Читать книгу Expecting at Christmas - Charlotte Maclay, Charlotte Maclay - Страница 10

Chapter Two

Griffin stretched and untangled himself from the bed sheets. To his surprise he felt a helluva lot better than he had last night. His sore throat was gone, his head clear. Amazing what a good night’s sleep could do for a man. Not for a minute did he attribute his miraculous cure to the herbal tea or chicken soup he’d consumed.

He frowned, recalling the scene at the front door last night and his new butler’s offhanded dismissal of Aileen Roquette. If it hadn’t been for Loretta Santana he might not have awakened alone in his bed this morning.

Rolling to his feet, he strolled to the window. The southern California sun cast early-morning shadows through the oaks and pines that surrounded his property, tinting summer-dried grass to a golden brown. Though less than an hour from downtown L.A., Topanga Canyon had a rural flavor. Along the winding canyon road, houses varied from modest homes to opulent residences sporting ten thousand square feet of living space. His was on the high end of the scale.

Finger combing his sleep-mussed hair, he scanned the redwood decking that circled three-quarters of the house and cantilevered out over the canyon. In a column of cool winter sunlight, Loretta sat crosslegged gazing toward the distant hillside.

Griffin’s lips twitched with the threat of a smile. In this light she looked like a cross between a delicate, dark-haired wood nymph and a chubby Buddha. Grimly he remembered he had to find some way to send her back to wherever she had come from.

He grabbed a pair of walking shorts from the closet, tugged them on and strolled outside. The mild air brushed against his bare legs and chest, promising a day that would grow much warmer, even though the calendar read early December.

Leaning back against the deck railing, he crossed his arms over his chest. “Do you meditate every morning?”

Slowly she opened her eyes and a little smile played around her lips. Kissable lips, he thought, momentarily caught off guard by her serene expression.

“I learned to meditate while I was working as a temp for the Transcendental Psychic Society. The technique’s really helpful to keep your free radicals from escaping.” She frowned and shrugged. “Or maybe they’re supposed to escape. I forget which. But meditation is really good for you.”

He had the distinct impression Loretta spoke an entirely different language than he did. “Is the society where you learned about ions and oxidants?”

“No, I learned that while I was working at a health food store.”

She tried to get up but couldn’t manage the right leverage. Griffin caught her arm to help her up before she turtled onto her back and was stuck there indefinitely. Her bones were so delicate; how could she carry the extra weight of the baby? He was amazed once again by her hidden strength, and a little bit scared by the risk her pregnancy posed.

Why the heck had she showed up on his doorstep?

“Thanks.” She flushed, her voice breathy. Glancing away from him, she dusted the back of her dark pants off with her hand. “I probably would have learned more but they fired me after two weeks.”

“The health food store?”

Nodding, she smiled sheepishly. “They caught me eating a Big Mac and fries in the stockroom.”

He swallowed a laugh. “That does seem a little sacrilegious.”

“They could have given me a second chance, though,” she said seriously. “I’d only been there two weeks and they shouldn’t expect a person to go cold turkey like that when it comes to junk food. I mean, they didn’t even want anybody to eat chocolate.”

“They probably had to maintain their standards.”

“That’s what they told me.” She shrugged, apparently unaware of how that made her breasts rise and fall in a very intriguing way. “I’ll get your breakfast now. I’ve got hand-squeezed orange juice for you, and I sent out early for papayas and strawberries to mix in. That’ll get your enzymes back on track.”

“I’m fine this morning.” Though he’d had an interesting reaction to her reference to hand-squeezed which had nothing to do with orange juice. “Why don’t you just bring me a cup of coffee and we can sit here and talk a minute.”

“Coffee?” She lifted a censuring brow.

“Yes, coffee. Caffeinated, if you please. If you’re offended by my asking you to bring me coffee, I’ll fix it myself.”

“Of course I’m not offended,” she said in a huff. “They taught me—”

“—in your accelerated butler classes. Coffee, Loretta. Now.”

Loretta hustled into the kitchen. Every bit of the calm she’d managed to gain through her meditation had flown right smack off the deck when she’d opened her eyes to discover Griffin standing there.

