time the message read, ‘Gather ye rosebuds while ye may.’”

“Yes.” Hearing the words conjured up the chill she’d felt when she’d first read the message. But she’d ignored that one, too.

“The whole gist of that poem is about how fleeting time and life is,” Avery pointed out. “Why didn’t you report the incidents to the police?”

Reese drew in a breath. “Because I was a coward. I didn’t want to face the possibility that I was being threatened.”

Avery took one of her hands. “My darling girl, you’re not a coward.”

“I am. When you called and asked me to come for the Singles Weekend, I jumped at it. I thought if I could just get away from L.A. for a while, the whole problem might disappear. Or I could take care of it when I got back to L.A. When I got the note today, I realized that I wasn’t going to get my reprieve.”

“The third note is definitely a threat,” Nate said. “‘Enjoy the sweet taste of success while you can. It will end soon.’”

“I know. But I’m not going to run from it anymore. I’m aware that it’s a very bad sign that whoever this person is, he’s tracked me here.”

“Do you have any idea who could be sending the notes?” Nate asked.

Reese bit back a frustrated sigh. “No. I haven’t been dating, so it can’t be an ex-boyfriend. As far as I know, I don’t have any crazy fans. I live a pretty quiet life.”

“There’s Charles Dutoit,” Avery added with a glance at Nate. “He’s an ex-boyfriend and he’s here at Haworth House. He sent Reese three dozen white roses this afternoon.”

“He was just being kind,” Reese said. “He wanted to erase the memory of the black ones.”

“And he left a message at the desk asking her to have dinner with him,” Avery added. “Again. He’d asked her earlier, before the rose arrived, but she’d turned him down.”

“I can talk to him,” Nate said, “but it sounds more like he’s trying to rekindle an old romance than scare you. How about a rival? The first note and flower arrived after the news of your TV show hit the papers. Is there anyone who might be jealous of your success?”

Reese shook her head. “I know that there are a lot of young chefs who have to be envious. I’ve been on a fast track ever since I graduated four years ago from Le Cordon Bleu. But I can’t think of anyone who might do something like this.”

“Think harder,” Nate cautioned. “The notes all carry a hint of professional jealousy.”

“Sending black roses—that’s going to a bit of trouble,” Reese said.

“Not too much,” Nate said. “Tim checked with Lynn McNally, who runs The Best Blooms in Belle Bay. She gets orders for colored flowers every so often—usually around the holidays. The process is pretty simple. She told Tim it took her less than ten minutes to spray a white rose today. But she didn’t know anything about a black one.”

“So what do we do next?” Avery asked.

“Watch and wait. I’m assuming that you’ll keep an eye on Reese while she’s here this weekend.” He turned to Reese. “And I want you to keep thinking about people who might have a motive. Start back in your days at Le Cordon Bleu if you have to.”

“You could browse through those scrapbooks you keep,” Avery suggested.

“Scrapbooks?” Nate asked.

Reese felt the color rise in her cheeks. “Collecting memories was Sister Margherite’s idea. She’s the nun who first taught me to cook. She insisted that it was important to chronicle my culinary successes. Then whenever I doubted myself, I could just review my laurels. I still keep them.” The truth was, she’d brought new photos with her from L.A.

“Check through them,” Nate said. “They might trigger something.” He glanced at his watch. “I’m going to put in a call to a police captain I know in L.A. and make sure they document the first two incidents there. They can check with your production crew on that end and see if they noticed anyone hanging around your set while you were filming.”

Avery frowned at Reese. “I wish you’d let me call your sisters. MacFarland Investigations could send someone here to watch over you.”

“You can’t. If they knew anything about what was going on, they’d fly in. And Naomi’s arguing a case on Monday to get a judge to open up the sealed adoption records on the woman Dane and Ian believe might be their sister.”

“They’re trying to locate a brother, too, aren’t they?” Nate asked.

Reese nodded. “All they’ve been able to find so far is that after they were all separated, their younger brother was placed in a foster home for a year. In any case, I don’t want Naomi distracted—she’s got too much on her plate as it is.”

“Okay,” Avery conceded. “But—“

Whatever else he was going to say was interrupted by the arrival of two women who stopped at their table. Reese recognized both instantly. The tiny and bubbly brunette was Molly Pepperman. She ran a boutique in town and had become a close friend of her sister Jillian. Rising, Reese hugged Molly first and then the older woman at her side, Miss Emmy Lou Pritchard, the local librarian.