A man ought to know better than to show up first thing in the morning practically naked. And then to start giving her orders. For pity’s sake! How was she supposed to concentrate while she stared at that broad chest of his with its fascinating swirls of springy brown curls? Or when she surreptitiously glanced at his muscular legs roughened by the same intriguing hair. She wasn’t a saint. For heaven’s sake, the man gave her ideas she shouldn’t even be considering. Not in her advanced state of pregnancy. Not at all, she sternly reminded herself while trying to forget the warm feel of his hand on her elbow, steadying her.

She knew he was a megamillionaire, which didn’t trouble her one way or the other. The fact that he’d been plastered on the cover of grocery store tabloids as a big-time playboy did. Maybe she hadn’t recognized his name or his face immediately. But the truth had come to her the moment Miss Redheaded-Doll-Face had shown up at the door.

Some impulsive, protective instinct had made her want to close the door in the woman’s face. He deserved better than a bit actress who was about to be written out of a minor role in a mediocre soap by the hunky, dark-eyed villain popping her off in a fit of jealous rage. Loretta was certainly familiar with the storyline of the soap in question and could see what was coming.

Griffin Jones would simply have to be more discriminating about whom he dated while Loretta was in his employ. No doubt he would thank her eventually.

Which he would never have a chance to do if she didn’t get his breakfast out to him in a hurry and he fired her before he got his mainline morning dose of caffeine. Rodgers had indicated their employer could be a grouch before he got his coffee. Loretta wasn’t eager to test the waters.

Minutes later she carried a tray out to the deck—a generous pot of strong, black coffee, juice and homemade whole wheat date muffins slathered in let’s-pretend butter. Now was assuredly the time to impress her boss.

“There you go, sir. The perfect beginning to your day. Fifty-two percent of your daily minimum requirements for A, C, E, B—”

“It looks delicious.” Griffin waved her to sit down. Breakfast did look good and smelled even better. He took a sip of coffee. The caffeine jolted him with a sharp wake-up call, and he relaxed momentarily to enjoy the scenery—including his dark-eyed butler. “You’re not eating?”

“I had my breakfast ages ago. I’m usually an early riser.”

“I see.” He broke off a bite of muffin and watched the steam rise. She might not be acceptable as an employee of a health food store, but she knew a helluva lot about baking bread. “Do you live somewhere, Loretta? I mean, do you have an apartment where you stay when you’re, ah, not here?”

“I had a place. After Isabella died I gave it up, knowing I’d need the extra money. I moved back home with Mama.”

Ah, then she did have somewhere to go if he fired her.

“Of course, when I learned I’d have this job with you and would be living here, I gave up my room to my niece Patrice and her husband. They’ve got three kids plus one on the way and needed a place to stay while they’re doing a huge remodeling job on their house. More bedrooms, you know?”

So much for that plan. “It must be pretty crowded at your mother’s house with five additional people.”

“It’s not so bad. Of course, she has Enrico there—he’s my youngest brother and still in high school. Tía Louisa has lived with us for ages. She’s my great-aunt twice removed. A wonderful woman who does beautiful tatting.”

“Tatting?” he asked, distracted.

“It’s like lace except stringier. She makes up hope chests full of her tatting for all us girls. For our wedding presents, you know.”

He nodded as if he understood. He didn’t. “So if you went home now—”

“I’d have to sleep on the couch.”

Griffin’s eyes crossed. A pregnant woman shouldn’t have to sleep on the couch. It couldn’t be healthy. Desperately he drained the rest of the coffee from his cup.

“You want some more?” she asked graciously.

“Yes, please.” It was more a groan than a request. Dammit all! He was a business executive running a multimillion-dollar corporation with retail stores in the ten western states. This little waif of a female shouldn’t have him so far off balance with her whimsical stories, floating oxidants and the feeling he was responsible for her. Maybe he ought to hire her to work in one of his stores. That way she’d at least be out from underfoot. “Tell me, Loretta, do you know anything about computers or electronics?”

She poured from the pot on the tray. “Oh, sure. Lots. What would you like to know?”

Relief surged through him. There was a way out of the maze he’d found himself in.

“I play Nintendo with my nephew all the time,” she continued brightly. “Of course, he beats me most days, but I’m getting better.” She looked at Griffin with so much enthusiasm, he didn’t want to be the one to quash her spirit. But what the hell could she be majoring in to have a hundred and thirty-something units and not know squat about computers? Unless she was putting him on.

“When is your baby due?” he asked. A hopeless sense of futility settled over him. No way was he going to be able to get rid of this woman.

“Four weeks. And it’s only three weeks until I’m eligible for the insurance I need. See how well things work out when God is on your side?”

The headache that had only been a threat last night stabbed him right between his eyes. “You’re right.” He shoved back from the table. “I’ve got to go into the office.”

“On a Saturday?” she gasped.

“Yeah, on a Saturday.” If it had been Christmas Day, he would have gone into work to get away from the craziness that had invaded his home. Besides, he really did have work to do. He suspected his uncle Matt and his competitive electronics outlets were somehow diverting Compuware shipments to their own Compuworks stores. He needed to track back through the records to see if that was a possibility and if he had a spy in his own firm. The holidays were their busiest season, the sales during the month before Christmas representing a huge percentage of the annual gross. Losses now couldn’t be made up later. The industry changed too fast for second chances.

Loretta staggered to her feet, out of balance because of her swollen abdomen. “I put your car away in the garage for you last night. Rodgers said it shouldn’t be left out. Vandals and thieves, you know.”

“Yeah, thanks. I’ll be late getting home. Don’t worry about dinner for me.” With luck, he might be able to recoup his losses with Aileen.

Upstairs he showered, shaved and dressed casually for his day at work. He hated wearing suits, but the job required it of him when he was dealing with suppliers. Not so on Saturday.

Feeling refreshed, he went downstairs, hit the button for the garage door opener and gazed in dismay at the dented front bumper and broken headlight on his prize Mercedes 450SL.

“Loretta!” he bellowed.

Loretta winced. She’d known he was going to yell at her. She didn’t have to like it.

“I’m coming!” She sped up her waddle to a near run, hurrying to the garage. She couldn’t remember seeing a man truly glower before, all deep lines and grooves that turned his face into a mask of fury. Not until now.

“Would you care to tell me what happened to my car? My classic car?” he added tightly.

“I don’t want you to worry about a thing, Mr. Jones. My brother has promised he’ll fix—”

“Why didn’t you tell me you’d practically totaled my car?”

“Now if you’ll just be calm, Mr. Jones. Your electrolytes are going to get all in a flurry—”

“Miss Santana!”

She swallowed hard. “Yes, sir.”

“I want to know how you managed to do that much damage moving my car less than a hundred feet from the front of the house where I parked it into the garage.”

“I couldn’t find the light switch.”

He looked at her blankly. “What light switch?”

“For the headlights, of course. I’ve never driven a Mercedes before. And then when I tried to drive it into the garage—per Rodgers’s very specific instructions—my foot got caught in the hem of my nightgown. I was trying to unhook that when I kind of stepped on the gas pedal with my other foot. That’s when the potted palm over there practically leaped out in front of your car.”

Griffin closed his eyes and drew a deep breath. He was not going to lose his temper. Nor was he going to picture Loretta running around outside in the middle of the night in a nightgown.

“You really don’t have to worry about a thing,” she assured him. “Roberto is going to come pick up your car any minute now.”

“Roberto?”

“My brother. He does wonderful car repairs. Your Mercedes will be right as rain in no time.”

“I think I’d rather take it to the dealership that knows how to handle these classic cars. Thanks, anyway.”

“Oh, but Roberto will only charge you half as much as one of those fancy-shmancy dealerships would.”

“I’ve got insurance.”

“All the more reason why you should let Roberto do the work. A dealership would overcharge you, and your insurance rates would go up. You’d end up paying two or three times as much as you would if you had just let Roberto take care of things in the first place.”

Griffin knew there was a hole in her logic somewhere. He just couldn’t put his finger on it at the moment. The image of her dancing around his driveway in a see-through negligee was like a looping videotape in his brain that he couldn’t switch off.

“Besides, Roberto is family,” she said with the same finality that an archeologist would use to announce he’d found the key to the Dead Sea Scrolls.