“Reese, Avery told us you’d be here. We don’t see enough of you in Belle Bay,” Molly said. Then she nodded at the two men. “Avery, Nate, good to see you both.”

“What are you two doing here?” Reese asked.

“We’re checking in early for the Singles Weekend,” Molly said. She flashed a grin at Miss Emmy Lou. “We decided we might get a head start, check out our prospects, so to speak. We’re also planning to take a chance on the fantasy box.”

“No, I—” Miss Emmy Lou began.

Nate cut her off. “You’re what?”

Molly met his eyes. “There’s a big mixer kicking everything off tomorrow night, and Avery is going to let interested guests draw fantasies out of Hattie Haworth’s fantasy box. Miss Emmy Lou and I are going to be the first two in line.”

Nate’s eyes narrowed. “You’re talking about the hat box that was discovered in Hattie’s secret room?”

“That’s right,” Molly said brightly. “My grandmother is coming in tomorrow to run the store for a couple of days so I can devote my full attention to the festivities here.”

“Clarissa is coming back to run the store?” Nate asked.

“That’s right.” Molly turned to Reese. “Are you going to draw one? “

“No,” Reese said. Hers was already burning a hole in her pocket.

“Oh, that’s right.” Molly tapped a finger against her forehead. “I forgot. You must have drawn yours at the same time Naomi and Jillian did. And theirs have come true.” She took Reese’s hands in hers. “That must be why you’re here this weekend. To see if Hattie can work her magic for you, too.”

Reese opened her mouth intending to set Molly straight. But then it struck her suddenly that Jillian’s friend might have it exactly right. She might not have come here with the idea of letting Hattie work her magic, but the seed had been firmly planted the instant she’d run into Mr. Blue Eyes in the lobby.

The question was, what was she going to do about it?

It was at that moment she felt the tingling awareness that she’d felt off and on during the day whenever Blue Eyes had been near.

He was here in the bar right now.

For an instant, everything inside of her yearned to search the crowd in the bar and find him. To leave everything else behind and go to him.

“Miss Emmy Lou and I are going to work the room.” Molly released her hands. “Feel free to join us when you’re done.”

Reese didn’t watch the two women walk off. If she did, she was sure she’d see him. And she hadn’t yet decided what to do. Panic and anticipation bubbled up. Once she did see him again, she would have to make a decision. She would have to take charge.

“What kind of a Singles Weekend are you running here, Avery?”

The sharpness of Nate’s tone had the effect of allowing Reese to refocus on the two men. Tension was radiating off the sheriff in waves.

“Just the regular kind. Lots of hotels and resorts run them. The trade magazines all rave about how they build business.”

“Other hotels and resorts don’t offer Hattie Haworth’s fantasy box and the promise that those fantasies might come true,” Nate pointed out.

Avery studied Nate for a moment. “Capitalizing on the growing reputation of Hattie Haworth and her lover as matchmakers isn’t against any law I’m aware of.”

“It’s not their reputation as matchmakers you’re capitalizing on. Ever since news of that box has leaked out, the talk in the village is that the fantasies on the parchment papers are all very sexual.”

“And what’s the harm in that?” He winked at Nate as he pulled out a brochure and pushed it toward him. “What happens in Haworth House stays in Haworth House.”

Reese watched color rise in Nate Kirby’s face.

“The harm is that Miss Emmy Lou Pritchard, a pillar of our community, intends to draw out one of those sexual fantasies. She’s close to seventy.”

Avery’s brows shot up. “Is there some kind of age limit on fun—some statute that I’m not aware of?”

“No.” Nate glanced toward the two women, and it was then that it clicked for Reese. Nate Kirby wasn’t upset that Miss Emmy Lou was going to draw out a fantasy.

He was worried about Molly. Jillian had mentioned to her that Nate and Molly had a history.

“No,” Nate repeated as he turned back to Avery. “Nothing you’re doing is against the law. But just to make sure it stays that way, I want to book a room for your Singles Weekend.”

Avery smiled at him. “I had a feeling you might, so I saved one for you. Come right this way.”

Reese managed to hide her amusement until the two men had exited the booth and started toward the lobby. But her smile faded entirely as a man slid into the seat across from her.

The moment she glanced up, the blue eyes trapped hers. Thoughts slipped away as her heart leaped into her throat and fluttered like a bird.

“I think we should talk about the fantasy on your parchment.”