He glanced at the crumpled fender and broken headlight. “When is your brother coming?”

“Any minute now. He had to fix his tow truck first.”

Somehow that did not bode well for the future. But Griffin didn’t have the time or energy to stand around arguing with his pregnant butler about who was going to repair his convertible—the only car he owned at the moment. “Look, I’ve got to get to the office. I’ll call a cab—”

“Don’t be silly. You can use my car. I’m not going anywhere today.”

He followed her gaze toward the far end of the four-car garage. A battered compact sat just beyond the last doorway. From what he could see, the vehicle had been cobbled together out of junkyard parts, each fender a different color and a trunk lid that was tied closed with a rope. He never should have sold his Rolls....

“Does it run?” he asked.

“Oh, sure. Like a top. Roberto keeps it going for me.” She produced a key from her pocket just as a tow truck came roaring up the driveway, smoke belching from the tailpipe. The driver backed it around, end first toward the damaged vehicle.

Griffin coughed at the fumes. “Maybe we ought to switch to plan B.”

“He’ll do a wonderful job. You’ll see.”

Hurrying over to the truck, Loretta gave her brother a hug when he climbed out.

“Hey, sis, is that the guy you’re living with?” Roberto asked, eyeing Griffin with the protective instincts of a big brother.

“I’m not living with him, not like you mean,” she protested.

“Yeah, well Mama’s not too thrilled about you moving in with some stranger. You oughta be home where she can keep an eye on you, Lori.”

“There’s no room. Not with Patrice living there. Besides, I need the money.”

“All the same, it just don’t look right, you shacking up with some guy nobody knows.”

“I’m not shacking up with him. I’m his butler. Besides, he’s got so many girlfriends, he wouldn’t give me the time of day, even if I were interested. Which I’m not.” No way could Loretta compete with women like that Miss Redhead person. Not that she’d want to. And given her advanced pregnancy, she didn’t imagine any man, most certainly not a well-known millionaire playboy, would give her a second thought Even if she’d want him to. Which she didn’t.

“Any guy would be lucky to have you, sis. Everybody in the family says so.” Roberto waved to Griffin and called to him. “I’ll have your wheels hooked up and outta here in a minute.”

“Fne,” Griffin said. “Just be careful. I’d just as soon you didn’t do any more damage than has already been done.”

“No problema. Since you’re a friend of Lori’s, I’ll even give you a tune-up. No charge.” With another wave, he scooted under the Mercedes to hook up the towing cable, leaving only his overall-clad legs and his work boots sticking out.

Griffin came closer. “Look, I still think it’d be smart to call a dealership. I wouldn’t want anything—”

“You worry too much, Mr. Jones. Roberto’s practically a genius when it comes to cars.”

Her employer didn’t look convinced.

Roberto scooted back out from under the Mercedes and hopped to his feet. “Piece of cake,” he said with a cocky grin.

He flipped the lever up on the hydraulic lift and stood back to watch. Slowly the rear end of the car rose and edged toward the truck. It was a beautiful convertible, all shining silver-blue with lots of chrome, colors that matched the owner’s strikingly attractive eyes. Loretta could hardly believe she’d actually had a chance to drive the car, albeit right into a potted palm.

Griffin’s stress level grew more palpable with each inch the car rose above the driveway. He really ought to increase his intake of vitamin E, Loretta concluded. Or maybe it was vitamin B he needed. She’d have to be sure he had plenty of both. Clearly, he was suffering from too much tension in his life.

At the instant that thought came to her, something went wrong with the hydraulic lift. With a pop, oil squirted out, spraying all over the Mercedes and pooling on the concrete driveway. The car shook precariously for a moment, then dropped with a crash, the back colliding with the industrial-strength bumper of the tow truck.

Metal squealed. The Mercedes’s bumper twisted, coming lose from its mooring and jutting up at an odd angle.

Cringing, Loretta wished she could crawl into a hole right there in the middle of the driveway. But when she met Griffin’s furious gaze, she knew that even a hole dug all the way to China wouldn’t be deep enough to protect her from his righteous anger.

Her only choice was to do a whole lot of fancy talking. And do it in a hurry.